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band reminded her that once she had loved to dance. She’d been good at it, too. If she could forget for a minute who and what he was, it could be fun.
    “Let’s wait for a fast dance,” she said, eyeing him with amusement. “Then we’ll see if you can keep up.”
    “No contest,” he retorted. “Anything you can do—”
    Emma laughed. “Don’t finish that thought. I might view it as a challenge.”
    “It was meant to be.” His gaze clashed with hers.
    To Emma’s astonishment, she felt a little tingle of anticipation in the pit of her stomach. Her pulse did an unexpected dip and sway that left her feeling giddy. Fascinating. Lately the only time she felt any stirring of excitement was in a courtroom. Discovering that Ford Hamilton could have the same effect was more than mildly intriguing.
    One dance, she promised herself. No more. Just for the sheer exhilaration of it. And if she felt a bit off-kilter, a bit breathless at the conclusion, she could blame it on the unfamiliar exertion. It certainly wouldn’t have anything at all to do with the man who was regarding her with such an amused glint in his blue eyes.
    The beat of the music slowed, as the band slid from one tune to another, but then the pace quickened. Emma recognized an old Chubby Checker hit.
    “They’re playing our song, Mr. Hamilton,” she said, reaching for his hand and drawing him onto the floor.
    He was a tall, lanky man, and the twist was definitely not his dance. He was a good sport about it, though,laughing when they drew a cheering, clapping crowd of her friends.
    At the end of the song, Emma was ready to claim victory, but Ford wasn’t quite so quick to release her. As the band began a slow song, he drew her into his arms. She went with less reluctance than she’d intended.
    For a beat or two, Emma held herself stiffly, but then the music, the scent of Ford’s aftershave, the gentle pressure of his hand against her back, had her relaxing into the rhythm. Her cheek fit perfectly against his shoulder. It was rare that she’d been with a man who had several inches in height on her own five-ten. She caught herself right before she sighed with the pure pleasure of it.
    This time, when the song ended, he released her, then took a step back. He seemed suddenly wary, as if the dance had been more than he’d bargained for, as well.
    “Thanks for the dance,” he said. “Maybe I’ll see you around town.”
    His dismissal irritated her, but she managed to keep her voice and her expression cool. “I doubt that. I’ll be leaving on Sunday.”
    “On your next visit, then,” he said. “Or will that be a long time coming?”
    She didn’t like the implied criticism. “I get home when I can.”
    “Every couple of years is what I hear.”
    “Been asking a lot of probing questions tonight, Mr. Hamilton?” she inquired, disconcerted by the thought. A part of her had hoped she’d been wrong about him being like all the other reporters.
    “A few. You obviously lead a busy life.”
    “I do.”
    “Too bad it’s not fulfilling,” he said, then gave her a jaunty wave as he started away.
    This time she was the one calling him back. “Why would you say something like that?” she demanded indignantly. “Who have you been talking to?”
    “Deductive reasoning,” he said. “Besides, you admitted as much earlier.”
    “When?”
    “When I said I wanted to interview the town’s success stories,” he answered. “You gave me your interpretation of success, then all but said you couldn’t claim to have that kind of achievement.”
    Emma hadn’t realized her words had been so telling, or that Ford Hamilton was sensitive enough to pick up on what she’d left unspoken.
    “Well?” he prodded. “Are you denying it?”
    She forced a grim smile. “No comment.”
    He grinned. “I’ll take that as a no.”
    “And if you quote me on it, I’ll call you a liar,” she retorted.
    “Oh, this isn’t for publication,” he assured her.