Ordinary Girl, Millionaire Tycoon

He highly doubted that Kaylee was Sofia’s birth daughter, but somebody was. And he had to admit Kaylee looked the part.

“If you’re really Constanzia, you’ll be able to prove it.”

“I never claimed I was Constanzia. All I said is I thought I might be.”

“Then get me your birth certificate and adoption papers.”

A wariness settled over her like a second skin. “My birth certificate’s at my father’s house in Houston.”

“Let me guess. Your adoption papers are there, too.”

She hesitated, but when she spoke her voice was strong. “I guess Sofia didn’t tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

“I don’t have any papers because my parents never admitted I was adopted.”

He let out a short, harsh laugh. “Lady, you are a piece of work.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

While working as a newspaper sportswriter, Darlene Gardner realised she’d rather make up quotes than rely on an athlete to say something interesting. So she quit her job and concentrated on a fiction career that landed her at Mills & Boon, where she’s written for Temptation and Intimate Moments before finding a home at Superromance.

Please visit Darlene on the web at www. darlene gardner.com.

Dear Reader,

Where do we belong? With the people who gave us life or those who happen into our lives? That was the question running through my mind when I wrote Ordinary Girl, Millionaire Tycoon, about a woman who believes she’s finally found her place in the world.

But when that place is populated by a lottery winner who may or may not be her birth mother and the woman’s over-protective step-son, matters aren’t black and white. Especially when love is thrown into the mix.

Although I’m not new to Mills & Boon, I am new to Superromance. It was a pleasure to explore a deeper, richer story in what has always been one of my favourite lines. I hope you enjoy this story.

All my best,

Darlene

PS You can visit me on the web at

www.darlenegardner.com.

DARLENE GARDNER

To my grandmothers Rose Gorta and

Rose Hrobak, who are gone from this life but

not from my heart. I like to think these warm,

wonderful women would have enjoyed having a

granddaughter who writes about love.

CHAPTER ONE

UNTIL KAYLEE CARTER sat on the television remote and accidentally switched the channel from a Seinfeld rerun to the late-night news, she’d thought her mother was dead.

She picked up the remote to change the channel back, but her finger paused on the flash button when the camera panned over lush, rolling countryside that seemed to stretch for miles.

The pink-and-white blooms of apple orchards made the deep green of the grass and the azure, cloud-dotted sky even more lovely. The blossoms caused the gentle hillsides to come alive with color and touched something inside Kaylee that the city never reached, something that ached with longing.

Her modest little duplex in Fort Lauderdale off U.S. 1, which was far too close to a high-crime area where muggings and break-ins were common, seemed to fade into the background.

McIntosh, Ohio, the caption read. Named, if Kaylee wasn’t mistaken, for a popular variety of red apple. The warm feelings suddenly made a bit more sense. Kaylee had been born in Ohio, although her parents had returned to their native Texas when she was only a few weeks old and she’d since moved to Florida.

The compelling face of a dark-haired, dark-eyed woman took the place of the orchard. Although Kaylee was positive she’d never seen the woman before, she seemed familiar.

The woman had a timeless quality that made it hard to guess her age. Early forties, perhaps? Her wide-set eyes and shoulder-length hair were as dark as Kaylee’s own, her nose as distinctive, her olive complexion nearly as unlined except around the mouth and eyes.

The reason for those lines became evident when the woman smiled, which she obviously did often. An inner glow seemed to light the smile and radiate from her.

Kaylee leaned toward the nineteen-inch television screen, wishing she could have splurged on a bigger set. Another caption identified the woman as Sofia Donatelli, a former cook at Nunzio’s Restaurant in McIntosh who’d won ten million dollars in the Ohio lottery.

“I need luck like that,” Kaylee murmured.

She scrambled off the worn sofa she’d bought at a garage sale, sat cross-legged on the floor in front of the TV and turned up the sound.

An impossibly handsome reporter with a square jaw, blindingly white teeth and gilded highlights in his brown hair revealed that Sofia had become known in the Ohio Valley for her generosity since winning the prize six weeks ago.

He interviewed a young mother who told how Sofia paid for experimental surgery to help control her daughter’s Tourette’s syndrome and a businessman who’d gotten seed money from her to open an ice-cream parlor. The camera then switched back to a shot of Sofia and the good-looking reporter.

“You’re probably asking yourself what’s in this lottery bonanza for the woman who won the prize. So tell us, Sofia, what will you splurge on? A mansion in L.A.? A yacht that will take you around the world? A garage full of expensive cars?”

“What I want is something money can’t buy.” Sofia stared straight into the camera, her eyes moist and glowing with an emotion so stark that Kaylee’s chest tightened. “I want to find my daughter.”

Kaylee’s heart pounded so hard she felt it slamming against her chest wall. She edged closer to the set, afraid to miss a word.

“When did you last see your daughter?” the reporter asked.

“When she was a few minutes old. I was sixteen.” Sofia smiled softly, sadly. “I thought the best thing for my baby was to give her up for adoption. I got to hold her, but only briefly. Then the nurse took her away, and I never saw her again.”

“When was this?”

“Twenty-five years ago,” Sofia said, “and there hasn’t been a day since that I haven’t thought of her.”

The remote dropped from Kaylee’s fingers, her heart stuttered and she had difficulty taking in enough air.

Kaylee was twenty-five. She’d never had her suspicion verified, but she’d always believed she was adopted.

It wasn’t only because she was the sole brunette in a family of blondes. Quite simply, she hadn’t belonged. Not in the sweltering flatlands of Houston, where she’d grown up. And not in the Carter family, where her younger sister Lilly had been the favored child.

Kaylee was the one who couldn’t do anything right. She’d been expected to make straight A’s, to stay away from boys, to stick to the ridiculous curfew of 9:00 p.m. and to dress like a nun, rules Lilly always managed to skirt successfully.

Kaylee hadn’t been as lucky. And though she’d rebelled with a vengeance, she never had gotten up the guts to ask her mother if she was really her mother.

She’d asked her father only after her mother died suddenly of a brain aneurysm when Kaylee was in her teens. He’d never had much to say to Kaylee and didn’t then, muttering that she shouldn’t be ridiculous, before changing the subject.

He hadn’t outright said no.

“Have you tried to find your daughter before now?” the reporter asked Sofia Donatelli.

“Many times. My stepson even hired a private investigator a few years back. But I always come up against a brick wall.” Sofia talked with her hands, pantomiming the action of hitting a wall.

“Why do you think this search will be different?”

“Because I won the lottery and you put me on television.” Sofia grew more animated, her hand gestures more pronounced. “There’s a chance that my daughter or somebody who knows her could see this.”

The reporter’s forehead creased with little-used lines. “But how could anyone who sees you on television put the pieces of the puzzle together? You can’t know much more about your daughter than you’ve already told us.”

“Oh, but I do.” Sofia’s smile was bittersweet. “I wanted her to take a little bit of her Italian heritage with her so I stipulated that her adoptive parents keep the name I chose.”

Kaylee’s stomach seized. Her middle name was quintessentially Italian, a striking contrast to the American names of “Kaylee” and “Carter.”

“What is her name?” the reporter asked.

Kaylee held her breath as she waited for Sofia Donatelli’s reply.

“Constanzia,” Sofia said. “Her name is Constanzia.”

The breath whooshed out of Kaylee’s lungs. The room seemed to tilt and her head swam so that she couldn’t tell whether the sudden flickers on the television screen were due to a failing picture or her glazed eyes.

Kaylee’s full name was Kaylee Constanzia Carter.

“Mommy, my tummy hurts.”

The soft voice intruded into her consciousness. Her six-year-old son Joey stood in the middle of the living room. His hand rested on his Spider-man pajama top, his eyes drooped and misery clouded his cherubic face.

As she sat on the floor trying to come to terms with her shock and his sudden appearance, his color paled and his face contorted in pain. Kaylee leaped to her feet, scooped him up and reached the toilet in the bathroom the instant before he was sick.

As he retched, she rubbed his back to let him know that she was there. She felt every one of the spasms as though she were the one who was ill. When he was finally through, she ran a washcloth under the cold tap water and wiped his hot, little face. “Do you feel better now, honey?”

He nodded, but his lower lip trembled.

Thinking aloud, she said, “I knew I shouldn’t have let you eat that second hot dog at dinner.”

“Like hot dogs,” he mumbled. He blinked hard, trying valiantly not to cry.

Kaylee’s heart turned over. She gathered his small body close but still he didn’t surrender to tears. Was it because he’d sensed how hard things had become for her?

Being a single mother had never been easy, but she’d had a live-in support system until six weeks ago. She’d shared expenses, childcare duties and friendship with another single mother who had a little girl Joey’s age. Then Dawn met a man, took little Monica and moved away from Fort Lauderdale.

Dawn used to jokingly call Joey the man of the house. Had Joey taken that description too much to heart?

“It’s okay to cry if you need to, honey,” Kaylee whispered into his soft, sweet-smelling hair.

He held himself so rigidly that she thought he hadn’t heard her, but then the tension left his body in a rush and, finally, he cried. Not delicate, silent tears but noisy, shuddering sobs.

Kaylee held him close, glad of the comfort she could offer.

Her son’s appearance in the living room had prevented Kaylee from hearing what else Sofia Donatelli had to say. She told herself it didn’t matter. Constanzia was her middle name, not her first name. Some other Constanzia was Sofia’s birth daughter.

Or maybe you are.

She shut her mind to the thought.

Still, she knew that if she’d seen the news feature years ago, she would have jumped in her car and driven through the night to Ohio in her quest to learn the truth.

But she was a mother now. She had responsibilities and one of those was to curb the rash part of her nature that had gotten her into so much trouble when she was growing up.

The notion that the lottery winner who lived in the lush Ohio Valley could be her mother amounted to nothing but a fantasy.

The sobbing, little boy in her arms who depended upon her was her reality.

CHAPTER TWO

TONY DONATELLI nearly dropped the phone. “You did what?”

“I already told you, Tony. I let that nice young television reporter know I’m searching for Constanzia.” Sofia Donatelli made it sound as though she’d been conversing with a friend instead of issuing a potentially explosive announcement.

“The best part was that affiliate stations might pick up the feature and run with it,” she continued in the same cheerful tone. “Isn’t that wonderful? That means people all across the country might see it.”

Tony’s fingers tightened on the receiver. “I thought we agreed when I was in Ohio last month that you wouldn’t give any interviews. I thought you wanted to keep your life as normal as possible.”

“I do,” Sofia said. “But I haven’t had any luck finding Constanzia on my own, and I got to thinking that I could use the publicity to my advantage.”

“Publicity isn’t always a good thing, Sofia. Did it occur to you that McIntosh is about to be besieged by women who claim their name is Constanzia?”

She laughed the same laugh that had warmed him since his father had brought her into their lives. Tony had been a six-year-old boy desperately in need of a mother. His father, widowed for almost that long, had needed a wife. Sofia had only been twenty, but she’d fulfilled both roles beautifully. Tony still thought she’d given his late father far more than he’d deserved.

Tony would have gladly called her “Mom,” but she’d always insisted he refer to her as “Sofia.” She said she never wanted him to forget that the woman who’d given birth to him had loved him with all her heart, even if he didn’t remember her.

“I hardly think Constanzias will storm the town, Tony. I only gave away the one daughter.”

“And how much money have you given away since you won the lottery?”

“I really can’t say.”

Tony couldn’t either, and that was the crux of the problem. He’d fled the stifling environment of McIntosh for Michigan State as soon as he was old enough for college, found excuses not to come home for the summer, settled in Seattle after graduation and had only returned to Ohio for brief visits since.

Even after his father died of a sudden heart attack two years ago, Tony could justify living apart from Sofia. She was still a young woman, her life was in McIntosh and she’d visited him often in Seattle.

A one-dollar lottery ticket she’d bought on a whim after stopping for bottled water at the 7-Eleven had changed everything.

Sofia had beaten fourteen-million-to-one odds by predicting the six correct numbers in the Super Lotto. As the single winner, the ten-million dollar jackpot was hers and hers alone.

The irony that Sofia was the one who’d gotten rich quick didn’t escape Tony. She’d all but supported their family single-handedly while he was growing up. His father had worked sporadically, persisting in the mistaken belief that one of his wacky inventions would make them rich.

Sofia’s stroke of luck had set Tony’s mind at ease about her future. Her lump-sum cash payment was just over three and a half million after federal and state taxes, enough for her to quit her job and be set for life.

But then the reports had started filtering in from his high school friend Will Sandusky, who still lived in McIntosh.

Sofia, it seemed, was a soft touch. So far she’d doled out money to a couple who planned to start a business making custom chocolates, paid off a stranger’s mortgage and sent her friend on a Caribbean anniversary cruise. And now she was inviting trouble.

At this rate, she’d lose her newfound fortune before a few years were out.

Tony rubbed his forehead to ward off a brewing headache. “Sofia, you really don’t see a problem here?”

“Is everything all right, Tony?” His girlfriend Ellen Fitzsimmons stuck her beautiful blond head around the door frame, her question drowning out his stepmother’s reply.

She held a wine goblet in her right hand, and the overhead light caught the rich red hue of the merlot. It reminded him that he’d originally intended to break out a bottle of champagne to cap off an evening that had begun at a trendy French restaurant he’d booked a week in advance.

“Just a second, Sofia,” he told his stepmother. He covered the receiver, futilely wishing Ellen had stayed in the living room. “Everything’s fine, Ellen. I’ll be just a few more minutes.”

She hesitated, but then left the room on three-inch heels, the skirt of her dress swirling around her slender legs. Tony waited until she was gone to speak into the receiver. “I’ll tell you what the problem is. Fake Constanzias who’ll want a piece of your fortune.”

“Tony, dear, it’s not like I won a Powerball jackpot.” Sofia sounded amused. “And there aren’t that many women named Constanzia.”

“We talked about this when the private investigator couldn’t find out anything, remember? He said the adoptive parents might not have kept the name Constanzia.”

“He didn’t know that for sure. Besides, I have to take the chance. I don’t have much information to go on.”

“You’re inviting pretenders.”

“But I’ll know if someone’s trying to put one over on me. I have a picture of her in my head, Tony. When I close my eyes, I can almost see what she looks like.”

Tony’s head throbbed, and he rubbed his forehead with two fingers. “When, Sofia? You’ve been looking for Constanzia since I was in college. The P.I. I hired couldn’t find her. What makes you so sure she’ll show up?”

“Besides the power of publicity?” she asked, then answered herself. “I have faith.”

“Do you know how vulnerable that faith makes you to an impostor?”

“If it’ll make you happy, dear, I’ll ask Constanzia to show me her driver’s license.”

“It’s easy to get a fake ID,” he said, trying not to sound frustrated. He knew how much finding Constanzia meant to Sofia. Hell, there was nothing he wanted more for her. But if a top-notch P.I. couldn’t locate her, chances were slight that a mention on a television program would. “Anybody with access to the Internet can call up a dozen sites that will do it for you.”

“Oh, Tony. You’re being dramatic. Do you honestly believe somebody would pretend to be my daughter just because I have a little money?”

He stifled a groan at her definition of multimillions as a “little” money. “Yes, I do believe that.”

Her sigh was audible even over the phone line. “I wish you weren’t so cynical, Tony.”

“I wish you weren’t so trusting.”

“Let’s not argue. I see you so seldom that even our time on the phone is precious to me. Have I told you lately that I miss you?”

“I miss you, too,” he said while he faced the inevitable. He needed to go back to McIntosh to make sure a fraud didn’t worm her way into Sofia’s life. He felt confident he could run off most of the pretenders with a show of bluster. And as a last resort, there was always DNA testing. He took a deep breath, then forced out the words. “In fact, it’s time I paid you a visit.”

Even as he made the declaration, he knew he’d used the wrong word. This wouldn’t be a visit, but an indefinite stay.

His stomach twisted at the thought. He’d worked hard to escape the place where the shadow of his fabulously unsuccessful father hung over him like a dark curtain.

And he’d succeeded. He made a very good living running an online security company featuring a protocol he’d developed to verify the identities of remote users. The company was so successful, the college friend he’d hired to help run the business had been pushing him to expand.

While Tony couldn’t stay away from his Seattle headquarters indefinitely, he’d been itching to take some time to redesign the company’s Web site. And he could run Security Solutions from anywhere as long as he had Internet access. Including McIntosh.

“A visit from you would be lovely.” Sofia paused. “As long as you realize I know you’re coming to McIntosh to keep an eye on me.”

“That doesn’t bother you?”

“If playing watchdog is what it will take to get you here, I can live with it,” she said agreeably.

He talked to his stepmother for another five minutes in which she deftly sidestepped his questions about her finances. She was especially evasive about the local financial planner she’d insisted on hiring instead of the one Tony had found for her in Columbus. One more thing to check up on, he thought.

He reluctantly rejoined Ellen in the living room when he hung up, not looking forward to the coming conversation.

She’d crossed one leg over the other, and her slim gold ankle bracelet glinted in the soft light of the living room. She gazed up at him through expertly made-up lashes. Even though her wineglass was half-full, her pink-tinted lipstick looked fresh.

“Can I top off your glass?” Her musical voice was as perfect as the rest of her. They’d been dating for seven months, ever since she’d approached him at the health club they both used. His initial impression of her, as a woman who went after what she wanted, had turned out to be correct.

“No, thanks. I need to make it an early night.”

Her perfectly shaped eyebrows lifted in question. She had every right to expect that this Saturday night, as countless others before it, would end in his bed. Sundays, they usually spent together.

“Has something happened? Is that why you took so long on the phone?”

He sat down next to her on the buttery-soft leather sofa in front of a fireplace that didn’t blaze and filled her in on his conversation with Sofia, ending with his plan to return to McIntosh.

“Is that really necessary, Tony?” she asked. “Sofia’s forty-one. That’s only fourteen years older than you. She can take care of herself.”

He pressed his lips together, wondering how best to explain. Ellen would understand better if she knew Sofia, but he’d somehow failed to get them together.

“You don’t know her, Ellen. She has a big heart and a trusting nature. Not a good combination for somebody who just came into millions of dollars.”

“But you were just there last month.”

“Last month she hadn’t announced on television that she was looking for her daughter,” he said.

She set her wine goblet on the glass top of his coffee table, then crossed her arms over her chest. “How long will you be gone?”

“Try to understand, Ellen.” He laid a hand on her arm, which felt cool to the touch. “I need to stay as long as Sofia needs me.”

“But I thought you hated McIntosh. Didn’t you tell me that leaving was all you could think about when you lived there?”

Now wasn’t the time to confide that even the three days he’d spent in McIntosh after Sofia won the lottery had been too long. He composed his words carefully. “How I feel about McIntosh and how I feel about my stepmother are different things.”

“So you’re going to let things here slide? What about expanding your company? And the house? At that price, it won’t stay on the market for long.”

He’d forgotten about the sprawling, contemporary house until this moment. It needed a new roof and a new heating system, but its spectacular views of the Puget Sound and the Olympic Mountains made it a bargain.

“There will be other houses,” he said.

She got gracefully to her feet. Her blue eyes locked with his. “In my experience, Tony, if you don’t seize your opportunities when the moment is right, you lose them.”

After she was gone, Tony went into his bedroom, reached into the pocket of his pants and pulled out a small black velvet box. He snapped it open, removed an oval-cut, one-carat diamond ring and held it up to the light so that it sparkled.

He’d been carrying the diamond around for the better part of two weeks, the same length of time he’d kept the champagne in the refrigerator.