The Lottery Winner

Her secret or her second chance? It was her choice

Winning the lottery should have been a dream. Instead, Jessie Martin’s life is transformed into a nightmare. In order to protect herself and her family, she flees to Key West. But in a world where no one can be trusted, even paradise seems like a prison.

Breaking the rules of her seclusion to waitress at a local restaurant, Jessie suspects the owner’s sexy nephew, Logan Nash, knows she’s hiding something. Caught between the truth and lies, Jessie won’t risk anyone discovering who she really is. Even if she’s falling for this one perfect guy...

“What do you want, Logan?”

“I’m just being friendly. Here.”

Logan offered her the bag. Jessie took it. Their fingers bumped. So did her pulse rate.

“Why?”

He laughed—a low rumble of sound. “Are you always suspicious when people are nice to you?”

“You’ve made it clear you don’t like or trust me. So why are you really here?”

“Because Miri’s important to me, and she likes you.”

He tied off the kayak, then climbed onto the dock. His legs were long and tanned and lightly swirled with dark hair. Even his bare feet were sexy.

So he was attractive. Big deal.

That didn’t mean she was attracted to him... Definitely not.

Dear Reader,

Have you ever dreamed of winning the lottery? I think most, if not all, of us have. We believe that a few million dollars will solve all of our problems. When I started reading the real stories of big lottery winners, I learned that isn’t usually the case. Winning the jackpot is, in fact, a curse for most winners. That’s how this story began.

When elementary-school teacher Jessamine wins, her life is turned upside down. She’s forced into hiding and must reevaluate the things that are most important in her life—and those are not the material things she can buy. Then she finds a man she can love, but how can she ever be sure he loves her and not the fortune she’s won?

I hope you enjoy Jessamine’s journey.

Emilie Rose

USA TODAY Bestselling Author

The Lottery Winner

EMILIE

ROSE

www.millsandboon.co.uk

USA TODAY bestselling author and two-time RITA® Award finalist EMILIE ROSE lives in North Carolina with her own romance hero. Writing is her third career. She’s managed a medical office and a home day care—neither offered half as much satisfaction as plotting happy endings. Her hobbies include gardening, fishing, cooking and traveling to find her next book setting. Visit her website, emilierose.com, or email her at EmilieRoseAuthor@aol.com.

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Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

EPILOGUE

Extract

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

JESSAMINE MARTIN TRIED to appreciate the fingers of peach and salmon creeping over the rooftops as she walked along the Key West boardwalk, but she was too busy waiting for the new pay-as-you-go phone in her pocket to vibrate to concentrate on which tints she could blend to attain those specific hues.

She missed her family and work. As noisy and chaotic as teaching art to elementary school kids might be, the routine was normal, comforting. This unrelenting solitude wasn’t. She couldn’t even keep track of what day it was unless she checked her watch. Monday. She used to love Mondays. They represented the beginning of a week doing what she loved. That had changed the day the school board demanded she leave.

She wanted her old life back.

Gulls squawked and waddled away as she passed, and fish churned the waters of Key West Bight, waiting for the tourists who weren’t up yet to buy food pellets from the gumball machines and toss them into the water. After six weeks of walking this stretch, she could identify some of her nonhuman companions as regulars by their size, colors and scars. So sick of her own company and lack of purpose, she was almost desperate enough to talk to them.

The waterfront was quiet at the cusp of dawn. Only fishermen moved about, preparing their charter boats for a day of excitement and adventure, traveling out to the Gulf for fishing or to the Tortugas for diving. Her day would be filled with more of the same monotonous schedule she’d adopted since arriving. She’d read another of the paperbacks she’d picked up at the Key West library or do a little painting or sketching if she could rouse the muse. But even her muse yearned for the stark lines of South Carolina’s rolling hills, bare deciduous trees and thick pines.

The phone buzzed against her hip. She snatched it up so quickly she nearly dropped it as she fumbled to find the right button to answer the unfamiliar device.

“Is everyone okay?” she blurted.

“All good here. How are you, Li’l Bit? Enjoying your vacation?”

She bit her tongue on the automatic impulse to tell her brother for the zillionth time not to call her Li’l Bit and that this was in no way a vacation. But at this point, she didn’t care what Brandon said as long as he called. “Have there been any more...incidents?”

“The extra workers Dad hired and the Cherokee County deputies are keeping an eye on the orchard. And the Gaffney police have units watching your house and Leah’s and the kids’ day care.”

She’d been horrified when her brother told her even her sister’s family was in danger. Jessamine couldn’t live with herself if something happened to her precious niece and nephew.

“Can I come home?”

Silence filled her ear, and she pictured his grimace. Could she blame him? Same question. Different day. “Not yet,” he responded finally. “That dumb redhead with the local news showed up at Mom and Dad’s last night with a camera crew. She noticed that your car’s been in the same spot in the driveway for weeks and suggested the disappearance of the state’s largest lottery winner is due to foul play. She wants permission to search the orchard. She expects to find your body buried under the peach trees.”

Not the answer Jessamine had wanted. “I wish I’d never bought that stupid ticket. I only wanted change for a five.”

“Don’t be a drama queen. Millions of people would kill to be in your shoes. Literally, Jessamine. Remember that. Watch your back. And remember, you wouldn’t be in this predicament if you’d learn to say no instead of giving that mooch money every time she asks.”

Mortification burned her face. Guilty as charged. “I’ve learned my lesson.”

“I hope so, because being a people pleaser will take you down. Seventy percent of lottery winners end up bankrupt or dead within a few years.”

She groaned inwardly. He’d clicked into special agent mode, reciting the overprotective, stern lecture she now knew by heart.

“Brandon, please stop telling me that every time we talk,” she interjected when he paused for breath. “I heard you the first fifty-something times. You’re only contradicting yourself when you tell me to relax and have fun then try to make me scared of my own shadow.”

“I don’t want you to become a statistic.”

“I won’t.”

Okay, so maybe she hadn’t initially believed his warnings that lottery winners and their family members were exponentially more likely to be victims of violent crimes, kidnappings, blackmailing and lawsuits. At first she’d gone about her life as if nothing had changed, blaming his excessive paranoia on his job as a computer crimes investigator with the South Carolina Law Enforcement Division.

Then, after the public announcement of her win, the media storm had hit and her life had exploded. Her back door had been kicked in while she was at work and her house ransacked. Many of her belongings had been stolen. And then her car window had been shattered—twice. One of those times had been the day after she’d gotten it back from the repair shop. Next there was a burglary at her school, specifically of her classroom, which had prompted the school board to demand she take a leave of absence until her presence no longer posed a danger to the students. But the final straw had been when her parents’ house had been broken into while her mother was home alone. At that point her brother and father had “strongly encouraged” Jessamine to take a long vacation for everyone’s safety.

So here she was. Stuck in paradise. And miserable.

“You still lying low?” he asked.

“Even you wouldn’t recognize me.”

“Good. Alternating your routine?”

She winced and studied the hungry seagull easing closer. As much as she liked to experiment artistically, she was a creature of habit. Routines were soothing and comforting, and comfortable was something she hadn’t been since arriving here. So...she might have wavered on that edict a little—which Mr. Rules and Regulations wouldn’t appreciate.

“I’m being very cautious. So, what else is new?” she asked in an effort to divert him.

“Mom enrolled in the concealed-carry class yesterday.”

Yet another piece of normal chipped away. Jessamine sank onto a dew-dampened bench with her back to the hungry fish. Her mother detested guns. And now she was going to carry one. Because of Jessamine. “The burglar really shook her up.”

“Getting out of the shower and finding a strange man going through your bedroom drawers tends to have that effect on people. You, Mom and Leah need to be careful. You and Leah should take the CC class, too.”

That would mean having a gun in her house. She had no problem with firearms. She’d grown up around them. Her father and brother were avid hunters. They’d taught her to shoot a weapon competently and hit a target. But she didn’t need to own a gun. “I don’t want to do that.”

“Leah has agreed to take it with you.”

She rocked her head side to side to ease the tension knotting her neck muscles. “How can me winning the lottery ruin so many lives?”

“Nobody’s life is ruined, kiddo. Your notoriety is a temporary inconvenience. Once it blows over, you’ll be fine. We all will be, with some minor adjustments and a few extra precautions.”

She shooed the inquisitive bird. “How can you be sure?”

“Because Big Brother will be watching. Not just the guys in uniform doing drive-bys, but also with the security systems we’ve installed at the folks’ and your place.”

“Afraid to step outside is no way to live.”

“I hear ya.” He paused. “Jessamine, Dad and I have come to a decision.”

His ultraserious tone and the use of her given name rather than the hated nickname trapped the breath in her lungs. “One I’m not going to like, I gather.”

“Depends on how you look at it. Remember we used a chunk of your first check to rent that house for you for three months? Well, we want you to stay there for the duration. It doesn’t make sense to throw that money away when we’re still working the kinks out of security here.”

Her spine snapped straight. “But you said the only reason to pay for three months was because it was cheaper in the long run than renting week to week.”

“And it was—is. It’s also the only way to guarantee you’d be in the same secure place while you’re away.”

“You said a month. Six weeks at the most. It’s been that. I’ve already missed Thanksgiving.”

“Turkey is turkey. It tastes the same every year. Look, we can’t make you stay, but everyone in the family will sleep easier if you do.”

“But what about Christmas? And Mom’s birthday?”

“Dad’s taking her away somewhere secret for her birthday. He won’t even tell me where. She won’t be home. We’ll have Christmas when you get back, and then we’ll really have something to celebrate.” His radio squawked in the background. “I gotta go. Love you. I’ll check in again tomorrow before my shift.”

And then the phone—her only connection with home—went dead. She lowered her hand and stared at the silent device. Loneliness welled within her.

Christmas was only twenty days away. And her mother’s birthday was three days afterward. She’d never spent either day away from her family. Pressure built in her chest, rising up to clog her throat. She wanted to scream but settled for stomping her feet. The gull got spooked and flew away. She glanced around to make sure no one had witnessed her tantrum.

Everyone dreamed of winning the lottery. It was supposed to be a good thing. For her, it had been a curse. If she could’ve afforded to give away the money, she would have. But she couldn’t. Her parents’ health insurance premiums had risen so drastically in the past year that they’d had to drop coverage, something they couldn’t afford with her dad’s Parkinson’s disease. He needed to stay on his medicines to slow the disease’s progression. Jessamine’s unexpected windfall had allowed her to reinstate their policy and get her father back on his prescriptions. Her new income had also paid for the security systems each house had suddenly required because of her blasted win.

And then there was her job—or lack of one. Would the school board let her return to work when this media thundercloud blew away? She loved teaching and missed her students. But this last round of budget cuts had been hard on the noncore classes, and she’d felt vulnerable even before her temporary dismissal.

She bounded to her feet then, and with leaden steps resumed her route toward Trumbo Road. If she didn’t get moving, she’d start bawling. She’d been exiled from her home and job, cut off from her friends—although she wasn’t sure who the real ones were anymore—and even her church family. She’d attempted to find a church to attend down here, but folks in this surprisingly tight-knit community were too inquisitive of newcomers. After visiting three she’d quit looking and settled into her own Sunday morning routine of sorts. The weeks ahead loomed like an eternity. But she’d get through them. Somehow.

Maybe when she got back to the house she’d paint the Key deer. Again. Or the hibiscus. Again. The coconut palms? A dark swoop crossed her peripheral vision, then a bird splashed down. No. Her miserable mood would be better illustrated by painting the cormorants. A quartet of the prehistoric-looking black birds frequently parked on the end of her dock and spread their drying wings like gargoyles waiting to swoop in and carry her off. And their screeching calls to each other... She shivered despite the sun’s warmth on her skin. The avian squatters creeped her out. She avoided the dock whenever they were present.

She reached the tall white fence marking the end of her route. The restaurant on the other side was quiet now. When she made her rounds again at dusk, the Fisherman’s Widow’s inside and outside tables would be packed. People would be laughing, silverware clinking, and the kitchen would be emitting heavenly scents. She hadn’t risked eating in a restaurant thus far, but she was tired of her own cooking. Maybe she’d order takeout tonight.

And then she connected the dots between her brother’s words and her financial status. She was supposed to be operating on a cash-only basis. Adding another six weeks to her stay put her in a dicey situation. She hadn’t budgeted for three months. She’d replenished her art supplies a couple of times, and in the Keys they had cost double what they did at home. That meant she’d have to be very, very frugal if she wanted to have enough money to cover the rest of her stay. Even then, she’d probably run short. And without access to her accounts, she definitely wouldn’t have money to buy Christmas and birthday gifts.

The irony of being a lottery winner and having her future secured with quarterly checks for practically the rest of her life but being short on actual cash right now didn’t escape her. Her brother had cautioned her not to use a cash machine or credit cards or she might alert someone to her location. She could ask him to send more prepaid debit cards, but he couldn’t access her accounts, either. In his rush to get her out of town, he’d failed to arrange that. He or her parents would have to use their own money to buy the prepaid debit cards until she could pay them back. Not an option she’d take until she was desperate.

So...she admitted with a sigh, no takeout. No matter how tempting. And no more art supplies.

She turned to head back for her car. A muffled cry stopped her. Was it a hurt animal? She listened until she heard it again. The whimper sounded human. She immediately recalled stories of babies discarded in Dumpsters—the restaurant’s was on the other side of that fence. But it hadn’t sounded like a baby. Had it? Undecided, she rocked from her heels to her toes.

She’d worry all day if she didn’t check.

Tamping down her brother’s dire warnings of kidnapping schemes, she clutched the can of pepper spray in her pocket, rounded the wall and approached the garbage container, then cautiously leaned forward to peer inside the open doors. She saw nothing but the dirty metal bottom. Relieved, she exhaled then recalled the trash trucks had been pulling out of the street when she’d arrived. She heard the noise again. It hadn’t come from the smelly green box beside the building after all but from behind the restaurant. Had one of the delivery people fallen? She bit her lip.

Should she check it out or mind her own business? She knew what Brandon would say. Not your problem. Go home. But she couldn’t walk away from someone in need.

As quietly as she could, she inched down the sidewalk past the closed kitchen door to the rear of the building. A woman sat at one of the patio tables with her hands to her face and her chin to her chest. Her short curly hair was a pale shade between blond and silver. Another sob escaped followed by hiccuped breaths.

Compassion compelled Jessamine forward even though caution urged her to retreat. “Ma’am, are you okay?”

The woman gasped and startled, twisting to face Jessamine. She swiped her eyes, revealing a face with enough wrinkles to make it interesting. She was petite and looked to be in her fifties or sixties. “I’m alive. So I guess I’m still in the game. Who are you?”

“Jess—” Had her story reached the Florida Keys? Would she be recognized and hounded here? “Jessie,” she amended, giving the nickname her college roommate had used.

“Hello, Jess—Jessie. I’m Miri. Short for Miriam. You’re new around here, aren’t you?”

Keep it simple. Then leave. “Yes. I heard you crying and wanted to make sure you were okay. Are you hurt?”

“Not physically. But I’ve seen better days. Would you like to join me or are you in a hurry to get to work?”

She should lie and leave. But the thought of going back to the empty house, as nice as it might be, didn’t appeal. “Um...not really.”

“Then pull up a chair. I’ll get you some coffee. My private stash. Good stuff. I don’t share it with just anyone.”

Jessamine searched for the words to politely refuse.

“Please, Jessie. Today’s the anniversary of my husband’s death. I’m feeling sorry for myself. I need better company than my own right now.”

That made two of them sick of their own company. Empathy twined through Jessamine like the flowering vine she’d been named after. She studied Miri’s blotchy cheeks and red-rimmed eyes. How could she say no to a grieving widow? A couple of minutes wouldn’t hurt, would it? “Maybe a quick cup.”

Miri sprang to her feet and rushed into the building, leaving Jessamine open to an ambush of second thoughts. Brandon would needle her for being a people pleaser again.

The woman quickly returned, shouldering her way through the door carrying a coffeepot and an extra mug. “Sit. Please.”

Hoping she wouldn’t regret her decision, Jessamine perched on the edge of the chair.

Miri took her seat then poured the dark brew. “I’m sorry you caught me with my pants down, so to speak. You’d think I’d be used to waking up alone by now.”

Jessamine clutched the mug rather than offer the hug she suspected the woman needed. The rich aroma teased her senses. She took a sip and let the dark brew roll down her throat. She hadn’t bothered making coffee since coming to Florida. It seemed a waste to make a whole pot for one cup. But she immediately decided that would change—starting tomorrow.

“I’m sorry, Miri. How long has he been gone?”

“Three years. I miss that old fart.”

The acidic comment startled a smile from Jessamine.

“You ever been in love, Jess—Jessie?”

Jessamine’s smile fell. She averted her gaze. Her thumb found her bare ring finger. Yet another thing the lottery win had cost her. She would never know if a man loved her or her annuity. “I thought I was once.”

“Then maybe you know how it is. You love ’em. You curse ’em. But Jack was mine. And now he’s not. We fought. And we loved. But we fit. Know what I mean?”

She and Aaron had never disagreed on anything until he’d asked her to choose between him and her family. Not something she wanted to contemplate right now. She gulped coffee and scalded her tongue. “How long were you together?”

“Thirty-five years. Sounds like forever, and yet it passed in the blink of an eye. We met when I came down for spring break during college. The weather was horrible, and the boats were stuck in port. He bought me a drink and asked me to dance. Lord, that man could not dance, but he’d been watching me and knew I loved to. So he tried. It wasn’t pretty,” she added with a sad smile. “By the end of that week I was in love. I didn’t want to go back to finish my senior year, but he insisted. Said if I didn’t come to my senses and still wanted to marry a fisherman after I graduated, he’d be waiting. I came back and he was.”

Why couldn’t she find a love like that? One who put her best interests first? Dark hair blew across her face. Her heart leaped and her breath caught. She spun around to see who’d sneaked up on her, but no one was there. Then she remembered the dye job. Cursing her brother’s horror stories, she exhaled, tucked the strand behind her ear and caught Miri watching her. Jessamine wanted to squirm but reached for her coffee instead.