It’s a baby shower! You’re invited…

For Gwendolyn Tanner, soon-to-be mother of twin baby girls—the subjects of “Who’s the daddy?” speculation.

Gwendolyn is registered at The Mercantile.

If you’d like to join the pool, we’re taking bets on:

Birth Date

Birth Weight

Paternity

Call Sylvia Rutledge, owner of

The Crowning Glory Hair Salon, for more details.

Dear Reader,

What a spectacular lineup of love stories Harlequin American Romance has for you this month as we continue to celebrate our 20th anniversary. Start off with another wonderful title in Cathy Gillen Thacker’s DEVERAUX LEGACY series, Taking Over the Tycoon. Sexy millionaire Connor Templeton is used to getting whatever—whomever—he wants! But has he finally met his match in one beguiling single mother?

Next, Fortune’s Twins by Kara Lennox is the latest installment in the MILLIONAIRE, MONTANA continuity series. In this book, a night of passion leaves a “Main Street Millionaire” expecting twins—and has the whole town wondering “Who’s the daddy?” After catching a bridal bouquet and opening an heirloom hope chest, a shy virgin dreams about asking her secret crush to father the baby she yearns for, in Have Bouquet, Need Boyfriend, part of Rita Herron’s HARTWELL HOPE CHESTS series. And don’t miss Inherited: One Baby! by Laura Marie Altom, in which a handsome bachelor must convince his ex-wife to remarry him in order to keep custody of the adorable orphaned baby left in his care.

Enjoy this month’s offerings, and be sure to return each and every month to Harlequin American Romance!

Melissa Jeglinski

Associate Senior Editor

Harlequin American Romance

Fortune’s Twins

Kara Lennox

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Texas native Kara Lennox has been an art director, typesetter, advertising copywriter, textbook editor and reporter. She’s worked in a boutique, a health club and has conducted telephone surveys. She’s been an antiques dealer and briefly ran a clipping service. But no work has made her happier than writing romance novels.

When Kara isn’t writing, she indulges in an ever-changing array of weird hobbies, from rock climbing to crystal digging. But her mind is never far from her stories. Just about anything can send her running to her computer to jot down a new idea for some future novel.

Books by Kara Lennox

HARLEQUIN AMERICAN ROMANCE

840—VIRGIN PROMISE

856—TWIN EXPECTATIONS

871—TAME AN OLDER MAN

893—BABY BY THE BOOK

917—THE UNLAWFULLY WEDDED PRINCESS

934—VIXEN IN DISGUISE*

942—PLAIN JANE’S PLAN*

951—SASSY CINDERELLA*

974—FORTUNE’S TWINS

Contents

Prologue

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

Prologue

“Oh, no, not again.” Gwendolyn Tanner pulled her smoking casserole from her ancient oven, resisting the urge to let loose the worst curse she knew. This was the third dinner she’d burned this month, and it was all her oven’s fault. The thing tended to malfunction when it got cold outside. Something about the thermostat. And since it was January in Jester, Montana…

Stella Montgomery, one of Gwen’s permanent boarders at the Tanner Boardinghouse, trotted into the kitchen trailing a ball of yarn behind her, her current crochet project clutched in her hand, forgotten for the moment.

“I smell smoke,” Stella announced, sounding worried. “Is something—oh, I see.”

“This darn oven,” Gwen grumbled as she tried to peel the burned top off her macaroni, cheese and sausage casserole. She was a good cook—an excellent cook. Cooking was probably the thing she did best. But this antique of a malfunctioning oven was going to ruin her reputation, and her boarders were going to starve to death. Unfortunately, she didn’t have the money to replace the appliance. Not a lot of people stopped in Jester anymore. The economy in the small town had been in the tank for years. If not for Stella and the other two regulars, Irene Caldwell and Oggie Lewis, Gwen wouldn’t be squeaking by at all.

Still, she didn’t want to do anything else. Tanners had been running this house as a hotel or boardinghouse for more than a hundred years, and she didn’t intend for that tradition to stop with her. Truly she loved her late grandmother’s quaint Victorian house, with its turrets and cubbyholes and twisty staircases, though it was in dire need of repairs.

“I think we can salvage it,” Stella said, diving into the casserole with a fork to pick out the burned bits.

“Some of it will be edible,” Gwen agreed. “With a salad, and German chocolate cake for dessert, we should get by.” She sighed and switched on the portable TV she kept in the kitchen. It was almost seven o’clock, time for the Big Draw. Gwen and several other people in Jester pooled their money and bought a bunch of tickets for the multistate lottery. They’d been doing it for eight years, but they’d never won more than a few dollars.

Still, Gwen did it more for the thrill than anything. It was fun to fantasize about what she would do if she won millions of dollars, or even a few hundred. A dollar a week wasn’t much to pay for a fantasy.

“The jackpot’s up to forty million,” Stella said as she helped Gwen set the kitchen table. Usually they ate in the dining room, but since there would only be three of them tonight, there was no sense being formal. Irene was meeting with her book club, which was hosted by Regina Larson, the mayor’s wife.

“Mmm, forty million,” Gwen said dreamily. “Split twelve ways, but still. The first thing I’d do is buy a new stove.”

“If I became an instant millionaire, I’d get the heck out of Jester,” Stella said with a laugh, her tight blond curls vibrating. “We’ll never find husbands here, honey.”

“I don’t want a husband,” Gwen declared. “I’m happy with things just the way they are.” She’d had to remind herself of that a lot lately. Oh, sure, she’d like a husband, children, a real family. But she didn’t go out much, never went on a date. Heck, she’d grown up with most of the guys in Jester, and she had a hard time thinking of any of them in a romantic way. Some of them weren’t all that bad-looking. Sheriff Luke McNeil was a hunk, and Dev Devlin, who owned the Heartbreaker Saloon, was pretty easy on the eyes. But even if Gwen was interested, she was shy and rather plain, so none of those guys gave her a second look.

“Oh, pshaw,” Stella said. “I’ve had a man, and I’ve been alone, and let me tell you, having a man is better.”

Stella, who was somewhere in her fifties, had never married, but she’d once been engaged. Her fiancé had died, and it was something she didn’t talk about much. But sometimes Gwen sensed a deep sadness behind Stella’s twinkly blue eyes.

Oggie Lewis, one of Gwen’s other boarders, had a crush on Stella. Everyone but Stella knew it. Gwen was often tempted to mention it, but then she would hear her grandmother’s voice: “Stay out of other people’s business, and you’ll never make enemies.”

“Oh, here comes the draw,” Gwen said, glad to have an excuse to change the subject. She turned up the volume on the TV.

The announcer drew out a Ping-Pong ball from the hopper. “Tonight’s first number is…ten. Ten.”

“Hey, that’s one of your numbers,” Stella said, checking the list Gwen kept on the fridge.

“The second number is…twelve. That’s twelve.”

“All right, another one!” Stella squealed.

Gwen felt an irrational bloom of excitement growing. One more number, and they could win five dollars. That was, what, forty cents apiece? That thought brought her back to earth.

“The third number is…twenty. Twenty.”

“That’s three!” Now Gwen really was getting a little excited. The first three numbers were matches. That had never happened before.

In what seemed like slow motion, the announcer called another number, then another. Each one was a match for Gwen’s numbers. She reached out and grabbed Stella’s hand. “This can’t be real,” she murmured.

Then the announcer reached into the hopper for the sixth and final number.

“Three,” Gwen and Stella murmured together. “Three, three, three.”

“The sixth and final number is…three.”

Both women screamed. All six numbers were displayed on the screen for a few seconds. Gwen quickly compared them against her list, just to be sure.

She’d won the lottery. She and her friends.

Moments later, she heard screaming and whooping out in the street. Apparently she wasn’t the only one who’d been watching the draw.

Gwen turned to Stella and hugged her. “I’m rich!”

“You’re rich!” Stella agreed.

“What should I do now?”

“Let’s go out in the street and celebrate! Sounds like everyone else is.”

“Okay!”

As they ran through the house, grabbing coats and scarves, whooping and hollering like children, Oggie Lewis rushed downstairs to see what the commotion was about. Oggie, also in his fifties, was the vice principal at Jester High School. He was always dignified and nattily dressed. But when Stella shouted out the good news, he gave a little whoop of his own and ran out the front door without even a jacket—and it was snowing!

The Tanner Boardinghouse was on the corner of Main and Ashland Avenue. On Main Street, dozens of people were running around shouting, hugging each other, dancing, throwing things in the air. It seemed the whole town had gone crazy! But it was a nice crazy, Gwen mused giddily.

Jester had had little to celebrate in recent years. Some businesses, like the car repair shop around the corner from Gwen, had shut down, and others were hanging on by a spiderweb. Forty million dollars injected into the Jester economy would help not just the lottery winners themselves, but the whole town.

“Gwen, Gwen!” Gwen’s best friend, Sylvia Rutledge, was running toward her, slipping and sliding on the snowy street. “We won!”

“I know,” Gwen said, laughing as she hugged her friend.

“And it was your numbers. You’re our lucky charm!”

“I know!”

Moments later, everybody was hugging Gwen. She was not used to so much attention, and she could feel her face heating from embarrassment and excitement.

“I can pay off my mortgage!” shouted Shelly Dupree, who owned The Brimming Cup, the only coffee shop in town. Gwen had heard that the petite brunette was in danger of losing her little café, left to her by her parents.

Only one person in the street wasn’t celebrating. Wyla Thorne, who normally was one of the regulars in the lottery group, had decided not to buy a ticket last week. She’d said she was tired of throwing her money down a hole, and Jack Hartman, the town’s veterinarian, had been recruited in her place. Now the pencil-thin redhead leaned against the old horse trough in front of the Heartbreaker Saloon, arms folded, a sour expression on her already pinched face.

“Oh, poor Wyla,” said Stella, who was the only person in town Wyla could truly claim as a friend. “What a terrible week for her to quit the lottery.”

“I should say something to her,” Gwen said. “But what?”

“Oh, leave her alone,” said Sylvia. “She’ll get over it, eventually. After we’ve all heard how unfair it is, about a million times.”

Gwen was afraid Sylvia was right. Wyla did tend to feel sorry for herself a lot, though her last divorce had netted her a very profitable pig farm. She was about the only person in town who really didn’t need the lottery proceeds.

“C’mon,” Sylvia said, dragging Gwen by the arm. “We’re gonna celebrate. It’s not every day we become millionaires.”

“Celebrate?” The idea was a bit foreign to Gwen. “How?”

“The Wild Mustang has Wet T-Shirt Night on Tuesdays.”

“Oh, right.” Gwen decided Sylvia’s good fortune had caused a few screws to come loose in her head.

“I’m not suggesting we participate,” Sylvia said. “But the place will be full of cowboys. And you know how I like cowboys.”

Boy, did she. Sylvia was probably the most stylish person in Jester. She owned The Crowning Glory Hair Salon, and she was always attending hairstyling conventions in exotic places like Denver and Seattle, returning with the latest cuts—and the latest story of her exploits with the opposite sex. If she could hook up with a cowboy, that much better.

“Oh, come on,” Sylvia urged. “I’ll drive.”

“It’s forty miles to Roan.” Roan, North Dakota, was where The Wild Mustang was located.

“Exactly. If we go wild and make fools of ourselves, no one in Jester will ever hear about it.”

Gwen was ashamed to admit she was tempted. She felt wild, free, actually light-headed from the shock of her sudden good fortune.

“You should go!” Stella urged her. “I’ll make sure Oggie and Irene get fed. Honey, you hardly ever leave that house except to go to The Mercantile and the Stop ’n Shop. Once in a while, you’re entitled to kick up your heels and have some fun!”

“You know, Stella, you’re right.”

Sylvia clapped her hands in childlike excitement. “Go put on your sexiest clothes and tease up your hair. We’re going dancing!”

Dancing! Gwen thought as she threw on a pair of tight jeans and a red blouse with a ruffly, low-cut neckline. She was a millionaire, and tonight she was going to party, party, party.

Damn the consequences!

Chapter One

Consequences.

Seven months after her lottery win, Gwen was certainly awash in the consequences of her wild night on the town. Her obstetrician had just given her the startling news. She wasn’t just pregnant, she was carrying twins.

Dr. Sanders, an older, white-haired obstetrician who practiced in Pine Run, a larger town a few miles southwest of Jester, grinned broadly.

“Is something funny?” Gwen snapped. She wasn’t normally a moody person, but her hormones were running amok these days.

“I’m sorry, Gwendolyn,” he said. “It’s just that, when you get caught, you really get caught.”

Wasn’t that the truth. She’d spent her life living by her grandmother’s rules. Always sit up straight, eat your vegetables, wear clean underwear in case you’re in an accident and never follow a man to his hotel room.

One little indiscretion—one!—and she was about to be a single mother with twins.

“I wouldn’t smile at your expense,” Dr. Sanders said, “except I know you’re secretly delighted.”

“In shock, more like it. I guess I should have known there was more than one baby in there.” She patted her stomach, which was so swollen it made her look like she was near term, though she had two months of her pregnancy to go. Then she found her own smile. “But you’re right. I was raised an only child, and I always wanted a brother or sister. My children will have each other.” She paused. “But couldn’t you have figured this out a couple of months ago when I bought all the stuff for the nursery?”

Dr. Sanders shrugged. “You wouldn’t come in for a sonogram.”

Again, he was right. She’d been trying to hide her unplanned pregnancy from her friends and neighbors for as long as possible—and that meant she couldn’t make too many unexplained trips to Pine Run. But as she’d grown bigger and bigger, she’d realized she was being foolish. It wasn’t as if she could hide the pregnancy forever. A couple of months ago, when she’d been delivering some baked goods to the Ex-Libris bookstore owned by her friend Amanda Bradley Devlin, Wyla Thorne had made some nasty comment about Gwen’s weight, and Gwen had spilled the news.

The whole town had been shocked. She’d always been the good girl, the shy one, who followed the rules and never made waves. To suddenly become a single mother was like a tsunami.

As she drove back to Jester in her ice-blue Mercedes—one of her many indulgences since she’d received her lottery winnings—the news finally sank in.

Twins. Two children. What fun. But also, what a challenge for a single mother. Not for the first time, she wished she had a husband with whom to share the joys and fears of parenthood. But she could not find Garrett, the sexy hunk she’d met at The Wild Mustang that cold January night. She’d left him her phone number, but he hadn’t called. And she didn’t know his last name or where he lived.

As she drove the familiar Route 2 toward Jester, she couldn’t stop her thoughts from migrating back to that wonderful, magical night when she and the other Main Street Millionaires—that was what the press had dubbed them—had won the lottery. She’d been riding high, floating in a surreal cloud of joy and optimism. She and Sylvia mentally spent their winnings a hundred times over on that snowy drive to Roan, North Dakota, though Gwen had put most of her money in blue-chip stocks and bonds for the future.

When they’d arrived at The Mustang, the place was rocking. As Sylvia had predicted, drunk cowboys were in abundance, and the moment they walked through the door, they had more drink offers and dance invitations than they could handle.

Gwen wasn’t that big on cowboys, drunk or otherwise. Her father, whom she’d never met, had tricked her mother into marriage by pretending to be a prosperous Montana rancher. Her mother didn’t find out the truth until too late. Willie Tanner was a con man and worse, and his “ranch” was a broken-down pig farm, heavily in debt. After eloping with Gwen’s mother, who’d been a minor heiress from Billings, he’d wasted no time cleaning out her bank accounts to pay off some rather nasty creditors—the kind who favored cement overcoats—then disappeared, leaving Gwen’s mother destitute, stranded, estranged from her family, and pregnant. She’d died shortly after Gwen’s birth.

Gwen’s paternal grandmother, Abigail Tanner, had taken in Gwen as an infant. Though she’d long ago turned her back on her no-account son, she’d willingly, lovingly, raised his daughter. One thing Grandmother had drilled into Gwen’s head was not to let any smooth-talking men talk her out of her better judgment—or her bloomers.

“What did I tell you?” Sylvia asked as she sat down to sip her beer, taking a break from the dance floor. “Wall-to-wall cowboys. Are you having fun?”

“Yeah, actually, I am.” She’d received more attention from men that night than she had in her whole life. It might have been the sexy clothes or the dark red lipstick. Or it might have been her attitude. For once in her life she felt strong, confident, powerful. She could do anything!

“You haven’t been dancing,” Sylvia pointed out.

“Dancing’s not really my thing. But I love watching. And I’ve got enough free booze to last a month.” Several eager bucks had sent drinks to Gwen’s table, but she was still nursing the same Shirley Temple she’d started with. She’d volunteered to be the evening’s designated driver.

Sylvia sighed. “What am I going to do with you? Listen, I’ve found a live one, and we want to get out of here. I’ll give you my keys, and you can drive my car home. I’ll get a room at the hotel later and find my way home in the morning.”

Gwen gasped. “You’re leaving with a complete stranger?”

“We aren’t strangers anymore.” Sylvia winked.

Far be it from Gwen to rain on Sylvia’s parade. “All right. But please, be careful.”

“I will. And you—try not being so careful for a change, huh? If you can’t find a guy in this smorgasbord, you’re doomed to a life of spinsterhood.”

That word echoed in Gwen’s mind for a long time. She wasn’t a spinster. That was a stupid word, anyway. She chose to be single.

Didn’t she?

Just then, she spotted a very good-looking man a few tables away. He wasn’t a cowboy, either. In fact, he might as well have been wearing a sign that said, “city boy.” His black hair was short, expertly cut. In his khaki slacks and tailored shirt, he looked more like a businessman of some sort. And, like her, he was on the sidelines, watching the action rather than participating. He appeared to be alone, too.

“Spinster,” Gwen muttered. “I’ll show her spinster.” With a determined toss of her head, she stood, picked up the watery Shirley Temple, and strode to his table.

He glanced over at her as she approached, and she could see that his eyes were blue, a deep, intense hue that seemed to see straight to her core. Her heart jumped unexpectedly.

No turning back now. “Hello. Mind if I sit here?” Her voice sounded like it could have been someone else’s. Where had that B-movie dialogue come from?

He stood and pulled out the chair next to him. “Please.”

She sat down, acutely aware of the man just a few inches from her now. She could feel his body heat, smell a faint whiff of his aftershave.

“I’ve been watching you,” he said. “You’re not comfortable here, are you?”

“It was my friend Sylvia’s idea. We’re celebrating.”

“Celebrating what?”

“A windfall.” She didn’t elaborate. People with money made easy targets. Her mother’s experience had taught her that. “This isn’t your favorite place, either.”

“I was just about to leave.”

“Oh.”

“But now I won’t. Want to dance?”

Adrenaline shot through her. This gorgeous guy was actually responding to her flirtation! “I’d love to.”

Gwen was a terrible dancer, so she was relieved when a slow country song came on as she and her new acquaintance hit the dance floor. Slow dancing didn’t require much skill. She just had to put her arms around the guy and rock slowly back and forth.

His muscles were hard beneath his crisp shirt, and he smelled of soap and starch and that alluring scent of expensive aftershave. Gwen was half in love with him before the song ended.

They kissed after the second slow dance. He tasted faintly of scotch, she remembered. Then he took her to his hotel. He had a suite at the Ramada, one of only two hotels in Roan.

Gwen had never behaved like this, but this night, it felt perfectly natural. They shared few words. Talking didn’t seem to be necessary. She’d connected with Garrett—that was his name—on some elemental level. She wasn’t at all embarrassed when he took her clothes off. Though she was slender, she’d always thought her breasts were too small. But the way Garrett kissed and caressed them, he made her feel they were the most perfect breasts in the world.

All of her felt perfect. She wasn’t a sophisticated lover, but with Garrett she’d felt skillful, confident, sexy. Everything she did was right. Everything he did was perfect.

Gwen wasn’t a virgin. She’d had a brief, secret relationship with a man staying at the boardinghouse one summer when she was nineteen. It was shortly after her grandmother had died, and she’d been struggling with the boardinghouse and desperate for an intimate connection. Instead the experience had turned out painful and awkward. Sex with Garrett, on the other hand, was like dancing a perfect ballet. And for the first time in her life, a man’s caresses had brought her to the pinnacle of pleasure.

They’d slept curled in each other’s arms. In the morning, he’d scrubbed her back in the shower and combed the tangles out of her hair with painstaking gentleness. Then he’d fed her a sumptuous room-service breakfast. But with daylight came harsh reality. She had to get home. Sylvia would want her car back, her boarders would want breakfast. Worst of all, there would be embarrassing questions to answer if she didn’t get home soon.

She’d used Garrett’s elegant fountain pen to scribble her name and phone number on a piece of hotel stationery. Then, with one final, searing kiss goodbye, she’d left him.

He hadn’t called. He’d promised. Then he’d forgotten her.

She’d cried on Sylvia’s shoulders for days. Then she’d found out she was pregnant, and she’d cried for another week. She’d tried to locate Garrett to tell him of his impending fatherhood. But all she had was a first name. He’d told her little about himself, so she had nothing to go on.

Gradually she’d pulled herself together and started planning her future. At least she had plenty of money to raise her child—children, she corrected herself. Two girls, according to the sonogram. She’d furnished the nursery with a fanatical eye for detail, started a trust fund for a college education, drawn up her will. She’d thought of everything.

Except the possibility of twins.

She wanted to share the news with Sylvia, the only person who knew the true circumstances of how she’d gotten pregnant. But Sylvia was in Billings, arranging for the delivery of some fancy new sinks—purple ones—for her salon. Gwen decided she would stop in The Brimming Cup and have some herbal tea. Shelly, who had recently married Dr. Connor O’Rourke, was pregnant, too, and the two mothers-to-be liked to compare notes.

As she made this decision, a vintage Jaguar passed on her left. Wow, nice car. Maybe she should have gotten one of those, instead of the more practical Mercedes.

She glanced down at her speedometer and realized she was only driving forty-five. No wonder the guy had passed her. All that reminiscing had distracted her from her driving. Vowing to be more alert, she pressed on the gas.

JESTER, MONTANA. Eli Garrett had never thought to look for Gwen here. And he’d definitely been looking. Though he was no monk, he’d never had a passionate night like the one he’d shared with delicate, auburn-haired Gwen. In that bar full of cheap perfume and teased hair, she’d seemed so fresh, like a daisy among overblown roses. The fact she couldn’t dance had endeared her to him. Her natural shyness, which she attempted to overcome, was the most charming quality he’d ever seen in a woman. He’d become almost obsessed with her. Any time his car restoration business took him to towns within a hundred miles of North Dakota, he asked around about her. But the woman had vanished like a wisp of smoke.

It would have been much simpler if he’d simply called the number she’d left for him. Unfortunately, he’d managed to spill his room-service coffee all over the sheet of stationery she’d written on. The blue ink had run in a hundred different directions, and no amount of blotting or cursing would bring it back. He’d even hired a documents expert to examine the paper—that was how desperate he was. But no luck.

Just when he’d begun to resign himself to the fact that the most intriguing woman he’d ever met was out of his reach forever, a stroke of luck had brought her to his attention. He’d been picking up a 1928 Nash Coupe some rancher had found in a barn, covered with hay, just outside of Denver where Eli lived. The rancher’s wife had insisted Eli come inside for some lemonade, since it was ninety degrees outside, almost unheard of high in the Rockies, even in mid-August. There, on her kitchen counter, a photo on the front page of a newspaper had jumped out at him.

It was Gwen. No doubt about it. Her face had invaded his dreams so many nights it was etched into his brain.

“Main Street Millionaires have a new reason to celebrate,” the photo caption read. The photo depicted an attractive couple, identified as Sam and Ruby Cade, who had apparently thrown a party when they’d reconciled their marriage. Gwen was off to the side of the photo, holding a huge cake.

And she was pregnant.

For a few moments, all Eli could do was stare. Was she married, then? Or…mentally he counted back the months. Was it possible the child was his?

“Can you believe that?” the rancher’s wife said when she noticed Eli’s interest in the photo. “Every time one of those Main Street Millionaires moves a muscle, somebody has to plaster the news on the front page. I mean, who cares?”

Apparently a lot of people did. When a small, hardscrabble town in Montana suddenly had more millionaires per capita than any town in the U.S., it was news, and the lottery win in Jester had captured the fancy of the whole country. Though Eli hadn’t followed the story, he’d still heard about it.

Now he wished he’d paid more attention. His search for Gwen could have been shortened considerably. No wonder she’d been celebrating the night they’d met.

“My cousin sent me that paper,” the rancher’s wife said. “It’s a few weeks old. He—my cousin, that is—invested in some hotel development scheme in Jester. Seems the mayor there is trying to turn the town into a tourist attraction. But they can’t find any land to build the hotel on, so the whole deal’s probably awash.”

Eli was hardly listening. He gulped down his lemonade, said his goodbyes, and jumped into his tow truck. Once he had the Nash safely tucked into one of his garage bays, he climbed into his silver 1960 Jaguar and headed for Jester, Montana. His GPS gave him the driving instructions.

Now that he was in Jester, he didn’t know quite where to start. It was certainly a quaint town. A bit rundown, but here and there were signs of economic recovery. A shiny new Cadillac was parked in front of a general store, called simply The Mercantile. The hardware store was getting a face-lift. And a bronze statue of a bucking horse, in front of the Jester Town Hall, gleamed with a recent polishing.

In a town this size, all he needed to do was ask anyone about Gwen, and someone would enlighten him. Where to ask—the barbershop? Several older men sat outside Kenning’s Barbershop, shooting the breeze.

Then Eli saw an inviting coffee shop, The Brimming Cup. Perfect. He hadn’t had lunch. And now that he was so close to finding Gwen, he was curiously hesitant. What would he do if she was married? Or what if he was about to become a father? He hadn’t thought through what he would say.

Or how he would feel.

A bell above the door announced Eli’s entrance into the large, airy diner. The place had a ’50s feel to it, with a long Formica, chrome-trimmed counter and stools topped with light blue vinyl. An old Wurlitzer jukebox in the corner appeared to be operational, though currently it was silent.

A pretty young woman with sleek, chin-length brown hair smiled at him from behind the counter. “Sit anywhere you like. You just missed the lunch rush, so the place is all yours.”

He was, indeed, the only customer. He chose one of the four booths that faced the front windows and perused a laminated menu that had been stuck behind the salt-and-pepper shakers.

As the waitress emerged from behind the counter, Eli could see that she was pregnant. Jeez, was it something in the Jester water supply? She set a glass of water, a napkin and some silverware on the table.

“Know what you want?”

“A hamburger, please, lettuce and tomato only. And a cup of decaf.” Normally he liked his caffeine, but he was already wired.

The waitress scribbled on her pad. “Be right up.”

He’d just taken his first sip of the coffee, which was surprisingly good, when the bell over the door rang. Eli looked up, curious to see who might be joining him, when he almost choked on his coffee.

It was Gwen! If this wasn’t fate stepping in, he didn’t know what was.

“Hi, Shelly,” she said with what could only be described as a weary smile. “I could sure use a lemonade and a slice of lemon meringue pie.” She sat at a table a short distance from him, but she didn’t seem to notice him there, which gave him the opportunity to study her more thoroughly.

She was still pregnant—even bigger than she’d been in the newspaper photo. But rather than detracting from her beauty, her swollen belly made her even prettier. She looked earthier, more womanly, less fragile than he remembered. Though it was a cliché, he couldn’t help thinking that she glowed.

She wore a simple, peach-colored maternity dress and leather sandals, and her magnificent hair was pulled back in a bun. Nothing about her screamed “millionaire.”

No jewelry—not even a wedding ring, he noted with interest. But he knew that sometimes women’s hands swelled when they were pregnant, so the absence of a ring didn’t mean anything.

He should go over to her table, talk to her. But suddenly he was scared. He didn’t want to find out she was married, or involved with some other man. But then, was the alternative any more palatable? Was he ready to discover the child she carried was his?

The waitress, whom Gwen had called Shelly, reappeared with a cold drink and a slice of pie for Gwen. “I wish I could eat like you do,” Shelley said wistfully. “I just found out I’m borderline diabetic, so no sugar.”

Gwen looked concerned. “Shelly, are you okay?”

“It’s not a big deal. Lots of women become diabetic during pregnancy. It just means I have to be careful. But one thing I was looking forward to was eating for two—with no penalty.”

“No penalty? I’m as big as a horse.”

“You’ll lose it all once you have the baby.”

Gwen glanced nervously in Eli’s direction. He quickly hid behind the menu, wanting to eavesdrop some more. He’d never thought women discussing their pregnancies was particularly interesting—until now.

Peeking over the menu, Eli watched as Gwen motioned for Shelly to sit down. The two women had a whispered conversation. Shelly gasped at whatever Gwen told her, then grinned with delight.

“That is so cool! Wait ’til everyone hears!”

“Don’t tell anyone yet, huh, Shelly? You know it’ll get to the media, and I’m so sick of reporters. Frankly, I can’t imagine why the press is still interested in the Main Street Millionaires.”

“At least they’re not staying at your boardinghouse anymore.”

“Thank goodness. That Harvey Brinkman from the Plain Talker was a real pig.”

“I sure wish I knew who it is that’s leaking private information to the press,” Shelly said. “I’d wring their neck.”

Eli decided he’d skulked behind his menu long enough. He still didn’t know what he would say to Gwen. He supposed he would just wing it.

“Order up!” a gruff voice called from the kitchen. Shelly hopped up to get it. At the same time, Eli stood and walked determinedly across the diner to Gwen’s table. “Mind if I sit here?” he asked, using the same exact line she’d used on him at The Wild Mustang.

Gwen looked up and promptly choked on her lemonade. “Garrett!”

“Eli,” he corrected her. “Eli Garrett. Are you okay?”

She gave one final cough. “Yes, I’m fine.”

“Can I sit down?”

Gwen cast a worried glance toward Shelly, who was fast approaching with Eli’s burger, a questioning look on her face.

“Yes, sit.” Her face looked alarmingly pale. “Shelly, this is a…an old friend of mine, Eli Garrett. Eli, this is Shelly O’Rourke. She owns The Brimming Cup.”

Eli murmured a pleasantry, as did Shelly, who set his hamburger on Gwen’s table. “Shall I bring over your coffee?” she asked Eli.

Gwen looked uncomfortable with the situation, but Eli wasn’t about to back off. He had to talk to her. “Yes,” he answered Shelly. “Please.”

As soon as Shelly had brought his coffee mug and left them alone, Gwen wasted no time starting the conversation. “You pick a fine time to show up. Seven months and not a word.”

“I’m sorry about that. I tried to find you.”

“How hard could it have been? I left my phone number.”

“I spilled coffee on it. The ink ran everywhere, and when I was done cleaning up the mess, there was no sign of your number. I asked everybody in Roan if they knew you. You’d said something about a boardinghouse, so I looked up every boardinghouse in North Dakota trying to find you.”

“So is this just a happy coincidence?”

“Sort of. I saw your picture in a newspaper.”

“Ah. I see.” If her spring-green eyes had looked wary before, now they appeared downright hostile. Apparently she didn’t believe him.

“I wanted to see you again,” he said. “Honestly. You’ll never know how much. We had the start of something good and—” He took a sip of coffee and forged ahead. “Look, before I go on and make a jerk of myself, I just have to ask you one thing. Are you married?”

“No.” She avoided his gaze.

“Then…is it mine?”

Gwen looked around worriedly and lowered her voice to a whisper. “We do need to talk, but not here. Can you meet me at the Tanner Boardinghouse in a few minutes? We can have some privacy there.”

He took that as an affirmative answer to his question. His stomach swooped. He was going to be a father. He felt strangely elated at the news.

Ironic, given his origins.

“The boardinghouse is on the corner of Main and Ashland—or, rather, Main and Lottery Lane. Mayor Larson has changed some of our street names.”

“I’ll see you there, then.”

She started to get up, but he stopped her. “Gwen?”

“Yes?”

“You look really fantastic. That dress is a very nice color on you.”

“Oh. Thank you.” Again, she wouldn’t meet his eyes. This time she made good her escape, not even paying for her pie and lemonade.

Eli took a bite of his hamburger, but found he had no more appetite for it. He took his check to the register, where Shelly rang him up. “I’ll pay for Gwen’s bill, too,” he said. “She seems to have forgotten.”

Shelly’s expression was distinctly unfriendly. “Don’t worry about it. Gwen can eat here on the house any time she wants. Folks in Jester look after each other.”

Her message was clear. He’d better not do anything to hurt Gwen. But maybe it was too late for that. He’d gotten her pregnant, then abandoned her. How much more hurtful could it get?

Chapter Two

Though it was only a couple of blocks between The Brimming Cup and the boardinghouse, Gwen drove her car. She didn’t walk anywhere these days, except for the mandatory thirty minutes she walked every morning when it was still cool, ordered by her doctor. Now it was pushing ninety degrees, and Gwen felt limp as the faded Montana flag that hung in front of the Jester town hall.

Why, of all times, did Eli have to show up now? Just when she’d gotten used to the idea she would never see him again, he waltzes back into her life, twice as sexy as she remembered.

And she was bucking for a prize for best imitation of a water buffalo.

She might have been prepared to believe his story about the smeared ink and his frantic, months-long search for her. Down deep she was a romantic, and he wouldn’t have had difficulty convincing her he was smitten. But then he’d revealed how he’d found her. He’d seen her picture in the paper, which meant he knew she was worth over a million dollars.

He’d capped it all off by telling her she looked good. If she’d been skeptical at first, that comment had sealed Eli Garrett’s fate. There was only one adjective to describe her—huge. Fantastic was way out of the ballpark.

She pulled her Mercedes into the carriage house. She still wasn’t up to facing Eli. She wished she could have told him to go away and come back next week, when she would be better prepared. But her grandmother hadn’t raised her to be rude. He’d come all this way, and she supposed she owed it to him to find out what he wanted.

You know what he wants, her grandmother’s voice rang inside her head. A million dollars can make any woman beautiful.

She climbed the front porch steps of her frilly Victorian house, glad she’d asked Eli to meet her here on her home turf. She was queen here at the Tanner Boardinghouse. She felt her strongest here, where her grandmother’s memory was a constant, comforting presence.

She started to open the front door, then hesitated. At least a breeze was blowing across the front porch. Inside it would be stuffy. She’d already hired a company from Pine Run to put central air into her house, but they were backed up and hadn’t yet started the job.

She decided she would meet Eli here on the porch. Relieved not to have to walk one step farther, she sank into a delicate white-wicker rocker and waited for Eli, rehearsing what she would say to him.

She would be firm, businesslike and unemotional, she coached herself. She would be appreciative of his interest in her, but insist that he need not trouble himself. She had gotten on with her life, she would say, and he probably should get on with his and not give her another thought.

No doubt he’d figured out that the offspring in her belly was his. She hadn’t denied it. But once she made it clear she wouldn’t be easy pickings—and neither would her bank account—he probably wouldn’t be thrilled by his impending fatherhood.

She intended to give him an easy out.

Less than five minutes after she’d sat down, she spotted Eli walking toward her down Main Street, and her mouth went dry. Even from a distance, he was just about the most handsome man Gwen had seen. He had a loose-limbed walk, not brisk but not ambling, either. Like he had somewhere to go but he was going to enjoy getting there.

He smiled at the guys in front of the barbershop, then stopped to pet Buck, the stray shepherd mix Jack Hartman and his wife, Melinda, had adopted. Buck had his head stuck out the window of Melinda’s green-and-white Dually, which was parked outside the hardware store.

Everyone stared at Eli without trying to look like they were staring. Before the lottery win, few strangers crossed Jester’s town limits. Now all kinds of people came to get a look at the so-called richest town in America, and not all of them were harmless. A few months ago, Amanda had been accosted by a drunk drifter outside The Heartbreaker Saloon.

Eli crossed the street and mounted the steps to Gwen’s house.

Gwen gave him a little wave. “I hope you don’t mind if I don’t get up.”

“Please, don’t.” He sat gingerly on another wicker chair. His imposing height and muscular body challenged the delicate piece of furniture, but it held him. He took in Gwen’s view of the park.

“Nice town you have here.”

“It’s special,” she agreed. “I’ve lived here all my life. Even in hard times, when the boardinghouse was barely squeaking by, I never considered leaving.”

“I’ve never lived outside of Denver. I always thought I’d be bored in a small town.”

“Probably not this one,” she said. “Not lately, anyway.”

“I guess the lottery has brought some pretty big changes.”

“You could say that.” In fact, it was an understatement. “The whole town has gone crazy. First, we were inundated with nosy reporters. Then our mayor, Bobby Larson, tried to turn Jester into a tourist attraction. He wants to build a hotel on the park property. Can you imagine?”

“I heard something about that—just this morning. One of my customers knows someone who actually invested in the hotel.”

Gwen gasped. “How can Bobby solicit investors for a hotel that doesn’t exist?”

Eli shrugged. “Sounds like your mayor is involved in some shady dealings.”

Gwen sighed. “If Bobby manages to push this project through, it’ll ruin my view. Then there’s the noise, the traffic—shoot, maybe I should sell after all.”

Eli looked horrified. “Sell this beautiful old house?”

She shook her head. “No, I wouldn’t really do that. But someone’s been trying to buy it from me. Over the past few months I’ve received several anonymous offers, each higher than the last.”

“This is a great house,” Eli said, looking around. “You’ve restored it beautifully.”

“You should have seen it last year. It looked more like that one next door.” She nodded toward her neighbor’s house. Another enormous Victorian, it was all but falling down. Her neighbor, an elderly widow, had moved out a couple of years ago to live with her children in Florida. The house had been on the market, but no one had bought it, and it continued to deteriorate. “But I guess you didn’t come all the way to Jester so we could talk about house restoration.”

“No.” He cleared his throat. “Gwen, the baby is mine, isn’t it?”

“Well…” She swallowed, her throat suddenly thick. “Okay, Eli, I’ll give it to you straight. I don’t know who the father is. I had a rather…wild winter. I guess I went crazy along with everybody else.”

“I see.” He didn’t look particularly relieved over her lie. “You could find out the father’s identity. DNA testing has become fairly routine for that sort of thing.”

“I’m not the messy-paternity-suit type. Anyway, what end would that serve? Make some guy feel guilty and resentful, give him a responsibility he doesn’t want? I don’t want any child of mine to have to deal with a less-than-committed father.”

“I see,” Eli said again. His words were soft, but his nostrils flared.

Gwen didn’t understand this at all. She was giving him an out, an escape hatch. Didn’t he realize that?

“I didn’t mean to get pregnant,” Gwen said, “but now that I am, I’m very happy about it. I have plenty of money to raise a child alone, so that’s not an issue. I’m prepared to move on with my life, and I certainly don’t want to tie myself and my offspring to some guy I met in a bar. Or wherever,” she added quickly.

“I see.”

“Stop saying that. I get the feeling you don’t see at all. Why should a man have to pay the rest of his life for one passion-induced moment of insanity in a hotel room—or wherever?”

“Why should a woman?” he countered.

“But I want a baby,” she said.

“Maybe the guy wants a baby, too. You won’t know ’til you ask him.”

“How can I ask him if I don’t know who he is?”

“You can find out.”

“We’re talking in circles.”

Eli stood and walked over to the railing. “How many…candidates are we talking about?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” she said breezily. “I wasn’t keeping count.”

He watched her through narrowed eyes. Well, great. Now Eli thought she was a slut.

“And are any of these guys still on the scene?” he asked, sounding like a prosecuting attorney browbeating a defendant.

“Oh, heavens no. None of them were from Jester.”

“I s—I understand.”

“Then you understand you’re under absolutely no obligation to me. You’re free to leave, and you’ll never hear from me again.”

He turned suddenly fierce. “Maybe I don’t owe you anything. But I don’t make it a habit to litter the countryside with my illegitimate children. So until the baby’s born and you can do a DNA test, you’re stuck with me.”

Oh, dear. This wasn’t working out at all as Gwen had planned. She thought Eli would be relieved to be given his walking papers. Certainly her father hadn’t cared to stick around long enough to see his child born, and her parents had been married.

“All right,” Gwen said. “If you leave me your number, I’ll call you when the babies are born.”

Eli’s face paled. “Babies? As in, plural?”

“Twins. I just found out.”

One corner of his sexy mouth turned up in a half grin. “Well, I’ll be damned.” But the smile quickly faded. “I don’t think I trust you to call me.”

“You know where to find me. Due date’s October tenth. Um, Eli, suppose you are the father. What did you have in mind?” She had a strong feeling his plans didn’t include paying child support.

“A wedding, of course.” He tipped an imaginary hat. “I’ll be seeing you.”

Gwen just stared, her mouth gaping open, as he stood and walked across her porch, down the steps and out onto the sidewalk. She watched as he walked down Main Street and climbed into his car—the classic Jaguar that had passed her on the highway earlier.

A wedding, huh? Very noble of him. For a few moments, she let herself think about that. White lace—well, maybe not white, she amended—and promises, just like the old song. Her friends around her. Cake and champagne, the bride and groom dancing. His Jaguar, painted with shoe-polish quips about the wedding night.

A honeymoon…the best part.

She sighed. That was some far-out fantasy. She might be willing to marry Eli Garrett. But the moment she mentioned the prenuptial agreement she would require, he would probably run for the hills. A prenup might seem cold, but she wasn’t going to make the same mistake her mother did.

AS HE DROVE back to Denver, Eli tried not to be angry with Gwen. But he was, dammit. She’d been trying to get rid of him, and that stung.

Eli was a businessman. Among other things, he bought and sold cars, and some of the wiliest liars in the world joined him in that occupation. So Eli had gotten very good at telling when someone was lying to him.

Gwen Tanner had been lying through her pretty white teeth. For some reason she hadn’t wanted him to believe he was the father of her child—children, he corrected himself.

Perhaps she just didn’t want a man around. Maybe she’d approached him at The Wild Mustang for the sole purpose of getting pregnant. He’d heard of stranger things.

But that scenario didn’t fit the woman he’d spent the night with. Granted, he couldn’t claim to really know her after only a few hours together. But they’d connected on some elemental level. She’d been sincere that night—he was sure of it. She’d left him her number, and she’d wanted him to call.

Two explanations for her behavior occurred to him. One, she didn’t want to “trap” him. Maybe she sincerely believed all that stuff she’d told him, that a man shouldn’t have to be responsible for one lapse in judgment. Kind of cockeyed reasoning, but plausible.

The second possibility—that Gwen didn’t want him anywhere near her money—also made sense. She didn’t know him, after all. He might be some male version of a gold digger.

Neither problem was insurmountable, Eli decided, his habitual optimism coming to his rescue. Once Gwen got to know him, she would realize that he didn’t want or need her money. And he would make her see that being a father wasn’t some huge price he was being forced to pay. He wanted—no, insisted on—a role in his children’s lives. He might not have a clue how to be a good father, but surely a clueless father was better than none at all.

Eli didn’t remember either of his parents, didn’t even know who they were. He’d been abandoned as an infant. But he was somewhat of an expert on foster parents. He’d lived in sixteen different foster homes during his childhood. Sometimes the surrogate parents meant well. Some had been indifferent, interested only in the money they received from the government for his care. A few were downright cruel. He’d never bonded with any of them, never kept in touch after he moved on.

He was partly to blame for that. He’d been a difficult kid with a chip on his shoulder. He’d resented the parents who had abandoned him. That resentment had fueled his ambition. Early on he’d decided to make something of himself, to prove how wrong his foolish parents had been to reject him. He’d mostly stayed out of trouble, learned a trade, started his own business and achieved success beyond his wildest dreams. But the resentment had kept everyone at arm’s length.

Well, his kids weren’t going to resent him. They would have to find some other motivation to succeed in life. He was going to be there, dammit.

He pressed harder on the gas, pushing the Jag to seventy-five. He had a lot to accomplish in the next couple of weeks.

THE SUMMER HEAT WAVE finally broke as September rolled around. With the high temperature only reaching the seventies, Gwen felt a renewal of her customary energy. She baked with a vengeance in her new, modern kitchen, delivering more pastries to the bookstore than the patrons could possibly eat. She tried out new recipes on her boarders and she finished the nursery—now with two of everything. Today she was serving afternoon tea on the porch. She’d bought more wicker furniture, enough to accommodate a dozen people, and she’d invited a few people over. She’d even invited Wyla Thorne. Poor Wyla—the woman was just consumed with bitterness over the fact that she’d quit the lottery pool one week too early.

As she set the wicker table with a cabbage-rose cloth and matching napkins, she counted the days and realized she hadn’t heard a peep out of Eli in two weeks, which was a mixed blessing. Her rational side was sure he was attracted to her money. After all, men had never exactly flocked around her when she was slender and moderately attractive. Well, she didn’t have two noses or anything. Now that she was the size of a Goodyear blimp, men ran the other way when they saw her coming.

Sylvia said it was because men got a little nervous around a pregnant woman. But Gwen suspected the men in Jester were terrified of being roped into surrogate fatherhood. It wasn’t just that she was pregnant, it was that she was single and pregnant.

Eli had apparently come to his senses and joined the crowd. He’d probably decided her fortune wasn’t worth playing dad to twins. The price was too high.

But her romantic side craved his presence. All his talk of weddings had made her skin tingle with awareness. Would he really want to marry her if he knew the twins were his? Even with a pre-nup, married to her he could still live a life of ease. For the tenth time that day, she conjured up an image of her and Eli living as husband and wife.

Gwendolyn Garrett. That was a very nice name. Although she might keep Tanner, since she couldn’t change the name of the boardinghouse. That would be an insult to her grandmother.

“Yoo-hoo, hi, Gwen!”

Her fantasy bubble burst, Gwen looked up to see Mary Kay Thompson waving at her from the yard next door. Mary Kay dabbled in real estate sales, though Jester wasn’t exactly a hotbed of activity in that industry.

“Guess what?” Mary Kay called out. “I finally sold this house!” She made a show of hanging a SOLD! placard on the bottom of the fading For Sale sign.

“That’s great!” Gwen called back. “Who bought it?”

“Some guy from out of town.” Mary Kay minced over in her high heels and joined Gwen on the porch. “And I’ve got something for you.”

“Not another offer.”

“’Fraid so.” She reached into her voluminous, flowered purse and produced a thick manila envelope, handing it to Gwen.

Gwen tucked it into her apron. “Thanks, Mary Kay. But I’m not selling.”

“I wouldn’t, either,” Mary Kay gushed. “Not that I wouldn’t mind the commission, but you’ve got the prettiest house in town, now that it’s all fixed up.”

“Thanks. Will you stay for tea?”

“No, I need to get home to Pumpkin. He suffers from separation anxiety when I’m gone. Dr. Hartman gave me a prescription to calm Pumpkin’s nerves, but I still worry about him.”

In Gwen’s opinion, Mary Kay was the one who needed the prescription. All Pumpkin, her fat orange barn cat, needed was to live a normal cat life. Sometimes Mary Kay took the cat, which she claimed was some rare breed of Persian, on walks around town wearing a pink rhinestone collar and matching leash.

“Thanks, anyway,” Mary Kay said, fluffing her permed blond hair. “Your new neighbor should be moving in right away. Keep an eye out and let me know, huh? I didn’t meet him, but he sounded cute over the phone. And he’s single.” She turned and tiptoed down the steps, hips wiggling beneath her short, red skirt, blond hair sprayed helmet-stiff.

Gwen smiled and shook her head. Amanda always joked that Mary Kay was ragingly single. She’d made a play for Jack Hartman, the vet, bringing Pumpkin to him at least once a week with a new, imaginary illness. That was before Jack and Melinda, his partner, had announced their engagement.

As four o’clock approached, Gwen’s guests began arriving. Stella and Irene had dressed for the occasion in pretty dresses. They were both so dear to humor her.

“This is so nice,” Irene Caldwell said, fingering the tablecloth. Irene had been a widow for ten years, and had lived at Tanner’s for six. She was quiet, had no children and generally conducted herself in a dignified manner. Her only indulgence was Benny, her aging Welsh corgi. Though Gwen’s grandmother hadn’t allowed pets, Gwen had made an exception for Benny, who was very sweet and well behaved. Besides, Irene would never have moved in without her dog, which her husband had adored. The little tan dog was twelve now but still going strong, and Gwen found she liked having him around. He was a good watchdog.

Benny had come to the porch with Irene, and now found a prime spot under the table from which he could scarf crumbs when they fell.

The other guests trickled in. Oggie arrived home from school and brought Olivia Mason with him. Olivia was a popular teacher and, with her husband, Kyle, another of the lottery winners. Gwen had also invited Jennifer Faulkner McNeil, who’d moved to Jester only recently, though she’d spent summers here with her grandparents when she was a kid. She’d returned when her grandfather died and left her his lottery winnings. Then she’d up and married Luke McNeil, the sheriff. She arrived with Vickie McNeil Perkins, her best friend and sister-in-law.

“Did anyone see Honor on her way over?” Gwen asked. Honor Lassiter was co-owner of The Mercantile with Ruby Cade. But since they’d hired teenage single mom Valerie Simms as a manager at the store, both partners had more free time. Honor had assured Gwen she would come over today.

“You must not have heard,” Jennifer said. “Honor left on a round-the-world trip.”

There was a murmur of surprise from those who hadn’t heard the latest news, Gwen included.

“That was pretty sudden,” Gwen said. “I know she’s been a bit restless since she received her lottery winnings, but I didn’t think she’d just up and leave. When is she coming back?”

Jennifer shrugged. “No one knows.”

Gwen thought that was rather strange behavior for Honor, who was a sweet, hometown girl who’d never traveled anyplace before.

Wyla was last to arrive, though Gwen wasn’t sure why she bothered. She wouldn’t touch the sweets. She was paranoid about adding a single pound to her painfully thin figure.

Gwen forced herself to be pleasant, since the woman was Stella’s friend. “Hello, Wyla, glad you could join us.”

“Hello, Gwen. Say, I hear you cornered the fella that put the bun in your oven.”

Gwen almost dropped the teapot. “What?”

“Wyla, really,” Stella scolded.

“Well I’m just repeating what I’ve heard. He showed up at the café a couple of weeks ago,” she continued, addressing everyone, assuming they wanted to hear gossip, “then followed Gwen to the boardinghouse. They talked here on this very porch before he finally took off like a scalded cat. Who else would he be but the mystery man?”

“He could be Gwen’s cousin,” Jennifer spoke up. “Or a potential boarder. He could be anyone!”

“Gwen doesn’t have any cousins,” Wyla said. She looked at Gwen. “I knew both your parents, don’t forget.”

“Wyla, for heaven’s sake, stop badgering her,” Irene broke in. “If Gwen wants to tell us who her visitor is, she’ll tell us.” But Gwen could see Irene was brimming with curiosity, though she was too polite to voice it.

Shoot. If Wyla knew about Eli’s visit, the whole town knew. Shelly wouldn’t have said anything. But those old men who hung out at the barbershop were the worst gossips in town.

Gwen sank into a chair. Stella, looking sympathetic, took the teapot from her and assumed the duties of hostess, pouring tea and passing around the pastries.

“I guess it won’t hurt to tell you,” Gwen said. “The man is Eli Garrett, and he’s the father of my babies. But I doubt you’ll be seeing him again.”

Oggie nearly came out of his chair. “He abandoned you?” Oggie didn’t mind hanging out with the ladies. He was secure in his masculinity, and besides, he would never turn down an opportunity to be near Stella. But at this moment he looked furious, doing a pretty good imitation of an outraged father figure.

“He didn’t exactly abandon me,” Gwen said soothingly. “It was more of a mutual agreement.”

“He’s still a yellow dog,” Oggie grumbled, reclaiming his chair. “If you were my daughter, I’d get out my shotgun and there’d be a wedding!”

Gwen didn’t believe for a second that Oggie had ever owned a gun of any type. But she appreciated his protectiveness, even if it was misplaced.

Further conversation about her unwedded state was halted by a god-awful noise on Main Street. Everyone looked to see a huge U-Haul truck approaching.

“What in the world…?” Irene asked.

When the truck turned onto Lottery Lane and passed right in front of Gwen’s house, she thought the driver looked familiar. A troubling suspicion began to build in her mind, especially when the truck stopped and backed into the driveway of the Carter place next door—the one Mary Kay had just sold.

“You have a new neighbor?” Olivia asked Gwen.

“It appears so. I’ll go…welcome him.” Better to face him privately than give the town, not to mention the ever-curious reporters, another bit of fodder for the grapevine.

Gwen walked as fast as she could in her present condition. The truck’s driver opened his door and descended.

“Howdy, neighbor!” Eli said with a broad grin. “Are you the welcome wagon?”

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