Fortune's Twins

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.