Fortune's Twins

But why shouldn’t she be interested in the father of her children? She wanted to know what kind of genetics she was dealing with, she reasoned.

On the morning of the third day, she was out in front of her house watering her geraniums and enjoying the view—Eli moving back and forth from his house to the street, hauling crumbled plaster and rotting lumber in a wheelbarrow. Wearing old cut-off shorts and a white T-shirt, he was even more intriguing than he’d been in khakis. He had terrific legs, hard and tanned, with well-defined muscles and a dusting of dark hair.

She remembered how that rough hair had felt rubbing against her legs. And his beard, just starting to scratch after a day’s growth, brushing lightly against her thigh—

“Gwendolyn!”

She gasped and whirled around, very nearly dousing the mayor with her hose. He jumped out of the way with more agility than a man of his girth should exhibit. Then again, she shouldn’t be throwing stones where girth was concerned.

“Goodness, you were a million miles away,” Mayor Bobby Larson said in his most unctuous tone. His blond-bimbo secretary, Paula Pratt, stood right behind him, steno-book poised to record his every brilliant word, should he give her an order. Paula’s eggplant P.T. Cruiser was parked at the curb. Like they couldn’t walk from the town hall? It was all of two blocks.

Not that Gwen herself would walk two blocks she didn’t have to, but she had a good excuse.

“To what do I owe the honor, Mayor?” Gwen asked pleasantly, though she already knew the answer. He was going to try to get her support for the hotel. She’d been one of the most strident protesters, attending every town council meeting and pointing out all the drawbacks. Shy as she was, on this matter she was adamant, and she forced herself to speak up.

She wasn’t in the mood to argue with Bobby today. Then again, as hot and bothered as she was from watching Eli, maybe a distracting argument with the mayor would help burn off some nervous energy.

Or maybe she should just turn the hose on herself.

“I hear you got another offer on your little estate, here.”

“How did you know that?” She’d opened the envelope, glanced at the offer, then put it on her desk in the office and forgot about it. She hadn’t spoken of it to anyone. “I hope Mary Kay Thompson knows that real estate transactions are confidential.”

Bobby shrugged. “Oh, I just heard it through the grapevine. You know how Jester is.”

Yeah, right.

“Are you considering the offer?” he asked.

“Are you trying to get rid of me?” she countered. “I know I’ve been a thorn in your side lately.”

Bobby smiled his used-car-salesman smile. “Gwen, of course not. I’m asking out of concern. Since you’ll soon have children to raise—twins, right?”

“Yes.”

“Then you’ll really have your hands full. Running this boardinghouse has got to be a full-time job—cooking, cleaning, laundry, yard work. How can you expect to adequately care for your children under those circumstances?”

“The same way busy women have done it for centuries, I imagine,” she said mildly. “Any other questions?”

“I understand the price offered was way above the property’s current valuation.”

“That doesn’t really matter to me,” Gwen said. “I don’t need the money.”

“Yes, throw it in our faces, why don’t you,” Paula muttered.

Bobby gave his secretary a nasty look, then turned back to Gwen, ready with another argument. “I understand the, um, father of your children has come calling. Now that you’re, er, reconciled, won’t you be wanting to marry him and move to wherever he lives?”

“I would never leave Jester,” Gwen said flatly. She hated big cities. Her maternal grandparents lived in Billings, and she occasionally visited them, though they considered her something of an embarrassment, a reminder that their daughter married a pig farmer. But they tolerated her. Other than that, Gwen never visited any cities bigger than Pine Run.

“Then he’ll come here,” Bobby continued. “And your third-floor apartment is too small for a family of four.”

Gwen had lost patience with the meddling mayor. “I will manage somehow, thank you very much. Is this really any of your business?”

“I’m concerned,” he said again. “Once the hotel project goes through, it could have a negative impact on the value of your property.”

“Not to mention my quality of life,” Gwen snapped. “Anyway, I thought the town council had vetoed your idea to build a hotel in the community park.”

“They did. But they’re beginning to come around. And there’s also the Carter place. And Mac’s.”

“Oh, really?”

Just then, Eli dumped another wheelbarrow full of debris onto the growing pile at the curb.

Bobby looked over. “Who the devil is that?”

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