Winning Amelia

Winning Amelia
Ingrid Weaver

Can fate really be this cruel?Amelia Goodfellow can’t escape her bad luck. After her ex-husband’s embezzlement conviction cost her everything, winning the lottery seemed like fate’s way of paying her back. But to then lose the painting she hid the winning ticket in? Amelia is done with luck. She’s going to get that painting and her life back. Even if it means hiring her old flame, private investigator Hank Jones.Trust isn’t easy for Amelia, so keeping Hank in the dark about the ticket just makes sense. Tracking the yard-sale purchaser of the painting should be simple, but then an auction of stolen art complicates the search, and Amelia suddenly has more to lose than money.A second chance with Hank might be priceless.

Can fate really be this cruel?

Amelia Goodfellow can’t escape her bad luck. After her ex-husband’s embezzlement conviction cost her everything, winning the lottery seemed like fate’s way of paying her back. But to then lose the painting she hid the winning ticket in? Amelia is done with luck. She’s going to get that painting and her life back. Even if it means hiring her old flame, private investigator Hank Jones.

Trust isn’t easy for Amelia, so keeping Hank in the dark about the ticket just makes sense. Tracking the yard-sale purchaser of the painting should be simple, but then an auction of stolen art complicates the search, and Amelia suddenly has more to lose than money. A second chance with Hank might be priceless.

“My fee isn’t the issue.”

“Then what is?”

“I asked for the real reason you want that painting.”

Amelia’s chin trembled. She tightened her lips.

“You can’t honestly expect me to believe you would be willing to throw away the money you do have on a piece of worthless, not very good art that doesn’t even belong to you. What are you holding back, Amelia?”

She remained silent.

Hank used to have more patience than she had. It was a good bet he still did. He waited her out.

It took less than a minute. When she finally did speak, her voice shook. “During the past year and a half, I’ve lost my business, my reputation, my husband....” She cleared her throat. “You name it, I lost it. I lost so much, it got to the point that I stopped believing I could win.” I want to start living again. I want the right to be happy again.”

“And you believe that finding this painting will do all that?”

She surged to her feet. “Yes!”

Dear Reader,

I’m not much of a gambler, unless you count organic gardening, which between the weather and the bugs is pretty chancy. I suppose you could count computer card games as a form of gambling, too, since they’re definitely risky with respect to how much of my time they end up consuming. Come to think of it, strolling down the cookie aisle in the grocery store is a huge and rather dangerous gamble, depending on how hungry I happen to be. So I can relate to my heroine’s decision to buy a lottery ticket, in spite of the astronomical odds against winning.

Every aspect of writing Winning Amelia was a pleasure for me. For one thing, it’s set in the picturesque small town of Port Hope, which lies halfway between our farm and Toronto and thus is my favorite spot to meet my city friends for lunch. Though there isn’t actually a Mae B’s, the restaurant where my heroine worked was inspired by some of the places I’ve visited. The house where she lived was based on the one where I grew up—the simple, story-and-a-half design was used in Port Hope as well as in neighborhoods throughout southern Ontario. As for the oddball characters that crop up in the book, let’s just say the countryside provides plenty of fodder for a writer’s imagination.

Above all, I enjoyed creating a story for the Heartwarming program, because it’s one that can be read by anyone. It celebrates not just romance but real, lasting love. That’s the kind of love that survives the big, dramatic issues like kids and finances as well as the everyday stuff of an ordinary life. And love like that is well worth any gamble!

Warm wishes, and happy reading!

Ingrid

Winning Amelia

USA TODAY Bestselling Author

Ingrid Weaver

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

INGRID WEAVER

began her writing career by propping an old manual typewriter on her children’s play table. Twenty years later she is a USA TODAY bestselling author of thirty books and the recipient of a Romance Writers of America RITA® Award. She currently resides on a farm near Frankford, Ontario, with her family and a varying collection of critters.

This book is dedicated to everyone in my family whose birthdays wound up on Amelia’s lottery ticket. Those are truly lucky numbers.

Contents

CHAPTER ONE (#u2ae878fc-89b5-593d-8e38-cf95397ef383)

CHAPTER TWO (#u1d3b61d3-3779-577e-bde3-08e69c04a037)

CHAPTER THREE (#uf41a4a30-0e4d-5b20-8b5d-b023cfeace98)

CHAPTER FOUR (#uce9e51f4-1d72-5ccf-94c8-7aeccea1d0e6)

CHAPTER FIVE (#ue63e7533-8786-5c88-8635-2dbb016a48b6)

CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER ONE

BY THEMSELVES, NUMBERS were meaningless squiggles. It was what they represented that mattered. This particular string of six—1, 3, 4, 17, 23, 29—happened to represent the birthdays of Amelia Goodfellow’s family: her own, plus those of her brother, her sister-in-law and all three nephews.

The sequence also appeared to be the winning numbers in yesterday’s Lotto 6/49 draw.

Crockery rattled against crockery. The chinka-chink sounded oddly like...the clink of coins. Amelia set the dishes back on the table and reached for the newspaper. The previous customer had left no tip, only a discarded Toronto Star, so maybe Amelia was too annoyed to be seeing straight. The sun was glaring off the moisture remaining from where she’d wiped the table, so it could have been a trick of the light. Or fatigue. Or simply a bad case of wishful thinking. Sure. No reason for her hands to be shaking like this because she’d probably made a mistake, right?

She squinted at the paper.