Winning Amelia

“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!”

“Amelia...”

“I’m not asking for a guarantee because I realize it’s a long shot, but it’s possible to beat the odds. I know it’s possible. The whole key is being willing to try.”

This was the Amelia he had fallen in love with. Passionate, spontaneous, throwing herself one hundred percent into whatever she did. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed her.

“Will you try, Hank?”

“As you just said, it would be a long shot. I couldn’t in good conscience take your money for—”

“Fine.” She turned toward the door. “Then I’ll find someone who will.”

He shoved himself out of his chair and rounded the desk. “Amelia, wait. I didn’t say I wouldn’t help you. I just said I wouldn’t take your money.”

She faced him. “What does that mean?”

“I’ll make a few inquiries, and I’ll try poking around on the internet, but it will be on my own time. I won’t charge you.”

Relief appeared to be warring with pride. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet. I may come up empty.”

“If anyone can find it, you will. But I don’t need charity. I can pay you.”

“It’s not charity. Consider it a welcome-home present.”

Her lips twitched. It was the first hint of a smile he’d seen. “Finding that painting would be a better gift than you could possibly imagine.” She held out her right hand. “Thank you, Hank.”

He clasped her hand without thinking. He concluded most of his meetings with a handshake. Often a handshake was the only contract he needed.

But the contact of his palm with Amelia’s jarred him. Her energy tingled through his skin, just as it had when they’d been teenagers. His pulse sped up. So did his breathing. Her scent was something else that hadn’t changed. It was earthy and inviting, like the tangy smell of new grass on a sunny spring day. Not that he’d ever said that aloud, because telling a girl she reminded him of a lawn was even less romantic than the oil slick thing.

Romantic?

Yeah, sure. There was as much chance of rekindling their romance as there was of finding her painting.

CHAPTER THREE

“I CAN’T BELIEVE you lied to him,” Jenny said. “How can you expect him to do his job?”

Amelia finished paring a carrot and handed it to her sister-in-law. Timmy was down for his afternoon nap, so the house was unusually peaceful. Sporadic hammering came from the backyard, where Owen and Eric were attempting to construct a fort with the scrap lumber and drywall from Will’s basement renovation project. Rather than relaxing, Jenny was taking advantage of the lull to get a head start on dinner...and to speak her mind. “I didn’t actually lie,” Amelia said. “I just omitted certain facts.”

“Same thing.”

“He doesn’t need to know about the lottery ticket in order to find the painting.”

“I’m surprised Hank agreed to work for you at all.” Jenny placed the carrot on the cutting board and began chopping. “If I recall, you two didn’t part on the best of terms.”

“That was more than a decade ago. He’s a professional. This is business.”

“Didn’t he think it was a little odd for you to make such a fuss over a worthless old painting?”

“I said it was important to me.”

“You must have been very convincing.”

“Well, it is important.”

“At least you told him the truth about that much.”

“I actually told him more truth than I’d meant to.”

“How so?”

“He seemed as if he was about to refuse me, and I was feeling desperate. I got into how much I’ve lost lately.”

“Ah.”

“I didn’t set out to play on his sympathy, but he probably feels sorry for me anyway.”

“I’m not so sure. Is it possible he still cares about you? That would explain why he took your case.”

“No, Jenny. What we had was only puppy love. It died a long time ago.”

“Hmph.”

Jenny’s skepticism made her flinch. Hank had agreed the past was over and done. Their new relationship was purely business. Well, business between old friends.

But how businesslike was it to work for free? And what about that moment this morning in his office when their hands had touched?

The years had been more than good to Hank Jones. He’d reached his full height of six foot three by tenth grade, but he’d been lanky, to put it kindly. Now his frame had fleshed out into the classic, broad-shouldered, slim-hipped, male silhouette of underwear models and Hollywood hunks. He’d grown into his face, too. The angled jaw and sharp features that had seemed harsh on a boy looked good on a man. Okay, more than good—spectacular, particularly when he smiled. He likely did that a lot, since laugh lines crinkled the corners of his light brown eyes. His sand-colored hair was streaked blond by the sun and was as thick and straight as ever. It was too neatly trimmed to fall over his collar anymore, but he hadn’t been able to tame it completely. The same stubborn, endearing lock that used to fall over his forehead still did.

But Hank’s appearance was irrelevant. Amelia had other priorities here, namely fifty-two million and change worth of them. She wasn’t interested in any man, and especially not one who had so thoroughly broken her heart. The bump in her pulse from their parting handshake was because she’d been in an emotional state over losing the ticket. That’s why she’d opened up to him about her feelings, too. It couldn’t have anything to do with her old crush on him. That would not only be absurd, it would be self-destructive and stupid. She rinsed off another carrot and applied her energy to the parer.

“Did I hear right?” Will asked as he moved into the kitchen doorway. Lancaster Cabinets was on summer hours, so it wasn’t unusual for him to get home in the middle of the afternoon. “You really went to Hank Jones for help?”

Amelia nodded at her brother. “I went first thing this morning.”

“That’s too bad. I think you should have gone to someone else.” He slipped his arm past Jenny to set his lunch pail on the counter and gave her a quick peck on the cheek. He patted her stomach. “How’s our little football player? Is he still kicking field goals?”

“She decided to take up tap dancing,” Jenny said.

Both Will and Jenny had resisted learning the sex of the baby she carried. They claimed it didn’t matter and would prefer to be surprised. For Jenny’s sake, Amelia hoped it would be a girl. “Why do you think I shouldn’t have gone to Hank, Will?”