Fortune's Twins

Wyla sniffed. “Good luck finding a husband when you’re a single mom. You have a better chance of…” She paused.

“Winning the lottery!” Jennifer finished for her, laughter bubbling up.

Everyone else laughed, diffusing the tension. Conversation thankfully turned to other topics—like whether Shelly was carrying a boy or a girl.

But Gwen couldn’t help thinking about Wyla’s barb. She probably wouldn’t ever get married. Even before she was pregnant, the men hadn’t exactly flocked around her. She was just too darn shy, and she spent any free time she had down at Pop’s Movie Theater, escaping into her favorite pastime—alone.

It was true—single mothers had a hard time of it in the marriage department. Was she foolish to dismiss Eli as potential husband material?

Then again, he hadn’t exactly asked her. Oh, he’d mentioned a wedding as a toss-off line as he was leaving town two weeks ago, but she had no idea whether he would seriously consider the possibility. Especially if he knew he couldn’t touch her money.

AFTER TWO DAYS of living under the same roof as Eli Garrett, Gwen began to wonder exactly how he made his living. He claimed to be a mechanic. But he’d made no move to reopen Mac’s Auto Repair to the public. He had a couple of cars over there, rusty old heaps that would look right at home in a junkyard. He tinkered on them early in the morning for a couple of hours, then worked on his house, which at this stage consisted mostly of hauling debris out to the street.

She was ashamed to admit she’d made it her business to find out how he spent his time. She had a perfect view of his house out her kitchen window, or from the front porch. And if she wanted to get a bird’s-eye view of Mac’s, she went up to her apartment on the third floor and peeked out her sitting room window. Climbing all those stairs was a feat in her condition, so when she’d done it for the third time that day, she knew her interest was excessive.

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?”