Fortune's Twins

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.

A honeymoon…the best part.

She sighed. That was some far-out fantasy. She might be willing to marry Eli Garrett. But the moment she mentioned the prenuptial agreement she would require, he would probably run for the hills. A prenup might seem cold, but she wasn’t going to make the same mistake her mother did.

AS HE DROVE back to Denver, Eli tried not to be angry with Gwen. But he was, dammit. She’d been trying to get rid of him, and that stung.

Eli was a businessman. Among other things, he bought and sold cars, and some of the wiliest liars in the world joined him in that occupation. So Eli had gotten very good at telling when someone was lying to him.

Gwen Tanner had been lying through her pretty white teeth. For some reason she hadn’t wanted him to believe he was the father of her child—children, he corrected himself.

Perhaps she just didn’t want a man around. Maybe she’d approached him at The Wild Mustang for the sole purpose of getting pregnant. He’d heard of stranger things.

But that scenario didn’t fit the woman he’d spent the night with. Granted, he couldn’t claim to really know her after only a few hours together. But they’d connected on some elemental level. She’d been sincere that night—he was sure of it. She’d left him her number, and she’d wanted him to call.

Two explanations for her behavior occurred to him. One, she didn’t want to “trap” him. Maybe she sincerely believed all that stuff she’d told him, that a man shouldn’t have to be responsible for one lapse in judgment. Kind of cockeyed reasoning, but plausible.

The second possibility—that Gwen didn’t want him anywhere near her money—also made sense. She didn’t know him, after all. He might be some male version of a gold digger.

Neither problem was insurmountable, Eli decided, his habitual optimism coming to his rescue. Once Gwen got to know him, she would realize that he didn’t want or need her money. And he would make her see that being a father wasn’t some huge price he was being forced to pay. He wanted—no, insisted on—a role in his children’s lives. He might not have a clue how to be a good father, but surely a clueless father was better than none at all.

Eli didn’t remember either of his parents, didn’t even know who they were. He’d been abandoned as an infant. But he was somewhat of an expert on foster parents. He’d lived in sixteen different foster homes during his childhood. Sometimes the surrogate parents meant well. Some had been indifferent, interested only in the money they received from the government for his care. A few were downright cruel. He’d never bonded with any of them, never kept in touch after he moved on.

He was partly to blame for that. He’d been a difficult kid with a chip on his shoulder. He’d resented the parents who had abandoned him. That resentment had fueled his ambition. Early on he’d decided to make something of himself, to prove how wrong his foolish parents had been to reject him. He’d mostly stayed out of trouble, learned a trade, started his own business and achieved success beyond his wildest dreams. But the resentment had kept everyone at arm’s length.

Well, his kids weren’t going to resent him. They would have to find some other motivation to succeed in life. He was going to be there, dammit.

He pressed harder on the gas, pushing the Jag to seventy-five. He had a lot to accomplish in the next couple of weeks.

THE SUMMER HEAT WAVE finally broke as September rolled around. With the high temperature only reaching the seventies, Gwen felt a renewal of her customary energy. She baked with a vengeance in her new, modern kitchen, delivering more pastries to the bookstore than the patrons could possibly eat. She tried out new recipes on her boarders and she finished the nursery—now with two of everything. Today she was serving afternoon tea on the porch. She’d bought more wicker furniture, enough to accommodate a dozen people, and she’d invited a few people over. She’d even invited Wyla Thorne. Poor Wyla—the woman was just consumed with bitterness over the fact that she’d quit the lottery pool one week too early.

As she set the wicker table with a cabbage-rose cloth and matching napkins, she counted the days and realized she hadn’t heard a peep out of Eli in two weeks, which was a mixed blessing. Her rational side was sure he was attracted to her money. After all, men had never exactly flocked around her when she was slender and moderately attractive. Well, she didn’t have two noses or anything. Now that she was the size of a Goodyear blimp, men ran the other way when they saw her coming.

Sylvia said it was because men got a little nervous around a pregnant woman. But Gwen suspected the men in Jester were terrified of being roped into surrogate fatherhood. It wasn’t just that she was pregnant, it was that she was single and pregnant.

Eli had apparently come to his senses and joined the crowd. He’d probably decided her fortune wasn’t worth playing dad to twins. The price was too high.

But her romantic side craved his presence. All his talk of weddings had made her skin tingle with awareness. Would he really want to marry her if he knew the twins were his? Even with a pre-nup, married to her he could still live a life of ease. For the tenth time that day, she conjured up an image of her and Eli living as husband and wife.

Gwendolyn Garrett. That was a very nice name. Although she might keep Tanner, since she couldn’t change the name of the boardinghouse. That would be an insult to her grandmother.

“Yoo-hoo, hi, Gwen!”

Her fantasy bubble burst, Gwen looked up to see Mary Kay Thompson waving at her from the yard next door. Mary Kay dabbled in real estate sales, though Jester wasn’t exactly a hotbed of activity in that industry.

“Guess what?” Mary Kay called out. “I finally sold this house!” She made a show of hanging a SOLD! placard on the bottom of the fading For Sale sign.

“That’s great!” Gwen called back. “Who bought it?”

“Some guy from out of town.” Mary Kay minced over in her high heels and joined Gwen on the porch. “And I’ve got something for you.”

“Not another offer.”

“’Fraid so.” She reached into her voluminous, flowered purse and produced a thick manila envelope, handing it to Gwen.

Gwen tucked it into her apron. “Thanks, Mary Kay. But I’m not selling.”

“I wouldn’t, either,” Mary Kay gushed. “Not that I wouldn’t mind the commission, but you’ve got the prettiest house in town, now that it’s all fixed up.”

“Thanks. Will you stay for tea?”

“No, I need to get home to Pumpkin. He suffers from separation anxiety when I’m gone. Dr. Hartman gave me a prescription to calm Pumpkin’s nerves, but I still worry about him.”

In Gwen’s opinion, Mary Kay was the one who needed the prescription. All Pumpkin, her fat orange barn cat, needed was to live a normal cat life. Sometimes Mary Kay took the cat, which she claimed was some rare breed of Persian, on walks around town wearing a pink rhinestone collar and matching leash.

“Thanks, anyway,” Mary Kay said, fluffing her permed blond hair. “Your new neighbor should be moving in right away. Keep an eye out and let me know, huh? I didn’t meet him, but he sounded cute over the phone. And he’s single.” She turned and tiptoed down the steps, hips wiggling beneath her short, red skirt, blond hair sprayed helmet-stiff.

Gwen smiled and shook her head. Amanda always joked that Mary Kay was ragingly single. She’d made a play for Jack Hartman, the vet, bringing Pumpkin to him at least once a week with a new, imaginary illness. That was before Jack and Melinda, his partner, had announced their engagement.

As four o’clock approached, Gwen’s guests began arriving. Stella and Irene had dressed for the occasion in pretty dresses. They were both so dear to humor her.