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
USA TODAY Bestselling Author
Ingrid Weaver
Winning Amelia
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
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
EPILOGUE
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.
The lottery results were in bold print in a box on the lower right-hand corner of the front page, along with the weather forecast and the horoscope for anyone whose birthday was today. There had been only one winning ticket. 1, 3, 4, 17, 23, 29. Her lips moved silently as she read the numbers again. No matter how many times she repeated them, they remained the same.
The jackpot had been over fifty-two million, not a record but close to it. To be exact, it had been fifty-two million, four hundred and eighty-five thousand, seven hundred and twenty. More numbers. They were too mind-boggling to grasp, even for someone who had once made her living by dealing with figures.
“Excuse me, miss?”
Yet these were more than simply figures on a page. This was a new house for Will and Jenny. It was redemption for Spencer’s crimes. It was the ability to think of tomorrow without feeling her stomach curl into a knot. It was the future. A brand-new, shiny, fire-engine-red, fresh-off-the-showroom-floor life in which she could stop apologizing and start living again.
“We’d like to order, please.”
Bubbles worked their way into her throat, stealing her breath and making speech impossible. The sensation was so unfamiliar, and it had been so long since she’d experienced it, Amelia didn’t recognize the joy immediately. Yet that’s what it was. Pure joy.
“Hello?”
She looked at the paper again, just to be sure. There they were, in all their multmillion-dollar splendor: 1, 3, 4, 17, 23, 29, the numbers she always played, the numbers she could never forget. She pumped her fist in the air and whirled.
A pair of women was seated at the booth across from her. The older one raised a penciled eyebrow. “Well, it’s nice to see someone so happy. Did you read good news?”
Amelia wouldn’t have thought she could smile any wider but she did. Her cheeks ached from it. Those crazy joy bubbles were swirling through her blood now. Her knees shook as badly as her fingers. She stumbled backward and came up hard against one of the boxes that held fake philodendrons. Plastic greenery crackled against her palm as she steadied herself with one hand. In the other she still clutched the paper. “Good?” Her voice rasped. She had trouble getting the word past her lips because every facial muscle was locked into her grin. “Uh-huh. Oh, yeah.”
The woman’s amusement dimmed. Her gaze darted around the tiny restaurant, as if she were seeking help. The lunch rush at Mae B’s was
over. Apart from the ladies and an elderly man in the booth near the entrance, the place was deserted. “Are you all right, miss?”
Amelia nodded so hard, the pencil she’d tucked behind her ear slipped out and bounced on the floor. She left it there. She wouldn’t need to write down any more orders, or depend on finding tips when she cleaned the tables, or wear this stupid, frilly, pea-green apron. She took off the apron and dropped it on the plastic plant, then tore off the corner of the page with the lottery results and put it in her skirt pocket.
The ticket. She had to get the ticket.
Mae Barton and her husband, Ronnie, regarded her sternly as she raced through the kitchen. Though Ronnie was tall and fair while Mae was dark and well-rounded, like many longtime married couples, they had begun to resemble each other. Their frowns were identical. “Where’re you going?” Ronnie demanded. “It’s not time for your break.”
Amelia gasped through her grin. “Purse!” was all she managed. She yanked open the storeroom door and skidded to a stop beside the first shelf. Her purse lay where she’d left it when she’d come in this morning, right next to the big cans of ketchup. She unzipped the purse and pulled out her wallet.
“What on earth is going on?”
She glanced over her shoulder.
Mae stood in the doorway, her hands on her hips. “You had customers waiting, last I saw.”
“Sorry, but...” Amelia’s voice broke as she peered in her wallet. A ten, two fives and a handful of change. No ticket. She sucked air through her teeth.
Mae moved closer. “Amelia, are you okay? You don’t look well.”
She groped among the tissues, mints, sunglasses, keys and stray coins in the bottom of her purse for a few panicked moments until she remembered: little Timmy had emptied her purse onto the floor last month when he’d been looking for candy, and the dog had eaten her paycheck. Since then, she’d taken precautions. She hadn’t stored the ticket in her wallet or her purse. She’d found a far better place. A good, safe place. She laughed.
Mae grasped her arm. “You’re not high, are you? We told you up front we’ve got a zero tolerance policy for that sort of thing.”
“I’m not sick or crazy or high, Mae.” She retrieved the scrap of newsprint from her pocket and waved it in front of her. “I’m just rich.”
“What?”
“I won Lotto 6/49.”
“You what?”
Amelia’s eyes misted as she looked at her boss. The Bartons weren’t her friends, but they had hired her when no one else in town would, and for that she would always be grateful. They had taken a chance. Granted, they gave her receipts extra scrutiny, and they certainly hadn’t let her anywhere near their books, but she didn’t hold that against them. She would have done the same in their place, considering her reputation. She flung her arms around Mae and gave her a smacking kiss on the cheek. She felt her boss stiffen, but she didn’t care—at this point she would kiss a ketchup can. “I won!”
“How much?”
“The whole enchilada.”
“But—” Mae pulled back. “That’s...”
“Fifty-two million, give or take a few hundred grand.”
“Good heavens!”
“What’s all the shrieking about?” Ronnie asked as he joined them. “It better not be another rat, after what I paid the exterminator.”
“Amelia won the lottery.”
“You’re kidding!”
“The numbers were in the paper.” Amelia returned the newsprint to her pocket and wiped her hands on her skirt. “I only found out a minute ago.”
“Are you certain?”
Oh, yes, she was one hundred percent certain. She had bought the ticket at the corner store across from the high school on her way home from work on Thursday. She remembered that vividly. There had been a lineup at the cash and everyone was talking about the possibility of a record jackpot. Although the odds of winning were astronomical, she’d thought, why not take a chance? Her luck couldn’t get much worse.
She couldn’t wait to tell Will. And especially Jenny. She plunged her hand back into her purse for her phone before she remembered she’d cancelled her wireless plan in order to economize when she’d moved in with her brother. But even if she still had a phone, this was the kind of news she should deliver in person. The look on their faces would be priceless....
Actually, not priceless. The look would be worth fifty-two million.
She gave both Mae and Ronnie more hugs, along with a garbled apology about leaving early. She would make it up to them. Buy them a new freezer and some real plants. She believed in paying her debts, and now, finally, she could.
Luck seemed to be with her still, because Will’s old Chevette started on the third try, and it only stalled once before she could put it into gear and pull out of the parking lot. She would buy her brother a new car, or better yet, one of those big, manly pickups she’d seen him ogling. She could get a new minivan for Jenny that had built-in TV screens to entertain the kids and would be large enough to hold their growing brood. She could provide cars for each of the boys when they were old enough to drive. While she was at it, she could get one for herself. Nothing sensible or conservative like the black Beemer that had been repossessed last fall. No, this time she would get something fun. Bright and shiny, maybe even red, like that future that was dangling in front of her.
A horn blared. Amelia had no idea how long she had been sitting at the green light, dreaming about new cars. With a jaunty wave to the driver behind her, she started forward. The summer tourist season was in full swing. There was more traffic than usual in Port Hope’s historic downtown. Located an easy hour’s drive along Lake Ontario from Toronto, it was a popular destination for day-trippers seeking a break from the city. Luckily—there was that word again—the congestion thinned quickly once she coaxed the Chevette into doing the climb up Walton Street. Within minutes, she had left the old brick and quaint shops of the heritage district behind.
Will and Jenny’s neighborhood was a fair distance from the river and the lakeshore. It wasn’t on the route of the self-guided tours that were marked on the town maps. By today’s standards, the houses were small and plain. Most were one-and-a-half-story boxes that had been tossed up in a hurry more than sixty years ago during the post-war baby boom. Some had been customized with expanded porches, or extra rooms in the attic, but there was no disguising their humble pedigree. The properties that came up for sale didn’t remain on the market for long, though. The area was close to schools, the streets were quiet enough for road hockey any season of the year, and the houses were within the budget of young families.
But her family wouldn’t need to worry about budgets anymore, would they?
A sedan she didn’t recognize was parked at the side of the road in front of her brother’s house. A pair of strangers in sandals and matching turquoise, Hawaiian-style printed shirts moved among open cardboard boxes that were arrayed on the lawn. Closer to the front steps there stood a few chrome-and-vinyl chairs, an old brass plant stand and the exercise bike that had been stored in the basement. Amelia nosed into the driveway. Her way was blocked by a metal-legged card table displaying knickknacks and rows of paperback books.
She had forgotten about the yard sale. Jenny had started it yesterday. She’d claimed she wanted to clean out the basement this weekend, since Will was constructing an extra bedroom plus a playroom for the boys down there. Amelia suspected the primary reason for the yard sale was to raise extra cash. The closer Jenny got to her due date, the more nervous she became about their finances.
But she wouldn’t need to worry anymore, would she? And Will wouldn’t need to build any extra rooms, because Amelia would buy them a house big enough to hold everyone, no matter how many more babies they produced.
This just kept getting better and better, didn’t it? Amelia got out of the car and practically skipped up the driveway. She was giddy with the possibilities that continued to pop into her mind.
Her si
ster-in-law sat on a lawn chair in the shade of the maple beside the driveway. Strands of dark hair had escaped from her ponytail and drooped against her cheeks. A faded Argos T-shirt that had once belonged to Will stretched over her pregnant belly. She bore little resemblance to the delicate woman with the sparkling brown eyes who had married Amelia’s big brother fifteen years ago. Jenny was a nurturer, and like many women in her position, she tended to put her family’s needs ahead of her own. Riding herd on three boys—four, if she counted Will—had taken their toll.
One of the first things Amelia was going to do once she cashed in the ticket would be to treat Jenny to a spa day. Or make it a week. Get her a new wardrobe, get Will one, too, then send them on a cruise as a second honeymoon.
Jenny’s brow furrowed as Amelia approached. “What’s wrong? Why aren’t you at work?”
She rocked back and forth from her heels to her toes. There was so much she wanted to say, so many promises she was finally able to make, the words were getting dammed up behind her grin. She savored the moment. “I’ve got some news.”
“You didn’t quit, did you?”
Amelia laughed. She hadn’t officially said the words. She’d been too stunned. But there was no reason to continue waiting tables now. “Not yet, but I will.”
“How much do you want for this?”
The Hawaiian-shirt couple had moved to the edge of the driveway. The man pointed to the plant stand he held.
“Thirty dollars,” Jenny replied.
“There’s some corrosion on the leg here. I’ll give you ten.”
“It’s an antique. Fifteen.”
“Don’t quibble, honey,” his companion said. “It’s already a bargain.”
“All right, fifteen.”
Jenny reached for the small plastic storage container beside her chair. It held a substantial layer of coins plus a surprising number of bills. She took the man’s twenty, gave him a five for his change, and carefully snapped the lid closed.
Forget savoring the moment. Amelia couldn’t contain herself. As soon as the couple loaded their purchase into the sedan at the curb and pulled away, she blurted it out. “I won the lottery.”
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