by Kara Lennox
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?”
Gwen was surprised Bobby hadn’t heard about Eli moving into the Carter place, the way gossip traveled in this town. “I’m afraid you’re a little late. Eli Garrett just bought the Carter house and Mac’s Auto Repair.”
Bobby’s florid face turned pale. “Th-that can’t be! Those properties were going on the auction block next month. I was going to scoop them up for back taxes!”
Ah, suddenly things became clear. “Are you the one who’s been trying to buy my house?” But of course, he was. The three properties combined—hers, the Carter place and the garage—would provide enough acreage for a small hotel, and in a prime location.
The mayor’s silence was telling. That sneaky weasel!
“You want to tear down two beautiful Victorian houses for a hotel?” she persisted. She shuddered to think about it. Though Eli’s appearance in her life had put a kink in her carefully laid plans for the future, she was secretly pleased he would be saving another bit of Jester’s heritage.
Instead of sticking around to argue further, Bobby turned his attention to the activities next door. “Here, now!” he called to Eli. He marched toward Eli’s property, Gwen forgotten. Paula trotted after him. “You can’t dump all that trash in the street. We have ordinances!”
Gwen couldn’t resist the urge to follow the mayor over and listen to the exchange between the two men.
Eli introduced himself and shook hands with the mayor, who clearly wasn’t pleased at being forced to be cordial.
“I believe the ordinance states that large trash can be stacked near the curb, provided it’s hauled away within forty-eight hours.”
The mayor turned to Paula. “Make a note to check the ordinance.”
“I’ve hired Jimmy Jenkins over at the school to bring his dump truck over tomorrow after school and haul this stuff to the landfill.”
Bobby appeared extremely perturbed. But he didn’t have a good comeback. He resorted to shaking his finger in Eli’s face. “You just watch your step. I’ve got my eye on you. Gwen Tanner is like a daughter to me. I don’t take kindly to city slickers moving into my town and trying to horn in on our women.” He glanced back at Gwen, who tried not to laugh. Finally Bobby spun on his heel and stalked back to the purple car.
“Yeah!” Paula added before following her boss.
To his credit, Eli waited until they’d driven off before bursting into laughter. “That’s your mayor?”
“Our mayor,” Gwen corrected him. “No one really likes him. But his father was mayor, a good one, so no one will run against Bobby—out of respect for his dad, I guess. He’s a buffoon, but you don’t want him as your enemy. He can be petty and vindictive. You can bet he’ll have Paula poring over all the city ordinances, trying to find a violation on your property.”
“And maybe yours, too. You gave him an earful.”
“Eavesdropping, were you?”
“Didn’t have to. You were pretty loud. Which surprises me. Everyone I’ve met refers to you as shy, sweet, quiet. You don’t seem that way to me.”
“Being seven-and-a-half months pregnant makes me cranky. I speak my mind more than I use
d to.”
He winked at her. “Keep it up. You’re beautiful when you’re mad.”
“I won’t dignify that with a response.” But secretly she reveled in the flirtation. He had good reason to weasel his way into her good graces, but she wanted to believe his compliments were sincere.
ONE WEEK after moving to Jester, Eli woke up in his little room in the boardinghouse, his muscles protesting vigorously. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d worked this hard. Maybe it was when he was twenty-one, after his one and only brush with the Colorado legal system. That had been a wake-up call. Before that, he’d thought the way lots of kids did—that he was invincible, smarter than the authorities, and that he could beat the system and smart-mouth his way through any situation.
Well, he couldn’t wiggle out of massive debt. He’d obtained credit cards—dozens of them—with amazing ease. Every time the payments would get too high, he would get another card and transfer the balances. But eventually no one would give him another card, and the “house of cards” came crashing down on him.
He remembered the exact moment he realized that the world wasn’t going to give him a free ride just because he was clever and good-looking. His big plans to “be somebody” wouldn’t come to fruition without hard work, and a lot of it.
That was when he’d gotten the job at Cooper’s Mechanic Shop. He’d proved himself a quick study, and Old Man Coop let him work ten, twelve, sometimes fifteen hours a day. He’d started taking on special jobs, time-consuming repairs on old Mercedes and Jaguars that no one else wanted to touch. He’d reveled in tracking down exotic replacement parts, scouring junkyards for the fender to a 1965 Barracuda or tooling a special part himself.
His reputation quickly grew, and Coop, who was near retirement anyway, helped him spin off his own business specializing in classic and antique cars.
His first big break came when he recognized a rare 1916 Stutz Bearcat, rusting away in a junkyard. He bought it for almost nothing, restored it, then sold it to a collector for an obscene profit. A few more successes like that, and he’d been written up in the newspaper. The wire services had picked up the story—Orphan Grease Monkey Makes Good. Pretty soon, people from all over the country were calling him for advice, or to help them find a certain part.
He realized his vast database of knowledge, not to mention the one he kept on his computer, was worth something, and he became a consultant. When the Smithsonian Institution acquired a rare vehicle, Eli Garrett was the man they called to restore it. Sometimes he was amazed at what people would pay him—and all for doing something he loved.
The renovations to his new house had eaten into his garage time, though. He’d been neglecting the 1928 Nash, which required a never-ending list of rare parts that had to be tracked down and oddball paint colors that Eli mixed himself, recreating the manufacturer’s original colors. Eli was a nut for authenticity, and so were his customers.
Eli had been putting in twelve-hour days of hard physical labor of one kind or another. No wonder he was so sore, he thought as he folded his six-foot-plus body into the small clawfoot tub. But the house was still a long way from livable.
He shouldn’t be in that much of a hurry. He enjoyed living in Gwen’s house, even with the cramped bathing facilities. The dinners were excellent, the company entertaining and the room comfortable, although he would much rather be living on the third floor with Gwen.
He’d never even been upstairs. He had no legitimate reason. And he was dying of curiosity. Would Gwen’s quarters reflect the same good taste as the rest of the house, which featured oak floors, Oriental rugs, off-white walls and fine mahogany furnishings? Or would it be a more personal reflection of the woman herself?
As Eli dressed in jeans and a work shirt, he noticed something missing. No delicious scent of blueberry muffins or cinnamon rolls wafted into his room from the kitchen. Gwen was normally an early riser, so that she could bake her pastries for the bookstore. He was amazed how quickly he’d become accustomed to the pleasant wake-up call.
Eli emerged from his room at around seven-thirty and found Irene and Stella dithering in the dining room.
“Oh—Gwen’s not with you, then?”
“With me? No.” Only in his dreams.
“The kitchen’s dark and the oven cold,” Stella said ominously. “We thought maybe…well, we didn’t want to disturb you if…but apparently you haven’t.”
Eli didn’t need to hear anymore. He headed straight up the stairs.
“Gwen is very protective of her privacy,” Irene called after him.
He didn’t care. She might be in trouble. She just wasn’t the type to sleep late on a Monday morning. A sign on the second-floor landing at the foot of Gwen’s staircase—Private—didn’t deter him. He climbed the narrow, twisting staircase, arriving at Gwen’s door.
He knocked, hard. “Gwen? Are you in there?”
“Uh, just a minute.” He was relieved to hear her voice, but troubled by its raspy quality. A few moments later, Gwen cracked the door open. “What are you doing here?” she asked crossly.
“I was worried about you. You’re always up by six.”
“Well, what time is it?” She looked at her watch and gasped. “Oh, my stars! How did that happen?” She turned away from the door without shutting it, so Eli took the opportunity to push his way in.
He gave the apartment only scant attention, noticing only that it wasn’t like the rest of the house. It was more like—a harem, with hanging silks, bright colors, huge pillows on the floor. But he was more focused on Gwen, who wore a Chinese red silk robe. She’d been heading for what he presumed was her bedroom, but she’d stopped with her hand on the knob, eyes closed. She wavered slightly on her feet, and Eli jumped to support her in case she fell.
She looked awful. Beautiful, but awful. No doubt about it, she was sick.
He put a hand to her forehead. It was burning up.
“You’re going to the doctor.”
“It’s just a little flu. I called Doc Perkins last night and he sent over a prescription.”
“Is it safe for you to take medicine? For the babies, I mean?”
“It’s okay to take some things. Don’t worry, Nathan Perkins is a great doctor. I’m sure he took my pregnancy into account.”
“Yeah, well, whatever he gave you isn’t working. You’re sick as a dog.”
“I’ll be fine,” she insisted. “Just let me get to the shower.”
“You’re not going anywhere except a doctor’s office. If you won’t think of your own health, think of the twins.”
That did it. She slumped against him, all her fight gone. “Let me put some clothes on.” But in the end she couldn’t even do that, she was too weak. So Eli scooped her up and carried her down the stairs.
Chapter Four
Gwen had never felt so humiliated. “Please, put me down,” she begged. “I’m going to give you a hernia. Worse yet, you’ll lose your footing going down these stairs and kill us both.”
“Hush up,” Eli said.
So she did. She closed her eyes and cuddled up against Eli’s massive chest, feeling suddenly safe and protected. She hadn’t felt that way since her grandmother died ten years ago. She was so used to taking care of herself and her guests, she’d forgotten what it was like to just surrender and let someone else take control.
“Oh, my heavens, what’s wrong?” she heard Irene ask.
“I’m not sure,” Eli said. “She’s weak and feverish, and in her condition I’m not taking any chances. Do either of you have a car?”
“Mine’s parked out back,” Stella answered quickly. “This way. The clinic is just down the block.”
“Is it open this early?”
“Oh, yes,” Irene assured him. “Doc Perkins opens early for the convenience of folks who’d like to come in before work.”
“Never mind the car, then. I’ll carry her.”
Gwen wanted to object, but she was too sick to care much that everybody in town
would see Eli carrying her down the street in her Chinese silk robe.
At the last minute, Stella took the afghan she’d been crocheting, which was almost completed, and tossed it over Gwen. “Don’t want you catching a chill on top of everything else.”
Stella led Eli to the Jester Medical Center, which was mercifully close, and hurried to open the door.
“Oh, heaven help us!” Gwen recognized the voice of Carlie Goodwin, the clinic’s new receptionist. She was a sweet, grandmotherly type who’d been hired after the last receptionist had gone off to college. Carlie was tailor-made for this job. She took each case to heart and made everyone feel like they could have been her own children or grandchildren. Whether it was the sniffles or something more serious, Carlie’s personal concern was always a balm to any patient who crossed the threshold. “Is she in labor?”
“Just the flu,” Gwen murmured as Eli set her gently on one of the comfy waiting-room sofas. Dr. Nathan Perkins was also one of the lottery winners. He’d used some of his winnings to spiff up the clinic, which was now decorated in plush fabrics and soothing earth tones.
“Doc Perkins is out on a call, but Dr. O’Rourke is here,” Carlie explained. “He’s with a patient right now, but he can see you soon as he’s done.”
Gwen would rather have seen Doc Perkins, who’d been Jester’s doctor for the past several years, ever since graduating from medical school. He wasn’t much older than Gwen herself, but with his prematurely gray hair, he seemed older.
Still, she didn’t want to wait. She wanted to get this ordeal over with, so she could go home and hibernate until the whole incident became nothing more than a bad dream.
“You’ll love Dr. O’Rourke,” Carlie said, as if sensing Gwen’s hesitancy. “He’s really good with the kids.”
“Of course I’ll see Dr. O’Rourke,” Gwen said, feeling silly. Young, good-looking doctors made her nervous. But Conner was married to Shelly, after all. It wasn’t as if he was a stranger.
