Fortune's Twins

It’s a baby shower! You’re invited…

For Gwendolyn Tanner, soon-to-be mother of twin baby girls—the subjects of “Who’s the daddy?” speculation.

Gwendolyn is registered at The Mercantile.

If you’d like to join the pool, we’re taking bets on:

Birth Date

Birth Weight

Paternity

Call Sylvia Rutledge, owner of

The Crowning Glory Hair Salon, for more details.

Dear Reader,

What a spectacular lineup of love stories Harlequin American Romance has for you this month as we continue to celebrate our 20th anniversary. Start off with another wonderful title in Cathy Gillen Thacker’s DEVERAUX LEGACY series, Taking Over the Tycoon. Sexy millionaire Connor Templeton is used to getting whatever—whomever—he wants! But has he finally met his match in one beguiling single mother?

Next, Fortune’s Twins by Kara Lennox is the latest installment in the MILLIONAIRE, MONTANA continuity series. In this book, a night of passion leaves a “Main Street Millionaire” expecting twins—and has the whole town wondering “Who’s the daddy?” After catching a bridal bouquet and opening an heirloom hope chest, a shy virgin dreams about asking her secret crush to father the baby she yearns for, in Have Bouquet, Need Boyfriend, part of Rita Herron’s HARTWELL HOPE CHESTS series. And don’t miss Inherited: One Baby! by Laura Marie Altom, in which a handsome bachelor must convince his ex-wife to remarry him in order to keep custody of the adorable orphaned baby left in his care.

Enjoy this month’s offerings, and be sure to return each and every month to Harlequin American Romance!

Melissa Jeglinski

Associate Senior Editor

Harlequin American Romance

Fortune’s Twins

Kara Lennox

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Texas native Kara Lennox has been an art director, typesetter, advertising copywriter, textbook editor and reporter. She’s worked in a boutique, a health club and has conducted telephone surveys. She’s been an antiques dealer and briefly ran a clipping service. But no work has made her happier than writing romance novels.

When Kara isn’t writing, she indulges in an ever-changing array of weird hobbies, from rock climbing to crystal digging. But her mind is never far from her stories. Just about anything can send her running to her computer to jot down a new idea for some future novel.

Books by Kara Lennox

HARLEQUIN AMERICAN ROMANCE

840—VIRGIN PROMISE

856—TWIN EXPECTATIONS

871—TAME AN OLDER MAN

893—BABY BY THE BOOK

917—THE UNLAWFULLY WEDDED PRINCESS

934—VIXEN IN DISGUISE*

942—PLAIN JANE’S PLAN*

951—SASSY CINDERELLA*

974—FORTUNE’S TWINS

Contents

Prologue

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

Prologue

“Oh, no, not again.” Gwendolyn Tanner pulled her smoking casserole from her ancient oven, resisting the urge to let loose the worst curse she knew. This was the third dinner she’d burned this month, and it was all her oven’s fault. The thing tended to malfunction when it got cold outside. Something about the thermostat. And since it was January in Jester, Montana…

Stella Montgomery, one of Gwen’s permanent boarders at the Tanner Boardinghouse, trotted into the kitchen trailing a ball of yarn behind her, her current crochet project clutched in her hand, forgotten for the moment.

“I smell smoke,” Stella announced, sounding worried. “Is something—oh, I see.”

“This darn oven,” Gwen grumbled as she tried to peel the burned top off her macaroni, cheese and sausage casserole. She was a good cook—an excellent cook. Cooking was probably the thing she did best. But this antique of a malfunctioning oven was going to ruin her reputation, and her boarders were going to starve to death. Unfortunately, she didn’t have the money to replace the appliance. Not a lot of people stopped in Jester anymore. The economy in the small town had been in the tank for years. If not for Stella and the other two regulars, Irene Caldwell and Oggie Lewis, Gwen wouldn’t be squeaking by at all.

Still, she didn’t want to do anything else. Tanners had been running this house as a hotel or boardinghouse for more than a hundred years, and she didn’t intend for that tradition to stop with her. Truly she loved her late grandmother’s quaint Victorian house, with its turrets and cubbyholes and twisty staircases, though it was in dire need of repairs.

“I think we can salvage it,” Stella said, diving into the casserole with a fork to pick out the burned bits.

“Some of it will be edible,” Gwen agreed. “With a salad, and German chocolate cake for dessert, we should get by.” She sighed and switched on the portable TV she kept in the kitchen. It was almost seven o’clock, time for the Big Draw. Gwen and several other people in Jester pooled their money and bought a bunch of tickets for the multistate lottery. They’d been doing it for eight years, but they’d never won more than a few dollars.

Still, Gwen did it more for the thrill than anything. It was fun to fantasize about what she would do if she won millions of dollars, or even a few hundred. A dollar a week wasn’t much to pay for a fantasy.

“The jackpot’s up to forty million,” Stella said as she helped Gwen set the kitchen table. Usually they ate in the dining room, but since there would only be three of them tonight, there was no sense being formal. Irene was meeting with her book club, which was hosted by Regina Larson, the mayor’s wife.

“Mmm, forty million,” Gwen said dreamily. “Split twelve ways, but still. The first thing I’d do is buy a new stove.”

“If I became an instant millionaire, I’d get the heck out of Jester,” Stella said with a laugh, her tight blond curls vibrating. “We’ll never find husbands here, honey.”

“I don’t want a husband,” Gwen declared. “I’m happy with things just the way they are.” She’d had to remind herself of that a lot lately. Oh, sure, she’d like a husband, children, a real family. But she didn’t go out much, never went on a date. Heck, she’d grown up with most of the guys in Jester, and she had a hard time thinking of any of them in a romantic way. Some of them weren’t all that bad-looking. Sheriff Luke McNeil was a hunk, and Dev Devlin, who owned the Heartbreaker Saloon, was pretty easy on the eyes. But even if Gwen was interested, she was shy and rather plain, so none of those guys gave her a second look.

“Oh, pshaw,” Stella said. “I’ve had a man, and I’ve been alone, and let me tell you, having a man is better.”

Stella, who was somewhere in her fifties, had never married, but she’d once been engaged. Her fiancé had died, and it was something she didn’t talk about much. But sometimes Gwen sensed a deep sadness behind Stella’s twinkly blue eyes.

Oggie Lewis, one of Gwen’s other boarders, had a crush on Stella. Everyone but Stella knew it. Gwen was often tempted to mention it, but then she would hear her grandmother’s voice: “Stay out of other people’s business, and you’ll never make enemies.”

“Oh, here comes the draw,” Gwen said, glad to have an excuse to change the subject. She turned up the volume on the TV.

The announcer drew out a Ping-Pong ball from the hopper. “Tonight’s first number is…ten. Ten.”

“Hey, that’s one of your numbers,” Stella said, checking the list Gwen kept on the fridge.

“The second number is…twelve. That’s twelve.”

“All right, another one!” Stella squealed.

Gwen felt an irrational bloom of excitement growing. One more number, and they could win five dollars. That was, what, forty cents apiece? That thought brought her back to earth.

“The third number is…twenty. Twenty.”

“That’s three!” Now Gwen really was getting a little excited. The first three numbers were matches. That had never happened before.

In what seemed like slow motion, the announcer called another number, then another. Each one was a match for Gwen’s numbers. She reached out and grabbed Stella’s hand. “This can’t be real,” she murmured.

Then the announcer reached into the hopper for the sixth and final number.

“Three,” Gwen and Stella murmured together. “Three, three, three.”

“The sixth and final number is…three.”

Both women screamed. All six numbers were displayed on the screen for a few seconds. Gwen quickly compared them against her list, just to be sure.

She’d won the lottery. She and her friends.

Moments later, she heard screaming and whooping out in the street. Apparently she wasn’t the only one who’d been watching the draw.

Gwen turned to Stella and hugged her. “I’m rich!”

“You’re rich!” Stella agreed.

“What should I do now?”

“Let’s go out in the street and celebrate! Sounds like everyone else is.”

“Okay!”

As they ran through the house, grabbing coats and scarves, whooping and hollering like children, Oggie Lewis rushed downstairs to see what the commotion was about. Oggie, also in his fifties, was the vice principal at Jester High School. He was always dignified and nattily dressed. But when Stella shouted out the good news, he gave a little whoop of his own and ran out the front door without even a jacket—and it was snowing!

The Tanner Boardinghouse was on the corner of Main and Ashland Avenue. On Main Street, dozens of people were running around shouting, hugging each other, dancing, throwing things in the air. It seemed the whole town had gone crazy! But it was a nice crazy, Gwen mused giddily.

Jester had had little to celebrate in recent years. Some businesses, like the car repair shop around the corner from Gwen, had shut down, and others were hanging on by a spiderweb. Forty million dollars injected into the Jester economy would help not just the lottery winners themselves, but the whole town.

“Gwen, Gwen!” Gwen’s best friend, Sylvia Rutledge, was running toward her, slipping and sliding on the snowy street. “We won!”

“I know,” Gwen said, laughing as she hugged her friend.

“And it was your numbers. You’re our lucky charm!”

“I know!”

Moments later, everybody was hugging Gwen. She was not used to so much attention, and she could feel her face heating from embarrassment and excitement.

“I can pay off my mortgage!” shouted Shelly Dupree, who owned The Brimming Cup, the only coffee shop in town. Gwen had heard that the petite brunette was in danger of losing her little café, left to her by her parents.

Only one person in the street wasn’t celebrating. Wyla Thorne, who normally was one of the regulars in the lottery group, had decided not to buy a ticket last week. She’d said she was tired of throwing her money down a hole, and Jack Hartman, the town’s veterinarian, had been recruited in her place. Now the pencil-thin redhead leaned against the old horse trough in front of the Heartbreaker Saloon, arms folded, a sour expression on her already pinched face.

“Oh, poor Wyla,” said Stella, who was the only person in town Wyla could truly claim as a friend. “What a terrible week for her to quit the lottery.”

“I should say something to her,” Gwen said. “But what?”

“Oh, leave her alone,” said Sylvia. “She’ll get over it, eventually. After we’ve all heard how unfair it is, about a million times.”

Gwen was afraid Sylvia was right. Wyla did tend to feel sorry for herself a lot, though her last divorce had netted her a very profitable pig farm. She was about the only person in town who really didn’t need the lottery proceeds.

“C’mon,” Sylvia said, dragging Gwen by the arm. “We’re gonna celebrate. It’s not every day we become millionaires.”

“Celebrate?” The idea was a bit foreign to Gwen. “How?”

“The Wild Mustang has Wet T-Shirt Night on Tuesdays.”

“Oh, right.” Gwen decided Sylvia’s good fortune had caused a few screws to come loose in her head.

“I’m not suggesting we participate,” Sylvia said. “But the place will be full of cowboys. And you know how I like cowboys.”

Boy, did she. Sylvia was probably the most stylish person in Jester. She owned The Crowning Glory Hair Salon, and she was always attending hairstyling conventions in exotic places like Denver and Seattle, returning with the latest cuts—and the latest story of her exploits with the opposite sex. If she could hook up with a cowboy, that much better.

“Oh, come on,” Sylvia urged. “I’ll drive.”

“It’s forty miles to Roan.” Roan, North Dakota, was where The Wild Mustang was located.

“Exactly. If we go wild and make fools of ourselves, no one in Jester will ever hear about it.”

Gwen was ashamed to admit she was tempted. She felt wild, free, actually light-headed from the shock of her sudden good fortune.

“You should go!” Stella urged her. “I’ll make sure Oggie and Irene get fed. Honey, you hardly ever leave that house except to go to The Mercantile and the Stop ’n Shop. Once in a while, you’re entitled to kick up your heels and have some fun!”

“You know, Stella, you’re right.”

Sylvia clapped her hands in childlike excitement. “Go put on your sexiest clothes and tease up your hair. We’re going dancing!”

Dancing! Gwen thought as she threw on a pair of tight jeans and a red blouse with a ruffly, low-cut neckline. She was a millionaire, and tonight she was going to party, party, party.

Damn the consequences!

Chapter One

Consequences.

Seven months after her lottery win, Gwen was certainly awash in the consequences of her wild night on the town. Her obstetrician had just given her the startling news. She wasn’t just pregnant, she was carrying twins.

Dr. Sanders, an older, white-haired obstetrician who practiced in Pine Run, a larger town a few miles southwest of Jester, grinned broadly.

“Is something funny?” Gwen snapped. She wasn’t normally a moody person, but her hormones were running amok these days.

“I’m sorry, Gwendolyn,” he said. “It’s just that, when you get caught, you really get caught.”

Wasn’t that the truth. She’d spent her life living by her grandmother’s rules. Always sit up straight, eat your vegetables, wear clean underwear in case you’re in an accident and never follow a man to his hotel room.

One little indiscretion—one!—and she was about to be a single mother with twins.

“I wouldn’t smile at your expense,” Dr. Sanders said, “except I know you’re secretly delighted.”

“In shock, more like it. I guess I should have known there was more than one baby in there.” She patted her stomach, which was so swollen it made her look like she was near term, though she had two months of her pregnancy to go. Then she found her own smile. “But you’re right. I was raised an only child, and I always wanted a brother or sister. My children will have each other.” She paused. “But couldn’t you have figured this out a couple of months ago when I bought all the stuff for the nursery?”

Dr. Sanders shrugged. “You wouldn’t come in for a sonogram.”

Again, he was right. She’d been trying to hide her unplanned pregnancy from her friends and neighbors for as long as possible—and that meant she couldn’t make too many unexplained trips to Pine Run. But as she’d grown bigger and bigger, she’d realized she was being foolish. It wasn’t as if she could hide the pregnancy forever. A couple of months ago, when she’d been delivering some baked goods to the Ex-Libris bookstore owned by her friend Amanda Bradley Devlin, Wyla Thorne had made some nasty comment about Gwen’s weight, and Gwen had spilled the news.

The whole town had been shocked. She’d always been the good girl, the shy one, who followed the rules and never made waves. To suddenly become a single mother was like a tsunami.

As she drove back to Jester in her ice-blue Mercedes—one of her many indulgences since she’d received her lottery winnings—the news finally sank in.

Twins. Two children. What fun. But also, what a challenge for a single mother. Not for the first time, she wished she had a husband with whom to share the joys and fears of parenthood. But she could not find Garrett, the sexy hunk she’d met at The Wild Mustang that cold January night. She’d left him her phone number, but he hadn’t called. And she didn’t know his last name or where he lived.

As she drove the familiar Route 2 toward Jester, she couldn’t stop her thoughts from migrating back to that wonderful, magical night when she and the other Main Street Millionaires—that was what the press had dubbed them—had won the lottery. She’d been riding high, floating in a surreal cloud of joy and optimism. She and Sylvia mentally spent their winnings a hundred times over on that snowy drive to Roan, North Dakota, though Gwen had put most of her money in blue-chip stocks and bonds for the future.

When they’d arrived at The Mustang, the place was rocking. As Sylvia had predicted, drunk cowboys were in abundance, and the moment they walked through the door, they had more drink offers and dance invitations than they could handle.

Gwen wasn’t that big on cowboys, drunk or otherwise. Her father, whom she’d never met, had tricked her mother into marriage by pretending to be a prosperous Montana rancher. Her mother didn’t find out the truth until too late. Willie Tanner was a con man and worse, and his “ranch” was a broken-down pig farm, heavily in debt. After eloping with Gwen’s mother, who’d been a minor heiress from Billings, he’d wasted no time cleaning out her bank accounts to pay off some rather nasty creditors—the kind who favored cement overcoats—then disappeared, leaving Gwen’s mother destitute, stranded, estranged from her family, and pregnant. She’d died shortly after Gwen’s birth.

Gwen’s paternal grandmother, Abigail Tanner, had taken in Gwen as an infant. Though she’d long ago turned her back on her no-account son, she’d willingly, lovingly, raised his daughter. One thing Grandmother had drilled into Gwen’s head was not to let any smooth-talking men talk her out of her better judgment—or her bloomers.

“What did I tell you?” Sylvia asked as she sat down to sip her beer, taking a break from the dance floor. “Wall-to-wall cowboys. Are you having fun?”

“Yeah, actually, I am.” She’d received more attention from men that night than she had in her whole life. It might have been the sexy clothes or the dark red lipstick. Or it might have been her attitude. For once in her life she felt strong, confident, powerful. She could do anything!

“You haven’t been dancing,” Sylvia pointed out.

“Dancing’s not really my thing. But I love watching. And I’ve got enough free booze to last a month.” Several eager bucks had sent drinks to Gwen’s table, but she was still nursing the same Shirley Temple she’d started with. She’d volunteered to be the evening’s designated driver.

Sylvia sighed. “What am I going to do with you? Listen, I’ve found a live one, and we want to get out of here. I’ll give you my keys, and you can drive my car home. I’ll get a room at the hotel later and find my way home in the morning.”

Gwen gasped. “You’re leaving with a complete stranger?”

“We aren’t strangers anymore.” Sylvia winked.

Far be it from Gwen to rain on Sylvia’s parade. “All right. But please, be careful.”

“I will. And you—try not being so careful for a change, huh? If you can’t find a guy in this smorgasbord, you’re doomed to a life of spinsterhood.”

That word echoed in Gwen’s mind for a long time. She wasn’t a spinster. That was a stupid word, anyway. She chose to be single.

Didn’t she?

Just then, she spotted a very good-looking man a few tables away. He wasn’t a cowboy, either. In fact, he might as well have been wearing a sign that said, “city boy.” His black hair was short, expertly cut. In his khaki slacks and tailored shirt, he looked more like a businessman of some sort. And, like her, he was on the sidelines, watching the action rather than participating. He appeared to be alone, too.

“Spinster,” Gwen muttered. “I’ll show her spinster.” With a determined toss of her head, she stood, picked up the watery Shirley Temple, and strode to his table.

He glanced over at her as she approached, and she could see that his eyes were blue, a deep, intense hue that seemed to see straight to her core. Her heart jumped unexpectedly.

No turning back now. “Hello. Mind if I sit here?” Her voice sounded like it could have been someone else’s. Where had that B-movie dialogue come from?

He stood and pulled out the chair next to him. “Please.”

She sat down, acutely aware of the man just a few inches from her now. She could feel his body heat, smell a faint whiff of his aftershave.

“I’ve been watching you,” he said. “You’re not comfortable here, are you?”

“It was my friend Sylvia’s idea. We’re celebrating.”

“Celebrating what?”

“A windfall.” She didn’t elaborate. People with money made easy targets. Her mother’s experience had taught her that. “This isn’t your favorite place, either.”

“I was just about to leave.”

“Oh.”

“But now I won’t. Want to dance?”

Adrenaline shot through her. This gorgeous guy was actually responding to her flirtation! “I’d love to.”

Gwen was a terrible dancer, so she was relieved when a slow country song came on as she and her new acquaintance hit the dance floor. Slow dancing didn’t require much skill. She just had to put her arms around the guy and rock slowly back and forth.

His muscles were hard beneath his crisp shirt, and he smelled of soap and starch and that alluring scent of expensive aftershave. Gwen was half in love with him before the song ended.

They kissed after the second slow dance. He tasted faintly of scotch, she remembered. Then he took her to his hotel. He had a suite at the Ramada, one of only two hotels in Roan.

Gwen had never behaved like this, but this night, it felt perfectly natural. They shared few words. Talking didn’t seem to be necessary. She’d connected with Garrett—that was his name—on some elemental level. She wasn’t at all embarrassed when he took her clothes off. Though she was slender, she’d always thought her breasts were too small. But the way Garrett kissed and caressed them, he made her feel they were the most perfect breasts in the world.

All of her felt perfect. She wasn’t a sophisticated lover, but with Garrett she’d felt skillful, confident, sexy. Everything she did was right. Everything he did was perfect.

Gwen wasn’t a virgin. She’d had a brief, secret relationship with a man staying at the boardinghouse one summer when she was nineteen. It was shortly after her grandmother had died, and she’d been struggling with the boardinghouse and desperate for an intimate connection. Instead the experience had turned out painful and awkward. Sex with Garrett, on the other hand, was like dancing a perfect ballet. And for the first time in her life, a man’s caresses had brought her to the pinnacle of pleasure.

They’d slept curled in each other’s arms. In the morning, he’d scrubbed her back in the shower and combed the tangles out of her hair with painstaking gentleness. Then he’d fed her a sumptuous room-service breakfast. But with daylight came harsh reality. She had to get home. Sylvia would want her car back, her boarders would want breakfast. Worst of all, there would be embarrassing questions to answer if she didn’t get home soon.