Fortune's Family Secrets

The man of her dreams...

is a Fortune in disguise!

Innkeeper Cassie Calloway could easily fall for her newest guest. Out-of-towner Nash Tremont is hunky, handsome and handy, but Cassie’s painful past makes her afraid to trust. In this case, caution may be in order. Nash is actually an undercover cop—and a member of the Fortune family. With so many secrets between them, Cassie and Nash will have their work cut out for them. But their complicated love may be worth the fight...

USA TODAY bestselling author KAREN ROSE SMITH has written over ninety novels. Her passion is caring for her four rescued cats, and her hobbies are gardening, cooking and photography. An only child, Karen delved into books at an early age. Even though she escaped into story worlds, she had many cousins around her on week-ends. Families are a strong theme in her novels. Find out more about Karen at www.karenrosesmith.com.

Also by Karen Rose Smith

The Maverick’s Snowbound Christmas

The Maverick’s Holiday Surprise

Fortune’s Secret Husband

The Cowboy’s Secret Baby

A Match Made by Baby

Wanted: A Real Family

Riley’s Baby Boy

The CEO’s Unexpected Proposal

Once Upon a Groom

His Daughter…Their Child

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

Fortune’s Family Secrets

Karen Rose Smith

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-07747-7

FORTUNE’S FAMILY SECRETS

© 2018 Harlequin Books S.A.

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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www.millsandboon.co.uk

In memory of my dad, Angelo Jacob Cacciola, who taught by example that creativity could be expressed in painting, woodworking and model train platforms.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

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

Epilogue

Extract

Chapter One

Nash Tremont came down the stairs from the second floor of the Bluebonnet Bed-and-Breakfast and followed the aroma of cinnamon and sugar and some kind of bread. His boots didn’t make a sound on the steps. After all, he was a police detective and instincts died hard.

At the bottom of the staircase, he spotted a sight that suddenly made him hungry for more than cinnamon rolls. He’d hardly said two words to the proprietress of the bed-and-breakfast but now he couldn’t stop himself. “Even a veteran cowgirl should know better than to climb a ladder that’s too short.”

Cassie Calloway squeaked as if he’d startled her. Her name was an easy one to remember, but he wasn’t thinking about her name as she tilted on the ladder, almost losing her balance. He rushed to her side and wrapped his hands around her waist. It was a tiny waist but she was plenty curvy above and below it.

“Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Gaining her footing once more, she peered down at him. Her tousled brown hair flowed forward and her dark brown eyes moved from his face to his hands at her waist. He quickly removed them, though they tingled because he’d felt her warmth underneath her blouse.

“What makes you think I’m a veteran cowgirl?” she asked, climbing down the ladder.

“Your boots,” he answered quickly. He’d been trained to notice details.

She looked down at her boots as if she hadn’t remembered what she was wearing. They were brown leather, well creased, with the shine long gone.

“They’re comfortable and I like to cook in them.” She sounded a bit defensive.

“I came down because something smelled wonderful. But if we keep up this conversation, I have a feeling you’re not going to give me anything you made for breakfast.”

She laughed and it was a pretty sound. When had he last noticed a woman’s laughter?

On the ceramic tile of the kitchen floor now, Cassie Calloway looked up at him. She wasn’t short, maybe about five-seven. But he was six-three so her chin had to come up for her to meet his eyes. “You didn’t come down for breakfast yesterday. Didn’t smell the bacon?”

Yesterday he’d still been trying to make sense out of what he was doing. Oh, he knew what his mission was here in Austin, Texas. Although he was the love child of an affair between his mother and Jerome Fortune, aka Gerald Robinson, he wasn’t in Austin about that. He had no desire to see his biological father. He was after information—information that could land Gerald Robinson’s wife, Charlotte, in jail. He hoped he didn’t run into any of his half brothers or sisters, either. He didn’t want anything to muddy his investigation or sway his judgment. He was undercover and intended to keep a low profile.

“Maybe I just like cinnamon more than bacon.” Teasing Cassie and seeing her smile seemed to make his day. Maybe because everything about why he was here was so serious.

“I didn’t know financial consultants were so picky,” she joked back.

He almost winced. He’d needed a cover story. A financial consultant on vacation from Mississippi seemed the perfect one to hide his real identity: a detective from Mississippi investigating fraud.

When Cassie Calloway looked into his dark brown eyes with hers, he felt his conscience stab him. He wished he could tell her the truth. But that was ridiculous. He didn’t even know this woman, let alone know if she was trustworthy. Hormones were the downfall of many a man and he’d do well to remember that.

He nodded to the ladder and the smoke alarm in the ceiling. “What’s the problem?”

She opened her hand to reveal a new nine-volt battery. “I need to change the battery, but I couldn’t quite reach it.”

“And you shouldn’t have tried. Don’t you have a handyman’s number you can call when you need one?”

She scoffed at that and shook her head. “Handyman? I don’t think so. I have a mortgage and I need to fill rooms. That’s why I opened them to extended stays. You’re the first one to take advantage of that.”

Nash looked around at the quirky colors of paint on the walls—lime green and sky blue—as well as a mural that had to have been hand-done. It depicted a scene of children sitting under a huge oak. A cowboy was seated on a stool with an open book in his lap as he read them a story. It was really good and he realized the bright wall colors complemented those in the painting.

“You have a nice place here. Have you done many renovations?”

She moved a few steps away from him as if the distance was necessary to talk to him. “I fell in love with it as soon as I saw it. It was in foreclosure. It mainly needed fresh coats of paint.”

He nodded to the mural. “Who did your artwork?”

Her cheeks turned a little pink. “I did.”

“You’ve got talent.”

Her eyes were bright and her smile wide when she said, “Thank you. I love to paint. I mean real paintings. I was an art history major in college, and I took education courses so I could teach. But teaching positions are hard to find in these days of budget cuts, especially art teaching positions.”

Glancing around again, taking in the whole bed-and-breakfast’s first floor as if it was a piece of art, he decided, “You shouldn’t let your talent go to waste.”

“Oh, I don’t. I teach private art lessons, and I help with the community art center.” After a brief hesitation, she said, “Now that I told you about me, why don’t you tell me about Mississippi?”

He knew she’d called his reference in Oklahoma, the state where he was born. Dave Preston was a close friend who could and would adhere to Nash’s cover story.

Nash held his hand out for the battery. “Why don’t you let me take care of this before you actually need the smoke alarm?”

“If you’re sure you don’t mind—”

Not minding a bit, he took the battery from her palm. The tips of his fingers touching her skin sent an electric jolt through him. No, no, no! He didn’t have time for an attraction now. He had to save his energy for the job he was here to do and not be distracted by a pretty woman.

Climbing the ladder, he easily changed the battery. Then he was down the ladder once more.

She glanced down at his well-worn boots. “Your boots look comfortable, too.”

He had to chuckle. “Yes, they are. Perfect for walking or driving.”

“Not for meeting clients?”

Damn it. He was going to have to buy a new pair of boots so he could show her he dressed up for client meetings. Not that he had any of those planned.

He winked at her. “I prefer black boots for a more professional look.”

She seemed to look him up and down, from his dark brown hair, over his squarish jaw, down his red T-shirt and his jeans. Her gaze on him made him feel hot.

“I clean up well, too.”

She blushed. “Oh, I didn’t think you didn’t. How about that cinnamon roll?” she asked, obviously embarrassed.

“That sounds good. Join me?” The question came out of his mouth before he thought better of it. He really shouldn’t have asked her that.

She hesitated and he thought that was wise of her. After all, even though she’d called his reference, he was practically a stranger. But then deciding it must be safe enough to have breakfast with him, she waved at the eat-at counter on the kitchen side of the room. The other side of the room was filled with tables and chairs, no doubt for the dinner he remembered she also served. He hadn’t taken advantage of that yesterday simply because he didn’t want to get tied up with her or any other guests. Anonymity was best cultivated if he spent most of his time alone. However, after a quick canvas of the comfortable-looking sitting area, he could see himself working on his laptop there.

“Coffee?” Cassie asked.

“If it’s black and strong.”

“It is,” she said, but then smiled. “I dose mine with cream and sugar.”

He rolled his eyes in mock horror. “None of those for me.”

“At least I don’t serve flavored coffees.”

He laughed at her tone. “Your guests don’t ask for a hazelnut latte or maybe a caramel macchiato?”

“How do you know about that, since you’re a black-coffee drinker and all?”

Their gazes locked for a heartbeat. It was just one of those awareness moments that passed between a man and a woman when they felt chemistry. “I’ve been in a coffee shop or two.”

She looked away first. “I’ve been known to make a flavored pot of coffee for my women guests. Most of the men are like you and just want theirs black.”

Just like him? He doubted that.

More serious now, she asked, “Is there a reason you didn’t stop for breakfast yesterday? You just filled a travel mug with coffee and left.”

He’d have to watch himself around her. She also seemed to pay attention to details. “I was in a hurry.”

“And not today?”

“I have an appointment this morning but it’s a little later.” Another lie. Well, not exactly a lie. He did have an appointment to use a computer at the library. He had research to do, and it was going to take hours and hours if not days or weeks. But he’d find what he was looking for.

She motioned again to the stool at the eat-at counter. “Sit and I’ll get your breakfast.”

“I can put the ladder away for you first if you’d like.”

She seemed to contemplate that for a few beats. “Okay. Let me show you where it goes.”

He noticed that Cassie moved quickly and gracefully. He couldn’t help but watch the gentle sway of her hips as she led him through the dining area. To the right, there was a screened-in porch. It might be nice to sit out there with his laptop, too. He wished he could just access the records he wanted on there, but he couldn’t. He didn’t want any research being traced back to him. He’d switch around from computer to computer at the library on different days. Once he found what he was looking for, he’d have to have it printed out. There again he didn’t want to send emails to himself and have a record of it. His boss in Mississippi had been totally against this investigation because their original case there had been closed. But once Nash had found that Charlotte Robinson could have used the alias Charlene Pickett, he just couldn’t let it go.

Following Cassie distracted him from the work he intended to do. She was sexy in jeans and a boyfriend shirt. She’d rolled up the sleeves and left the collar open. All too well, he could imagine her in one of his shirts.

Putting the brakes on that image, he let her guide him down a hall.

She motioned to the left to a half-open door. “That’s my suite.”

Continuing down the hall, she opened another door on the left. He could see right away it was a utility room with a washer and dryer, a step stool and an open ironing board.

She pointed to the back of the room. “Can you just prop the ladder there for now?”

It was a tight fit sliding past the ironing board but he slanted the ladder against the wall. Cassie had slipped into the area with him, probably to make sure the ladder was securely propped. She acted like a woman who was used to being on her own and doing for herself.

Suddenly, though, they were face-to-face and boots to boots. His eyes locked to hers and he could again feel the thrum of chemistry between them. From the surprise in her eyes, he could see she felt it and recognized it, too. Attraction to Cassie Calloway was way too dangerous to even contemplate.

Again she broke eye contact first and retreated through the opening between the ironing board and the washer and dryer. “I really should close the ironing board,” she said, her cheeks an attractive pink. “But I hate setting it back up every time I want to iron something.”

“You iron things often?” He was amused by that thought, though he knew his mother was particular about her clothes, too. She’d even ironed pillowcases.

“I like to be presentable,” she answered, a little defensively. “Besides, my guests often need to iron their clothes after traveling. They have sleeve boards in the closets in their rooms, but sometimes they’re not adequate.”

“I do have a couple of dress shirts I should iron,” he decided.

“Do you have many clients in Austin?” she asked.

“Enough.” He knew to keep personal answers short and concise.

Cassie waited, possibly to see if he’d tell her more, but he didn’t. Her cheeks still pink, she said, “I’ll get your breakfast ready. Would you like eggs with that cinnamon roll?”

She was already a good five feet ahead of him as she sped out of the utility room.

He called after her, “No eggs.” Yet he might have two rolls...if they were good.

* * *

Cassie didn’t know what it was about Nash Tremont that sent a tingle up her spine. She usually kept civility and politeness between her and men, especially those she might be attracted to. She had secrets. From experience, she knew she couldn’t share them. That was just the way it was.

But as Nash sat on the stool watching her ready his breakfast, she felt nervous and a bit excited. As she carried two rolls to the counter, along with two mugs of coffee, she asked, “Are you originally from Oklahoma or Mississippi?”

Nash’s brows arched. “You didn’t ask Dave Preston that when you called for a reference?”

“He told you I called?”

“He did. We’re good friends.”

Taking a seat next to Nash, careful their elbows didn’t brush, she pulled the sugar bowl over to her mug of coffee. “I learned that from our conversation. He told me you’d been friends for years, that you often helped him out with construction projects around his house, that you were good with his kids and his dog. He gave you an A-plus rating.”

Nash laughed. “Maybe Dave wasn’t used to giving references. He wanted to make sure he didn’t miss anything.”

“He acted as a friend should. Anyway, your accent isn’t pure Mississippi, is it?”

Again Nash gave her a short answer. “I was born and raised in Oklahoma, and if you put too much sugar in that coffee, you’re going to crash later today.”

She’d been too busy looking at Nash’s thick brown hair, and studying the jut of his jaw. She hadn’t been paying attention to how many teaspoons of sugar she’d put in her coffee. She’d have to drink it no matter how sweet it was. “No, I don’t crash. I just eat more sugar or drink more caffeine.”

“Let’s see,” Nash said with mock seriousness. “Didn’t your website say something about serving healthy breakfasts and dinners?”

“That’s for my guests who want healthy. I eat when I can and usually on the go, especially when I do Paint and Sip presentations.”

“Paint and Sip?” He looked perplexed.

“It’s a recent wine trend. Local wineries have me in for a Paint and Sip night. I teach their customers how to paint a painting in one night while they sip wine.”

“What a great marketing tool,” he said.

“It is, and it brings in extra money.” She always needed to do that. Her life had been that way since she was a child.

“How about you?” Nash asked. “Are you from Austin?”

Should she tell him? Why not? After all, he wasn’t from around here. “I grew up not so far away.”

The cinnamon rolls were round and she took hers apart, licking the sugar glaze off her fingers as she did. When she turned toward Nash, he was studying her.

“What?”

“Do you always eat your cinnamon rolls that way?”

Noticing his was gone with two big bites, well, maybe three, she shrugged. “I prolong the experience. Besides...aren’t sweets better if you can lick them off your fingers?”

Something glowed in Nash Tremont’s eyes and she wished she hadn’t said that. There was coiled energy in the man and plenty of sensual energy, too.

As she felt tongue-tied, not knowing what else to say, he drank most of the coffee in his mug. Leaning back a degree, he gave her a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Your cinnamon rolls are delicious and the coffee is just what I needed. If you don’t mind, I’ll take a travel mug full of it along with me again.”

“I don’t mind. Would you like another cinnamon roll for on the road?”

“Yes, I would,” he agreed.

“I’ll wrap one for you. Will you be here for dinner tonight?”

There was no hesitation in Nash’s voice. “No, I won’t. I’ll be having dinner out.” He’d brought his travel mug with him and now he filled it from the urn in the dining area. “Will more guests be checking in?”

Cassie had hopped up from her stool and was wrapping a second roll. “Yes. Thank goodness there will be another couple today. Do you like to mingle when you go out of town or take vacations?”

“I don’t take many vacations.”

“A workaholic?”

“Something like that,” he acknowledged.

Going back to the counter he picked up the roll she’d wrapped in foil. Then he gathered his Stetson from one of the hat racks on the wall and took out his keys. “Thanks again for breakfast. I’ll see you sometime.” Then, without another word, he was gone.

Cassie had noticed how he avoided personal questions and turned them around on her. She shrugged it off. Maybe Nash Tremont was just a very private man.

* * *

Nash gripped the steering wheel of his SUV tighter as he followed the car’s GPS directions to the library. But even with that greater tactile stimulation of his hands, even though his thoughts should be perusing the dates of the archives he wanted to look up, he felt bothered by what had happened at the bed-and-breakfast. He shook his left hand, then he put it back on the wheel and shook his right. Still he could feel a tingle in his fingers from the warmth of touching Cassie Calloway. It was absolutely crazy.

He hadn’t even looked at a woman with real interest since Sara. His bitterness over what had happened with her had leveled off into disappointment. The divorce rate among cops was well above the average. He’d told himself that over and over again. He’d told himself that his work was enough.

Suddenly his dashboard lit up. A female computer voice told him, “Mom is calling.”

He reached to the dash and pressed a button on the digital screen. “Hi, Mom.” He’d called her when he’d reached Austin so she wouldn’t worry.

“I thought I’d give you a call before we both got involved in our days.”

He checked the time on the dash. “This is early for you, isn’t it?” It was only 8 a.m.

“I’m going into work early today, lots of new car policies to write up. Must be spring. Drivers like to spruce up their cars or buy a new one.”

Nash smiled. His mother worked for an insurance company that wrote car and homeowner policies. She’d been working there for years and seemed to enjoy it.

“How do you like Austin?” she asked.

It seemed like an idle question but he knew she was fishing. “You didn’t tell anybody I was coming here, did you?”

“Who would I tell?” she asked innocently.

“If anyone calls from my office in Biloxi, you tell them I went camping in the backwoods, okay? And if Ben Fortune phones again, stick with the story that you don’t know where I am.” Some of his half siblings had tried to get in touch by mail and phone, but he’d ignored their requests.

Nash heard his mom let out a sigh. “I still don’t understand why you can’t be honest about what you’re doing at work.”