A Fortune In Waiting

Keaton knew all too well. “You’ll do great.”

“Because I had such a bang-up role model in my dad?” He cleared his throat, then added, “I mean our dad.”

“Gerald wasn’t a father to me,” Keaton said quietly. “He isn’t anything to me.”

The waitress returned with two glasses of iced tea, and he took a long drink to cool the angry heat that pooled low in his stomach at the thought of the man who’d abandoned him and his mother. “But, yes, that’s part of the reason why I have no doubt you’ll take to fatherhood like a duck to water. It’s important for you not to repeat the same mistakes Gerald made.”

“I used to believe he’d made mistakes, but now I wonder if he was simply willfully ignorant for so many years.” Ben tapped one finger against the table. “Or the type of man who just didn’t care.”

Keaton inclined his head. “He’s still your dad, and I don’t want my personal feelings about him to color your opinion.”

“Trust me,” Ben said quietly, “I’ve had plenty of reasons to develop my own feelings about him. Each new revelation is a challenge, but Ella has helped me make peace with a lot of it.”

“You’re lucky to have found her.”

“Damn straight. I almost have to be grateful for all the turmoil Dad’s new identity caused because it led me to Ella. If I hadn’t crashed Kate Fortune’s birthday party last year, I never would have met her. It’s hard to imagine my life without her. Ella is the best thing that ever happened to me.”

“There’s another reason you’ll be a good father—you love your baby’s mother.”

“With my whole heart.”

Keaton sucked in a sharp breath at Ben’s words. What would it feel like to give his whole heart to another person? To him, it felt like a recipe for disaster. He’d seen what that kind of love had done to his mother. She’d never gotten over having her heart broken by Gerald Robinson, and it had colored every part of her life. Keaton wouldn’t allow himself to be vulnerable to another person, nor did he want the responsibility of someone loving him that way.

An image of Francesca popped into his mind, but he immediately discounted it. Yes, there was something about the woman that made him want to know her better, but it was infatuation—nothing more.

“Do you have any new leads on other Fortune offspring?” he asked, wanting to change the subject away from love. If Ben was head over heels, there was no sense in Keaton trying to convince his half brother that those feelings were just an illusion. Keaton still worried that he wasn’t as distant in personality from Gerald Robinson as he wanted to believe. He simply wasn’t built for long-term commitment.

“I’m working on tracking down a woman living right here in Austin. It’s a pretty solid lead.”

“My contact in France,” Keaton said, “is gathering information about your former au pair. Nothing substantial yet, but he’s close. I’ve also been working to track down another lead in Oklahoma.”

Ben gave a small nod. “It’s slow going, but that’s how we want it. All of these people who my father left behind have lives and families, just like you did. We need to be sure that we approach them the right way.”

“It’s also important that we’re sure they are Gerald’s children. There are many reasons someone would want to be part of both the Robinson and the Fortune families.” Even before their connection to the Fortunes was revealed, the Robinson family had fame and wealth of their own account. Robinson Computers, the technology company Jerome Fortune founded after he changed his identity to Gerald Robinson, was worth millions and growing every year. Keaton refused to allow his new siblings to fall prey to impostors looking to make a quick buck off a feigned familial connection. But for the ones out there like him...

His thoughts were interrupted as the waitress brought their food. Keaton bit into his hamburger with little appetite. He hated to think other men and women had grown up feeling the lack of a father the same way he had. At the same time, if he could connect with them now, maybe he could ease some of that inherent loneliness.

He wanted to believe he was doing it to help others, but it was as much for himself. His eight half siblings had grown up with Gerald Robinson as their father. Gerald was far from perfect, and had too many secrets, including his true identity, but Kieran, Graham, Ben, Wes, Rachel, Zoe, Olivia and Sophie had always known who they were and where they came from. Keaton longed to talk to someone who’d shared his experience of longing to know where he belonged.

He and Ben discussed more specifics about how to track down the other half siblings as they ate, then Keaton headed across town to the office of Ariana Lamonte, a reporter at Weird Life Magazine, who had emailed him with an interview request regarding a story she was doing on the Fortune family.

Ben had warned Keaton to check her out before he agreed to anything. The Fortunes were big news in Texas, which was why Keaton didn’t speak to many people about his relationship with the family. He had a well-honed protective streak, thanks to years of taking care of his mum. In fact, it still shocked him that he’d shared so much of his history last night with Francesca. Yet there was something about her that made him confident he could trust her.

Whether he could trust the reporter remained to be seen. He walked the half dozen blocks to the magazine’s trendy office. Clouds had rolled in while he was having lunch and a brisk breeze was beginning to kick up.

Ariana Lamonte met him in the lobby and led him to a small conference room. He wasn’t sure what he expected from the reporter, but the friendly woman with long brown hair, wearing a brightly patterned dress and chunky jewelry wasn’t it. He’d been skeptical as to the blogger’s motivations for wanting to interview him, but his gut told him he could trust this woman. As he lowered himself into the chair across from her, she opened the file folder and began to spread out photos on the table between them.

“Thank you for agreeing to meet with me,” she said, her smile genuine.

“You realize I haven’t yet agreed to anything more?” he asked. He relied on his instincts about people but his own feelings about being a Fortune made him wary of discussing the family with anyone who wasn’t in his close circle of confidants. Interesting that Francesca had breached his walls in only one conversation. No one had done that in a long time, and he wasn’t sure what it meant about his connection to the plucky waitress.

Ariana didn’t seem put off by his question. “I want to reassure you I intend to approach this series of blogs with the utmost respect to your family. The Fortunes are important in Texas, and the family’s history appeals to many readers even beyond Austin. I’m curious what it’s like to discover that you are part of such a venerable legacy.”

He schooled his features as he thought of Gerald’s legacy. Yes, Ben and his siblings, the legitimate heirs to the Robinson name, were a big part of that. Each of them had dealt with their own issues since they’d learned that their father was really Jerome Fortune. There was also Charlotte Robinson to consider. Keaton couldn’t help but wonder how Gerald’s wife of more than thirty years was adjusting to this turn in her family’s dynamic. From the little he’d heard from his siblings about their mother, Charlotte was handling the changes with stoic poise, but it had to be acutely difficult for her.

“There are those who have had a bigger adjustment than me,” he answered. “You seem to have done your research on the family.”

Ariana smoothed a hand over the stack of files that sat in front of her. “I have.”

“As I’m sure you know, I was raised by a single mother. That means I always knew there was a part of my history that was missing. For some of the Fortune heirs, I believe it’s been quite a shock to discover there is more to their family than they’d grown up knowing.”

“But it must have been a shock for you to find out that the father you never knew was actually part of such a well-known and powerful family?”

Keaton inclined his head. “Yes,” he admitted.

“That’s the focus of this series. I want to profile some of the newer members of the Fortune family and share with readers the unique process of becoming a Fortune.”

“Becoming a Fortune,” Keaton repeated.

“That’s the title of the series,” Ariana told him. She slid several of the photos toward him, and he recognized the people in them as other recently minted Fortunes. There were several images of the children of Josephine Fortune Chesterfield. Unlike Gerald, Lady Josephine and her sister, Jeanne Marie Fortune Jones, hadn’t kept their status as Fortunes a secret. The women had both been put up for adoption as babies, two of a trio of triplets that also included family scion James Marshall Fortune.

It was only a few years ago that Jeanne Marie and Josephine’s connection to the Fortunes was revealed and they and their children had made the transition to being part of the famous family. Keaton already knew of the Fortune Chesterfields, as their ties to the royal family made them celebrities in Britain. From what he’d learned of the Fortune Jones branch of the Fortune family, based in the small Texas town of Horseback Hollow, they’d been regular people who had a bigger adjustment to being part of the limelight that came from being a Fortune.

“Which of the Fortunes have you spoken to already?”

Ariana’s dark gaze didn’t waver. “You’re the first.”

“Why me?”

She held up a hand to tick off the reasons on her fingers. “You’re now a local, which will be interesting to my readers, and the Austin Commons project is already news. The fact that you discovered your relationship with Gerald Robinson—or Jerome Fortune to be more precise—as an adult is intriguing. The Fortunes are quite well known in the States, particularly in Texas. The Fortune Chesterfields are famous in their own right, but you’re different.” She flashed a wry grin and added, “Unique.”

“Not as unique as you might think,” he muttered then regretted speaking the words out loud when Ariana leaned over the table.

“What does that mean?”

He thought about ignoring the question and refusing to be a part of the interview and subsequent profile. Other than recognition for his work, Keaton had never craved fame. But he remained deeply committed to discovering the others out there who’d been discarded by Gerald, and he felt certain there were more. Maybe if he spoke with Ariana, he could shake up the family tree a bit and see what else might fall from the branches.

He had to balance his need to locate other Fortune children with his desire to respect his half siblings and what the knowledge of their father’s philandering would do to them. That meant he had to tread carefully with Ariana.

“It means there’s more to the story of Jerome Fortune than anyone outside the family knows.”

The reporter’s eyes widened and she reached into the purse that sat on the chair next to her and pulled out a hand-held recorder. “What can you tell me?”

“Nothing while we’re on the record,” he said, shaking his head.

She sucked in a breath, clearly frustrated with his answer. “I have a responsibility to my readers.”

“I have a responsibility to my brothers and sisters,” he told her. His lungs expanded as he said the words. They were a truth he felt from the bottom of his heart. He might be new to the Fortune family, but Ben, Wes, Graham, Olivia, Rachel, Kieran, Zoe and Sophie meant something to him. They meant he wasn’t alone in the world any longer. “I’ll talk to you about my theories on Gerald Robinson and the implied consequences of how he’s chosen to live his life, but that can’t be part of the story you publish.”

Ariana studied him for several moments then placed the recorder back in her purse. “Will you agree to a featured profile on you in the magazine and on the blog?”

“I’ll think about it.”

“What about your theories on your father?”

“He’s not—” The urge to deny his connection to Gerald came fast and hot, but he swallowed it back, letting the bitterness burn a path down his throat. “For now, let’s just say that I don’t think I’m the only skeleton in Gerald’s adulterous closet.”

“That’s quite the bombshell,” she murmured.

“Indeed. I plan to uncover my father’s secrets.”

“I can help,” Ariana offered immediately.

He started to protest, but she held up a hand. “Off the record, Keaton. I won’t lie to you, if the ‘Becoming a Fortune’ series takes off, it will be a great stepping stone for me. I’m good at research and tracking down leads. But I’ll only take it as far as makes you and your half siblings comfortable. All I ask in return is that you agree to let me interview you, and not block my way to speaking with other Fortunes.”

“That’s fair,” he agreed then glanced at his watch. “I have a meeting at my office this afternoon. Call me and we’ll set up a time to talk about my Fortune journey.”

She stood at the same time he did and they shook hands. “I look forward to it,” she told him.

He expected to feel tense about what he’d agreed to, but as he returned to the Austin Commons project site, a sense of peace descended over him. He could try to convince himself and everyone around him that Gerald meant nothing to him, but the lack of a father had shaped almost every decision Keaton had made in his life. This was his chance to define what “becoming a Fortune” meant to him, and if Ariana Lamonte could help track down other half siblings then all the better.

Chapter Four

When the bell above the door to Lola May’s chimed at just past six that evening, Francesca didn’t need to turn around to know that Keaton had just walked in. The fact that her heart began to race and a tiny shiver made goose bumps pop up all over her body left no question.

She smiled at the couple at the table in front of her as she set down their plates of food. The man made a silly joke about buttering biscuits and Francesca tried to think of a clever response. She liked bantering with customers, but right now every one of her brain cells had taken the fast train south to parts of her body she’d assumed were stuck in permanent hibernation.

Keaton Whitfield might be the reason for global warming, at least in Francesca’s world.

Glancing out of the corner of her eye, she saw him slide into a booth in her section. It shouldn’t be so difficult to think about speaking to him. They’d had an entire conversation last night where she hadn’t stuttered or drooled or made an obvious idiot of herself. He’d been polite and charming, neither of which surprised her given how she’d seen him interact with Lola May and the other waitresses during his daily visits to the diner.

But actually enjoying his company had been a bit of a revelation. She couldn’t remember ever simply having fun with Lou. Every moment they’d been together had been about her adoring him. His life. His band. His schedule. His needs.

She was still embarrassed to admit how easy it had been to ignore her own needs in trying to take care of him. She knew it stemmed from the fact that she’d grown up without a father. When she’d asked her mother why her dad had left, the answer was always the same—“I couldn’t give him what he needed.”

Francesca had been determined to give Lou everything he needed so she’d never lose him. The problem was she’d lost herself in the process.

Ciara had the section next to Francesca’s on this shift, so it would be easy to beg her friend to take care of Keaton. She stole another glance and found him watching her. A slow, sexy half smile curved one side of his mouth. She was positive he knew that she’d been planning to ditch him. Seriously, it was like the man was some sort of British mind reader.

How difficult could it be to serve him a meal? It was her job, after all, and they’d already had a conversation. No biggie, right?

“Hi,” she said as she approached the booth and wondered if that one word sounded as lame to him as it did to her.

“Hello, Francesca,” he said in that gorgeous accent. He might as well have said “I’d like to ravish you” because all her circuits went slightly haywire. “You look lovely tonight.”

She glanced down at her black Lola May’s T-shirt and the denim skirt she’d paired with pink cowboy boots. She had a small splattering of ketchup just above the letter M that made her feel the exact opposite of lovely.

“How was your test?” he asked.

She met his gaze and promptly forgot how to speak. It was as if the English language didn’t exist to her anymore. All she could do was stare and—oh, dear—was that yearning she felt? She could almost feel her body yearning for the man. Not a good sign. Francesca had vowed to become strong and independent after her break up with Lou, but now her fledgling feelings for Keaton made her feel flustered and weak in the knees. She couldn’t risk being weak ever again.

She groaned softly then realized Keaton was still watching her. Wait, what had he asked her just now?

He ran a hand over his jaw and the slight rasping of stubble against skin did nothing to help her focus. How would his face feel under her fingertips? What if she kissed the edge of his jaw?

“You did have a test today?” he prompted.

She blinked. Swallowed. Made a fist and dug her fingernails into the fleshy part of her palm, hoping that the bite of pain might help her focus.

“Test,” she repeated like a googly-eyed tween when faced with her biggest fangirl crush.

“Accounting, I believe?”

“Yes, accounting.” She licked her dry lips and his gaze zeroed in on her mouth. Not helping her focus. “I think it went well. I don’t have my grade yet but I hope it went well. I hope...”

That you’ll take off your shirt right now.

Nope. She certainly wasn’t going to add that.

“I hope you’re hungry,” she said instead.

Keaton’s smile widened and Francesca felt a blush rise to her cheeks. “For dinner,” she added and grabbed the small pad of paper from the pocket in her apron. “Are you ready to order?”

“What’s the special?”

Me was the first answer that popped into Francesca’s mind and she wanted to wring her own neck. She knew better than to let her attraction to a man overwhelm her. She’d been down that road before, the one where she felt grateful for any crumbs of attention. On the surface, Keaton had nothing in common with Lou the Louse, but they were both men who were way out of her league. Why pretend it was any different?

“Chicken pot pie. It’s a recipe from Lola May’s grandmother. We make the crust from scratch. It’s amazing.”

“I’m game for some amazing,” he told her. “Pot pie it is.”

“Anything to drink?”

“Water is fine. Is there a chance you could take a break and keep me company while I eat?”

She glanced around at the crowded diner. “It’s only Ciara and me on shift tonight so...” She wanted to take a break with his man. She wanted a lot more, too. “I’ll try.”

“Smashing,” he murmured.

She giggled at the obviously British term then clasped a hand over her mouth. Francesca had been around the block enough to know better than to be turned into a giggling school girl because a handsome man with a dashing accent showed her a bit of attention.

Another customer waved her down and she hurried away, her heart still racing. Why was it so difficult to act normal with Keaton?

She gave his order for the kitchen then delivered a glass of water to his table. He was frowning at something on his phone as she approached. When he glanced up at her, there was a momentary look of such pain in his eyes that she hurt for him. It took all her willpower not to slip in next to him in the booth and give him a hug, nerves be damned. He looked like he needed a hug as much as he needed his next breath.

He closed his eyes for a second and when he opened them, the look was gone. She started to ask about it, but the toddler in the booth behind him knocked over her juice, so Francesca quickly grabbed a pile of napkins to help clean up the mess.

A few minutes later, Keaton’s pot pie was ready. She picked up the plate from the pass through between the kitchen and the front of the restaurant. There was no way she was going to get a break before closing, so she thought about asking Keaton if he could stick around until her shift was over. She wanted to spend time with him, but the very thought of it made her heart hammer and her palms sweat.

Sweaty palms and carrying a porcelain plate were not a good combination apparently. When Keaton looked up and flashed another one of those sexy half smiles, the plate started to slip out of Francesca’s hand. She leaned over the booth, trying to will the plate to land on the table, which it did. But it had so much momentum that it skidded to the edge and tipped off, dumping the entire hot, steaming mass of pot pie into Keaton’s lap.

He made a choked sound and Francesca gasped. She’d been waiting tables since she was sixteen and had never dumped food into a customer’s lap.

The next few minutes were a blur. The only thing she was sure of was that she’d never been more humiliated. She bent toward him, reaching for his lap at the same time Keaton straightened from the booth. The top of his head clipped her chin, and she gave a tiny yelp as she bit down on her tongue.

“I’m sorry, luv,” he said immediately, but she was intent on cleaning up the mess she made.

So intent that she grabbed the hunk of food from his lap before the realization hit her that she was basically pawing at his crotch.

She let out a little screech and her hand jerked, sending chunks of chicken and bits of carrot and corn onto his shirt front.

“I’m so sorry,” she muttered, but before he could respond, Lola May was at her side with a wet rag.

“Customers want to eat the food, Frannie, not wear it.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“Go get yourself cleaned up,” Lola May snapped and Francesca glanced down at the dripping mess of pot pie she held in her hand.

“I’m sorry,” she said again without meeting Keaton’s crystal-blue gaze. How could she ever look at him again after this fiasco?

She ran to the back of the restaurant, washing her hands under the faucet of the kitchen’s utility sink. Pieces of crust and dollops of gravy clung to her T-shirt, making the ketchup spot she’d worried over earlier seem invisible.

“You smell like dinner,” the head cook, Richard, told her with a laugh.

“It’s not funny,” she answered. “I made a huge mess of a customer.”

“From what I’ve heard from the other waitresses,” the older man said, “that British bloke has a thing for you. Maybe he figured dumping food in his lap was your way of flirting. Tell him it’s an American custom.”

Francesca groaned. “I’m not telling him anything. I doubt he’ll ever want to speak with me again.”

The thought made tears prick the backs of her eyes, and she bit down on her lip. Lola May kept a shelf of diner T-shirts for the tourists who wanted to purchase them, so Francesca went to the bathroom and changed.

She stepped out into the hallway just as Ciara turned the corner. “You have to take my tables,” she whispered to her friend. “I can’t go back out there. It’s too embarrassing.”

“I have a full section of my own, so you’re stuck back on the floor, sweetie. It may even improve your tips. Customers will be scared that if they aren’t nice, you’ll dump food on them, too.” Ciara chuckled. “That was definitely impressive aim.”

“You know that was an accident. Why does everyone think it’s funny?” Francesca covered her face with her hands. “I bet he doesn’t think it’s funny, and I can guarantee Lola May isn’t amused.”

“True about Lola May,” Ciara admitted. “Keaton was a good sport about the whole thing, though, and we packed up a new pot pie in a to-go box for him so he’ll be fine.”

Francesca peeked through her fingers. “He’s gone?”

Ciara nodded. “He smelled like ‘winner winner chicken pot pie dinner.’ Did you expect him to stay for a second helping?”