Shelly’s friend and Dev’s nemesis. Amanda owned Ex Libris, a bookstore that shared the building that housed the Heartbreaker. She and Dev were at odds about everything. But he’d apparently forgotten that in the joy of the moment as he waltzed her out of earshot.
“Do you know what this means?” Dean asked, hugging Shelly, bringing her thoughts back to her own good fortune.
She nodded, afraid to speak the word aloud. “Solvency. Maybe even…” It was a word most merchants in Jester never even considered. “Wealth!” she whispered reverently.
He laughed and, putting an arm around her shoulders, raised the other in a roundup gesture. “Come on, everybody. I’m buying drinks!”
They partied at the Heartbreaker for hours and it was three in the morning before everyone finally went their separate ways with promises to meet at The Brimming Cup the following morning. They’d commissioned Dean to hire an attorney for their group, who would call the lottery commission in the morning and find out the procedure for claiming their winnings.
Shelly sat alone in her dark living room—thinking she’d never be able to sleep and she had to be up at five anyway—and dealt with a weird and out-of-place trepidation.
Things were going to change, she’d realized in alarm about an hour ago.
Twelve people whose businesses had been hanging by a thread had just won enough money, even after taxes, to support themselves through old age if they were careful and invested wisely.
She made a note to herself to find out what in the heck a Roth IRA was. Everyone was saying it was the thing to do with their money.
That was already a small suggestion of change. People who never thought beyond paying the rent or the mortgage were now throwing around financial terms she’d never heard before.
So her financial woes were over, but she couldn’t help wonder just what had begun tonight. Life in Jester had been difficult, but predictable. Hot in the summer, cold in the winter, friends were family and family was everything.
The Merchants’ Association of Pine Run, the county seat, had always laughed at Jester because nine businesses comprised the entire economic base of the town. Still, they’d managed to do their part in community and charitable events. Imagine, she thought, what they would be able to do now.
But would money affect the cohesive quality of their group? Would they build bigger houses and bow out of business life downtown, preferring lives of leisure? Or would some leave Jester altogether, finally able to chase their dreams?
She’d accepted that her life was here, but she’d come to depend upon these people to give it its warmth and texture. They were what stood between her and loneliness. She didn’t think of herself as a business or career woman; she thought of herself as a nurturer. She provided food that kept her friends going, she listened to their problems, told them hers, exchanged advice and affection.
She needed them!
“Okay, calm down,” she told herself. “You tend to grasp and cling when you’re frightened. Relax. Forty million dollars is a good thing.”
Maybe it would bring her a man, she speculated, that little frisson of excitement tickling between her breasts again. She wouldn’t want a man who was attracted to her money, of course, but wouldn’t it be wonderful if her winnings made her more attractive?
What would it be like to have an unlimited wardrobe allowance? To have her hair done every week rather than every other month when she had it cut? To buy quality makeup instead of whatever was on sale at Cozy’s Drugstore, and a fragrance that was advertised in Vogue?
Her excitement flared until she realized this was just another indication of the changes Jester was in for. Practical, hardworking Shelly Dupree was thinking about makeup…and men!
Chapter One
Shelly stood on the corner of Main Street, waiting for the light midafternoon traffic to pass, and stared at the check in her hand. One million, one hundred thousand dollars! The group had chosen the option of getting their money all at once rather than the annuitized $84,000 a year, and that had dropped the full figure by half. Still a fortune, as far as she was concerned.
She knew it was unsophisticated to revel in her good fortune, probably even reckless to hold the check in her hand for all the world to see, but she couldn’t help it. She studied the neat, stick-straight ones printed on the check, then counted the zeroes. Five. Five zeroes! Seven figures! She was a millionaire!
“Hey, Shelly! You buying us lunch today?” Chet Brower waved from ten feet above her in the bucket of the city works department truck. He and his brother Chuck, who stood below in a hard hat, were changing the street signs in downtown Jester—a change insisted upon by Mayor Bobby Larson. Few of the merchants were in agreement—the old names went back to Jester history—but the whole town was terminal with lottery fever and the influx of new life it had brought to Jester, even before any of the Main Street Millionaires had deposited their checks.
Main Street was still Main Street, but the names of three major cross streets were being changed today. Her corner was now Big Draw Drive, a block east was Megabucks Boulevard and Lottery Lane was a block west. She’d expected things to change, but she hadn’t been prepared for just how much.
News vans stood on every corner and seemed to spew an enormous number of people into downtown. They represented Billings, Helena, Missoula, even television stations from neighboring states. Reporters were scattered all over town, interviewing shop owners and people on the street, determined to make what they were calling the Main Street Millionaires national news.
Gawkers had arrived from Pine Run, from Baker, Billings, and even Helena. Everyone wanted a glimpse of the Lucky Dozen, another name their group had acquired.
Chuck came to Shelly and swept off his hard hat. The Brower twins were tall and big, the backbone of the city works department. They looked like linebackers, but thanks to their minister mother, they had hearts of gold.
“Marry me, Shelly,” Chuck said, getting down on one knee on the sidewalk. “Then, buy me a Harley.”
Shelly laughed and swatted his shoulder. Half a block away, a photographer drew a bead on them.
“Oh, let’s see,” she said, pretending to give it some thought. “That would make me the Bride of Chuckie, wouldn’t it? Thanks, but I don’t think so.”
“No!” Still on his knee, he caught her hands. “Think of me as Charles! Prince Charles! You’d be a princess if you married me.”
Shelly patted his thinning brown hair. “Then you’d have two princesses, Chuck. Because you’re already married. You have three little redheaded children who look just like their mother. They’d be definite cogs in the works of a permanent relationship.”
He held his hat to his chest and said with sober sincerity, “I could put up with it if you’ll buy me a Harley.”
“How about a burger?” Chet called from the bucket. “And you don’t have to marry me.”
Shelly looked up to see that Chet had taken down the old Peterson Drive sign with the bullet hole in it and put up the shiny new Big Draw Drive—white lettering on a forest-green background.
“Free
