the guy wants a baby, too. You won’t know ’til you ask him.”
“How can I ask him if I don’t know who he is?”
“You can find out.”
“We’re talking in circles.”
Eli stood and walked over to the railing. “How many…candidates are we talking about?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” she said breezily. “I wasn’t keeping count.”
He watched her through narrowed eyes. Well, great. Now Eli thought she was a slut.
“And are any of these guys still on the scene?” he asked, sounding like a prosecuting attorney browbeating a defendant.
“Oh, heavens no. None of them were from Jester.”
“I s—I understand.”
“Then you understand you’re under absolutely no obligation to me. You’re free to leave, and you’ll never hear from me again.”
He turned suddenly fierce. “Maybe I don’t owe you anything. But I don’t make it a habit to litter the countryside with my illegitimate children. So until the baby’s born and you can do a DNA test, you’re stuck with me.”
Oh, dear. This wasn’t working out at all as Gwen had planned. She thought Eli would be relieved to be given his walking papers. Certainly her father hadn’t cared to stick around long enough to see his child born, and her parents had been married.
“All right,” Gwen said. “If you leave me your number, I’ll call you when the babies are born.”
Eli’s face paled. “Babies? As in, plural?”
“Twins. I just found out.”
One corner of his sexy mouth turned up in a half grin. “Well, I’ll be damned.” But the smile quickly faded. “I don’t think I trust you to call me.”
“You know where to find me. Due date’s October tenth. Um, Eli, suppose you are the father. What did you have in mind?” She had a strong feeling his plans didn’t include paying child support.
“A wedding, of course.” He tipped an imaginary hat. “I’ll be seeing you.”
Gwen just stared, her mouth gaping open, as he stood and walked across her porch, down the steps and out onto the sidewalk. She watched as he walked down Main Street and climbed into his car—the classic Jaguar that had passed her on the highway earlier.
A wedding, huh? Very noble of him. For a few moments, she let herself think about that. White lace—well, maybe not white, she amended—and promises, just like the old song. Her friends around her. Cake and champagne, the bride and groom dancing. His Jaguar, painted with shoe-polish quips about the wedding night.
A honeymoon…the best part.
She sighed. That was some far-out fantasy. She might be willing to marry Eli Garrett. But the moment she mentioned the prenuptial agreement she would require, he would probably run for the hills. A prenup might seem cold, but she wasn’t going to make the same mistake her mother did.
AS HE DROVE back to Denver, Eli tried not to be angry with Gwen. But he was, dammit. She’d been trying to get rid of him, and that stung.
Eli was a businessman. Among other things, he bought and sold cars, and some of the wiliest liars in the world joined him in that occupation. So Eli had gotten very good at telling when someone was lying to him.
Gwen Tanner had been lying through her pretty white teeth. For some reason she hadn’t wanted him to believe he was the father of her child—children, he corrected himself.
Perhaps she just didn’t want a man around. Maybe she’d approached him at The Wild Mustang for the sole purpose of getting pregnant. He’d heard of stranger things.
But that scenario didn’t fit the woman he’d spent the night with. Granted, he couldn’t claim to really know her after only a few hours together. But they’d connected on some elemental level. She’d been sincere that night—he was sure of it. She’d left him her number, and she’d wanted him to call.
Two explanations for her behavior occurred to him. One, she didn’t want to “trap” him. Maybe she sincerely believed all that stuff she’d told him, that a man shouldn’t have to be responsible for one lapse in judgment. Kind of cockeyed reasoning, but plausible.
The second possibility—that Gwen didn’t want him anywhere near her money—also made sense. She didn’t know him, after all. He might be some male version of a gold digger.
Neither problem was insurmountable, Eli decided, his habitual optimism coming to his rescue. Once Gwen got to know him, she would realize that he didn’t want or need her money. And he would make her see that being a father wasn’t some huge price he was being forced to pay. He wanted—no, insisted on—a role in his children’s lives. He might not have a clue how to be a good father, but surely a clueless father was better than none at all.
Eli didn’t remember either of his parents, didn’t even know who they were. He’d been abandoned as an infant. But he was somewhat of an expert on foster parents. He’d lived in sixteen different foster homes during his childhood. Sometimes the surrogate parents meant well. Some had been indifferent, interested only in the money they received from the government for his care. A few were downright cruel. He’d never bonded with any of them, never kept in touch after he moved on.
He was partly to blame for that. He’d been a difficult kid with a chip on his shoulder. He’d resented the parents who had abandoned him. That resentment had fueled his ambition. Early on he’d decided to make something of himself, to prove how wrong his foolish parents had been to reject him. He’d mostly stayed out of trouble, learned a trade, started his own business and achieved success beyond his wildest dreams. But the resentment had kept everyone at arm’s length.
Well, his kids weren’t going to resent him. They would have to find some other motivation to succeed in life. He was going to be there, dammit.
He pressed harder on the gas, pushing the Jag to seventy-five. He had a lot to accomplish in the next couple of weeks.
THE SUMMER HEAT WAVE finally broke as September rolled around. With the high temperature only reaching the seventies, Gwen felt a renewal of her customary energy. She baked with a vengeance in her new, modern kitchen, delivering more pastries to the bookstore than the patrons could possibly eat. She tried out new recipes on her boarders and she finished the nursery—now with two of everything. Today she was serving afternoon tea on the porch. She’d bought more wicker furniture, enough to accommodate a dozen people, and she’d invited a few people over. She’d even invited Wyla Thorne. Poor Wyla—the woman was just consumed with bitterness over the fact that she’d quit the lottery pool one week too early.
As she set the wicker table with a cabbage-rose cloth and matching napkins, she counted the days and realized she hadn’t heard a peep out of Eli in two weeks, which was a mixed blessing. Her rational side was sure he was attracted to her money. After all, men had never exactly flocked around her when she was slender and moderately attractive. Well, she didn’t have two noses or anything. Now that she was the size of a Goodyear blimp, men ran the other way when they saw her coming.
Sylvia
