Loe raamatut: «Four-Karat Fiancee»

Chapter One

Never in a million years, she’d told him. Amanda recalled that ringing statement on a cloudy April afternoon, thinking that she had been as good as her word.

Dev Devlin might now be a wealthy man, especially in comparison to most of Jester’s far-from-affluent residents, but she hadn’t given in to him one inch. Winter had bowed to spring and her quiet bookstore still shared a building with his busy bar—something that continued to rub both parties the wrong way, even though Main Street hadn’t seen a real confrontation between them since the town sheriff had actually stepped in to break up the last one several weeks earlier. Although neither had declared an end to hostilities, the two of them seemed to have struck up a wary truce. Which was just as well, Amanda told herself, because at the moment she had something more important than her problems with the Heartbreak Saloon’s owner to consider.

She had the fate of four children to think about and worry over. Four young kids who had lost their father and mother.

Four orphans she’d only recently discovered existed.

But she couldn’t think about them now. At the moment she had to keep her mind on business, Amanda knew, because today problems had also cropped up at the Ex-Libris, her bookstore.

“What do you plan to do with all this new stock?” Irene Caldwell asked. A widow in her early sixties, Irene was a big reader and faithful Ex-Libris customer who also took on the role of occasional, and very able, helper at the bookstore whenever the need arose.

Amanda braced her elbows on the store’s dark mahogany front counter and studied a copy of Midnight Passions, one of many filling several cartons stacked on the dove gray carpet that stretched the length of the high-ceilinged room. The hardcover novel featured a dusky rose cover slashed with bold ebony letters that left little doubt as to its sexy subject matter.

“Most of the books will be shipped back to the distributor’s warehouse, since I made it plain enough to them over the phone that I didn’t order a hundred copies.” Amanda blew out a breath. “The manager I talked to wasn’t overjoyed at the news, but I told him he was getting them back, regardless.”

Casting another look around, Irene shook a head topped by graying hair worn in an upswept style and slid her hands into the front pockets of her navy wool cardigan. “How many did you order?”

“Ten, and I’m not even sure I can sell all of those. A display will stir some interest, but sales remain to be seen.”

“Hmm. Well, it probably wouldn’t hurt you to take home a copy,” Irene said with a twinkle in her eye.

That had Amanda smiling a faint smile despite everything. “Figure it will put me in the mood for a man…and possibly marriage?” Which, she knew, would please the older woman no end. Having had a happy marriage of her own, Irene would undoubtedly have little objection to seeing the world’s entire adult population pair off into loving couples pursuing a lifetime of wedded bliss.

“I must confess that romance seems to be in the air lately,” Irene said, eyes still twinkling. “First Shelly Dupree stopped running the coffee shop long enough to fall for Jester’s handsome new doctor, Connor O’Rourke. Then Jack Hartman finally took a good look at Melinda Woods, after which the two vets decided to share more than a practice. And then, just recently, Luke McNeil, who’s always been an excellent sheriff but needed more in his life than law enforcement, reconciled with his long-ago sweetheart, Jennifer Faulkner.”

“Mmm,” was the most neutral comment Amanda could offer. Despite Irene’s theory, all she smelled in the air was the fragrant jar of potpourri she’d set beside the cash register.

“You probably wouldn’t still be single yourself,” Irene pointed out, “if you had encouraged one of the nice boys you dated before you went off to college—or one of the nice men who asked you out when you came back to Jester.”

But none of those boys she’d shared popcorn with at Pop’s Movie Theatre—or the men whose dinner invitations she’d mostly declined since her return to Montana nearly three years earlier—had been right, not for her. And while, as the child of divorced parents, she might not believe quite as much in happily ever after as Irene did, Amanda couldn’t deny that she hoped to find Mr. Right someday—a man who just might sweep her off her feet and send her pulse leaping.

Which is exactly what happened four months ago on a snowy January night.

No, Amanda quickly countered in response to that sudden thought. It was just the excitement of the moment.

Unfortunately her more candid side knew that wasn’t the total truth of the matter. Dev Devlin, for all that he irritated her, was an attractive man. Dark blond hair the color of ripening wheat. Deep blue eyes that echoed a Western summer sky. Six feet tall and well-muscled.

Yes, he was quite a sight.

He’d also, however, been more than wild enough in his younger days to have her sure he’d never really settle down. And that alone made him the wrong man for her—because, for all that she valued her independence, she was also a settling-down kind of woman. Deep down, she wanted the kind of marriage Irene felt everyone was entitled to, and that meant waiting for the right man.

Just then the heavy mahogany door sporting a gleaming glass center opened and Finn Hollis stepped in from the sidewalk. Thin and lanky, with a full head of white hair, the retired librarian was another of Jester’s big lottery winners and had become one of the bookstore’s best customers, too, during the past few months. Finn, however, seldom wanted any of the books Amanda had in stock. No, the widower with a slew of children and grandchildren to keep him happily occupied had acquired a passion for collecting rare books, as well. Which usually meant a profit for the store, but could also mean putting some real effort into tracking down the items on Finn’s latest list.

And unless she was mistaken, Amanda mused, the folded piece of white stationery Finn currently held in one large, lined hand was yet another order to be filled.

“Hello, ladies,” Finn said in his normal courteous fashion.

Unlike some of Jester’s residents, the man who owned a sprawling farmhouse north of town didn’t favor Western-style garb. Instead, his tweed jackets and dark trousers implied a more scholarly bent, and Finn did seem to be a font of knowledge on many subjects. Amanda had pitted her brain against his more than once, and despite receiving good enough grades to earn a scholarship to a small yet well-respected college in the Pacific Northwest, she’d seldom bested him. Now she managed to greet him with her second smile of the day, although the nagging worries she couldn’t quite set aside made it a halfhearted effort.

In contrast, Irene’s own wide version looked far more enthusiastic. And amused. “Don’t tell me you’re ordering more books, Finn Hollis.”

His gaze took on a sheepish glint behind wire-rimmed glasses. “I can’t seem to help myself.”

Amanda studied the list he’d handed over. As she’d expected, none of the titles would be simple to find. She’d have to spend several hours at the store’s computer this afternoon just to make a respectable start. “It’s a good thing you have a big home,” she told him.

“Still, if you’re not careful, you’ll find yourself up to your ears in the printed word,” Irene tacked on with dry humor.

“That’s why I’ve decided to add on a library wing,” Finn informed the two women. “I suppose if Dev Devlin can build an entire house, and a large one at that, I can indulge my hobby.”

When both her companions slid sidelong glances her way, Amanda knew they’d be far from surprised if she offered a caustic comment in response, not considering what had probably taken on the dimensions of a local feud—or a battle royal between the sexes. But she just wasn’t up to it. Not today.

“I understand the new Devlin house will have six bedrooms,” Finn added after a moment.

“My goodness,” Irene said. “What would a single man need with a half dozen bedrooms?”

“Maybe he plans to fill them with willing women,” Amanda suggested, just a bit archly. No one, not even her, would argue the fact that the Heartbreaker Saloon’s owner had a longstanding reputation as a ladies’ man. “He must be getting tired of entertaining his, ah, women friends in the back room he’s living in behind the bar.”

“He doesn’t seem to have, er, entertained anyone for quite a while,” Finn confided in a low murmur, proving that even Jester’s most scholarly resident wasn’t opposed to a bit of gossip. “Not from what I’ve heard, that is.”

And where he’d heard it was at Dean Kenning’s barbershop. Amanda was all but positive of that. Finn and Dean were still great cronies, even though Henry Faulkner, their longtime friend, had recently passed away.

“Well, it hardly matters to me,” she said. “I don’t care who the man in question entertains as long as he does it quietly.”

Irene and Finn exchanged a look at the pointed tone of that last word. “Yes, well, I have to go,” the older woman wasted no time in saying, as though afraid that, if the female half of the battle of the sexes got started on the subject of the male half, the shaky truce Amanda suspected many were watching with interest might collapse—just as the picnic pavilion at Jester Community Park had strangely collapsed last month, prompting an ongoing sheriff’s investigation.

“I believe I have to leave, too,” Finn said. “I appreciate your getting those books for me, Amanda.”

And with that, they both were gone, leaving the Ex-Libris’s owner to her own devices. The proud owner, Amanda couldn’t deny, aiming her gaze around the front of her store. With its wide display window containing an attractive assortment of current literature and its walls covered by tall mahogany bookshelves backed by flocked wallpaper featuring a delicate lilac stripe, it was as classy a place as she’d been able to make it—right down to the lilting notes of the “Violin Masters” CD that currently played softly in the background.

Only the shipping cartons stacked everywhere marred the scene. If they weren’t picked up tomorrow, she would make another call and be even more blunt if she had to about expecting them to be taken back. She hadn’t spent several years after college working for a major bookselling chain in Seattle for nothing. She could get things accomplished.

In fact, she’d risen to the position of assistant manager before concluding that big-city life didn’t really suit her. What she wanted was a bookstore of her own in the small town she thought of as home. So she’d come back with her hard-earned savings in hand, and now, at the age of thirty, she had more than enough experience behind her to get things done.

In the business world, at any rate. There was still, Amanda knew, the fate of four young children to consider. And there, she was far from sure how much she could do.

She only knew she had to try.

BY THE TIME Amanda put the gracefully scribed Closed sign in the front window at six o’clock, she wanted nothing more than to go home and soak in a hot tub. Even beyond that, she knew what she needed was the good night’s sleep she’d failed to get for the past several evenings. Maybe, she mused as she tallied the day’s receipts, taking something with her to read besides the intricate mystery she was currently in the middle of would help. And with that thought, her gaze landed on the copy of Midnight Passions still resting at one side of the counter.

Why not? she asked herself. It would indeed be something different, and that could be just what she needed to relax a bit.

What Amanda didn’t want, and her nerves certainly didn’t need, was to catch sight of one of the Heartbreaker Saloon’s patrons weaving his way toward her as she left the Ex-Libris at just after six-thirty. She recognized Guy Feldon. He was one of the people who had followed hard on the heels of Jester’s newfound wealth.

“Millionaire, Montana,” was how the press had dubbed a place little more than a pinpoint on the state map, and the town had been flooded with reporters. Thankfully, the relentless press coverage seemed to have died down, although some residents’ private business was still being leaked to the media. More than a few of Jester’s citizens suspected that one of their own was acting as informer, but no one really knew who was responsible.

The burly man currently approaching with unsteady steps wasn’t with the media, however. No, Guy Feldon appeared to be basically an opportunist who wouldn’t hesitate to take advantage of another’s good fortune. He usually played the part of the lazy drifter, but more than one person had remarked on spying a cunning glint in his eye.

Now his gaze was trained on Amanda, and she by no means liked what she saw in it. When it raked her from head to toe, even the fact that most of her body was covered by the classic wide folds of her beige raincoat brought little comfort.

“Well, hi, sugar pie,” Feldon drawled, his speech slurred.

Sugar pie? Amanda’s teeth clenched in response. It didn’t take a genius, she thought, to see that she was headed for trouble. Or, rather, trouble was headed for her.

“Cat got your tongue?” Feldon came to a wavering halt right in front of her. “Have to say I envy it if it does.” His mouth curved in a leer.

“I’d appreciate it if you’d get out of my way,” Amanda replied with brisk directness. Living in a big city had taught her the value of maintaining a firm front in an environment where crime was an unfortunate fact of life. One of the benefits of returning to Jester was that she never so much as felt uneasy walking alone on an empty street—never until now.

“Too bad I’m of no mind to step aside.” Feldon leaned in. Even in the dimness of a twilight sky, his face looked nearly as flushed as the red checks on his flannel jacket. “I might be persuaded, though, if you gave me a sample of what I’m missing.”

You should live so long, Amanda reflected with disgust. She took a better grip on the book she held, hitched her sleek shoulder bag higher, and prepared to move on. “If you don’t let me pass, I’m turning around and heading to the sheriff’s office.”

Feldon’s hand snaked out to grab her arm. “I don’t think so,” he muttered, his expression suddenly as dark as his shaggy black hair.

Amanda knew it was too late to run. But she could shout for help, she decided even as another large hand came up to cup her chin hard enough to keep her lips clamped shut.

“Maybe I’ll just take, since you don’t feel like giving,” Feldon said, leaning closer, then closer still. Amanda did her best to struggle, but he was almost twice her size. Her pulse began to pound as all-out panic threatened.

And then he was yanked right away from her by someone who stared daggers at Guy Feldon from under the wide brim of a tan Stetson before sending the burly man lurching into the street with a well-placed fist to the jaw.

For once, Amanda was actually glad to see Dev Devlin.

A few people poked their heads outside at that point, as if just aware that something was up on Main Street. Amanda took note of it with a quick glance around her even as most of her attention remained fixed on the two men steps away.

“Come on, Feldon,” Dev said in a near growl, his fists still clenched. “Let’s see you take on someone more your size.”

“Damned if I won’t,” the other man shot back.

Amanda watched what happened next, thinking that it was like a scene straight out of an action movie. Fists flew with abandon and several grunts were exchanged when they found their target, but it wasn’t long before a clear victor emerged as Dev sent his opponent flying with a particularly solid punch.

“More?” he asked after taking a few rapid strides forward to stand over the burly man sprawled in the street.

Feldon looked up. “I’m done.”

“Well then, so are we,” Dev said, “unless the lady wants you dragged over to the sheriff’s place so she can press charges.”

Mindful that several people had gathered for a closer look at the fight, Amanda shook her head. She still wanted nothing more than to go home.

Dev brushed his palms on his snug-fitting Levi’s and reached up to tap his hat down lower on his forehead. “Looks like you’re getting off easy,” he told his opponent as he shoved his hands into the pockets of his brown leather jacket. “I suggest you haul yourself up—and think about leaving town while you’re at it, because I’ve just decided that this place isn’t big enough for the both of us.”