Fortune's Twins Page 11

  Sylvia sprayed Gwen’s hair to within an inch of its life, then forced her to wear a dorky plastic rain bonnet to protect the hairdo from possible snow and rain.

  “My grandmother used to wear one of these,” Gwen said.

  “Aw, quit your complaining,” Sylvia said. “Unless you want to look like a bedraggled Pekingese, you’ll wear the bonnet.”

  Gwen threw the hood up on her coat and scurried to The Mercantile, hoping to see no one she knew.

  She should have known anonymity was impossible in a town the size of Jester. Finn Hollis was right at the door as she entered, and he opened it for her.

  “Good morning, Gwen,” he said, then whispered, “Happy wedding day. I understand you’re trying to keep it kind of quiet.”

  She smiled at Finn, who had always been a special friend. When she’d been a little girl, and he still worked at the library, he used to talk endlessly with her about books and provide her with a steady supply of good ones.

  “I’m afraid everybody knows by now, but thanks for trying,” she said.

  Next she saw Vicky McNeil Perkins, who was Luke’s sister and Doc’s wife, buying school clothes for the kids. Her long, jet-black hair was a testament to her Native American heritage, but the blue eyes were an interesting counterpoint. She shared a strong family resemblance to Luke.

  “They grow so fast,” Vicky said, examining a corduroy romper. “This is so cute, but my youngest is already too big for things like this.”

  “It’s darling,” said Gwen, wondering if there might be a second one lurking nearby. She bought everything in twos these days.

  “Listen,” said Vicky, “I know you don’t need clothes for your babies, and you probably want matching outfits, anyway, but I’ve got scads of nice baby clothes.”

  “I’d be tickled to take anything you want to give me,” Gwen said sincerely. She liked the idea of passing baby clothes from one family to another and sharing a history. Just because she had plenty of money didn’t mean everything her kids wore had to be brand-new. “And I don’t plan to always dress the girls alike. I want them to develop their own styles.”

  Vicky smiled. “I’ll put together a few of the cutest outfits. You know, they wear these things a few times, then they outgrow them. I’d love to see them again. Oh, and, good luck with your wedding.” They talked as Vicki expertly rifled through stacks of folded jeans, picking out the correct sizes. “Are you nervous?”

  “A little,” Gwen confessed as she sorted through a rack of maternity dresses.

  She’d vowed she wouldn’t buy any more maternity clothes—she’d already gone nuts at Pea in the Pod and bought a closetful. For today, she was planning to wear a plain, blue wool dress with white trim. It wasn’t very bridelike, but she would have looked silly in white satin with ruffles, beads and rosettes.

  When she saw the pale green velvet dress, she abruptly changed her mind. It was the most gorgeous thing she’d ever seen, with an empire waist, satin ribbon trim and a heart-shaped neckline that would perfectly showcase her grandmother’s locket. The fabric shimmered with a life of its own as Gwen ran her hand under it. She pulled the hanger off the rack and held the dress in front of her, then checked her image in a mirror.

  “Oh, Gwen, that is lovely,” Vicky said with an awe-inspired expression on her face. “No matter how hard I tried, I could never look as elegant as you—even when you’re eight months pregnant.”

  Well, that did it. She was buying the dress.

  “You’ll be a beautiful bride,” Vicky said with a tear in her eye. “Take lots of pictures, huh?”

  For the first time, Gwen second-guessed her decision not to allow pictures. She might not be a traditional-looking bride, but the upcoming ceremony would be an important part of what would hopefully be a long history for her and Eli and their daughters.

  “Let me know if I can do anything,” Vicky offered with a quick hug. Then she headed to the cash register with an armload of jeans and flannel shirts.

  Gwen started to head for the register herself. Val Simms, who’d recently been promoted to manager at The Mercantile, had the special-order key chain behind the counter. But then Gwen found herself jumping behind an overalls-clad mannequin. Eli was at the front counter, paying for a purchase.

  Pure nosiness prompted Gwen to watch and see what he’d bought. Val rang up his purchase—a suit, tie, dress shirt and shoes.

  For the wedding, she realized.

  She hoped it wasn’t a financial strain for him. She didn’t know how much mechanics made, but Eli had just purchased a house and a lot of building materials for the renovation. Plus, moving had probably been expensive, and he’d probably lost a customer base by relocating. He didn’t seem to be hurting for cash, but she kept thinking about that bankruptcy and his ever-ready credit cards.

  He was using plastic to pay for this purchase, too.

  Gwen ducked behind a display of hunting gear as Eli left the store. He didn’t see her, thank goodness. The pregnancy hadn’t scared him off, but the rain bonnet might.

  She went to the do-it-yourself key machine to copy all the keys on her ring while Val rang up Vicky’s purchases. Finn got in line behind Vicky with a few sundries. By the time the keys were finished, Gwen was the only customer in the store.

  Val waved to her. “I see you hiding over there, Ms. Tanner. Coast is clear, Mr. Garrett’s long gone.”

  “How does the key chain look?” Gwen asked breathlessly.

  Val’s big blue eyes sparkled. “It’s prettier in real life than in the catalog.” She bent behind the counter to retrieve a small box. “Oh, Max, no, you cannot play with—oh, well, I guess it won’t hurt him.” Val’s son, Max, was over a year old now, walking and talking and cute as a button. He’d discovered a Scotch tape dispenser. “It used to be so easy to keep him with me at work, but now he’s into everything. I wear myself out chasing after him. I don’t know how you’ll manage it with two.”

  “I don’t either,” Gwen said with a nervous laugh.

  “Of course, you’ll have Mr. Garrett to help. Does he work?”

  It was a simple enough question, but Gwen didn’t know how to answer it. It was humiliating that she didn’t know how her future husband earned his living. “He’s a mechanic,” she finally said.

  Seeking to turn the conversation, Gwen opened the box. “Oh, it’s lovely.” She closely examined the finely crafted gold jaguar. She quickly put the keys she’d just made onto the key chain, then enclosed it in the box. “Can you wrap it?”

  “Of course. On the house, since it’s your wedding day and all.”

  “And I’m buying this.” She didn’t have time to try the green dress on, but with its roomy proportions, she was pretty sure it would fit.

  “I had you in mind when I ordered that,” Val said. “I didn’t want to push it on you, since it’s not very practical and sort of expensive, but I’m glad you found it on your own. Is it…are you going to wear it for your wedding?”

  “Do you think I should?”

  “I think it’s perfect,” Val enthused. “Green is the color of spring, of new life. You’ll be a bright spot of color on a gray day. Everyone who looks at you will smile—as long as you lose the rain bonnet.”

  Gwen pulled her coat hood over her head. “Sylvia made me wear it.”

  Val finished wrapping the small box and handed it to Gwen. “I’ll put the dress on your account. Now go home so you can take off the rain bonnet. No offense, but I don’t think you want Mr. Garrett to see you in that thing. He might change his mind about the wedding.”

  Val was only teasing, but Gwen suddenly felt old and frumpy next to pretty, slender, youthful Val. Old and frumpy at twenty-nine. She would stick by her earlier decision about wedding photos.

  ELI WAS NERVOUS as he put on the blue suit he’d bought off the rack at The Mercantile. He hadn’t realized until this morning that he’d brought no dressy clothes with him when he’d moved to Jester. He had a closetful of tailored suits in his Denver
house, but he seldom wore them. It hadn’t occurred to him that he might need to dress up.

  He’d been surprised at the quality of clothing he’d found at the small town general store. The suit was a good label, and fortunately it had fit him without alterations. He wanted to look nice for Gwen. He wanted her to be proud of him.

  Ah, hell, who was he kidding? He wanted to look good so she would want to jump his bones, like she did the night they met. He had high hopes for their wedding night. He found it strange that he was so attracted to her despite—or perhaps because of—her condition.

  He hadn’t seen her yet this morning, but Irene and Stella had assured him she was upstairs getting ready.

  When he was dressed and as ruthlessly handsome as he was going to get, he emerged from his room. His three fellow boarders waited for him in the living room. “We’re riding with you to Pine Run,” Stella announced. “To make sure you get to the judge on time and sober. Not that we think you’d do otherwise, but weddings tend to turn sensible, grown men into lunatics.”

  He wasn’t going to argue with her. He was nervous about riding alone with Gwen, anyway, worried he would say or do something to change her mind about marrying him. She’d seemed a little put out with him when they’d talked a few days ago. But her lack of trust in him had hurt. For most of his life, people had been suspicious of him based on nothing but the fact that he was an orphan who grew up poor. So now it irked him when anyone—even his fiancée—wanted to know facts and figures about his past.

  His plan all along had been to win Gwen over with his actions—not by justifying his past. His actions toward Gwen since coming to Jester had been nothing but honorable. The size of his bank account shouldn’t even enter into the equation. He certainly didn’t care about her money.

  Everyone stood and put on their coats.

  “Shouldn’t we wait for Gwen?” he asked, amused by their eagerness.

  “Oh, she’s riding with Sylvia,” Irene explained. “Don’t you know it’s bad luck for the groom to see the bride before the ceremony?”

  “No way am I driving away from here without her,” he said flatly. “Traditions be damned.” The two women looked scandalized as he mounted the stairs two at a time, intending to let his bride know there’d been a change of plans. If Gwen got cold feet, he wanted to be there to reason her out of them.

  When he knocked on Gwen’s door, Sylvia opened it a crack. “What is it, Eli?”

  “I want to see Gwen.”

  “Well, you can’t. But you can talk to her if you want.” She called over her shoulder. “Gwen? Your very handsome groom wants to talk to you.”

  “What does he want?” she called back, sounding distressed.

  “I want us to drive to our wedding together. Is that too much to ask?”

  “Yes! Go with Irene and the others. I’ll see you there.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure!” she wailed, and he thought she might be crying.

  “Gwen? Are you okay?”

  “She’s fine,” Sylvia assured him. “Bridal jitters. I will get her to the judge’s chambers on time, I promise. Now go.”

  Eli had no choice but to accommodate Gwen’s wishes, but he wasn’t happy about it. His new life with Gwen seemed to be getting off on a shaky first foot.

  “I LOOK LIKE a watermelon with legs!” Gwen exclaimed, her eyes filling with tears. “This dress looked so pretty on the hanger, but—forget it, I’m wearing the blue wool.”

  “You are not,” Sylvia argued. “That dress is beautiful. A pregnant stomach is a beautiful thing, even prettier draped in luscious green velvet. And don’t you dare start crying again, or I’ll have to do your eye makeup all over.”

  “I don’t know why I’m wearing makeup,” Gwen groused as she struggled to get her dress shoes onto her swollen feet. She supposed it didn’t matter what she wore. She’d still look huge, even in the unobtrusive blue wool.

  When she stood, she teetered on the heels. “I haven’t worn heels this high since last year sometime. Maybe I should switch to the black shoes.”

  “No! We’re going to be late if we don’t leave right now.”

  “Oh, all right. Can you get my bag?” Eli had told her to pack an overnight case. Though she’d explained she couldn’t do a honeymoon—doctor’s orders, no traveling—she’d agreed to one night in a hotel.

  Just thinking about the night to come filled her stomach with butterflies. One minute she was thinking, What if he suddenly realizes how truly undesirable I am and rejects me? The next minute she was thinking, Oh, God, what if he does want me?

  Somehow Gwen made it down all those stairs without misstepping and landing on her head. The house was deserted.

  “Hadn’t you better lock the front door?” Sylvia asked as they exited the house.

  “Oh, I suppose.” Gwen turned the dead bolt, which was stiff with disuse. It was so seldom the house was empty, she only locked it once in a while.

  The snow flurries had stopped, but the sky was still gray. “Do you think the weather is a bad omen?” Gwen asked as she climbed into Sylvia’s silver Lexus.

  “Don’t be silly. And stop biting your nails,” Sylvia scolded as she started the engine. “You’ll ruin the polish.”

  Gwen sat on her hands. “Am I doing the right thing?”

  “Of course you’re doing the right thing. You are going to die when you see how gorgeous he is in a suit.”

  “Oh, yes, that’s a prime qualification for a husband,” Gwen scoffed. “Must look good in suit.”

  “It’s important to me,” Sylvia said. “If I ever get married—and that’s a big if—my husband is going to be gorgeous.”

  “But I don’t know any more about him than the last time we talked. He seemed insulted that I was asking questions about him. Like I’m not entitled to be curious about my own husband?” She hadn’t told Sylvia—or anyone, for that matter—about the bankruptcy.

  “If you find out something terrible, you can have the marriage annulled on fraud grounds,” Sylvia said with a teasing smile.

  “That is so comforting.”

  “C’mon, Gwen, lighten up. My grandparents were married after knowing each other one day. One day! And they’re still going strong after fifty years.”

  “You always hear stories like that about people’s grandparents. You never hear the bad stories, though, because when the groom murders the bride on their wedding night, there are no kids or grandkids to tell the story to.”

  “You really are in a snit. But I’m going to write it off as nerves. You’ll be fine once the vows are over.”

  Gwen hoped Sylvia was right.

  When they finally reached the J.P.’s office, Gwen was stunned. The place was packed! She’d expected a few guests—her boarders and Amanda—but what was the mayor’s wife doing here? And Wyla Thorne, of all people? Finn and a bunch of the guys from the barbershop? This was so embarrassing!

  “Ah, there she is, the radiant bride,” Finn said.

  Oggie stepped forward to gallantly help her off with her coat. “Since your father’s not here, I thought you might like me to give you away. But it’s just an idea.”

  “Oh, Oggie, of course, I’d love that.”

  Amanda handed her a small bouquet of fresh flowers. “I knew you’d forget these.”

  “Oh, thank you, Amanda.” This was all very nice. But where was Eli? He was nowhere in the room.

  Chapter Nine

  Eli was in the restroom splashing his face with cold water. This getting married stuff was harder than he’d thought it would be. Gwen was five minutes late, and he’d been imagining every terrible possibility, from cold feet to car wrecks.

  He’d found it impossible to just sit there waiting, so he’d headed down the hall.

  The water seemed to help. He wiped his face with a paper towel, combed his hair, then made himself head back to the justice of the peace’s office.

  On the way, he spotted a man hiding behind a column and watching
the door to the judge’s chambers. The man wore jeans and a flack jacket. He had a slight build, a pale complexion and curly blond hair. The frayed tie worn loose at his collar seemed like an afterthought.

  Most telling was the expensive camera around his neck. Eli would have bet his eyeteeth the man was that troublesome reporter Gwen had warned him about. Harry, Harvey, something like that.

  Eli came up behind the reporter and tapped him on the shoulder. The other man jumped and swiveled around.

  “This wedding is private,” Eli said evenly. “Haven’t you harassed Gwen enough?”

  The reporter grinned. “Harassment? Just good investigative reporting. Harvey Brinkman.” He held out his hand for Eli to shake.

  Eli ignored the hand. “I’m asking you nicely to leave. The bride is in delicate health. She’s been ill, and being upset isn’t good for her. So do the decent thing and leave us alone.”

  “Oh, I don’t think so. Every time the Plain Talker runs a Millionaire, Montana, story, the paper sells out. And almost every single story and picture gets picked up by the wire services, which means a bonus for me. A little bonus might not mean much to rich folks like you, but I’m a struggling reporter and I can barely make my car payments. So let me do my job.”

  “I’ll pay you a hundred bucks to leave the premises.”

  Harvey drew himself up to his full height, which Eli guessed to be about five foot six. “I cannot be bought, sir. I have my journalistic integrity to think about.”

  “I’ve read your stories. You don’t have any journalistic integrity. We just have to determine your price. How about two hundred dollars?”

  Eli could see the indecision playing on Harvey’s face. But then he drew his thin lips into a firm line. “No. I won’t do it. And if we’re going to start throwing insults, I’d be careful about using words like ‘integrity.’ It hasn’t escaped anyone’s notice that you took your time making an honest woman out of Gwen. Maybe an instant family started looking a lot more attractive with a million or so dollars attached.”