fancy of the whole country. Though Eli hadn’t followed the story, he’d still heard about it.
Now he wished he’d paid more attention. His search for Gwen could have been shortened considerably. No wonder she’d been celebrating the night they’d met.
“My cousin sent me that paper,” the rancher’s wife said. “It’s a few weeks old. He—my cousin, that is—invested in some hotel development scheme in Jester. Seems the mayor there is trying to turn the town into a tourist attraction. But they can’t find any land to build the hotel on, so the whole deal’s probably awash.”
Eli was hardly listening. He gulped down his lemonade, said his goodbyes, and jumped into his tow truck. Once he had the Nash safely tucked into one of his garage bays, he climbed into his silver 1960 Jaguar and headed for Jester, Montana. His GPS gave him the driving instructions.
Now that he was in Jester, he didn’t know quite where to start. It was certainly a quaint town. A bit rundown, but here and there were signs of economic recovery. A shiny new Cadillac was parked in front of a general store, called simply The Mercantile. The hardware store was getting a face-lift. And a bronze statue of a bucking horse, in front of the Jester Town Hall, gleamed with a recent polishing.
In a town this size, all he needed to do was ask anyone about Gwen, and someone would enlighten him. Where to ask—the barbershop? Several older men sat outside Kenning’s Barbershop, shooting the breeze.
Then Eli saw an inviting coffee shop, The Brimming Cup. Perfect. He hadn’t had lunch. And now that he was so close to finding Gwen, he was curiously hesitant. What would he do if she was married? Or what if he was about to become a father? He hadn’t thought through what he would say.
Or how he would feel.
A bell above the door announced Eli’s entrance into the large, airy diner. The place had a ’50s feel to it, with a long Formica, chrome-trimmed counter and stools topped with light blue vinyl. An old Wurlitzer jukebox in the corner appeared to be operational, though currently it was silent.
A pretty young woman with sleek, chin-length brown hair smiled at him from behind the counter. “Sit anywhere you like. You just missed the lunch rush, so the place is all yours.”
He was, indeed, the only customer. He chose one of the four booths that faced the front windows and perused a laminated menu that had been stuck behind the salt-and-pepper shakers.
As the waitress emerged from behind the counter, Eli could see that she was pregnant. Jeez, was it something in the Jester water supply? She set a glass of water, a napkin and some silverware on the table.
“Know what you want?”
“A hamburger, please, lettuce and tomato only. And a cup of decaf.” Normally he liked his caffeine, but he was already wired.
The waitress scribbled on her pad. “Be right up.”
He’d just taken his first sip of the coffee, which was surprisingly good, when the bell over the door rang. Eli looked up, curious to see who might be joining him, when he almost choked on his coffee.
It was Gwen! If this wasn’t fate stepping in, he didn’t know what was.
“Hi, Shelly,” she said with what could only be described as a weary smile. “I could sure use a lemonade and a slice of lemon meringue pie.” She sat at a table a short distance from him, but she didn’t seem to notice him there, which gave him the opportunity to study her more thoroughly.
She was still pregnant—even bigger than she’d been in the newspaper photo. But rather than detracting from her beauty, her swollen belly made her even prettier. She looked earthier, more womanly, less fragile than he remembered. Though it was a cliché, he couldn’t help thinking that she glowed.
She wore a simple, peach-colored maternity dress and leather sandals, and her magnificent hair was pulled back in a bun. Nothing about her screamed “millionaire.”
No jewelry—not even a wedding ring, he noted with interest. But he knew that sometimes women’s hands swelled when they were pregnant, so the absence of a ring didn’t mean anything.
He should go over to her table, talk to her. But suddenly he was scared. He didn’t want to find out she was married, or involved with some other man. But then, was the alternative any more palatable? Was he ready to discover the child she carried was his?
The waitress, whom Gwen had called Shelly, reappeared with a cold drink and a slice of pie for Gwen. “I wish I could eat like you do,” Shelley said wistfully. “I just found out I’m borderline diabetic, so no sugar.”
Gwen looked concerned. “Shelly, are you okay?”
“It’s not a big deal. Lots of women become diabetic during pregnancy. It just means I have to be careful. But one thing I was looking forward to was eating for two—with no penalty.”
“No penalty? I’m as big as a horse.”
“You’ll lose it all once you have the baby.”
Gwen glanced nervously in Eli’s direction. He quickly hid behind the menu, wanting to eavesdrop some more. He’d never thought women discussing their pregnancies was particularly interesting—until now.
Peeking over the menu, Eli watched as Gwen motioned for Shelly to sit down. The two women had a whispered conversation. Shelly gasped at whatever Gwen told her, then grinned with delight.
“That is so cool! Wait ’til everyone hears!”
“Don’t tell anyone yet, huh, Shelly? You know it’ll get to the media, and I’m so sick of reporters. Frankly, I can’t imagine why the press is still interested in the Main Street Millionaires.”
“At least they’re not staying at your boardinghouse anymore.”
“Thank goodness. That Harvey Brinkman from the Plain Talker was a real pig.”
“I sure wish I knew who it is that’s leaking private information to the press,” Shelly said. “I’d wring their neck.”
Eli decided he’d skulked behind his menu long enough. He still didn’t know what he would say to Gwen. He supposed he would just wing it.
“Order up!” a gruff voice called from the kitchen. Shelly hopped up to get it. At the same time, Eli stood and walked determinedly across the diner to Gwen’s table. “Mind if I sit here?” he asked, using the same exact line she’d used on him at The Wild Mustang.
Gwen looked up and promptly choked on her lemonade. “Garrett!”
“Eli,” he corrected her. “Eli Garrett. Are you okay?”
She gave one final cough. “Yes, I’m fine.”
“Can I sit down?”
Gwen cast a worried glance toward Shelly, who was fast approaching with Eli’s burger, a questioning look on her face.
“Yes, sit.” Her face looked alarmingly pale. “Shelly, this is a…an old friend of mine, Eli Garrett. Eli, this is Shelly O’Rourke. She owns The Brimming Cup.”
Eli murmured a pleasantry, as did Shelly, who set his hamburger on Gwen’s table. “Shall I bring over your coffee?” she asked Eli.
Gwen looked uncomfortable with the situation, but Eli wasn’t about to back off. He had to talk to her. “Yes,” he answered Shelly. “Please.”
As soon as Shelly had brought his coffee mug and left them alone, Gwen wasted no time starting the conversation. “You pick a fine time to show up. Seven months and not a word.”
“I’m sorry about that. I tried to find you.”
“How hard could it have been? I left my phone number.”
“I spilled coffee on it. The ink ran everywhere, and when I was done cleaning up the mess, there was no sign of your number. I asked everybody in Roan if they knew you. You’d said