Four-Karat Fiancee Read online

  * * *

  You are cordially invited to the Surprise Wedding of Ex-Libris Bookstore owner Amanda Bradley and Heartbreak Saloon keeper William “Dev” Devlin.

  Time: Sunday afternoon

  Place: Heartbreak Saloon

  Join Shelly and Connor O’Rourke and all of Millionaire, Montana, as we celebrate the sacred, albeit swift, union of Main Street’s much-loved contenders—er, couple—as they begin their married and family life together.

  (Special attention should be paid to one Louise Pearson, stuffed-shirt social worker seeking to expose Dev and Amanda’s marriage as a means to keep Liza, Caleb, Patrick and Betsy in the family fold.)

  * * *

  Harlequin American Romance presents MILLIONAIRE, MONTANA, where twelve lucky souls have won a multimillion-dollar jackpot.

  Six titles in this captivating series—

  JACKPOT BABY by Muriel Jensen

  (HAR #953)

  BIG-BUCKS BACHELOR by Leah Vale

  (HAR #957)

  SURPRISE INHERITANCE by Charlotte Douglas

  (HAR #961)

  FOUR-KARAT FIANCÉE by Sharon Swan

  (HAR #966)

  PRICELESS MARRIAGE by Bonnie Gardner

  (HAR #970)

  FORTUNE’S TWINS by Kara Lennox

  (HAR #974)

  Dear Reader,

  Welcome to another wonderful month at Harlequin American Romance. You’ll notice our covers have a brand-new look, but rest assured that we still have the editorial you know and love just inside.

  What a lineup we have for you, as reader favorite Muriel Jensen helps us celebrate our 20th Anniversary with her latest release. That Summer in Maine is a beautiful tale of a woman who gets an unexpected second chance at love and family with the last man she imagines. And author Sharon Swan pens the fourth title in our ongoing series MILLIONAIRE, MONTANA. You won’t believe what motivates ever-feuding neighbors Dev and Amanda to take a hasty trip to the altar in Four-Karat Fiancée.

  Speaking of weddings, we have two other tales of marriage this month. Darlene Scalera pens the story of a jilted bride on the hunt for her disappearing groom in May the Best Man Wed. (Hint: the bride may just be falling for her husband-to-be’s brother.) Dianne Castell’s High-Tide Bride has a runaway bride hiding out in a small town where her attraction to the local sheriff is rising just as fast as the flooding river.

  So sit back and enjoy our lovely new look and the always-quality novels we have to offer you this—and every—month at Harlequin American Romance.

  Best Wishes,

  Melissa Jeglinski

  Associate Senior Editor

  Harlequin American Romance

  FOUR-KARAT FIANCÉE

  Sharon Swan

  For Muriel, Leah, Charlotte, Bonnie and Karen, who made doing this story so special And for Melissa Jeglinski, who brought us together creating a town to remember

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Born and raised in Chicago, Sharon Swan once dreamed of dancing for a living. Instead, she surrendered to life’s more practical aspects, settled for an office job, concentrated on typing and being a Chicago Bears fan. Sharon never seriously considered writing a career until she moved to the Phoenix area and met Pierce Brosnan at a local shopping mall. It was a chance meeting that changed her life because she found herself thinking, what if? What if two fictional characters had met the same way? That formed the basis for her next novel, and she’s now cheerfully addicted to writing contemporary romance and playing what if?

  Sharon loves to hear from readers. You can write to her at P.O. Box 21324, Mesa, AZ 85277.

  Books by Sharon Swan

  HARLEQUIN AMERICAN ROMANCE

  912—COWBOYS AND CRADLES

  928—HOME-GROWN HUSBAND *

  939—HUSBANDS, HUSBANDS…EVERYWHERE! *

  966—FOUR-KARAT FIANCÉE

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Prologue

  Maybe he should just grab her up and kiss her.

  William Devlin fisted his gloved hands at his sides and debated the merits of that plan. At least, he thought, it would keep Amanda Bradley quiet for a while. It was hard to believe that most folks in Jester, Montana, considered this woman a prime example of a real lady. Then again, she wasn’t tearing into most of Jester’s small population on a regular basis. Only him.

  For two years, ever since she’d opened her fancy bookstore in the same building that was home to his saloon, he’d been treated to complaints about his business. And for the past six months, with some hard-earned savings in hand at last, he’d been offering to buy her share of the old, sprawling building so he could finally have some peace. Too bad it didn’t look as if he were getting any, because she kept turning him down flat.

  “So I’m asking for the umpteenth time what you intend to do about the constant commotion.” Amanda huffed out the words as she shoved her hands into the pockets of her camelhair coat.

  Dev tugged the wide brim of his tan Stetson down a notch and reined in his temper, barely. More griping was the last thing he needed on a snowy January evening cold enough to freeze a man’s blood in his veins. What had made him think that he wanted to take a walk anyway? Two steps out of the Heartbreaker Saloon and he’d found himself being confronted by Amanda’s righteous indignation right in the middle of Main Street. Again.

  “Look, bars aren’t the quietest places in the world, but I told you I’d try to keep a lid on things,” he replied with all the reasonableness he could muster. Despite his efforts, the words came out gruff. Hell, he used to have a talent for sweet-talking a woman. And he still did, Dev told himself.

  Any woman but this one.

  Every now and then he’d look at her and forget that she was one ornery female—because she wasn’t bad-looking, he had to admit. She was…petite, he guessed was the word, with a neat and trim figure that could draw a man’s glance. And there was no denying that the long, light brown hair she usually held back with a shiny clip at the nape of her neck had a glossy sheen to it. Her oval face, straight little nose and clear brown eyes were attractive enough to win some notice, as well.

  But it was her mouth that for some reason fascinated him.

  “I know what you told me,” she said, putting a swift end to his reflections, “and just this afternoon two of your patrons almost came to blows right in front of my store.”

  “Probably a slight difference of opinion,” he muttered, lifting a broad shoulder clad in a sheepskin-lined suede jacket. Being put on the defensive didn’t please him one blasted bit.

  “Humph.” She raised her chin another haughty level. “I don’t suppose the drinks they downed at your bar had anything to do with it, Mr. Macho.”

  He had nearly had it. It irritated him no end when she used that nickname she’d come up with for him, one that typically had him retaliating with a private nickname of his own. In another minute, he thought, he’d be locking his lips with hers. And it would be in pure desperation.

  “Look, Ms. Prim, as I’ve explained to you Lord knows how many times, I run a—”

  Just then a shout rang out, halting him in midsentence. “We won! Dev, we won!”

  He whipped around and saw Dean Kenning hopping up and down on the street outside his barbershop less than a block away, as though the snow-covered asphalt had turned to hot bricks. Beside him, two of Dean’s longtime cronies, bundled against the cold, watched with stunn
ed expressions as their friend did a jig worthy of a man far younger than the barber’s sixty-plus years.

  “What in the world—” Dev started to say. Then he remembered it was Tuesday, the day the Big Draw Lottery numbers were announced on Channel 4 right after the evening news. Fifteen states participated, including Montana, and he was one of a dozen hopefuls who contributed a weekly dollar to Jester’s private lottery pool—money the other players forked over to the jovial, ruddy-faced barber so he could purchase tickets for their group at the nearby town of Pine Run. They’d won enough in the past few years to celebrate in a small way, but Dean had never done a jig before. Had they finally lucked out?

  Dev took off at a fast clip, vaguely aware of Amanda’s footsteps hurrying along behind him. A second-story window over one of the stores lining the street flew open. “Land sakes, what’s all the commotion about?” a woman asked in a near squeal.

  Ignoring that question, the barber kept right on shouting. “We won!”

  “What do you mean we won?” Dev shouted back as he skidded to a halt in front of the barbershop.

  At last Dean stopped jumping around and held up a small piece of paper. “These are the jackpot numbers I just wrote down. And one of tickets I bought for us matches all of them.”

  Dev swallowed, hard. “Are you sure?”

  “I’ll read them to you,” Dean told him, his voice beginning to shake as he handed over the ticket.

  In the dim light of an old turn-of-the-century streetlamp, Dev checked the printed computer numbers against those the barber quickly read off. And they matched, every…single…one.

  “We did win,” Dev said in a rough whisper, feeling as though the bottom had dropped right out of his stomach. Looking up, he saw that a small crowd had gathered, and it wasn’t long before a woman wedged her way through.

  “Let me see that,” Shelly Dupree said.

  Dev gave the ticket to Shelly, who was another regular in the lottery pool. Over the past few years, the Main Street coffee-shop owner with a ready smile for her customers had become a friend of his. Shelly was also a close friend to Amanda Bradley, he knew, but he’d never held that against her.

  “Read them again, Dean,” Shelly told the barber. “Slowly.”

  Dean followed instructions, and moments later Shelly lifted her gaze. Her mouth opened, but no sound came out.

  “How much did you win?” someone in the crowd asked.

  The barber raised his hands to the dark sky above him, as if he were trying to touch heaven, and looking as though he had. “Forty! Million! Dollars!”

  Forty million, was all Dev could think. “That’s…” Using a knack for math that had served him well in business, he divided the winning amount twelve ways and soon came up with a figure. “Three million, three hundred and thirty-three thousand, three hundred and…well, you know. One of those numbers with threes that go on forever.”

  Someone else brought up the fact that taxes would have to be paid, but Dev was hardly going to carp about that at this point. “We’ll still be millionaires!” he declared with a wide grin. A millionaire…a millionaire. The words echoed in his mind.

  Years ago, when he was growing up in Jester, more than a few folks had never expected him to amount to much, not coming from the no-account family he undeniably had. Once, defiant of their judgment, he’d played the bad boy to the hilt, until he’d turned thirty and decided it was time to try to make something of himself—something Jester’s citizens could respect. So he’d left behind the days after high school when he couldn’t wait for his shift to end at his first real job at the slaughterhouse in Pine Run, followed by the years when he’d amused himself in the role of wise-guy bartender at the Heartbreaker Saloon. Instead, he’d scraped up enough cash to buy his uncle’s run-down bar and through sheer hard work had made it a consistently profitable operation.

  And now he wasn’t only a successful businessman. He was a millionaire.

  Elated, Dev turned to the woman standing beside him and lifted her right off the ground. With a secure grip on a slender waist, he waltzed her around in a wide circle as thick, white flakes rained down on them, holding her close and feeling the length of her petite body snug against his.

  And then he realized who that petite body belonged to and set her down in a hurry.

  Amanda Bradley stared up at him, eyes wide. She didn’t look anywhere near as jubilant as he felt, Dev noted as he took a swift step back. Then again, she’d never contributed to the weekly pool and wasn’t one of the big winners. Not like he was.

  Dev’s own gaze narrowed in speculation at the thought that maybe he had enough money at last to buy her part of the building they shared. Maybe he’d no longer have to rue the day his uncle had sold that piece of property to her parents long ago. Maybe, just maybe, he could make her an offer she couldn’t refuse and finally get some peace.

  But all at once her gaze narrowed, too, as though she’d read his mind. He was sure of it when she issued soft words for his ears alone that nonetheless rang with conviction.

  “Never in a million years,” Amanda told him, looking him straight in the eye.

  And Dev knew that, despite his unbelievably good fortune, he still had his work cut out for him.

  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 marr
iage 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.