Sharon Swan - Four-Karat Fiancee

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.