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Fortune's Family Secrets
Karen Rose Smith
The man of her dreams…is a Fortune in disguise!Innkeeper Cassie could easily fall for her newest guest, hunky Nash Tremont – an undercover cop, and a member of the Fortune family! But her own painful past makes her afraid to trust. With so many secrets, Cassie and Nash will have their work cut out!
The man of her dreams...
is a Fortune in disguise!
Innkeeper Cassie Calloway could easily fall for her newest guest. Out-of-towner Nash Tremont is hunky, handsome and handy, but Cassie’s painful past makes her afraid to trust. In this case, caution may be in order. Nash is actually an undercover cop—and a member of the Fortune family. With so many secrets between them, Cassie and Nash will have their work cut out for them. But their complicated love may be worth the fight...
USA TODAY bestselling author KAREN ROSE SMITH has written over ninety novels. Her passion is caring for her four rescued cats, and her hobbies are gardening, cooking and photography. An only child, Karen delved into books at an early age. Even though she escaped into story worlds, she had many cousins around her on week-ends. Families are a strong theme in her novels. Find out more about Karen at www.karenrosesmith.com (http://www.karenrosesmith.com).
Also by Karen Rose Smith (#u76b2a14e-eaa8-5c21-ac91-683a66d37cd8)
The Maverick’s Snowbound Christmas
The Maverick’s Holiday Surprise
Fortune’s Secret Husband
The Cowboy’s Secret Baby
A Match Made by Baby
Wanted: A Real Family
Riley’s Baby Boy
The CEO’s Unexpected Proposal
Once Upon a Groom
His Daughter…Their Child
Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk).
Fortune’s Family Secrets
Karen Rose Smith
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ISBN: 978-1-474-07747-7
FORTUNE’S FAMILY SECRETS
© 2018 Harlequin Books S.A.
Published in Great Britain 2018
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.
® and ™ are trademarks owned and used by the trademark owner and/or its licensee. Trademarks marked with ® are registered with the United Kingdom Patent Office and/or the Office for Harmonisation in the Internal Market and in other countries.
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
In memory of my dad, Angelo Jacob Cacciola, who taught by example that creativity could be expressed in painting, woodworking and model train platforms.
Contents
Cover (#ub4b3d349-399d-5ed6-8533-3570e0775a81)
Back Cover Text (#u90e8d1c6-ecee-522d-872a-e046c044473b)
About the Author (#u7593bb1b-718a-55c8-a0e6-29d892ed0655)
Booklist (#uc02f6d13-dfae-523a-a74c-fdbb522f4b99)
Title Page (#uc9025448-9616-5c86-b117-78211f467b56)
Copyright (#uc54779a3-0349-5828-8e2c-c9e71cb16062)
Dedication (#ua7685545-52f6-5c8d-b3d9-4f3c396c22dd)
Chapter One (#uda601ac5-1fd4-5159-a9dc-fbadcbafa3e5)
Chapter Two (#u52b3a128-1ec4-5a3d-8ca9-dae2dfb6a013)
Chapter Three (#u027e95fc-074d-513a-b249-ac1bc33e7030)
Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#u76b2a14e-eaa8-5c21-ac91-683a66d37cd8)
Nash Tremont came down the stairs from the second floor of the Bluebonnet Bed-and-Breakfast and followed the aroma of cinnamon and sugar and some kind of bread. His boots didn’t make a sound on the steps. After all, he was a police detective and instincts died hard.
At the bottom of the staircase, he spotted a sight that suddenly made him hungry for more than cinnamon rolls. He’d hardly said two words to the proprietress of the bed-and-breakfast but now he couldn’t stop himself. “Even a veteran cowgirl should know better than to climb a ladder that’s too short.”
Cassie Calloway squeaked as if he’d startled her. Her name was an easy one to remember, but he wasn’t thinking about her name as she tilted on the ladder, almost losing her balance. He rushed to her side and wrapped his hands around her waist. It was a tiny waist but she was plenty curvy above and below it.
“Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
Gaining her footing once more, she peered down at him. Her tousled brown hair flowed forward and her dark brown eyes moved from his face to his hands at her waist. He quickly removed them, though they tingled because he’d felt her warmth underneath her blouse.
“What makes you think I’m a veteran cowgirl?” she asked, climbing down the ladder.
“Your boots,” he answered quickly. He’d been trained to notice details.
She looked down at her boots as if she hadn’t remembered what she was wearing. They were brown leather, well creased, with the shine long gone.
“They’re comfortable and I like to cook in them.” She sounded a bit defensive.
“I came down because something smelled wonderful. But if we keep up this conversation, I have a feeling you’re not going to give me anything you made for breakfast.”
She laughed and it was a pretty sound. When had he last noticed a woman’s laughter?
On the ceramic tile of the kitchen floor now, Cassie Calloway looked up at him. She wasn’t short, maybe about five-seven. But he was six-three so her chin had to come up for her to meet his eyes. “You didn’t come down for breakfast yesterday. Didn’t smell the bacon?”
Yesterday he’d still been trying to make sense out of what he was doing. Oh, he knew what his mission was here in Austin, Texas. Although he was the love child of an affair between his mother and Jerome Fortune, aka Gerald Robinson, he wasn’t in Austin about that. He had no desire to see his biological father. He was after information—information that could land Gerald Robinson’s wife, Charlotte, in jail. He hoped he didn’t run into any of his half brothers or sisters, either. He didn’t want anything to muddy his investigation or sway his judgment. He was undercover and intended to keep a low profile.
“Maybe I just like cinnamon more than bacon.” Teasing Cassie and seeing her smile seemed to make his day. Maybe because everything about why he was here was so serious.
“I didn’t know financial consultants were so picky,” she joked back.
He almost winced. He’d needed a cover story. A financial consultant on vacation from Mississippi seemed the perfect one to hide his real identity: a detective from Mississippi investigating fraud.
When Cassie Calloway looked into his dark brown eyes with hers, he felt his conscience stab him. He wished he could tell her the truth. But that was ridiculous. He didn’t even know this woman, let alone know if she was trustworthy. Hormones were the downfall of many a man and he’d do well to remember that.
He nodded to the ladder and the smoke alarm in the ceiling. “What’s the problem?”
She opened her hand to reveal a new nine-volt battery. “I need to change the battery, but I couldn’t quite reach it.”
“And you shouldn’t have tried. Don’t you have a handyman’s number you can call when you need one?”
She scoffed at that and shook her head. “Handyman? I don’t think so. I have a mortgage and I need to fill rooms. That’s why I opened them to extended stays. You’re the first one to take advantage of that.”
Nash looked around at the quirky colors of paint on the walls—lime green and sky blue—as well as a mural that had to have been hand-done. It depicted a scene of children sitting under a huge oak. A cowboy was seated on a stool with an open book in his lap as he read them a story. It was really good and he realized the bright wall colors complemented those in the painting.
“You have a nice place here. Have you done many renovations?”
She moved a few steps away from him as if the distance was necessary to talk to him. “I fell in love with it as soon as I saw it. It was in foreclosure. It mainly needed fresh coats of paint.”
He nodded to the mural. “Who did your artwork?”
Her cheeks turned a little pink. “I did.”
“You’ve got talent.”
Her eyes were bright and her smile wide when she said, “Thank you. I love to paint. I mean real paintings. I was an art history major in college, and I took education courses so I could teach. But teaching positions are hard to find in these days of budget cuts, especially art teaching positions.”
Glancing around again, taking in the whole bed-and-breakfast’s first floor as if it was a piece of art, he decided, “You shouldn’t let your talent go to waste.”
“Oh, I don’t. I teach private art lessons, and I help with the community art center.” After a brief hesitation, she said, “Now that I told you about me, why don’t you tell me about Mississippi?”
He knew she’d called his reference in Oklahoma, the state where he was born. Dave Preston was a close friend who could and would adhere to Nash’s cover story.
Nash held his hand out for the battery. “Why don’t you let me take care of this before you actually need the smoke alarm?”
“If you’re sure you don’t mind—”
Not minding a bit, he took the battery from her palm. The tips of his fingers touching her skin sent an electric jolt through him. No, no, no! He didn’t have time for an attraction now. He had to save his energy for the job he was here to do and not be distracted by a pretty woman.
Climbing the ladder, he easily changed the battery. Then he was down the ladder once more.
She glanced down at his well-worn boots. “Your boots look comfortable, too.”
He had to chuckle. “Yes, they are. Perfect for walking or driving.”
“Not for meeting clients?”
Damn it. He was going to have to buy a new pair of boots so he could show her he dressed up for client meetings. Not that he had any of those planned.
He winked at her. “I prefer black boots for a more professional look.”
She seemed to look him up and down, from his dark brown hair, over his squarish jaw, down his red T-shirt and his jeans. Her gaze on him made him feel hot.
“I clean up well, too.”
She blushed. “Oh, I didn’t think you didn’t. How about that cinnamon roll?” she asked, obviously embarrassed.
“That sounds good. Join me?” The question came out of his mouth before he thought better of it. He really shouldn’t have asked her that.
