Santa Fe Fortune & How to Marry a Matador

up. There were plenty of gals out there who’d never even tasted the wonder of Dan Holbrook’s kiss. She’d been lucky enough to have him hold her, actually care something about her. His feelings had been authentic, of that much she was sure. She couldn’t blame him now for doing the honorable thing. That just further proved he was every bit the responsible party she’d always believed him to be. Gwen squared her small shoulders and stood a bit straighter as she entered the chapel gift shop. She’d purchase a small refrigerator magnet of the “Mysterious Staircase” as a reminder of the memories engendered here. She’d never forget Dan either.

    Dan massaged his jaw as he studied the doctor’s report Elena’d left with him. While everything seemed in order, why did he have the gnawing sensation that something didn’t add up?
    “Guess I’ll be taking off for my six weeks’ vacation now,” Megan said with a bright grin and a flip of her pixie bangs.
    “What’s that?” Dan asked, looking up. Megan was poised to go, that enormous bag strung from her shoulder.
    “You can’t tell me you’ve forgotten?” she asked with a blink. “Justin and I are going camping in the mountains, then heading up into Calgary for a while. You said it was all right, that you’d double-checked with Nancy—”
    “Yes, yes,” Dan reassured her, rushing in. “Of course, I remember now. I’m sorry, Megan. I’ve just had other things on my mind.”
    “Oh Gawd,” she said with a sparrow-like gaze. “Please say it’s not Elena.”
    “Say that what’s not Elena?” Dan asked, perplexed.
    Megan crossed petite arms over her boyish chest. “This thing that’s gotten you all wacky,” she replied. “Like you don’t even know what day of the week it is, for instance, and can’t recall you’ve given me six weeks off.”
    Alarm bells rang in Dan’s head. Six weeks! Oh…my…God. Dan rescanned the data on the doctor’s report, verifying. Elena was eight weeks along. The baby couldn’t possibly be his.
    He sprang from his chair, startling the sparrow by wrapping his arms around her. “I love you, Megan!” Dan said, giving her a firm peck on the cheek.
    She squirmed a bit in his embrace, then worked free, massaging her upper arms. “Geez, Dan. I think you’re cool too. But not like that, okay? I play with kids my own age.”
    “Of course you do,” he said, feeling as if he was sporting an idiotic grin. He laughed out loud then, releasing the joy and relief of it all. “Of course you do, Megan. No doubt!”
    She blinked twice, thickly painted lashes nearly sticking, as Dan withdrew his billfold and pulled out a wad of cash.
    “What on earth are you doing?” she asked, taken aback.
    Dan’s grin stretched so wide, good God, it nearly hurt. “Thanking you, little darling. Thanking you sincerely.” He shoved the cash in her hand, then waved her outside. “Go on, now. You and Justin run off and have a marvelous time.”
    She stared at him like he’d gone positively mad, then rushed out the door, her huge bag flying behind her. “Thanks, Dan! Thanks a lot,” she said, not daring to look back.
    Dan brought two hands to his head, running his fingers through his hair, a whole new world of possibilities opening up. He broke out laughing again, perhaps like a lunatic hyena. But he didn’t care. No sirree, he definitely didn’t care. That smart little gallery assistant had just granted him a new lease on life.

    “I’m flattered you’d drive all the way to Albuquerque for coffee,” Elena said, her cheeks taking on a rosy hue. Maybe she was glowing or whatever in the world it was that pregnant women did.
    “Elena,” Dan said, unfolding the doctor’s report on the café table between them. “There’s something I’ve got to ask you about this.”
    Elena sat back in her chair, clearly shaken, as if he’d accused her of something. “I’m not lying about this, Dan,” she said, her voice atremble. “The results are authentic. You can speak to the doctor yourself if you’d like.”
    “That won’t be necessary.”
    “Then what…?”
    “I noticed something on the printout I think we should discuss.”
    She tilted her chin and gave him a wary gaze. “Okay…” she said, drawing out the word.
    “This date, Elena. Right here. What does it mean?”
    She glanced at the paper, then met his eyes. “Approximate gestation?”
    “Eight weeks!” he proclaimed firmly. “It says eight weeks! Don’t you see