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Hot Number

Dorchester Publishing

All right reserved.

ISBN: 0-505-52523-2

Chapter One

Ashley Kavanagh moved slowly from room to room as she spoke.
From the corner of her eye, she could see that her prospective
buyers-a young doctor and his very pregnant wife-looked
suitably impressed. Good. Ashley had shown the house a dozen
times this month; maybe this time would be the last. With her
furnace on the blink, she could use the income. "Upstairs we
have four bedrooms and two full baths, with a large linen
closet in the hall. One of the bedrooms could easily be
converted into an office."

"Hm. You'd like that, wouldn't you, hon?" The blonde linked
her arm with her husband's and flashed him a teasing, totally
devoted grin.

Ashley cleared her throat to get their attention, casting a
quick glance at the big window fronting the street. Driven by
a wild North wind, sleet and snow pinged against the glass in
ever increasing fury.

The storm reminded her of her marriage to Michael-something
she definitely did not want to think about.

It had just begun to storm when the couple arrived, but from
the looks of things it was going to be every bit as bad as the
weather channel predicted. Great, Ashley thought, gnawing the
lipstick from her bottom lip. The snow storm would go really
well with her frigid house if the service men failed to fix
her cranky old furnace today.

At least the man they'd sent from the garage had managed to
get her car started this morning. First her furnace, then her
car. Could the day get any worse?

"Is this a working fireplace?" the young doctor asked,
snagging Ashley's attention from the icy window and her crummy
day.

"Yes. The previous owners-" Ashley paused a beat as her cell
phone gave a muffled peal from the depths of her coat pocket.
She studiously ignored it, making a mental note to remind her
new assistant that she didn't like to be interrupted during a
showing. "-put a lot of work into the house, and it shows,
don't you agree?"

The cell phone stopped abruptly. A few seconds later her
beeper-located in her other coat pocket-began to emit an
urgent sound.

The doctor chuckled at her exasperated frown. "Go ahead, take
care of business. I'm surprised my beeper hasn't gone off."

"Not as surprised as I am," his wife quipped.

Even as Ashley extracted her compact phone from her pocket,
she explained, "I'm sorry. I'm breaking in a new assistant. I
guess she forgot I was showing the house."

"Take your time. Lori and I will take a look around upstairs."

When they disappeared from sight, Ashley quickly rang her
office. Traci answered on the first ring. She sounded agitated
and breathless. A shiver of premonition danced along Ashley's
spine. What else could go wrong today? she wondered,
instinctively sensing another disaster.

"Miss Kavanagh! I'm so glad you called-"

"This had better be an emergency," Ashley broke in
cryptically.

"It is, I think. I mean, I guess it could be a prank call, but
this lady sounded ancient. I just couldn't picture her as the
prank caller type, you know?"

"Get to the point." She would have to say something about that
irritating, popping gum.

"Do you know a Mrs. Abernathy?"

Ashley frowned impatiently. "She's my neighbor. Why?"

"Because she called and said that your house was on fire."

"Excuse me?"

"Your house ... Mrs. Abernathy said she called the fire
department when she saw smoke rolling from the basement
window."

Frozen to the spot, Ashley slowly snapped the phone together,
cutting Traci off in midsentence. Okay, so she was wrong; the
day could get worse.

* * *

"But I thought you guys replaced that old furnace when you
bought the house."

Ashley scraped the bottom of the ice cream carton and shoved a
spoonful of rocky road into her mouth as she considered Kim
Wallace's reminder. She stared at the muted television with an
intensity that made her eyes water, determined to speak
without bitterness.

It wasn't easy. Any time she thought of her ex-husband,
Michael, she got this harsh, metallic taste in her mouth, not
to mention a queasy feeling in the pit of her stomach. Or
maybe it was an entire half gallon of Rocky Road that was
making her queasy.

"I was all for replacing it, but ... Michael was adamant that it
had a few good years left," Ashley told Kim, placing the blame
squarely where it belonged. From the moment the fire chief
explained that the old furnace had caused the fire, Ashley
decided it was Michael's fault. If he had listened to her, she
wouldn't be sitting in front of someone else's couch eating
someone else's ice cream and watching someone else's
television.

Not that Kim was bad company. She and Kim had been friends
throughout high school and beyond. Unfortunately, Kim was
Michael's half-sister, which made their friendship a bit
awkward since the divorce.

When they were together, the subject of Michael always managed
to pop up, despite Ashley's blatant hints that she preferred
to forget her two-timing, faithless ex. But Kim, it seemed,
was a hopeless romantic, and just couldn't accept the fact
that Ashley and Michael were finished.

Kim suddenly blocked her view of the television. Bracing her
hands on her hips, she faced Ashley. "If you think it's
Michael's fault, maybe you should call him and suggest that he
help pay for the damages."

The idea was ludicrous-and obvious. Ashley sighed and set the
empty ice cream carton on the coffee table. Gently, she said,
"Kim, Michael and I have been divorced for two years. I bought
him out, so that makes the house my responsibility-not his."

"But-"

"No buts. Just a period. End of subject." She added a warning
glare, but wasn't surprised when Kim ignored it. Kim and
Michael had disturbing similarities.

"Michael's changed, you know."

"Good for him." Ashley stubbornly ignored the sharp pain that
squeezed her heart.

"I mean, he's changed a lot," Kim added, her eyes narrowing
slyly. "He's thinking about getting married again."

Ashley managed a delighted smile, crushing Kim's hope that the
news would arouse jealousy. "Great! Maybe we can have a double
wedding, because Tom and I are thinking about setting a date
as well." She was kidding about the double wedding, but she
wasn't kidding about the rest. She and Tom had talked about
setting a date.

Kim's face crumbled. "You can't marry Tom!" she cried.

"Oh, yes I can, and I'm going to. Tom is definitely Mr.
Right." Ashley's grin became genuine at Kim's disgruntled
expression. She waved her hand. "Now, will you please move?
They're about to announce the winning lottery numbers."

Her friend obliged and moved aside, her voice taunting,
relentless. "If you're truly over Michael, why do you still
use those sentimental numbers for the lottery?" When Ashley
remained stubbornly silent, Kim continued. "What were they?
Let me see ... I believe it was the anniversary of your first
date with Michael, and your wedding date."

"What makes you think I haven't changed them?" Ashley demanded
flippantly, then spoiled it by flushing. She never could lie
to Kim, dammit! "Tom and I intend to pick out new numbers.
We've just been ... busy." Even to her own ears, her explanation
sounded a little lame. The truth was, she'd never told Tom the
significance of the numbers. To discuss it would be to
remember how Michael teased her about her silly belief that
she'd one day win.

Bittersweet memories she'd much rather keep buried, thank you
very much!

"Hey, aren't those the numbers...." Kim's voice trailed away
as she stared, open-mouthed, at the numbers scrolling across
the television screen.

Ashley laughed outright. "After the rotten day I've had, it's
hardly likely that ... I ... would ..." Her scornful glance landed
on the flashing numbers.

Familiar numbers. Numbers that she knew by heart. Numbers that
she had played faithfully for three years.

The blood drained from her face. Her heart stopped for a scary
moment, then lurched against her ribcage. Very slowly, as if
she feared the numbers would disappear, she leaned forward.

And gulped loudly.

She'd won the lottery!

* * *

Normally if the phone rang while Michael Kavanagh was in the
shower, he'd let the answering machine do its job.

Not tonight. Tonight was the night he was going to pop the
question to Candy, and if that was her calling with some
excuse not to see him tonight, he wanted the opportunity to
change her mind-before he changed his.

Thus his mad dash out of the shower, clutching a damp towel to
his still-dripping body.

He snatched the phone from the hook on the third ring.
"Hello?"

"Michael, you'll never believe what's happened!"

Not Candy but his little sister, Kim. "Kim. What's up?"

"Ashley's car wouldn't start this morning."

At the mention of his ex, Michael frowned. "So?"

"Then her furnace stopped working."

He winced, remembering their heated argument over getting a
new one. Still ... he didn't see what any of it had to do with
him now. Someday-please God-Kim would accept it. "I'm sorry to
hear that. Listen, Kim, I'm dripping all over the-"

"Michael, her house caught on fire."

Now that was cause for pause, Michael thought, a thrill of
fear streaking through him, mocking his outward nonchalance.
"Is she all right?" he demanded roughly.

"Yes, she's fine. She wasn't there." Kim sucked in another
deep breath. "Michael, I'm calling to tell you that Ashley won
the lottery!"

Michael held the phone away from his ear as Kim followed her
garbled announcement with an excited squeal. "She what?" he
asked, certain he'd heard her wrong. He was surprised he could
hear anything after that ear-splitting scream.

"She won the lotto! She wouldn't call and tell you herself,
stubborn wench, so I had to. She never changed the numbers,
you know. Of course, she has to share it with someone-some
other lucky stiff who had picked the same numbers. Still," Kim
prattled on, "five hundred thousand dollars is a big pile of
dough ..."

But Michael was no longer listening; he just remembered
something else. Something momentous. Something wonderful.

Something shocking.

Gently laying the phone on a pillow, Michael grabbed his jeans
from the floor where he'd dropped them and stuck his hand in
the right pocket. He withdrew a crumpled lotto ticket and
carefully smoothed it out on the bed. The one and only lottery
ticket he'd ever bought, purchased that morning at a
convenience store on a silly, nostalgic whim as he thought
about his relationship with Candy, and his past with Ashley.

He could still hear Kim talking as he stared at the familiar
numbers on the crumbled paper. Numbers he'd teased Ashley
about. Numbers that brought back bittersweet memories of the
happiest times of his life. Numbers that reminded him of what
he'd lost-what her mistrust had cost them.

Wouldn't Kim be surprised to know that he was the other lucky
stiff?

(Continues...)

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Excerpted from Hot Number
by Sheridon Smythe
Copyright © 2003 by Sheridon Smythe.
Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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