Winning Amelia. Ingrid Weaver

she corrected. “Stinking, filthy, ridiculously, never-worry-about-a-job-again loaded.”

      He released her wrist to pass his hand over his face. His fingers shook. Then he tipped back his head and whooped. So did Timmy. Laughing, Will swung the toddler over his head and spun in a circle. “We’re rich, Timmy. There’s a new word for you. Rich. What do you think of that?”

      Timmy chortled and kicked, his entire body expressing his glee. Will pulled him back down before the diaper fell off completely. Owen and Eric, drawn by the noise, ran around the house from the backyard. At ten, Owen was a miniature version of his father, right down to the thatch of red hair. A leather catcher’s mitt engulfed his left hand—he was on a baseball kick this month. Six-year-old Eric had his mother’s coloring as well as her nurturing instinct—instead of a baseball mitt, he held the neighbors’ marmalade cat. Momentarily anyway. It streaked off as soon as it spotted Toto.

      The boys needed no convincing to join the celebration. Seeing the adults happy for a change was reason enough.

      It wasn’t only cars she could buy the boys. She could get Owen season tickets to the Jays games and send him to a baseball camp. She could put Eric through veterinary school. There would be no limit to whatever dream they wanted to follow.

      This continued to get better and better.

      Amelia wiped her eyes as she led the way to the house. At first, she assumed the place looked different due to her excitement. Having a life-changing experience would give anyone a new perspective. Then she noticed the old sunburst-shaped clock was missing from the living room. So was the ugly wooden floor lamp with the lopsided base. The shelf above the computer held far fewer knickknacks than it had when she’d left for work this morning.

      Apparently, Jenny had added more items to her yard sale that hadn’t been limited to the junk in the basement. That was good, since the sunburst clock lost five minutes a week, and the lamp tended to fall over at the slightest bump. This also meant there would be less to move when Amelia bought their new house.

      She wouldn’t wait that long to move out of here herself, though. There was hardly enough space for her now.

      In a fancier house, the room where she slept would be called a den, but here it was known simply as the back room. The door was ajar when she reached it. That wasn’t unusual, so she wasn’t alarmed. Everyone in the family was in and out of this room on a regular basis, since Jenny’s sewing machine was set up in here, and the kids often played on the futon that served as Amelia’s bed. She hadn’t minded because she’d had no right to complain. There were no spare bedrooms, and as the saying went, beggars couldn’t be choosers.

      But now she allowed herself to think about it. Even though she adored her nephews, she was looking forward to the time when she could sleep on a real bed again and not need to check for toy cars and stray Lego blocks when she opened out the futon. She would enjoy regaining the little luxuries she used to take for granted, like privacy, and having a closet all to herself, and taking a long soak in the bathtub whenever she wanted without causing a lineup outside the door. Once she cashed in that ticket she could choose where and how she lived. She would never, ever, need to depend on anyone’s charity again.

      The sound of Jenny’s voice came from the direction of the kitchen, along with Toto’s yapping. “Timothy, put the bone down,” she ordered. “It’s Toto’s.”

      “Mine.”

      “It’s full of germs.”

      “Mom, I’m hungry,” Owen whined.

      “Me, too,” said Eric. “Can I have a cookie?”

      “How about an apple?” Jenny offered.

      “Ugh!”

      “Or some raisins—” Jenny groaned in exasperation. “Timmy, no! Get that bone out of your mouth!”

      Amelia chuckled. Quiet was another luxury that was rare around here, although she was getting used to the daily circus and would probably miss it when she was gone. Once she cashed that ticket...

      Uh-huh. The ticket. It was high time to actually hold it in her hand. She pushed the door of the back room completely open, then turned toward the wall at the end of the futon.

      The space was empty. The painting that normally hung there was gone.

      Her smile dissolved. The room spun. For the second time in an hour—could it only have been an hour?—she stumbled from shock. “No,” she whispered.

      There had to be a simple explanation. Maybe the wire that held the painting had broken. It could have bounced and ended up behind the futon. She grabbed one corner of the futon frame and slid it away from the wall, but nothing was there.

      Heavy footsteps crossed the living room and approached the doorway. Will spoke as he drew near. “We’ll use Jenny’s van when we go to the lottery office. I wouldn’t want to take that old Chevette on the highway all the way to Toronto.”

      Amelia dropped to her knees, then flattened herself on her stomach and pressed her cheek to the floor. Aside from a collection of dust bunnies, the space beneath the futon was as empty as the space behind it. She scrambled to her feet and clawed at the mattress to tip it away from the frame, but she found nothing other than a squished coloring book.

      “Too bad we have to wait until tomorrow,” Will continued. “But they wouldn’t be open on a Sunday. What are you doing?”

      Her gaze darted wildly around the room. She could see at a glance there was no place to conceal anything large. It wasn’t here.

      “Amelia?”

      “Where’s the painting?”

      “What?”

      She thumped the side of her fist against the empty wall. “The painting of the farm that was right here.”

      “I put it on the lawn with the other stuff.”

      “You what?”

      “It was a piece of junk. I thought you’d be happy to see it go.”

      She pushed past him and ran for the front door. She didn’t remember seeing the painting on the lawn, but then, she hadn’t really looked. It had to be there, because no one would want something that ugly, would they? The painting itself was awful. Jenny had acquired it at someone else’s yard sale with the intention of using the frame to dress up a mirror. The frame was old-fashioned, carved wood that was warped in places and gaped away from the canvas and had provided a perfect spot to tuck a folded slip of paper because it had been high up, out of sight and beyond the reach of little fingers and hungry dogs. It was a good, safe place that she’d felt so clever about finding. Please, oh, please let it still be there....

      It wasn’t. That much was clear from the instant she reached the front stoop. She pressed her fingers to her mouth but she couldn’t feel them. Her entire body was going numb. That was a mercy. If only the numbness could reach her brain and her heart.

      This couldn’t be happening. She already knew what it was like to lose everything, but to lose it again? Before she’d even got it? Fate couldn’t be this cruel, could it?

      The door opened behind her. “Amelia?” Will asked. “You’re scaring me. What’s wrong?”

      Her legs gave out. She sat down hard on the top step. “The lottery ticket.”

      “What about it?”

      “I wedged it underneath the frame of that painting.”

      CHAPTER TWO

      HANK JONES DID his best to concentrate on the conversation, because it definitely wouldn’t be cool to be caught slack-jawed and staring. He’d heard that Amelia Goodfellow was back in town. Given the size of Port Hope, he’d known it was possible they would run into each other eventually, but not in his wildest dreams would he have imagined she would be waiting for him to open his office on a Monday morning.