eBook
Available on Compatible NOOK devices, the free NOOK App and in My Digital Library.
Related collections and offers
Overview
Twenty-two-year-old Stephanie Hall has heard the rumors about the White Boar Inn’s playboy owner, but never met the man in person. So when circumstances force Perry—Stephanie’s brother and the inn’s manager—to put her in charge of greeting Brock on his arrival, she’s more than a little curious about the man whose very name sends the female staff atwitter.
New Hampshire’s White Mountains are cloaked in vibrant autumnal colors when Brock drives up with a curvy blonde in tow. He’s every bit as handsome as she had heard, and it’s a struggle for Stephanie to maintain her composure in the presence of his overpowering virility. Perry warned her that Brock’s seductive air hid a heart of stone, but Stephanie never expected she would be willing to throw caution to the wind for just a moment in those arms.
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781497619203 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Open Road Media |
| Publication date: | 04/01/2014 |
| Series: | The Americana Series , #29 |
| Sold by: | Barnes & Noble |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 112 |
| Sales rank: | 945,583 |
| File size: | 2 MB |
About the Author
Read an Excerpt
Heart of Stone
The Americana Series: New Hampshire
By Janet Dailey
OPEN ROAD INTEGRATED MEDIA
Copyright © 1980 Janet DaileyAll rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4976-1920-3
CHAPTER 1
THERE WAS a sudden flurry of activity outside Stephanie's office. Located in the heart of the luxurious New Hampshire inn, it gave her ready access to all phases of the operation. Through the open doorway Stephanie had a partial view of the front desk, which gave her a feeling of the comings and goings of the guests. Across the hall was the housekeeping department. The office next to hers belonged to her brother, Perry Hall, the manager of the inn, and her boss.
When Mrs. Adamson, the dining-room hostess, went hurrying past Stephanie's door, her curiosity was thoroughly aroused. Something unusual was going on. Even though she had actually worked in the White Boar Inn a short three months, Stephanie felt the accelerated tempo of the inn's pulse, a tense quickening of interest.
The unbalanced ledger sheet on her desk was forgotten as she speared the lead pencil through the chestnut hair above her ear and rose from her chair. Bookkeeping was invariably the last department to know anything if she allowed routine to run its normal course. Since Perry was her brother, she didn't choose to sit back and wait to be informed. She had been isolated from the mainstream of life for too many years to let it continue now that she had rejoined it.
In the hallway, she glanced toward the front desk. Her blue eyes noted the expressions of harried excitement in the faces of the usually unflappable pair manning the registration counter. It was rare indeed for the arrival of an important personage to create such a disturbance, since the inn catered to the wealthy and the notable. Besides, every room was already taken, occupied by guests on hand to view the autumn splendor of the White Mountains, and there were reservations all the way through the winter season to spring.
Puzzled by the unknown cause of all this barely subdued commotion, Stephanie absently fingered the scarab pendant suspended by a gold chain to nestle in the valley between her breasts, the loose weave of her white rollneck sweater providing a backdrop for the jewelry. The slight frown remained in her expression as she walked the few feet to her brother's office. The door was standing open and she paused within its frame, not wanting to interrupt her brother's consultation with Mrs. Adamson.
"Get a bottle on ice right away," he was instructing the woman, who was hastily making notes on a pad. Perry, too, was consulting the papers in front of him, not glancing up to see Stephanie in the doorway. His brown hair was rumpled as if he had run his fingers through it many times. "Fix a tray with a selection of cheeses and fresh fruits to go with it. You'd better recheck the wine cellar and make sure you have an ample supply of his favorite wines in stock, too. Alert your staff. I want them on their toes in case he decides to dine in the restaurant this evening. I don't want—Flowers!" Perry interrupted himself to exclaim. "I nearly forgot the damn flowers." He punched the buzzer to summon his secretary.
For once the young girl appeared within seconds. She looked pale and anxious, more timid than usual. Despite her youth, Connie York was highly skilled and competent. Her chief flaw was a marked lack of self-confidence, which was blatantly in evidence at the moment.
"Yes, Mr. Hall?" She made a question of her response to his summons, her small face pinched into tense lines of unease and framed with dark hair.
His upward glance took note of Stephanie in the doorway, but he didn't acknowledge her presence in his office beyond that. "Call the florist. If they can't have a bouquet of roses delivered here within ninety minutes, I want you to pick them up."
"Yes, sir." Her head bobbed in quick agreement, but she didn't make any move to follow through with the order.
Perry, who was usually extraordinarily patient with his self-effacing secretary, sent her an irritated look. "You aren't going to get it done standing there, Connie. Go on!"
"I know, but ..." She wavered uncertainly.
"What is it?" he demanded in short temper. "I haven't got time to coax it out of you."
Stephanie's gaze wandered over her brother's face in surprise. Six years older than herself, he rarely allowed stressful situations to shake him. He had been more than just her big brother: he had been her idol for as long as she could remember. Life hadn't been easy for him ... or for her, either. Their mother had died when Stephanie was only four. Perry had played surrogate mother to her, fixing meals and keeping house while their father worked long hours, skilled only as a ski instructor and bartender, to make ends meet.
Five years ago, when Stephanie was seventeen, it had seemed the world would become their oyster. Perry had obtained a scholarship to attend a prestigious postgraduate law school and Stephanie had been accepted by a prominent women's college. Then a freak skiing accident had left their father a paraplegic, and Perry had given up his scholarship to take the position of assistant manager of this inn, while Stephanie stayed home to take care of their father. A virulent pneumonia virus had claimed their father four months ago. In many ways, his death had been a blessing—for him and for them.
Stephanie hadn't completely adjusted to the freedom from responsibility that had matured both of them beyond their years, while it deprived them of the pleasures of youth. The night course she had taken in accounting, to supplement their income by doing bookkeeping at home for small businesses, had provided her with the experience to take the post as bookkeeper at the inn when her predecessor had retired with a few grumblings about nepotism, because her brother had become the manager in the last year.
She liked working at the inn, being with people and being part of things. Most of all, she liked working with her brother. She had come to respect his competency in a position the duties of which were far ranging and varied. Perry always appeared to be totally in control whether dealing with a crisis in the restaurant kitchen or organizing the staff. Which was why Stephanie was surprised by his harried attitude at the moment. It didn't seem in character.
"It's just that ... I was wondering ..." Connie was stumbling over the reason for her hesitation.
"I don't have all day. Please get to the point," Perry ordered.
"It's your appointment," his secretary began, intimidated by his abruptness.
"I told you to cancel them." His mouth thinned with impatience.
"Yes, but ..." She bit her lower lip.
Perry appeared to mentally count to ten in an effort to control his temper. "But what, Connie?" he asked with forced evenness.
"You're supposed to speak at a luncheon this noon." She rushed the explanation. "It's been on the agenda for two months. They couldn't possibly get anyone to take your place at such late notice."
Perry groaned. "Is that today?"
"Yes, sir." Anxiety tortured Connie's expression. "What should I do?"
"Do? There's nothing you can do," he sighed. "I'll have to attend the luncheon, but cancel everything else. And get those flowers."
"Yes, sir." With a nod of her head, the girl disappeared inside her adjoining office.
Returning his attention to the woman in front of his desk, Perry raked a hand through his dark hair again, adding to its disorder. "You know the routine, Mrs. Adamson. I trust you to handle it." He cast a glance at his wristwatch, in effect dismissing the hostess.
Stephanie stepped to one side so the woman could exit through the open door. From the conversation she had overheard, she had a general idea what was happening. With the exception of the private suite, the inn was fully booked. And the suite was reserved exclusively for the owner or his personal guests. Before she had a chance to ask whose arrival was anticipated, Perry was addressing her.
"Whatever your problem is, Stephanie, it will have to wait—unless someone has absconded with the receipts. In that case, I don't want to know about it for three days," he declared with a tired shake of his head.
"I don't have any problem," she assured him. "I'm just trying to figure out what's going on. Who's coming? The place is in a quiet uproar—if there is such a thing."
Sighing, Perry rocked back in his swivel chair. Eyes the same blue as her own, skimmed her slender figure in its white sweater and green tartan skirt. A faint smile touched his mouth when his gaze returned to her face with its soft frame of sleek chestnut hair.
"Brock is making another one of his impromptu visits. He called a half an hour ago to say he'd be here by two this afternoon. He's driving up from Boston," he explained, as tension etched lines in his strong face.
"Aha!" Stephanie mocked him to ease his concern. "Now I understand why everyone is jumping at the slightest sound. The big man himself is coming to inspect his property."
"It's all right for you to joke about it. Canfield expects the best and I am the one who has to explain why, if he doesn't get it." Perry rubbed his fingers against a spot in the center of his forehead.
"I don't know what you're worrying about." Stephanie walked to the back of his chair and let her hands knead the taut cords between his neck and shoulders. "Don't forget I've been keeping the books for the past three months. I know how very well the inn has been doing. Brock Canfield can't possibly have any complaints about your work or how you run the inn."
"We have done well," he admitted, relaxing under the massage of her hands. "If that trend continues through the winter ski season, we should have our best year ever."
"That proves my point, doesn't it?" she reasoned.
"The point will be proved only when it's accomplished," Perry reminded her. "In the meantime, Brock is going to judge by what he sees on this trip."
"He won't have any complaints." Stephanie was certain of that. The service at the inn was flawless. Even the hard-to-please guests found little to grumble about. "Do you know this will be my first opportunity to meet this paragon of all manhood, Brock Canfield?" she realized. "You have worked here what? Five years? Everybody talks about him as if he was God. Depending on their sex, they either tremble or quiver when they hear his name." She laughed. "I've heard him alternately described as a ruthless tycoon or a gorgeous hunk of man. Now I'll be able to find out for myself which is the real Brock Canfield!"
"He's both, plus a few other things." Her brother took hold of one of her hands to end the rubdown and pull her around to the side of his chair. Handsome in an attractive kind of way, he studied her for a quiet second. "I have this luncheon to attend, so I'll have to deputize you to stand in for me in case I'm not back when Brock arrives."
"Me?" Stephanie frowned her surprise.
"Somebody has to be on hand to welcome him. Connie practically cringes every time he looks at her," Perry explained with a wry grimace. "And Vic is home sleeping after being on duty all night," he added, referring to the night manager. "I can't think of anyone else. Do you mind?"
"Of course not. What do I have to do, besides being on hand to greet him?" Despite her willing agreement, Stephanie experienced a shiver of unease at some of the more formidable descriptions she'd heard applied to the inn's owner.
"Show him to his suite and make certain everything is in order. Connie is getting the flowers and Mrs. Adamson will have a bottle of champagne on ice, along with some cheese and fruit. In general, just see that he has everything he wants."
"That sounds simple enough," she shrugged.
"Watch your step, Stephanie," her brother advised, suddenly serious.
She was confused by the warning. "I'm not likely to say anything that would offend him." She wasn't the outspoken type. Most of the time she was very tactful—able to curb her tongue despite the provocation.
"I know you wouldn't." He dismissed that possibility with a wave of his hand. "I was trying to say that you should stay clear of Brock Canfield. He goes through women the way a gambler goes through a deck of cards. He's rich, good-looking in a way, and can be both persuasive and forceful. I'm told that can be an irresistible combination."
"I've heard a few stories about him," Stephanie admitted.
"I wouldn't like to see you get mixed up with him, because I know you'd be hurt. Honestly, Steph, I'm not trying to play the heavy-handed big brother." Perry seemed to smile at himself. "It's just that I know he's going to take one look at you and get ideas. You haven't had all that much experience with men—especially his kind."
"Experienced or not, I think I can take care of myself." She didn't mind that Perry was worried about her. In fact, she liked the idea that he cared enough about her to try to protect her. A smile hovered around the corners of her mouth. "Is that why you never brought him home to dinner when I suggested it during his other visits?"
"Partly," her brother admitted. "But mostly it was because Brock isn't your home-cooked meal type. He's smooth and finished, like a diamond that's been cut into the perfect stone, hard and unfeeling."
"And diamonds don't sit down at a table set with ironstone flatware," Stephanie concluded in understanding.
"Something like that," Perry agreed. "Now, off with you," he ordered in a mock threat. "I have to find my notes for the luncheon speech."
She started for the door and hesitated short of her goal. "When will you be back—in case Brock asks?"
"Between half-past one and two."
"Maybe he'll be late," she suggested and walked to the door.
Forty-five minutes later, Perry stuck his head inside her office to let her know he was leaving to keep his luncheon engagement. "Take care of Brock if he arrives before I get back," he reminded her, unnecessarily.
"I will," she promised. "Good luck with the speech."
He waved and left. A few minutes later Stephanie closed her office to have lunch. Her appetite was all but nonexistent, so she chose a salad plate and picked at it for twenty minutes before giving up. A few minutes before one, she obtained the key to the private suite from Mary at the front desk and checked to be certain all was in readiness for Brock Canfield's arrival.
There had been no occasion for Stephanie to enter the private suite before. It consisted of a spacious sitting room, an equally large bedroom with a king-sized bed and an enormous bath. Stephanie explored it with unashamed curiosity.
Bronze-tipped, double-paned windows offered an unparalleled view of the White Mountains cloaked in their rust and gold autumn colors. Sunlight streaming through the glass laid a pattern of gold on the stark white floor of Italian ceramic, set in a herringbone design. There was nothing about the sitting room that resembled New England except for the scene outside its windows.
The furnishings included a white leather armchair and ottoman. A pair of short sofas were upholstered in natural Haitian cotton with coffee tables of antique white. The walls were covered with grass cloth in an ivory shade. A floor-to-ceiling cabinet, which included a shelf for a television to be rolled out, had been built into one wall. A glass-topped rattan table and four chairs were the only natural wood pieces in the room, besides an eight-foot-high secretary, hand carved in walnut. A gold-leaf, coromandel screen opened to reveal a bar. In total, it was an eclectic blend of periods and designs.
Stephanie took note of the bouquet of long-stemmed roses on the coffee table. The arrangement had an oriental touch with bare branches rising above the blood-red blooms. A vintage bottle of champagne was on ice in a silver bucket supported by a stud. A tray of cheese as well as an attractive bowl of fresh fruit was on the rattan table.
When Stephanie ventured into the bedroom, she stepped onto thick, shrimp-colored carpeting. The same color was repeated but dominated by black in the patterned bedspread and matching drapes. An ornate ebony headboard adorned the king-sized bed and was flanked by carved nightstands of the same dark hardwood. A hunting scene was depicted on an elephant tusk and a second was repeated in a massive collage. They gave the room the masculine accent.
The bathroom was a bit overwhelming in its luxury, with the shrimp carpeting extending into it. A white Jacuzzi bathtub was set in a platform faced with Italian marble that continued all the way up to the ceiling. The wall area not covered with marble was hung with black silk, a collection of framed South American butterflies making use of its backdrop. The bath towels were all a very sensual black velour material, thick and rich looking.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Heart of Stone by Janet Dailey. Copyright © 1980 Janet Dailey. Excerpted by permission of OPEN ROAD INTEGRATED MEDIA.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
