Heart of Stone Read online

  Heart of Stone

  The Americana Series: New Hampshire

  Janet Dailey

  Janet Dailey’s Americana Series

  Dangerous Masquerade (Alabama)

  Northern Magic (Alaska)

  Sonora Sundown (Arizona)

  Valley Of the Vapours (Arkansas)

  Fire And Ice (California)

  After the Storm (Colorado)

  Difficult Decision (Connecticut)

  The Matchmakers (Delaware)

  Southern Nights (Florida)

  Night Of The Cotillion (Georgia)

  Kona Winds (Hawaii)

  The Travelling Kind (Idaho)

  A Lyon's Share (Illinois)

  The Indy Man (Indiana)

  The Homeplace (Iowa)

  The Mating Season (Kansas)

  Bluegrass King (Kentucky)

  The Bride Of The Delta Queen (Louisiana)

  Summer Mahogany (Maine)

  Bed Of Grass (Maryland)

  That Boston Man (Massachusetts)

  Enemy In Camp (Michigan)

  Giant Of Mesabi (Minnesota)

  A Tradition Of Pride (Mississippi)

  Show Me (Missouri)

  Big Sky Country (Montana)

  Boss Man From Ogallala (Nebraska)

  Reilly's Woman (Nevada)

  Heart Of Stone (New Hampshire)

  One Of The Boys (New Jersey)

  Land Of Enchantment (New Mexico)

  Beware Of The Stranger (New York)

  That Carolina Summer (North Carolina)

  Lord Of the High Lonesome (North Dakota)

  The Widow And The Wastrel (Ohio)

  Six White Horses (Oklahoma)

  To Tell The Truth (Oregon)

  The Thawing Of Mara (Pennsylvania)

  Strange Bedfellow (Rhode Island)

  Low Country Liar (South Carolina)

  Dakota Dreamin' (South Dakota)

  Sentimental Journey (Tennessee)

  Savage Land (Texas)

  A Land Called Deseret (Utah)

  Green Mountain Man (Vermont)

  Tidewater Lover (Virginia)

  For Mike's Sake (Washington)

  Wild And Wonderful (West Virginia)

  With A Little Luck (Wisconsin)

  Darling Jenny (Wyoming)

  Other Janet Dailey Titles You Might Enjoy

  American Dreams

  Aspen Gold

  Fiesta San Antonio

  For Bitter Or Worse

  The Great Alone

  Heiress

  The Ivory Cane

  Legacies

  Masquerade

  The Master Fiddler

  No Quarter Asked

  Rivals

  Something Extra

  Sweet Promise

  Tangled Vines

  Author Biography

  Janet Dailey was born Janet Haradon in 1944 in Storm Lake, Iowa. She attended secretarial school in Omaha, Nebraska before meeting her husband, Bill. Bill and Janet worked together in construction and land development until they "retired" to travel throughout the United States, inspiring Janet to write the Americana series of romances.

  In 1974, Janet Dailey was the first American author to write for Harlequin, her first novel was NO QUARTER ASKED. She has since gone on to write approximately 90 novels, 21 of which have appeared on The New York Times bestseller list. She has won many awards and accolades for her work, appearing widely on Radio and Television. Today, there are over three-hundred million Janet Dailey books in print in 19 different languages, making her one of the most popular novelists in the world.

  Preface

  When I first started writing back in the Seventies, my husband Bill and I were retired and traveling all over the States with our home—a 34' travel trailer—in tow. That's when Bill came up with the great idea of my writing a romance novel set in each one of our fifty states. It was an idea I ultimately accomplished before switching to mainstream fiction and hitting all the international bestseller lists.

  As we were preparing to reissue these early titles, I initially planned to update them all—modernize them, so to speak, and bring them into the new high-tech age. Then I realized I couldn't do that successfully any more than I could take a dress from the Seventies and redesign it into one that would look as if it were made yesterday. That's when I saw that the true charm of these novels is their look back on another time and another age. Over the years, they have become historical novels, however recent the history. When you read them yourself, I know you will feel the same.

  So, enjoy, and happy reading to all!

  Introduction

  Introducing Janet Dailey's AMERICANA. Every novel in this collection is your passport to a romantic tour of the United States through time-honored favorites by America's First Lady of romance fiction. Each of the fifty novels is set in a different state, researched by Janet and her husband, Bill. For the Daileys it was an odyssey of discovery. For you, it's the journey of a lifetime.

  Chapter One

  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.

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nbsp; 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.
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br />   "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."