Heart of Stone: New Hampshire by Janet Dailey

Author:Janet Dailey [Dailey, Janet]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780373898794
Google: MzJrI3BdMssC
Publisher: Open Road Media
Published: 1980-01-01T16:00:00+00:00

THE NORTH WINDS came to strip the leaves from the trees, exposing the dark skeletons of the trunks and leaving piles of brown leaves to carpet the ground. The first snow flurry of the season came the last weekend in October. November arrived.

Stephanie had written Brock two letters, short ones with news of the inn and the area, minus any personal messages. The only address she had was the one the monthly reports were sent to. She couldn't be sure if they would reach him. Last week, she had sent merely a postcard.

There hadn't been a single reply of any kind, and she was gradually becoming convinced he had forgotten her. She couldn't shake the feeling that she had been on the brink of discovering something wonderful, only to lose it.

The ring of her office extension drew a sigh. Unclipping an earring, she answered the phone. "Miss Hall speaking. May I help you?"

"How are you?" a familiar male voice inquired.

Incredulous, Stephanie tightened her grip on the receiver, the blood singing in her veins. "Brock?" She could feel her voice choking. "Where are you?" In the background she could hear a hum of voices.

"Can you believe it?" His short laugh was a quietly harsh sound. "I'm in the middle of a board meeting. I don't know who the hell they think I'm talking to, but I had to call you."

"I'm glad." Her answer was hardly above a whisper.

"The mail packet caught up with me this morning. I got the letter and postcard you sent," he said.

"I…I wasn't sure if I should write," she admitted.

"These are liberated times, but I'm not surprised that you're behind them," he mocked, but not unkindly.

A voice intruded from the background. "Mr. Canfield, here's the breakdown report you wanted on the foreign currency exchange this quarter."

"Good, Frank," was Brock's partially muffled response, then clearer, "Are you still there?"

"Yes, I'm here," Stephanie assured him, her voice regaining its strength.

Brock started to say something, then changed his mind. "This is the most frustrating means of communication." His tone was low and charged with irritation. "I can't see you or touch you."

"I know." There was a certain torment in hearing his voice.

"Mr. Canfield?" The same voice interrupted Brock again.

"Dammit, Frank, can't you see I'm on the phone?" he demanded. He came back on the line, sighing tiredly. "I'm sorry, it's no good, I can't talk now. I'm trying to schedule a trip there in December or January."

That long, Stephanie thought, but didn't say it. Instead she attempted a light remark. "The heart of the skiing season. Maybe you'll have enough time to spend an afternoon on the slopes. We already have a good snow cover."

"I don't give a damn about the snow." He controlled the impatience in his voice to add a promising, "I'll see you…soon, I hope."

"Goodbye, Brock."

The line clicked dead before Stephanie hung up the phone. She stared at it until a flicker of movement caught her attention and she looked up to see Perry in the doorway.

"Was that Brock?" He studied her quietly.

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