Loving Lizbeth
Page 1
“How do you feel about being kissed in public?”
“I’d say, after hot fudge sundaes, it might become my next favorite thing,” Lizbeth replied.
“Maybe we should do it again.”
“One public kiss is all you get. Besides, you’re melting my ice cream. I can’t remember when I’ve had such a satisfying day. I wish it didn’t have to end.”
“It doesn’t,” Colin said.
Lizbeth knew her lips were quivering, and she hated that even now, after all these years, she could be moved by her memories. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that nothing good lasts forever.”
“If you believe that, then why not reach for whatever happiness you can today, and to hell with tomorrow?” He touched a hand to her cheek and leaned close. “You have to know that I want you, Lizbeth. Desperately.”
“I know. And I want…” She wanted forever with this man, but she knew he wanted only tonight. Then again, couldn’t forever start with a single glorious night?
Dear Reader,
Valentine’s Day is here this month, and what better way to celebrate the spirit of romance than with six fabulous novels from Silhouette Intimate Moments? Kathleen Creighton’s The Awakening of Dr. Brown is one of those emotional tours de force that will stay in your mind and your heart long after you’ve turned the last page. With talent like this, it’s no wonder Kathleen has won so many awards for her writing. Join Ethan Brown and Joanna Dunn on their journey into the heart. You’ll be glad you did.
A YEAR OF LOVING DANGEROUSLY continues with Someone To Watch Over Her, a suspenseful and sensuous Caribbean adventure by Margaret Watson. Award winner Marie Ferrarella adds another installment to her CHILDFINDERS, INC. miniseries with A Hero in Her Eyes, a real page-turner of a romance. Meet the second of bestselling author Ruth Langan’s THE SULLIVAN SISTERS in Loving Lizbeth—and look forward to third sister Celeste’s appearance next month. Reader favorite Rebecca Daniels is finally back with Rain Dance, a gripping amnesia story. And finally, check out Renegade Father by RaeAnne Thayne, the stirring tale of an irresistible Native American hero and a lady rancher.
All six of this month’s books are guaranteed to keep you turning pages long into the night, so don’t miss a single one. And be sure to come back next month for more of the best and most exciting romantic reading around—right here in Silhouette Intimate Moments.
Enjoy!
Leslie J. Wainger
Executive Senior Editor
Loving Lizbeth
RUTH LANGAN
Books by Ruth Langan
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RUTH LANGAN
Award-winning and bestselling author Ruth Langan creates characters that Affaire de Coeur magazine has called “so incredibly human the reader will expect them to come over for tea.” Four of Ruth’s books have been finalists for the Romance Writers of America’s (RWA) RITA Award. Over the years, she has given dozens of print, radio and TV interviews, including some for Good Morning America and CNN News, and has been quoted in such diverse publications as the Wall Street Journal, Cosmopolitan and the Detroit Free Press. Married to her childhood sweetheart, she has raised five children and lives in Michigan, the state where she was born and raised.
For Mary, our family whirlwind,
who does it all, and makes it look easy.
And for Tom, who taught her how.
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Epilogue
Prologue
Dublin, Ireland—1982
“Grandpa Sully.” Nine-year-old Lizbeth Sullivan’s hazel eyes were damp with tears. Her sad voice was little more than a hushed whisper. “Why are Mom and Daddy sending me away to boarding school? Did I do something bad?”
“Don’t be silly, LizzyBeth.” Her grandfather used his pet name for his adored granddaughter as he drew her into the circle of his big arms. “They have to leave for Paris to start another hotel, and they worry that they’ll be too busy to see to you and your sisters. It takes a lot of hard work and time to get a new business like ours up and running smoothly.”
“But I could help. And so could Alex and Celeste.” Lizbeth and her sisters always worked in the family hotels when they were home on holidays. It was not uncommon to see a ten-year-old standing on a ladder, washing windows. Or a nine-year-old in the kitchen, helping the salad chef. Or an eight-year-old dusting furniture.
Patrick Joseph Sullivan, who was called Paddy by his friends and Grandpa Sully by the three little girls who adored him, tousled her yellow curls. “I know you could help. And so could your sisters. But you can help even more by being good little girls and going off to school without a whimper. Can you do that, LizzyBeth?”
“But I’ll miss you and Grandma. And Alex says we’ll all be separated once we get to that fancy school. She’ll be in class with the bigger girls. And Celeste will be in with younger ones. And I’ll be…” Her lower lip quivered. “…all alone with strangers.”
“Now, LizzyBeth, I taught you better than that. Come on now, lass. What’s the Sullivan motto?”
She swallowed back her tears and lifted her chin. “At a Sullivan Inn, there are no strangers. Only people we have yet to meet.”
“That’s my girl. Now go pack your ba
gs, luv. And when you kiss your parents goodbye, don’t burden them with tears.” He tipped up her chin. “Promise?”
“I…promise, Grandpa Sully.”
She scampered up the stairs of the grand old hotel they currently called home. True to her word she held back her tears. But that didn’t stop her from feeling the pain.
Oh, why couldn’t they be a normal family like everybody else? With a house and a yard and neighbors? When she got old enough, Lizbeth vowed fiercely, that’s what she would have. A lovely, cozy home, filled with all the things that had special meaning to her. And when she found such a place, she’d never ever leave it.
Chapter 1
Stafford, New Hampshire
Lizbeth Sullivan hated weeds. Especially weeds that sank their roots in her tidy vegetable garden. She’d spent the better part of an hour on her hands and knees in the dirt, pulling out the villains. Now, as she sat back on her heels, she felt a sense of satisfaction at the neat little rows of babies. She knew it was silly to think of beets and carrots and onions as her babies, but that’s what they were. Along with the glorious peonies that had burst into bloom in a sunny spot alongside the white picket fence. Soon, as spring danced into summer, there would be lovely purple bearded irises, and a wonderful old climbing rose that produced hundreds of glossy white blooms each year.
Lizbeth loved each of the distinctive seasons here in the little town of Stafford, New Hampshire. But of all the seasons, spring was her favorite. With its warm days and chilly nights, and its often-fickle moods, there were few tourists. It meant, of course, that she had to be a bit more frugal until the arrival of summer, with its long, lazy days and endless string of vacationers in search of anything distinctly New England. Then the town of Stafford and her bed-and-breakfast, the cozy Stafford Cottage, would be filled to capacity. Though she would be busy from dawn until dark, it would be satisfying work. She loved sharing her home with the people who would come to her as strangers and leave as friends. There was an added bonus, of course. She would also be able to set aside enough profits to make the changes she was already planning on the east wing of the sprawling old house.
She could see it in her mind. If she could remove the walls between two of the smaller bedrooms, she could have her own master suite, equipped with a private sitting room and small office, apart from the rest of the house. It would give her the privacy she craved, while keeping her close enough to see to the many needs of her guests.
Though she was eager for the changes, she wasn’t impatient. Anticipation, she realized, was half the fun. Maybe that was why she loved springtime so much. While enjoying it, she could also look forward to the season that followed.
She scooped up the last pile of weeds and tossed them into the wheelbarrow. Getting to her feet, she brushed a lock of hair from her eye before peeling off her damp garden gloves.
A voice from behind had her turning around abruptly.
“I’m looking for Lizbeth Sullivan.”
The man facing her wore a faded denim jacket, jeans and mud-caked work boots. He was tall enough that she had to tip her head back to see his face. It was worth the effort, since his eyes were an incredible sparkling blue and his smile was as warm as the sun. His cheeks and chin sprouted a stubble of beard, adding a rough edge to his appearance. His dark hair curled damply, no doubt from being tucked under the hard hat he held in his hand.
“You’ve found her. I’m Lizbeth Sullivan.”
He cocked a brow before offering a handshake. “Colin St. James. Bill and Sue Yardley suggested I might be able to rent a room from you while I work on their place.”
“You’re handling the renovations on the Yardley house?”
“Yeah.” His smile grew. “What a great old place. I think I’m going to love working there.” He glanced around the tidy yard. “This looks great, too. Do you think you could put me up for the next month or two?”
“A month or two?” She knew her jaw dropped. She hoped he hadn’t noticed as she carefully composed herself. But even as she thought how she would enjoy spending the money, she was mentally reminding herself that a laborer could hardly afford what she would be forced to charge. “That’s going to be awfully expensive. Have you checked the motels outside of town? Some of them are fairly inexpensive, and might charge even less by the month.”
He shook his head. “Not interested. This place is just too convenient to pass up. I could oversleep and still get to work on time.”
“Do you do that often? Oversleep?”
His smile was quick and engaging. “Not as a rule. In fact, I’m an early bird. But I like this location. I’ll be able to walk through the town and get a feel for the people and their surroundings. That’s important when you’re making major changes in a residence. Besides, my specialty is restoring antique buildings. I don’t think I could stand to spend my nights staring at faded drapes and what passes for motel art on the bland walls.”
Lizbeth couldn’t help laughing. “I know what you mean. I suppose it’s one reason why I love this old place. There isn’t a bland wall to be found.”
It occurred to Colin that the proprietor wasn’t bland either. He didn’t know which was more beguiling. The way her hair had slipped loose of its combs to dip over one eye, or the smudge of dirt that stained her pretty pink cheek. In the sunlight her eyes were amber, ringed with a darker shade of honey.
The way he was staring at her sent a rush of unexpected heat curling along Lizbeth’s spine. He had the most amazing eyes. So intense, they seemed to see clear through her.
Just then a man in a U.S. Postal uniform came whistling up the walk. “Afternoon, Beth.” He glanced at Colin, expecting an introduction.
“Jack Nowack, this is Colin St. James. He’s going to be working at Bill and Sue Yardley’s place.”
The mailman nodded a greeting to Colin. “Heard they were going to start remodeling. Nice to meet you.”
He turned back to Lizbeth. “Got a letter from your sister up in Snug Harbor. How’re the newlyweds getting along?”
Lizbeth smiled as she accepted her mail. “I’ll read her note and let you know tomorrow, Jack.”
He touched the tip of his cap. “Much obliged, Beth. Nice meeting you, Colin. How long you think you’ll be staying?”
Colin shrugged. “Could be a month. Could be longer.”
“Good. You’ll like it here in Stafford.” The mailman started whistling as he walked away.
Lizbeth smiled. “If you’ll follow me, I’ll give you a tour and you can decide if it’s worth the fortune I intend to charge you to stay at Stafford Cottage.”
She lifted the wheelbarrow and pushed it to a small potting shed before leading the way to the back door, where she slipped out of her garden shoes before stepping inside. She was pleased to note that Colin St. James removed his work boots before following.
Inside, several loaves of date nut bread were cooling on a rack beside the stove. The kitchen was perfumed with the fragrance of them. Colin paused a moment to study the rainbow of light that spilled through a stained-glass panel above the sink and sent colors dancing across the hardwood floor.
The room was large enough to accommodate a huge table on which rested a marble slab. The kind used to cool fudge in an old-fashioned candy shop. In the center of the table was a low bowl of flowers. There were more flowers on the countertop and the windowsill.
Across the room a wood fire burned on the grate of an enormous fireplace. A loveseat was positioned in front of it to absorb as much warmth as possible.
Lizbeth paused. “I need to wash up. If you follow that hallway, you’ll find yourself in the main parlor.”
“Thanks.” Colin was still smiling as he ran a hand along the ornate wood molding that trimmed walls papered in shell-pink silk moire.
Minutes later he stood in the parlor admiring the ivory-inlaid desk that had to be at least two hundred years old.
He turned when Lizbeth entered. “This is a beautiful piece. Did it come with the house?�
�
She shook her head, pleased that he’d noticed it. “No. I found that in Maine, and had it shipped here. It cost way too much, but I simply couldn’t resist.”
“I can see why you had to have it.”
Flushed with pleasure she took a seat and indicated the chair across from her. She’d taken those few minutes of privacy to figure out just how much she’d need to charge and still show a profit, while keeping the price low enough that Colin St. James would be able to take home a paycheck when his work here in Stafford was finished.
“In season I charge sixty-five dollars a night for a single. But since this is our off-season, and you’ve indicated that you might like to stay for a month or two, I think a thousand a month is a fair price. That’s half the regular fee. That will include meals, of course. And the use of the laundry facilities.”
He nodded. “That’s more than fair.” He pulled a credit card from his wallet and handed it to her.
She opened a guest book to a blank page and turned it toward him. “Would you like to sign the guest register?”
She processed the credit card and handed it to him. When she glanced down, she noted the bold handwriting. It seemed to suit the man. At least what she’d seen of him so far.
“If you’d like to get your luggage, I’ll show you to your room.”
A few minutes later she watched through the window as he strolled to his truck and lifted two huge suitcases as easily as if they weighed nothing at all.
Again he left his boots at the door before following her up the stairs. He gave an admiring glance at the grandfather clock on the landing, chiming out the half hour.