by Janet Dailey
That Carolina Summer
The Americana Series: North Carolina
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
Introduction
Introducing JANET DAILEY 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.
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!
Chapter One
THE LANGUID HEAT of the North Carolina sun was mildly enervating, countered by a soft breeze off the Atlantic Ocean. Bending a knee, Annette Long smoothed the tanning oil over her palely golden leg. Her smoky gray gaze idly circled the large swimming-pool area, taking note of the other guests enjoying the resort's facilities.
A young couple splashed in the pool, shrieking their laughter as they tried dunking each other, but most others lazed in the lounge chairs provided by the hotel, involving themselves in activities no more strenuous than applying suntan lotion to their bodies, as Annette was doing.
Finishing, she capped the bottle and turned to her sister. A faint smile touched her mouth, affectionate yet bemused. There was dark-haired, blue-eyed Marsha with a book in hand and dressed in a conservative one-piece blue swimsuit. At eighteen Marsha had everything it took to be a very attractive woman, but she was so quiet and unassuming she didn't make use of her assets, resisting Annette's attempts to take her in hand.
Sometimes it was difficult for Annette to believe they were sisters, the contrast between them was so sharp. Annette simply didn't possess her younger sister's retiring personality. In fact, she was the complete opposite, boldly confident and aggressive enough to go after what she wanted. Their physical appearance differed, as well. Annette's shoulder-length hair was the tawny blonde of sherry, styled in soft feather curls as opposed to the rather severe boyish cut of Marsha's brunette hair, which did nothing to enhance her natural looks. Marsha's eyes were a sky blue and Annette's were smoke colored with the fire of a keen intelligence glittering in them.
Both sisters were slim and a little above average height, but while Marsha concealed her nicely shaped figure in conservative outfits, Annette showed hers off. Her white swimsuit was one-piece, too, but it certainly couldn't be described as conservative. Its sides were cut out and it dipped low in the back.
They were as different as night and day. Their stepmother, Kathleen, had once described them as devil and angel with the roles reversed, Annette remembered, although it hadn't been a derogatory comment about either of them. It was simply that Marsha was so innocent, and Annette—she tended to make things happen rather than wait for them to occur. Occasionally that tendency got her into trouble, but she had always been clever enough to get herself out of it.
“Here.” Annette offered the suntan oil to her sister. “You'd better use this before you turn into a lobster.” Marsha had the dark complexion, but it was Annette who tanned easily.
“Thanks.” Marsha set her book aside, laying it facedown opened to the page she was reading, to keep her place. As she began rubbing the oil on her arms, an expression of dreamy contentment swept over her face. “Isn't it beautiful here, Annette? I didn't think Dad was serious when he said the family was going to spend our entire month's vacation at Wrightsville Beach."
“Why not?” Annette leaned back in the lounge chair and closed her eyes to bask in the sun.
“Well, when he's home he usually likes to stay in Delaware. It's really not surprising when you think about how much traveling he does,” Marsha reasoned.
“True,” she conceded. “But he also knows Kathleen has been stuck at home all while he's been gone. It's only natural that she'd like to get away for a while—especially now that Robby is older,” she added, referring to their five-year-old half brother.
“You're right,” Marsha agreed. “And as Dad said, with both of us in college now, it's hard to say when we'll have another chance for the enti
re family to be together for a vacation again."
“I certainly intend to make the most of enjoying all this relaxation,” Annette declared.
At the sound of approaching footsteps, Annette let her eyes open to mere slits and peered through her lashes. A uniformed waiter servicing the poolside area stopped next to Marsha's chair, an empty tray balanced on his uplifted palm. Annette made a swiftly astute appraisal of him. In his early twenties, the waiter was blond, tanned and very good-looking—and fully aware of the last.
“May I bring you ladies something to drink?” His flashing smile was intended to charm, and Marsha blushed faintly at its flirting quality.
Raising a hand to her forehead, Annette shielded her eyes from the glare of the sun. The movement immediately drew the waiter's attention to her as his admiring gaze skimmed the sleekness of her golden-tanned body and the provocative style of her swimsuit. Marsha was forgotten, a fact that didn't escape Annette's notice—or surprise her. His kind usually ran true to type, preferring fun-loving blondes to quiet brunettes.
“I'll have an iced tea,” Annette ordered with a faintly inviting smile. Perhaps it wasn't fair to divert the handsome young man's attention from her sister, but it was a protective reaction. Marsha was so incredibly inexperienced when it came to handling men. She'd be way out of her league with this one.
“With lemon?” the waiter inquired, letting his expression show that he found Annette very attractive.
“Please.” Annette let her smile increase to show she read his message, pretending to encourage even though he left her cold. Her glance ran to Marsha, who wasn't doing a very good job of masking her disappointment. “Do you want an iced tea, too?"
“Yes ... please,” she echoed Annette's order in a small voice.
“I'll be right back with your tea,” the waiter promised. “If there's anything else you need, the name is Craig."
“I think the tea is all for now. Thank you, Craig,” Annette murmured dryly.
With a mock bow he moved away to fill their order.
Annette rolled forward, draping an arm over an upraised knee to watch him go. She wasn't interested in him, but she knew Marsha was. For her sister's sake she wanted to be sure she had the young man's measure.
“Wasn't he gorgeous, Annette?” Marsha declared wistfully.
“Don't think lover boy doesn't know it, too,” she inserted with dry cynicism. Craig took a little too much pride in his looks for her liking.
“How can you sound so indifferent?” her sister marveled. “I saw the way he looked at you. He went for you."
There was a lack of envy in Marsha's remark. She had become accustomed to men finding her older sister more attractive than herself.
“As you get older, Marsha, you'll learn that guys like Craig are in love with themselves,” Annette explained patiently. “They think they're irresistible."
As she watched, the handsome waiter paused near another group of guests. One of the men in the small party caught her eye. Her pulse quickened with interest, her eyes lighting up. He was wearing a pair of black swimming trunks; the rest was all hard sun-bronzed flesh. The man was tall, a couple of inches over six feet, wide shoulders tapering to masculine slim hips.
As he turned slightly, Annette glimpsed the angular planes of his profile, slanted forehead, high-bridged nose and a strongly carved jawline. The sun's rays glinted on his dark brown hair, revealing its copper lights. Annette calculated that he was somewhere in the early thirties, a virile male specimen in his prime. Her glance strayed to his left hand, but there was no wedding ring—no jewelry at all, which meant absolutely nothing.
“I really don't understand how you can be so analytical about men,” Marsha sighed. “Haven't you ever seen anyone that turned you on?"
Two minutes earlier Annette would have given her sister a negative reply. She had always been too intelligent to let her imagination run away with itself. At nineteen, almost twenty, she had dated a great deal, but she had never pretended even to herself that she was serious about any of the string of boyfriends. Annette had always been positive that she would instinctively know when she met the right man. And the signals were going off like crazy this very second.
“Yes,” she said. “I have seen someone who turns me on. As a matter of fact, I'm looking at him right now,” she informed her sister with calm certainty.
“What?” Marsha blinked at her, because it wasn't the anticipated answer. Her head swiveled to follow the direction of Annette's gaze. “Who?"
“The man in the black trunks.” A thread of excitement ran through her nerve ends, tying them together.
Marsha looked. “Who is he?"
“I don't know—yet,” Annette qualified her reply, because she was going to make it her business to find out. Her boldness always made Marsha uncomfortable. She felt her sister's uneasy glance on her.
“You don't know anything about him.” It was almost an accusation.
Annette gave Marsha a look of indulgent patience. “But you can bet I'm going to find out."
Her gaze returned to the blatant sexuality of the stranger, so obviously male that he had no need to prove it. He was saying something to a female member of the group. Annette couldn't hear the words, but the slight breeze carried the husky timbre of his voice to her ears. She liked the sound of it as it shivered through her, like rough velvet drawn across her bare skin.
A uniformed figure crossed in front of her vision, briefly distracting her gaze. Annette recognized the blond waiter returning with their drinks. Her keen mind began working immediately. She welcomed him with a wide smile.
“That didn't take long,” she remarked.
“It's all part of the service to keep the hotel guests happy.” His glance volunteered to go beyond the call of duty as he handed Marsha her glass and walked around the lounge chair to give Annette hers.
“Thank you.” She set the glass down and reached for the check to sign it and charge it to the room. “Who is that man over there?” Annette asked with seemingly idle interest. “The one in the black trunks. He looks vaguely familiar, but I can't place where I've seen him,” she lied.
“You must mean Joshua Lord,” Craig replied.
Annette was careful to keep the focal point of her gaze on the waiter. The more attention she paid to him, the more information she'd get out of him. “Where have I heard that name before?” she wondered aloud, frowning.
“Among other things, he owns this resort. The Lords are one of North Carolina's old wealthy families,” he explained, eager to impress Annette with his knowledge of the rich.
“Really,” she murmured, and sent a glance in Joshua Lord's direction. His dark head was tipped attentively toward a bikini-clad redhead. “His wife is certainly a striking woman."
“That isn't his wife,” Craig informed her, not noticing Annette's faint smile of satisfaction. “Josh isn't married. Judging by the variety of female visitors that have dined in his suite, he's too busy to settle down."
“I imagine all he has to do is crook his finger.” Annette sipped at her glass of tea and smiled up at the waiter, matching his knowing grin. “You said he lives here at the hotel?"
“Yes, he has a private suite."
“How convenient,” she murmured with a throaty laugh.
“It certainly is,” Craig agreed, but Annette was thinking how convenient it was for her, rather than the convenience of a hotel staff it provided for Joshua Lord.
One of the guests at poolside called out, summoning the waiter. His mouth crooked in a regretful smile. “Excuse me. I'll see you around."
“Bye.” Annette watched him walk away, then let her gaze travel to Marsha. “Didn't I tell you I'd find out all about him?"
Marsha eyed her uncertainly, revealing the inner misgivings she had. “I don't know what you gained. Yes, you do know his name, where he lives and the fact that he isn't married, but a man like ... Joshua Lord ... can have practically any woman he wants. You said so yourself,” Marsha reminded
her. “What makes you think he'll be attracted to you?"
“Because I'm going to see that he is,” Annette stated, and laughed softly at her sister's apprehensive expression. “Don't look so worried, Marsha,” she admonished. “It will be easy."
“You've said that before.” Marsha wasn't convinced.
“It's always worked out the way I wanted it to, hasn't it?” Annette reasoned.
“One of these times it won't,” Marsha warned. “And you're going to find yourself in big trouble."
Annette just laughed and sought out the object of her interest again. Various plans were already beginning to take shape in her mind and would need to be sorted through. There was more information she needed before she could settle on any one course of action. In the meantime she would have to be flexible.
As she watched, Joshua Lord detached himself from the group and walked toward the pool. He had an easy flowing stride, corded muscles rippling along his thigh and leg beneath sun-browned flesh. There was a lazy confidence about his bearing, an aloof awareness of his surroundings.
The couple that had been cavorting in the pool earlier had climbed out to collapse in happy exhaustion on a couple of deck chairs. There was no one else in the pool when Josh Lord dived in. A second after he'd surfaced midway across the pool, Annette was reaching for her petaled swim cap.
“Where are you going?” Marsha asked, staring.
“For a swim,” Annette replied with a confident gleam in her eyes. “You remember what Aunt Helen always said: don't wait for your ship to come in; swim out to meet it.” She tucked the ends of her hair under the cap. “I'm on my way to meet my ship. Want to come?"
“No, thanks.” Marsha picked up the book she'd been reading. “Don't involve me in any of your schemes."
A faint smile played at the corners of Annette's mouth as she turned away and walked to the edge of the pool. Her sister's refusal was expected. Marsha wasn't very athletically oriented, preferring to be a spectator rather than a participant. Nothing was guaranteed to drive Annette crazy quicker than sitting on the sidelines. She was a natural competitor—and the higher the stakes, the more she enjoyed the game. A hint of danger just added to the excitement.
