Heart of Stone

By Marilyn Baxter

Another Chance

Claire Walsh had it all: a good job, wonderful parents and a fiancé who seemed to be too good to be true. And he was. Fifty feet from the altar, Claire learns the groom of her dreams is a no-show, and everything she believes about love and herself goes straight out the window. Determined to give herself space and time, she takes her honeymoon alone, and finds herself drawn to a man with a heart in worse shape than hers.
For the past five years Mac Stone has been going through the motions working with his aunt Myrna at her historic Santa Barbara B&B. He's made a life for himself, of sorts, but keeps his distance from emotional entanglements of any kind. But their newest guest, Claire Walsh is about to challenge all of that, and before Mac knows how it happened, the beautiful, vulnerable woman found a way into his heart--a heart he was certain would never love again.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Boroughs Publishing Group
• Release date: Nov 17, 2016
• ISBN: 9781944262433

Book preview

ANOTHER CHANCE

Claire Walsh had it all: a good job, wonderful parents and a fiancé who seemed to be too good to be true. And he was. Fifty feet from the altar, Claire learns the groom of her dreams is a no-show, and everything she believes about love and herself goes straight out the window. Determined to give herself space and time, she takes her honeymoon alone, and finds herself drawn to a man with a heart in worse shape than hers. 

For the past five years Mac Stone has been going through the motions working with his aunt Myrna at her historic Santa Barbara B&B. He's made a life for himself, of sorts, but keeps his distance from emotional entanglements of any kind. But their newest guest, Claire Walsh is about to challenge all of that, and before Mac knows how it happened, the beautiful, vulnerable woman found a way into his heart--a heart he was certain would never love again.

HEART OF STONE

Marilyn Baxter

www.BOROUGHSPUBLISHINGGROUP.com

PUBLISHER’S NOTE: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, business establishments or persons, living or dead, is coincidental. Boroughs Publishing Group does not have any control over and does not assume responsibility for author or third-party websites, blogs or critiques or their content.

HEART OF STONE

Copyright © 2016 Marilyn Baxter

Smashwords Edition

All rights reserved. Unless specifically noted, no part of this publication may be reproduced, scanned, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of Boroughs Publishing Group. The scanning, uploading and distribution of this book via the Internet or by any other means without the permission of Boroughs Publishing Group is illegal and punishable by law. Participation in the piracy of copyrighted materials violates the author’s rights.

ISBN 978-1-944262-43-3

E-book formatting by Maureen Cutajar

www.gopublished.com

Heart of Stone is dedicated to the memory of the late Helen Faye Shafer, my best friend’s favorite aunt. Aunt Helen died while I was writing this story, and my friend wrote to me that, among other things, she would miss hearing her Aunt Helen say, Oh tiddly durn. At that point, the hunt for my hero’s great-aunt’s favorite phrase was over. Rest in peace, Aunt Helen. Rest in peace.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

None of my books are ever written without the help of others, and this one is no exception. In no particular order, I’d like to thank the following people for their help and support: Sharon Rainey, for helping me pick a character name (you’ll recognize Sharon in the story); Annie, Jessie, Terry and Lisa, the members of my street team, Baxter’s Belles, who beta read the story at intervals and offered valuable feedback; Dr. David Boger, a high school friend I found on Facebook a few years ago and who helped me develop the character of the hero’s best friend since they share the same profession; Reverend Nathan King of Trinity United Church of Christ in Concord, North Carolina (the church I grew up in), for answering questions about the church layout since Trinity is the model for the church at the beginning of the story; the Starbucks on Airport Road where much of this story was written with the help of their hot tea and the fact I don’t have to answer their phone, wash their dishes or mop their floors like I have to do at home; and my editor, Michelle Klayman, who saw potential in a tiny bit of an idea and helped me turn it into a happily ever after. She also steered me away from the original setting of this story and suggested Santa Barbara, California. She supplied me with photos and info and answered oodles of questions about the city and surrounding area. Santa Barbara now tops my bucket list of places to visit.

Most of all I’d like to thank my readers. You make the late nights, crazy schedules and endless cups of tea worth it.

CONTENTS

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Epilogue

Sample Chapter: Direct Deposit

About the Author

Also by Marilyn Baxter

HEART OF STONE

CHAPTER ONE

Claire Walsh fingered the delicate lace edge of her bridal veil as she stood in the narthex of St. Agatha’s Church. Outside, the weather continued its ten-day frigid streak. The walk from her parents’ car to the church had been an exercise in caution and balance; ice coated the sidewalks and parking lot.

Boston winters were not for the faint of heart.

Not her problem since tomorrow at noon she’d be boarding a plane to spend two glorious, work-free weeks in warm, sunny southern California. Her fiancé, Brian, had selected the location, vetoing her suggestions of the Bahamas or Cancún.

Jackie and JFK honeymooned at a ranch near Santa Barbara, he’d murmured in her hair. And if it was good enough for them, it’s good enough for you, babe.

Claire glanced down the aisle past her brother, Cal, and her maid of honor, Stella, to the white-robed officiant standing in front of the altar. Then Claire’s eyes slid to where her fiancé and his best man should have been standing. She guessed the two men were probably fastening the last shirt studs and straightening their bow ties before stepping out to face the guests. Brian was fastidious about his clothing.

Ready, princess? her father whispered, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. At thirty-two, Claire was well beyond the princess age, but she was Art and Rose Walsh’s only daughter, so she remained forever their princess.

She took in her father, who was still strikingly handsome, especially in his tux, then nodded, afraid that if she tried to talk she would cry. Her emotions were running high; a good marriage was filled with give and take, and she worried that after being single for so long her ability to give might be wanting.

Movement to her right halted her progress toward the aisle. Rainey, the wedding coordinator, pulled her cell from the pocket of her neatly tailored charcoal gray suit jacket. She glanced at the screen and let out a groan. What the…? No, no, no. She repeated the word as she furiously tapped on her smartphone screen. Time crawled, and with tight lips she approached. Mr. Walsh, could I have a word with you? In private?

He gestured for her to lead the way, and they moved a few feet from Claire. A moment later he shouted, What? The single word echoed off the old stone walls, causing heads to turn in the sanctuary.

A frisson of fear coursed through Claire. Has something happened? Visions of an automobile collision on icy streets raced through her mind. Is Brian hurt?

He’s going to be if I get my hands on the son of a— Rainey answered menacingly, her stilettos clicking a staccato beat as she paced the centuries-old hardwood floor.

Panic began to creep in. What is it? Claire whispered as loudly as possible without further alerting the guests, some of whom were still craning their necks.

Rainey leaned toward Claire’s father and spoke softly. Art Walsh shook his head. She has to be told, Claire heard the woman reply in a businesslike tone. And the guests need to be informed. And then there’s the reception.

What is going on? Claire demanded, her voice now escalating an octave. She didn’t care if all of Massachusetts heard her.

Rainey crossed back to Claire and shoved the phone into her hands. This, Rainey said in a hissing stage whisper. This is what’s going on. It’s from your fiancé.

On second thought, I don’t. #donthateme

Claire stared at the phone screen, not believing what she’d read.

So she read it again.

And again.

Until the words sliced through her heart.

She lost her grip on her beautiful bouquet of red and white roses, and then the world went black.

CHAPTER TWO

Mac Stone always felt ridiculous standing at the airport holding a sign with someone’s name on it. But his great-aunt Myrna’s bed and breakfast promised shuttle service to and from the Santa Barbara airport, so with Mac at the wheel of her four-year-old minivan, he was that service. At least she didn’t make him wear a chauffeur’s uniform and hat.

The name on today’s sign was Mr. and Mrs. Fuller. Mac worked hard at staying uninvolved in the B&B guests’ personal lives, but Myrna, who did everything in her power to get and stay involved, had told him they were newlyweds fleeing the Boston winter. Mac remembered New York City winters and didn’t blame the Fullers one bit.

As the Fullers’ flight deplaned, person after person filed past, some glanced at the sign but moved on. When the stream ebbed and no one had come forth claiming to be the Fullers, Mac pulled out his cell, intending to phone Myrna and double-check the flight information.

Before he could dial, a seriously pretty, tall, slender but curvy woman with long tousled brown hair, and a bag slung over her shoulder, half stumbled to a stop about a hundred feet away. The tail of one side of her shirt was sticking out of her jeans and she didn’t seem to know what to do with her hands. She edged closer, eyeing him curiously, her unsteady gait made all the more wobbly by killer high-heeled boots. She stopped, scrunched her nose, blinked then blinked again before taking a deep breath that made her sway.

Mac held up the sign and raised his eyebrows. She seemed relieved, looked down at her feet as if willing them to move, then came toward him at an angle.

She tipped her head to her shoulder, smiled broadly and slurred, You’re better than cute. Didja know that?

Mac prayed the husband was in better shape. Shall we wait for Mr. Fuller or head along to baggage claim and let him catch up with us there? Dead silence. This isn’t a large airport so he won’t have a hard time finding us.

Yeah. Let’s do that, she whispered, as if her husband’s imminent arrival was a secret.

Wait or go?

Uh-huh. She hitched her bag, swayed a little to the right, then overcompensated coming back to center causing her to lean too far left. Mac stuck out his arm to keep her from falling, but she’d righted herself like a pro.

What about Mr. Fuller?

There’s no Mr. Fuller. She seemed to consider her statement and amended, "Well, there is, but there isn’t a Mrs. Fuller. Actu…actually, there’s a Mr. Full of Shit, and he’s who the fuck knows where, but he’s sure as hell not here because this is my honeymoon. She pointed to herself, then tapped her forefinger against her chest about a dozen times before declaring, I paid for it myself."

Crapfuckcrap. Mac now knew more than he ever cared to about the not Fullers, and he had a drunk, pissed off, stood up bride on his hands. Shit. Okay, Ms.… his voice trailed off.

Walsh. Miss Claire Walsh, she said, emphasizing the word Miss. Of the Massachusetts Walshes. Although my mother actually grew up in Maine, but my father’s family has been in Sudbury like since forever. My uncle Sean moved to North Dakota, and he said the winters were even worse than Boston, but he stayed anyway, even though he lost his little toe to frostbite one winter when he went ice fishing and forgot to wear his wool socks. She hiccupped and it morphed into a burp.

At least she was an entertaining drunk. Miss Walsh, then, Mac agreed. Let’s get your luggage and go. She swayed again, and Mac wondered if he should get a wheelchair. Or maybe a luggage cart.

"Sure,