Lucy And The Stone

Dixie Browning

Mr. MayIrresistible Man: Stone McCloud couldn't let a big-mouthed floozy ruin a family's good name! Unattainable Woman: Having bad taste in husbands and being trapped in a femme fatale's body were only two of Lucy Dooley's problems.Unexpected Happening: Hah! They've both been hoodwinked! When Stone was sent to North Carolina's Outer Banks to spy on Lucy, a big-mouthed floozy was nowhere to be found on Coronoke Island. Seemingly sweet and wonderful, Lucy was obviously planning to wrap him around her ringless finger and then do him in!

Lucy and the Stone

Dixie Browning

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

This book is dedicated to two writers’ groups that provided great ideas and even greater hospitality: First, my daughter Sarah and her fifth-grade class at the University School. And second, Peg McCool and her Friday critique group in Tacoma—Carol, Micky, Mary, Melinda and Anita…and Charlie, of course. Many thanks!

Contents

Prologue (#u2aa80f0c-7328-5def-a49b-458629af0441)

One (#u8851d9ad-4441-5e21-b8d1-47955f80470c)

Two (#u186916d9-af23-54d9-9277-5b87f4d2e720)

Three (#litres_trial_promo)

Four (#litres_trial_promo)

Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Prologue

Boston

He caught the phone on the fifth ring, breathing heavily, swearing silently. “Yeah, McCloud here!”

“John Stone, is that you?” Aunt Alice. Alice Hardisson was the only person in the world who called him John Stone.

“How are you, Aunt Alice? It’s been a long time.”

“I’m right well, thank you. I understand you were in the hospital. I hope you’re feelin’ better now.” The quiet, well-bred Southern voice waited politely for him to fill her in on all the pertinent details.

Now, how the hell could she have known that? Other than the occasional family funeral, when he happened to be in the country, and the basket of jams and jellies she ordered sent to his mail drop every year at Christmas, there had been little contact between them for years.

Unless there’d been something in the news. He’d been in no condition to know or care at the time. “I’m fine, Aunt Alice. Or as fine as a man can be after overdosing on hospital food. How’s Liam? Still hunting rabbits on his day off?” Liam was the Hardissons’ butler. He was seventy-five if he was a day, and he’d been Stone’s mainstay in the years he had spent in the old Hardisson mansion after his parents had been killed.

“Liam’s retired now. Mellie died last year, and I thought it best to let him spend his last days with his grandchildren.”

Best for whom, Aunt Alice? Stone thought wryly. Despite the code of noblesse oblige that was bred into the bones of women like Alice Hardisson, his aunt seldom put herself out to any great extent for any interest but her own. Unless it was for her only child.

Stone himself was a case in point. His mother and Alice had been sisters. Stone’s parents had been killed by a drunk driver when he was six and a half years old, and Alice had taken him in. Noblesse oblige. Her own son, his cousin Billy, had been five then.

But while Alice, accompanied occassionally by Billy and his nanny, had traveled to Scotland for the salmon fishing, to Paris for the fashion hunting or to some spa in Arizona twice a year for whatever benefits she derived there, Stone had invariably been left with Liam and Mellie.

Noblesse oblige. Take in needy kinfolk, put food in their mouths, a roof over their heads and inquire graciously once or twice a year to be sure there’s nothing more they need.

And as soon as they’re weaned, pack them off to boarding school.

“Are you in town, Aunt Alice?” Stone asked, hoping she wasn’t.

“No, I’m still down here in Atlanna.”

She always called it Atlanna. With her gentle, unconscious arrogance, she probably spelled it that way.

“How’s Billy? Still thinking about making a run for the senate one of these days?”

“Well now, that’s what I called you about, Jo