Cross His Heart

By Ruth Ryan Langan

A Romance Classic from New York Times Bestselling Author Ruth Ryan Langan.

To pay her bills, Kendall McKinnon has opened her Maine home to guests. Her first paying guest, Neal Thomas, turns her lonely days into magic. But something from Kendall's past could shipwreck their new-found love.

13 Titles Available:
Just Like Yesterday
Beloved Gambler
Hidden Isle
Eden of Temptation
Family Secrets
Star-Crossed
Whims of Fate
Mysteries of the Heart
To Love A Dreamer
No Gentle Love
This Time Forever
The Proper Miss Porter
Cross His Heart

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ruth Ryan Langan
• Release date: Jul 24, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310584169

Ruth Ryan Langan

New York Times best-selling author Ruth Ryan Langan, who also writes under the pseudonym R. C. Ryan, is the author of over 100 novels, both contemporary romantic-suspense and historical adventure. Quite an accomplishment for this mother of five who, after her youngest child started school, gave herself the gift of an hour a day to follow her dream to become a published author. Ruth has given dozens of radio, television and print interviews across the country and Canada, and has been quoted in such diverse publications as THE WALL STREET JOURNAL and COSMOPOLITAN. Ruth has also been interviewed on CNN NEWS, as well as GOOD MORNING AMERICA.

Book preview

Chapter One

"Oh, Kendall, there’s something I forgot to tell you. The thin, slightly balding man studied his reflection in the glass wall that separated his office from the rest of the room. He straightened his tie, slicked back a wayward strand of graying hair, and turned toward the young woman at the file cabinet. I’m leaving a little early. Today is Margaret’s birthday, and I’m taking her to dinner with friends."

Kendall straightened to glance at the clock on the office wall. Although it was an hour before quitting time, her boss’s wife was already waiting at the curb, waving him on. Now that he had an exciting, attractive young wife, leaving the office in Kendall McKinnon’s capable hands was becoming part of his routine. Since Kendall had begun working there more than two years earlier, she had proven herself to be extremely competent.

By the way, Kendall, he added in a bored tone, someone from New York is coming in tomorrow afternoon to take a look at our operation. I’ve been hearing some speculation that our parent company might be bought by a conglomerate. Maybe there’s something to the rumor. I’ll fill you in on Monday. Have a good weekend.

With a jaunty wave of his hand, her boss was gone.

Kendall waved absently, then pushed back a wisp of pale gold hair which drooped in a silken wave across one arched eyebrow. Clear blue eyes, ringed by thick, gold-tipped lashes, watched his departure. A short time later, she finished her filing, covered her typewriter, and carried the heavy cashbox to the safe. With a quick twist of the dial, she drew open the heavy door, placed the cashbox inside along with several papers and legal documents, and closed the door firmly, twirling the dial as she did.

At closing time, Kendall pulled on her navy corduroy blazer and lifted her purse from the desk drawer. Despite her delicate appearance at five feet three inches tall, she exuded energy and vitality. Honey blond waves bounced about her shoulders as she moved with deliberate strides across the office. She switched off the lights and carefully locked the door. Midway down the street, she stopped at the mailbox and withdrew a plain envelope from her purse. She dropped it into the mail slot.

There, Mr. Thomas, she muttered with a trace of bitterness, my payment is right on time.

Before she could get to the parking lot, the rain started. Little spatters became heavier drops, and before she knew it, she was caught in a drenching torrent. Holding her purse above her head to ward off the downpour, Kendall hurried to her car and scooted unceremoniously into the driver’s seat. That evening, she drove more carefully than usual through the twisting streets that led through town and on the rain-slicked highway.

Was it the payment to Byron Thomas that caused this feeling of gloom? or was it the rain? Kendall shook her head, causing her hair to fan out, then settle like a silken cloud around her face. It had to be the weather. She was usually so upbeat and optimistic.

To lift her spirits, Kendall forced herself to concentrate on her surroundings. Even though she had lived along the rocky coast of Maine for nearly three years, she never seemed to grow weary of driving through the picturesque towns, where life reflected a simpler, gentler time. As she drove past the village green, the bells of the church pealed the hour, sending their crystal tones into the evening air. She drove past the Civil War memorial, beyond the library, and turned onto the highway leading out of town.

In the misty light of evening, the tree branches along the road seemed to be draped in lacy mantles of pale green leaves, softening the harsh outlines of black trunks. As the car moved along the narrow slice of highway carved through craggy rock along the shore, waves slammed against the boulders below, sending a froth of spray skyward to mingle with the rain. She soon turned off the highway and followed the dirt road that snaked past the fishing village of Owl’s Head toward Harbor Cove, where she lived alone in the cottage that had once been her grandparents’ summer home.

By the time Kendall turned into the sloping driveway, the rain had washed out a small portion of the rock she had so carefully set along the terraced wall of lawn which sloped down the backyard to the sea. The previous weekend, she had noticed that the soil was eroding faster than she could replace it, so she had hauled large stones and carefully set them into the earth to serve as a retainer. But until more grass could be coaxed to grow between the crevices, the smaller rocks would be easily washed out by the spring rains. Kendall sighed. Another weekend of backbreaking work lay ahead of her.

Despite the demands of her job in town and evening college classes, she had found time to turn this snug cottage into a comfortable home.

She glanced at the weather-beaten wood sign, which hung above the porch. Seafarer’s Inn, it read. In her grandfather’s youth, the huge upstairs bedrooms had housed travelers from across the sea. Some years later, the two large rooms had been arranged like dormitories, each with a single bathroom and rows of metal bunk beds. One mammoth bedroom had housed the men, the other was used for women and children. Recently, she had made over one room for herself and had set aside the other as a guest room.

Tossing her purse and damp blazer onto a living room chair, she walked through the old-fashioned rooms toward the kitchen at the rear of the house.

The wonderful aroma of hot chowder brought a smile to her face, completely erasing the last traces of her earlier gloom.

Her rotund neighbor, Helen, dressed in a tentlike, bright floral dress, turned a smiling face from the stove.

I figured you’d be home soon, she said, wielding a wooden spoon in a large pot. My boys went fishing today after school. Brought you some chowder.

You’re a lifesaver! Kendall exclaimed. I was feeling too tired to cook.

There was a reason for my kindness. Helen laughed, ladling the chowder into a deep bowl.

Really? Kendall asked as she began to slice crusty bread.

As she set down the bowl, Helen added, You remember that ad I talked you into placing in the travel guide?

Kendall nodded as she ate.

Well, I hope that guest room upstairs is ready for company. You’re about to have your first paying customer.

Kendall stared at her friend. So soon! But Helen, summer isn’t even here yet. Why would anyone want to come to this part of Maine in this weather?

I don’t know, and I don’t care. All I know is that maybe now you can start to make this place pay for itself, Helen said emphatically.

Kendall suddenly lost her appetite. Oh, Helen, she sighed. How am I going to bear having strangers in my house?

For thirty dollars a day, I think you’ll be able to stand it, Helen said dryly.

Thirty dollars a day! They agreed to pay that much? Kendall grew silent, mentally calculating daily profit and loss. How long are they staying? she asked.

Not they. He, Helen corrected. Just the weekend. It was a secretary calling for her boss. She said he didn’t want to stay in one of the hotels in town. When she asked about the food, I could honestly say it was the best I’d ever tasted. With that, Helen patted her ample figure.

Both women burst out laughing. When they had discussed the business arrangement, Helen had agreed to come over to do the cooking, so that Kendall would be free to go to her job in town. They would split the profits evenly.

Helen’s husband was away on a whaler for months at a time, and she was always searching for a new challenge to fill her hours. Having three young sons wasn’t enough for such an energetic woman, and she had leaped on Kendall’s vague idea of someday using the spare room for guests, even pushing her young neighbor to move into the project much sooner than she had originally anticipated.

What time is he coming? Kendall asked, suddenly nervous.

His secretary didn’t say. She just said he’d be arriving some time tonight. Helen crossed the room and opened the refrigerator. Now look, Kendall. I’ve put some cold meat and salad in here, along with some home-baked biscuits and jam. That should be enough for a late snack, if he’s hungry. If not, don’t worry about breakfast. Just tell him your ‘cook’ will be over with his food.

Still laughing, Helen headed for the back door. I don’t know about you, but I’m pretty excited about our first business venture. She turned to stare at her friend’s strained features. Relax, Kendall. The worst thing that can happen is that he decides to leave without giving us a chance. If that happens, we just try again.

When Helen left, Kendall hurried up the stairs. The first thing she had to do was inspect the guest room to make sure it really was ready to be occupied.

Kendall frowned at the peeling paint along the upstairs hallway. She still had some months to make her payments to Mr. Thomas. But those payments prevented her from setting any money aside. When her debt was paid, she would make some substantial improvements in the cottage; though she had already put a great deal of time and energy into making it a home. She had scrubbed the old place completely clean from top to bottom. She had sewn delicate white curtains for all the old, many-paned windows, tying them back with bits of shirring, which gave them a fresh appearance. And all the downstairs rooms had been scraped and painted. That project had taken Kendall over a year of evenings after work (when she didn’t have a college course to attend) and almost every weekend.

She pushed open the door to the guest room. It was actually a large suite of rooms at the rear of the upstairs, overlooking the Atlantic and having a spectacular view of surf crashing against the giant rocks that formed the seawall. She had meticulously retained the rooms’ original nautical decor, including a wide brass bed, a captain’s chest, and atop a work table, her grandfather’s old maps of the ocean trade routes. In front of the window was a telescope, which long ago had been used to watch for ships at sea. On the far side of the room was a massive stone fireplace with a brass railing, which had originally served as a foot warmer. In front of the fireplace was a love seat, and beside it, a table and reading lamp.

In the large, old-fashioned bathroom stood an ancient, footed bathtub. The sink was set in a stunning slab of gold-veined marble, which had been brought by ship from Italy a century ago.

Kendall had added giant pots of ferns and hanging baskets of vines to soften the lines of the square, solid architecture. On the floor of gleaming hardwood, she had placed a thick rug of muted brown plaid.

Her rooms were laid out in a nearly identical fashion, complete with fireplace, love seat, and big brass bed. But she had added touches of white velvet to the beige and brown tones, and at the large, dormer windows which looked out on the sea, she had installed padded window seats of white velvet. Often, late at night, Kendall found herself drawn to the windows to stare hypnotically at the tall masts of gently passing ships.

Kendall laid out fresh towels and folded a spare blanket at the foot of the guest bed. The nights were still cold, and the wind off the ocean often sent a damp chill through the old house.

Kendall glanced around critically She was glad her first guest would be a man. The rooms seemed a bit Spartan for a woman’s taste. And, she reasoned, any man who came to this part of the country in spring wasn’t coming for luxury, anyway.

Satisfied that the rooms were ready, Kendall made her way to her own room to take off her damp clothes and enjoy a relaxing soak in a tub of warm water. Leaning against the back of the tub, Kendall closed her eyes and thought about the payments she had been making faithfully for nearly three years to her former boss.

* * *

Kendall had never known her father, who had died the month before she was born. She had spent her first eighteen years watching her mother struggle against incredible odds. Then, when the illness struck with lightning-quick speed, her frail mother was dead, leaving young Kendall reeling. An envelope in her mother’s