Mysteries of the Heart

By Ruth Ryan Langan

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

Seth Williams, brilliant writer-illustrator of children's books, has a reputation as an angry recluse. When editor Jenny Mason is sent to his Maine farm to nudge him to complete his long-overdue manuscript, he resents her intrusion in his life. But this obstinate, sexy little woman fills him with long-suppressed desires, and the first faint glimmer of forgotten dreams.

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: 9781310456220

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

"Damn it, Charles. You know that if the manuscript was ready, you’d have it."

The deep voice coming over the phone line sounded tense, weary.

Charles Colter ran a hand through thick silver hair and fought to keep his own tone even. He was dealing with his most temperamental writer—and one of his most successful. We’ve already begun the publicity campaign, Seth. You gave me your word the book would be on my desk by the first of June. It’s already the middle of the month. How much longer?

I can’t put a deadline on creativity. I’ll be in touch.

As the phone went dead, Charles replaced the receiver and stared into space. Seth Williams needed someone to light a fire under him, otherwise that manuscript was never going to be ready for publication.

Charles was jolted from his reverie by a strange sight.

Good Lord. What happened to you? Leaning forward in his chair he peered at the wet hair of his youngest editor, Jennifer Mason. Then, to assure himself that there hadn’t been a sudden downpour, he glanced out his office window at the sunlit New York skyline.

I had to shower at the Y on my way to work, Jenny explained. A hint of a smile dimpled her cheek. But I forgot to throw my hair blower in my bag when I ran out the door this morning. Now I’ll just have to wait till the air dries it.

Charles swallowed a laugh at the sight of her long, dark hair frizzing into little corkscrew curls around her face. Her sunny disposition always made him smile. What’s wrong with the shower in your apartment?

A water main burst this morning. Everybody in the building was notified that we’d be without water until late this afternoon. She sighed. The way my luck’s been going, it’ll probably still be out when I’m leaving to have dinner with my father tonight.

And it’ll be one more reason for Avery Mason to urge his daughter to give up this nonsense and return home, Charles thought. Despite the fact that Charles had called her one of the firm’s most promising editors, her father still saw her career as a stumbling block in his own relationship with her.

Pulling out a desk drawer, Charles propped his feet up and leaned back in his leather chair.

It’s been a bad month, hasn’t it, Jen?

No worse than usual.

He noted that she became defensive at the mere mention of hard times. She was, he reminded himself, a tough little perfectionist. She couldn’t stand to admit defeat. He threw up his hands. Hey, I’m not your father, Jen. I’m not going to suggest that you give up your career and go home to be his little girl again.

Her taut features relaxed into a warm grin. Charles could read her every mood. He’d known her from the time she was born. He and her father had been friends in college. Ever since she could remember, she had known that Charles Colter’s life-style in New York was much more appealing to her than her father’s rigid routine as a professor of English literature in a small college town.

As soon as she’d finished school, she’d fled to the big city. But the glamour of city life still eluded her. Instead, she found herself coping with exorbitant rent payments for a two-bedroom walk-up shared by three other young women, and constant blisters from the miles she walked to save cab fare.

You know me too well. Dad’s coming here with all the ammunition he can find. A broken water main will be just one more reason to argue that I should go back to Ridgewood, Pennsylvania, and live the ‘reasonable’ life. But I’m not giving in, Uncle... She swallowed back the word and finished lamely, Charles.

On her first day with McKendrick and Merrill, one of the top publishing firms in the city, she had greeted him with the same fond title she had used since she was a toddler. Later, in the privacy of his office, Charles had gently admonished her not to call him uncle. In this office he was Charles Colter, editor in chief.

Charles easily changed the subject. How’s the new roommate working out?

She wrinkled her nose, then laughed. And we thought the last one was bad. Would you believe she hasn’t unpacked a single box yet? Every morning we have to climb over piles of books and crates to get to the closet. She shook her head. I don’t think she’ll be around long. Of course, it didn’t help to have the air conditioning break down last week. The four of us came close to all-out warfare.

Charles smiled at her words. He could still recall his first apartment in New York. Six eager college graduates had taken turns eating out of cans and sleeping on the floor of a cramped basement apartment. Today newcomers to the city were doing much the same thing.

His eyes lit with sudden inspiration. How would you like a couple of weeks at a farm in the country?

Laughing, she said, As long as I’m dreaming, why don’t I wish for a couple of months at a luxury spa.

I’m serious, Charles said Would you be willing to leave the city behind for a few weeks?

She eyed him suspiciously. What’s the catch?

Catch?

Her eyes narrowed. Charles looked too innocent. I have two manuscripts on my desk that you insist should have been edited yesterday. I have a luncheon appointment with Muriel Denison, that agent who’s been giving us such a tough time with her client. And I’m in the middle of reading that Seth Williams manuscript you wanted me to look at.

That’s what I’d like you to deal with first.

She paused, watching the way the light reflected off the silver picture frame on Charles’s desk. Seth Williams?

He nodded. We’ve been planning a major promotion for his next book, and he’s already behind on the manuscript. Charles made a steeple of his hands and peered at her. I need someone to go up to his farm in Maine and nudge him through this project.

A farm in Maine. After the sultry city heat of the past week, the offer sounded like heaven.

Has he asked for help with the manuscript?

Charles toyed with a pen, avoiding her eyes. Seth Williams is a... proud man, a troubled man. I doubt he’d ever admit that he was getting bogged down. But the fact is he’s going to need a friendly push to complete this book on schedule.

Jenny thought about the partial manuscript she had been reading. Like all Seth Williams’s books for children, it was both funny and sad. It would take an unusual talent to create the myriad characters she had discovered in this work. Then she thought about the stories she had heard about the man behind the talent. Seth Williams was, by all accounts, a surly, intense, difficult man to deal with. Still, he was an artist; a brilliant, temperamental, gifted artist.

I’d be thrilled to meet him, she said with a rush of feeling. And I think it’d be a privilege to work with such a man. She sat forward in her chair. Charles, if you’re sure you can spare me for a few weeks, I’d love to go to Maine and work with him.

Charles swallowed the laugh that surfaced at her enthusiasm. It was a shame to stick her with this project. But she was the only editor who would be willing to approach Seth Williams at all. The brilliant writer-illustrator had the reputation of being an angry recluse. Jenny hadn’t had any real contact with the great one yet. Charles felt as if he were sending an innocent lamb to slaughter. Still, he thought, attempting to justify what he was about to do, her good nature and dedication to her work might be the very things needed to get this project completed.

I’ll see if Murphy can take on some of your work. Charles swung his feet to the floor and punched the intercom in the same movement. I’ll have Diane send Seth a letter today. He glanced up. Can you be there by Friday?

Can I cancel my lunch with Muriel Denison?

Don’t push your luck. He spoke into the box on his desk. Diane, bring your notebook, please. As Jenny stood, he glanced up. Will you be driving?

Is the company going to spring for travel expenses?

As long as you don’t go overboard.

Fine. Then I’d like to take the bus. That way I can catch up on some of my work along the way.

He nodded. Done.

Jenny nearly floated to the cubbyhole she called an office. A couple of weeks in Maine working with the famous illustrator-writer of children’s books, she thought. Staring at the work piled on her desk, she gave an impish grin. The timing couldn’t be better. By the time she got back, Murphy would have most of this done.

Did someone just order you to soak your head? Sara Forester asked as she peered around the edge of Jenny’s cubbyhole. Sara was the most senior of all the editors in terms of age. She was also the self-appointed office den mother.

It’s a long story. Jennifer turned a bright smile on the older woman. I’ve just had the best news. I’m going to Maine to work with Seth Williams.

Sara caught the glasses dangling on a cord around her neck and lifted them to her nose to stare at Jenny. You call that good news? Are you sure you’re feeling all right?

Didn’t you hear me? While you’re all sweltering in this heat wave, I’ll be relaxing on a farm in Maine.

With Seth Williams, my dear, it is impossible to relax. Haven’t you heard about his temper tantrums? The man’s a terror. I’ll face a city heat wave anytime. Or an attack by sharks.

As she walked away, Jenny turned to the manuscripts on her desk, casually dismissing Sara’s warning. She’d heard all the Seth Williams gossip before, but she wasn’t worried. She was headed for peace, quiet and clean fresh air. What could possibly be wrong with that?

* * *

The sun slipped behind a bank of dark clouds. Jennifer glanced up from the manuscript she was reading to gaze out at the tiny town beyond the windows of the bus. As she neared her destination she found herself distracted by the sight of quaint little villages, forests of pine trees and fields dotted with wild flowers. Despite the threat of rain, Jennifer experienced a sense of freedom.

No wonder Seth Williams was behind schedule, she thought. How could anyone work when there was so much beauty to be admired and explored? Her work was done in a cramped cubicle, sixteen stories above the ground. The only view was of the roof of the adjoining building. Yet all spring she had found herself being distracted from her work while she watched the antics of a pair of birds nesting in the air conditioner unit. What would she have done if she’d had all of nature to observe?

Next stop Windy Harbor, the conductor called out.

Nervously Jenny examined her appearance. She had spent an hour this morning taming her wild hair into a smooth knot. The red suit she wore was not the latest style, but it was crisp and businesslike and should make a good impression. After touching up her makeup, Jenny closed the mirror and put it in her bag. A good impression. That was what she intended. Seth Williams would meet a sophisticated, sensible, capable editor. He would approve of the publisher’s choice. And together they would turn out a book worthy of the publicity Charles had planned.

She ignored the vague sense of doom that had plagued her since she’d studied the file on Seth Williams and read the old news clippings about her host. His first book had been hailed as an innovative piece of children’s fiction. With the success of his next two efforts, New York’s newest playboy and his bride had become media darlings, caught up in a whirlwind of celebrity parties. But life in the fast lane had taken its toll. Three years ago, with his marriage foundering and his latest book showing the signs of his mental and physical strain, Seth Williams was involved in a tragic auto accident. There had been rumors of a violent argument between the author and his wife before they had left a wild party. Though Seth Williams survived, his wife had died. Amid much controversy, the embittered writer had fled to the family farm in Maine. Until this year his publisher had given up hope of ever persuading him to write another book. He refused all requests for interviews. Phone calls to him were never returned. He had become a recluse. Yet now he had begun work on another book. And she had been given the chance of a lifetime—to collaborate with him on it. But, she thought with a shiver that sent ice along her spine, by all accounts there was a dark, mysterious side to the man.

Pushing aside her fears, Jennifer collected her papers and jammed them into a briefcase. As the bus neared the town, she strained for a glimpse of her surroundings. All she could see in the gloom of late afternoon was a small building with peeling paint. The bus ground to a halt. Jennifer was the only passenger to exit.

As the bus drew away, she stepped inside