The Finer Things In Life

By Ann B. Morris

When noted New Orleans anesthesiologist and widower, Sam Stone, and aspiring veterinary student, Emma George, enter into a two-year marriage contract, their goal is simple: keep the lives of his two, young, daughters as stable as possible while he fulfills an obligation to the World Health Organization. What begins as a temporary contractual agreement between two people of vastly different backgrounds, eventually turns into a mutual discovery that will last forever--the true meaning of the finer things in life.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wings ePress, Inc.
• Release date: Aug 21, 2023
• ISBN: 9781590880890

Book preview

What They Are Saying About

The Finer Things In Life

THE FINER THINGS IN LIFE spins a touching tale of family ties and tenderness, grief and healing. Sam and Emma's struggle to find a balance between elegance and earthiness, panache and practicality will make you smile and make you sigh. And in the end will prove that love can bridge even the widest gaps of social class and melt the staunchest heart.

Erin Fox, author Beyond Innocence

Golden Wings Award Winner

Finalist Daphne Du Maurier

RWA Kiss Of Death Contest

The Finer Things In Life

Ann B. Morris

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A Wings ePress, Inc.

Contemporary Romance Novel

Edited by: Lorraine Stephens

Copy Edited by: Sara V. Olds

Senior Editor: Kate Strong

Executive Editor: Lorraine Stephens

Cover Artist: Pam Ripling

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All rights reserved

Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher.

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

Wings ePress, Inc.

Copyright © 2002 by Ann B. Morris

ISBN: 978-1-59088-089-0

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Published by Wings ePress, Inc.

Published In the United States Of America

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Wings ePress Inc.

3000 N. Rock Road

Newton, KS  67114

Dedication

To my husband, Jim,

who shares my love for the written word.

To my family,

who has always believed in me.

And to my friends and fellow writers

in the RWA Kiss of Death Mystery and Suspense Chapter

who provide opportunities

for me to become a better writer

One

As far as Emma was concerned, it was a done deal.

After spending two hours with four-year-old Meredith and two-year-old Mallory, she wanted the job. Taking care of those two adorable, motherless children would be a job made in heaven.

Call me later this afternoon and I’ll give you their father’s name and address, John McCurdy had said as he’d settled the girls in his car for the drive back home. The four of them had spent two hours in City Park riding the carousel, watching the ducks wade in the lagoon, and eating chocolate-swirl ice cream cones. It had been love at first sight between Emma and the children.

John—he’d insisted before they parted yesterday that she address him informally—was on the phone now, asking if the following Sunday afternoon was a good time for her to meet the children’s father.

It was fine with her.

Emma plucked a pencil from the plastic cup decorated with scenes of last year’s Mardi Gras, and hastily scribbled the meeting date, Sunday, January 2, while her caller continued.

His name is Sam Stone. He’s presently head of the Department of Anesthesiology at City General.

She wrote Dr. Stone, Sam, anesthesiologist, next to the date, followed by two p.m., which John had suggested, and she quickly accepted.

There’s still that one condition of employment Dr. Stone will discuss with you in person before the job is yours, he reminded her.

No problem there.

Certainly, the yet to be revealed job responsibility couldn’t be that difficult or distasteful. And it certainly couldn’t be illegal.

John McCurdy had picked up the tab for a lawyer, to act in her behalf to check out his client’s background. A confidential agreement between both counsels had allowed her lawyer to conduct the check without divulging the client’s identity to her. She had been assured by her lawyer that her prospective employer’s character and reputation were above reproach.

I’ll call a day or so before the meeting, just to confirm it, John said, signalling an end to the conversation.

He could save himself the trouble. It wasn’t likely she’d forget. Smiling, Emma hung up the phone, walked into the living room and opened the middle drawer of the desk that had seen more than its share of late night studying these past ten years.

She riffled through the contents of the drawer until she found the newspaper clipping. Even now, weeks after she had answered the ad, it still seemed like a dream. She read the ad again, even though it was already committed to memory.

Widower, well respected in the community, seeks refined, educated young woman to care for two pre-schoolers for a minimum of two years. One year international travel mandatory. Luxurious home, full room and board, generous monthly wage, five-and-a-half day work week. Valid driver’s license required. Specific duties to be discussed at personal interview. Twenty-five thousand dollar bonus at end of completed two-year contract.

Twenty-five thousand dollars. And a year of travelling abroad to boot. It still made her head spin.

Emma re-folded the piece of paper and slipped it back into the drawer.

All that was left now was for her to meet the illustrious Dr. Sam Stone.

According to John, the Stones were one of the oldest and wealthiest families in New Orleans. Old money, old name. Aristocratic, he had called them. And Sam Stone, John had assured her, was the most genteel of them all.

Working for a wealthy socialite was not a job she would have sought on her own, having heard too many stories about the snobbery of the blue-bloods who lived on St. Charles Avenue. But after losing her heart to the children, she was willing to take a chance on their father. After she met him, she might feel differently. Until then, she would be guardedly optimistic.

She was in no position to pass up an opportunity for a good job and a place to live. Not when she would soon be out of a job and her apartment building was being converted into condominiums that she couldn’t afford. If she got this job, she would bend over backwards to please her new employer in spite of his social standing.

As far as she was concerned, unless Dr. Stone kicked dogs and swung cats by their tails, she would forgive his being born with a silver spoon in his mouth.

She might even try to like him.

~ * ~

Emma held her breath while she waited for someone to answer the chimes that reverberated through the stately home on St. Charles Avenue. Would it be a maid? A butler?

The front door opened. And there he stood.

She had to look up. Way up. She pulled in a quick breath. Dr. Sam Stone was nothing like she expected. Heart-stoppingly handsome didn’t even come close.

He had hair the color of New Orleans café-au-lait. Eyes, winter gray warmed by flecks of summer sunshine. A mouth that crinkled at the corners when he smiled.

Sam Stone. The hand he offered was as steady as his gaze. And you must be Ms. George.

Yes. Emma George.

Her hand was anything but steady as she slipped it into his, and she ended the handshake as fast as she could. But not before she took notice of how strong his grip was, or how smooth his skin felt as her hand slid away from his.

They stared at each other her for a long moment. Then, one brow arched, he said, You look different.

Emma touched her face, her hair, her face again. Different? Then she remembered that John McCurdy had made a copy of her driver’s license. No doubt he had shown it to Sam Stone. Oh, my license, she sputtered. It’s two years old.

She shivered as a gust of raw January wind sliced through her clothes. Quickly, he stepped aside and beckoned her into the foyer.

Excuse my bad manners. He put his hands out to take her jacket. I just meant the picture doesn’t do you justice. He hung the jacket on an oak coat tree in the corner of the foyer and ushered her into the room to her left.

Room? Small house was more like it. There were more square feet in this formal living room than in her entire apartment.

He had just motioned her deeper into the room when the distant cry of a child intruded on her musings. He cast a worried look toward the ceiling.

Please, he said, turning back to her, take a seat and make yourself comfortable. I have to check on the children. They’re upstairs with a new sitter.

He stepped back into the foyer and disappeared down the long hall she had only glimpsed. Temporarily free of the distraction of her handsome host, Emma began a quick, but thorough appraisal of her surroundings.

There were at least half a dozen wing-back chairs scattered throughout the room, all upholstered in either burgundy or navy fabric embossed with thin gold pinstripes. A long, cream brocade sofa occupied the middle of the room. A square, marble-topped coffee table with an enormous spray of silk flowers in its center took up half the width of the sofa.

And to her left, at the end of the enormous room in front of a huge floor to ceiling window, stood the piece de resistance—a magnificent, mahogany baby grand piano. The sight took her breath away.

She should have been prepared for all this grandeur, Emma told herself as she sat down in one of the pinstripe chairs. A house as magnificent as the two-story white brick on this famous avenue would naturally be exquisitely furnished. She suddenly felt out of place in her off the rack cotton knit sweater and corduroy skirt.

Finally, her gaze settled on the sofa. It was long—long enough to accommodate the length of a good-sized man. A man like Sam Stone. She squeezed her eyes shut, shook away the thought, then opened them to find him settling himself in the midst of the mile-wide sofa. While she was raptly surveying the elegance before her, Sam Stone had soundlessly entered the room.

He reached over to the table in front of him, picked up a manila folder that had been hidden by the weighty branches of the flower arrangement, and spread it open across his knees.

Square, tortoiseshell eyeglasses retrieved from the breast pocket of his tan wool jacket, were flipped open, put in place across the bridge of the perfectly shaped aquiline nose. He studied the contents of the folder, turning the pages noiselessly. Finished, he closed the folder, laid it next to him on the sofa and steepled his fingers under his bottom lip.

I understand you’re attending Louisiana State University.

Louisiana State University? Aha, the snobbery’s already coming through. Oddly, she was disappointed.

Ms. George?

Yes? Oh, I’m sorry. Yes. LSU. That was what ordinary folks called it. I graduate in May.

John told me you’re getting your Master’s in Biology, but that you really want to be a veterinarian. He said you have to save some money before you attend Veterinary School.

There he goes again. Plain old vet wasn’t good enough either. She nodded politely.

Yes, I’d already planned on sitting out for a couple of years and taking a second job to put more money away, that’s why I’m free to travel during that time. The salary and the bonus you’re offering should be more than adequate to see me through the rest of my studies. She took in a lungful of air before she went on.

The course I need to take this semester meets Tuesday and Thursday evenings. It’s tied to my thesis. John McCurdy said you’d work with me in the event our schedules ever conflicted on those days.

He took his glasses off and slipped them back into the pocket of his jacket.

God, she didn’t know whether he was better looking with the glasses on or off. Definitely sexier with them on, she decided.

For several long seconds, he studied her in silence. She shifted several times, pretending to seek a more comfortable position. Just as she was about to ask if there was something else he needed to know about her, he spoke.

I’m willing to work with you in any way I can. Within reason, I can make whatever adjustments are necessary.

She breathed a sigh of relief. This was easier than she’d expected.

John mentioned, of course, that there was one other matter we’d have to agree on before we finalized anything? It was plainly a rhetorical question and his tone was less confident than it was at the beginning of the meeting.

Yes, he mentioned there was something you wanted to speak to me about personally. Did she give away any hint of her fear that the one thing she had yet to hear would make it impossible for her to accept the job? She knew there had been other applicants. If she couldn’t fill the bill, there was probably someone else who could.

You’ll have to marry me, he said, as dispassionately as if he were ordering a martini.

M-marry you? she asked incredulously. But that’s crazy—we don’t even know each other. He must be insane. And she was out of here. Now.

She sprang from the chair, the straps of her brown suede saddlebag twisted around her fingers.

I’ll double the bonus, he said.

~ * ~

She was looking at him as if he had suddenly grown another head.

Wh—what?

Fifty. I’ll give you fifty-thousand at the end of the two years.

She just kept staring at him, her lips parted, her eyes round as saucers. He could tell from the shifting of her feet and the tilt of her body that she was contemplating a fast rush to the door.

He needed to say something fast. Please, let me explain. Explain? How was he going to explain something that sounded crazy even to himself?

She was right to be looking at him as though he were out of his mind. He had to be to even consider such a thing. In retrospect, he should have had John lay all the cards on the table from the very beginning. She would no doubt have laughed in John’s face and given him a thumbs-down on the job immediately.

John. He must have been out of his mind, too. Why would he choose someone like Emma George? He had made it clear to John from the very beginning that he wanted someone of good character, intelligent, and plain.

Not that she was beautiful. At least not in the traditional sense. Her eyes were a little too almond-shaped. And her mouth a little too wide. A mouth like that—he shook his thoughts free and banished them like unwanted ghosts.

I think I’d better leave. Her voice wavered and there was a look of panic in her eyes.

He felt like a complete and utter fool. And he couldn’t let her go without an explanation. You don’t understand. It would be a marriage in name only. We wouldn’t be sleeping together. Actually, we wouldn’t even have to live together.

She was still staring at him, but something in her eyes had changed. Was it disbelief he read in them now, or amusement? The thought of her laughing in his face made his stomach clench.

Her face softened. Her eyes twinkled with humor. Somehow he knew that she wasn’t making light of him, but of the situation.

You’re serious, aren’t you? She looked as though she might sit down again, but changed her mind and glanced anxiously back toward the foyer. I appreciate the offer Dr. Stone, but I really think I should go. This is wasting time. Yours and mine.

He stood, paused a few seconds as if in thought, then crossed the room in slow, deliberate strides. The last thing he wanted to do was frighten her. I’m sorry it came out the way it did. I wasn’t very diplomatic.

The hand he put on her arm to stay her was none too steady. She jerked back at his touch. It startled him too, the flash of current that passed from one to the other. Static electricity, that’s all it was. From the rug. And the unusually dry air. But he only had to look into her eyes to know it wasn’t so. They had exchanged a mega dose of sexual energy in a single touch and it had shocked them both.

Dr. Stone.

They both turned. Neither of them had been aware of the young woman in the doorway, two-year-old Mallory in her arms and Meredith wide-eyed at her side. A thin line of blood trickled from Mallory’s bottom lip to her chin.

Sam and Emma were both at the young woman’s side faster than the second it took to draw a breath.

Mallie slipped on a Lego and hit her mouth on a chair, Meredith offered.

Here, baby. Come to Daddy. Sam held out his arms, a handkerchief already in one hand ready to swab the injured lip. The child put out both arms to him, then suddenly turned and threw herself at Emma who barely had time to react with a two-hand catch.

Mallory nestled her head under Emma’s chin. Emma threw a puzzled look at the totally surprised man at her elbow, already in the process of untangling the child’s arms from Emma’s neck.

Come to Daddy, sweetheart. You’ll dirty Ms. George’s shirt.

Reluctantly, Mallory settled herself in her father’s arms, but not before she cast a pleading, backward glance at Emma that tugged her heart straight down to her knees.

Ms. George was just leaving, sweetheart. Let me see her to the door, and then we’ll take care of that nasty cut, okay? The toddler nodded against her father’s shoulder without taking her eyes from Emma.

He followed Emma into the foyer and waited silently as she hurriedly slipped into her coat. She opened the door to leave, but before she stepped outside, turned back toward him.

It was nice meeting you. I hope everything works out for you and the children.

It was for the best he told himself as he watched her walk briskly toward the front gate, an unpleasant heaviness in his chest. Hiring her would never have worked.

~ * ~

It wouldn’t have worked. Not in a million years, would it have worked, Emma repeated to herself over and over as she hurried down the sidewalk. At the corner she rushed across the street to wait for the approaching streetcar.

She had taken a cab to the meeting with Sam Stone, intending to take one back as well. Under the circumstances though, she couldn’t very well have waited thirty minutes or more under his roof for a return cab.

Hurry, hurry, hurry, she chanted silently, stomping her feet against the cold and pushing her hands deeper into her pockets. Her fingers automatically curled around the crumpled piece of paper. Sam Stone’s address and private telephone number should she have needed to call him before her visit. She mashed the piece of paper into her palm with the tips of her fingers and shook her head in consternation.

Fifty thousand dollars. The man must be insane. No one in his right mind would pay that kind of money to marry a complete stranger. Especially not someone like Dr. Sam Stone who must certainly be at the top of the list of every eligible woman on the social register. For some reason that thought brought a knot to her stomach.

She climbed aboard the streetcar and found a seat near the back, closed her eyes and tried to concentrate on the thwack, thwack, thwack of the car’s wheels against the iron tracks. It didn’t work. All she heard was Sam Stone’s voice. We won’t be sleeping together. We won’t be sleeping together.

She forced her attention outside the window while the streetcar clacked its way past some of the oldest and most elegant homes in one of the oldest and wealthiest neighborhoods of New Orleans. But all she saw was Sam Stone’s eyes peering at her from behind the tortoise rims, baby Mallory’s arms reaching out to her, Meredith’s warm smile of recognition.

Darn it all. Why did she have to leave so abruptly? She could have at least listened to his explanation. It wouldn’t have changed anything, but it might have made him feel a little better. It might have made her feel better, too. Instead, she felt terrible. Ashamed of herself. After all, he hadn’t asked her to do anything illegal or illicit. He’d simply asked her to marry him. A marriage in name only.

Still, people didn’t do that anymore. Not in America, anyway. People married for love, or at least they were supposed to. She knew there must be other reasons some people married, but what he had suggested was so impersonal, so lacking in any kind of emotion, so...so perfunctory. No, she couldn’t do it, no matter how much he paid her.

She would call John McCurdy the minute she got home and let him know how upset she was. If he had given her the slightest hint of what Sam Stone had in mind she would never have agreed to meet him at all. By now she would probably have found another job and another apartment.

She thought suddenly of the children and her disappointment over the unexpected turn of events was magnified. She’d been looking forward to taking care of them much more than she’d realized.

~ * ~

Hi, buddy, how’d it go today? John asked optimistically from the other end of the line.

Lousy. I blew it. Sam didn’t bother to hide his disappointment or his agitation. It was already eight o’clock at night. He had waited all day for John to return his call.

You blew it? How the hell did you do that? I was sure it was a no-brainer. She’s perfect for the job.

Well evidently the job isn’t perfect for her. Especially the final condition of employment.

Uh-oh. You couldn’t sell her on the marriage part, huh? I was afraid of that. It does sound a trifle weird you know. Definitely not your everyday employment requisite.

I even offered to double the bonus.

John let out a whistle so loud it hurt Sam’s ear. Damn. You must have really liked her. I figured you would. She still wouldn’t go for it, not even for fifty grand?

Sam ignored the question and posed one of his own. And by the way, did you have to choose someone so pretty? I thought we agreed plain, average, girl-next-door type. Emma George is definitely none of the above.

John chuckled. Don’t tell me she got to you. Don’t tell me Emma George melted the igloo of Ice King Sam Stone.

Sam bristled. Best friend or not, if John had been standing in front of him right then, he would have throttled him. Or at least given him a poisonous glare. Don’t be absurd. You know what my priorities are. What my future plans are. Find someone else. I know there were other applicants.

None that came close to measuring up to Emma. She was the front-runner by far.

"Well, I think we’re forced to at least consider number two. Number one doesn’t want the job and I think it’s best that it turned out the way it did.