[Harlequin] - Dawn Stewardson - Cold Noses, Ksiazki, txt
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR"I want to give a special thanks to all my readers who have written to me," says Dawn Stewardson. "I really enjoy hearing their comments. And I always write back. Sometimes it may take a while, because it takes so long for your letters to actually reach me, but I absolutely always reply."Dawn lives in Toronto with her husband, John, her two dogs, Rutherford and Julie, and her cat, Yeats. Letters to Dawn Stewardson may be sent c/o Harlequin Reader Service, P.O. Box 1397, Buffalo, NY 14.240Books by Dawn StewardsonHARLEQUIN SUPERROMANCE329-VANISHING ACT 355-DEEP SECRETS 383-BLUE MOON 405-PRIZE PASSAGE 409-HEARTBEAT 432-THREE'S COMPANY 477-MOON SHADOW 498-ACROSS THE MISTYHARLEQUIN INTRIGUE80-PERIL IN PARADISE 90-NO RHYME OR REASONDon't miss any of our special offers. Write to us at the following address for information on our newest releases.Harlequin Reader Service P.O. Box 1397, Buffalo, NY 14.240 Canadian address: P.O. Box 603, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A5X3If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as "unsold and destroyed" to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this "stripped book."Published October 1992ISBN 0-373-70.521-2COLD NOSES, WARM KISSESCopyright (c) 1992 by Dawn Stewardson. All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the permission of the publisher. Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.All the characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.(r) are Trademarks registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office and in other countries.Printed in U.S.A.This one's for my readers,especially to those of you who wrote to tellme how much you enjoyed reading about Rutherford,the heroine's dog in my Superromance,Three's Company.And for John always.CHAPTER ONETwo THINGS SOMETIMES caused a tiny dull throbbing directly behind Chantal's temples. One was drinking Bristow Fine Champagne. The other was dealing with Nolton Bristow, owner and CEO of the company that produced it. This morning, only the man was causing the throbbing."I want this ad campaign kept strictly hush-hush," Nolton said. "I haven't even let Marlene in on it."Chantal was tempted to say she doubted Nolton's wife got off on spying for his competitors. Instead, she said, "I won't breathe a word until Jay gets back from Mexico. Then I'll talk to him about the idea and - ""We can't wait for Jay to get back," Nolton said. "I want the commercials shot by the end of January, latest.""Nolton, I-""I know, I know," he interrupted again. "That doesn't give you much time to get the shoot site checked out. So you'd better call that dog guy's agent right now.""Nolton, the idea of spending several days in your chalet, alone with some man I've never even met, makes me very, very uneasy.""Just tell him things are strictly business between the two of you, Chantal. You've never had any problem doing that with me," he added pointedly.Reluctantly, she reached for the phone, recognizing defeat when she was facing it."Too bad tomorrow's Christmas day," Nolton muttered as she dialed. "But see if he can leave the day after, huh? I'll send Brandy over to your place about seven in the morning."Chantal nodded, doing her best to ignore the way the dull throbbing in her head had escalated into a rat-a-tat-tat that would do a jackhammer proud."Rachel," she said when the agent picked up, putting what she hoped was enough enthusiasm in her voice to fool Nolton. "Rachel, it's Chantal Livingstone. About the shoot with that Saint Bernard breeder...""Denver Brooke," Rachel supplied."Right. Listen, Rachel, my client has just come up with the most fantastic idea you've ever heard - ""RACHEL," DENVER SAID, "That's the most ridiculous idea I've ever heard." He tipped his ancient re-cliner back as far as the telephone cord allowed, resting his cowboy boots on the scarred surface of the desk, listening to what the people at Jay Clawson Advertising had decided they wanted."You know I'm primarily a breeder," he said when she was through. "I only train my own dogs.""I explained that to Chantal, Denver. She got backed into a corner on this, though. The client still wants you, specifically, because you know Saint Bernards so well. But he's suddenly insistent they use his dog in the commercials.""Has it been trained at all?"There was a pause at the other end before Rachel said, "I don't believe so."Denver rubbed his jaw. He was crazy for having the slightest thing to do with Madison Avenue. "Rachel, for me to train a dog well enough to use it in a commercial could take months - if it could be done at all. I think you'd better tell your Ms. Livingstone that either we use McGee or it's not a go.""I suspect that would mean it's not a go, Denver. Look, before you say no, consider the money again, okay?"He crossed one boot over the other and considered the money again. Rachel was a good agent. She'd convinced the ad agency to pop for twice his normal daily fee by telling them that being away from the kennel would cost him.And his bank account could certainly use a boost. If its balance got much lower, he'd be sharing the dogs' kibble for dinner."Denver?" Rachel pressed. "Look, I didn't realize their using a strange dog was going to be a major deal for you. I told Chantal we were on, that I'd just phone her back to confirm you could leave on the twenty-sixth. So how about you decide one way or the other, then call her yourself. We're closing early today... you know... Christmas Eve and all?"He grabbed a pencil, wrote down the number Rachel rattled off, wished her Merry Christmas and hung up.McGee clambered to his feet and laid his massive head in Denver's lap."What do you think, fellow?" Denver said, scratching behind the dog's ear. "Think we can convince this Chantal Livingstone their idea's a dumb one?"The dog yawned."Yeah, that's how I feel, too. But I guess we'd better give her a call and see what we can work out. I've gotten kind of used to eating people food."CHANTAL WAS HALF WATCHING along the street and half watching her suitcase. No one was really likely to try stealing it from her front steps this early in the morning. The addicts generally got later starts to their days. But you never knew in Manhattan.The frosty air had just started her shivering when a yellow cab turned off Amsterdam onto West Eighty-fifth.She gazed at it heading toward her, hoping it was Brandy arriving first. Having to wait would hardly improve Denver Brooke's negative attitude.And she didn't imagine it had improved any when he'd called Nolton with his questions about Brandy. Nolton probably hadn't known even half the answers. She wouldn't have been surprised if Denver had phoned back to tell her their deal was off.Of course, calling it a "deal" was using the term loosely. "Absolutely no guarantees," he'd told her. "I can't promise you a thing when I've never even seen the dog."She'd said she understood. "You'll just do what you can with her." No, it certainly wasn't much of a deal. But it was Denver's parting shot that had really made her wince.He'd said, "This whole idea is insane, you know."She knew. Only too well. The idea of a city slicker like her traipsing off to the boonies with a gigantic dog and a complete stranger... being stuck in Nolton's chalet with some man..."You have absolutely nothing to worry about," Rachel had told her reassuringly. "Denver's a real nice guy. You know we'd never send you even a marginal weirdo."Well, maybe he wasn't a weirdo, marginal or otherwise. And she hadn't spent her entire life in New York without learning how to take care of herself. But what kind of name was Denver Brooke? Sounded like a cowboy's. A cowboy who bred dogs in Jersey, though?The cab slowed as it neared her, then jerked to a halt, an enormous black man sitting in front, an enormous brown-and-white dog sitting in back.Chantal eyed the dog, suddenly not at all sure she wanted it here first. She wasn't exactly afraid of dogs, but she hadn't realized Saint Bernards were quite so huge. The top of Brandy's head was grazing the roof of the cab.She reminded herself the dog was gentle as a lamb. Nolton had said so. Of course, Nolton was hardly renowned for George Washington-type honesty, but it was simply a matter of standing here with Brandy for a few minutes. Until Denver Brooke arrived. Then he could take over.The driver threw open his door and glared at her. "You the one who's expecting this beast?"When she nodded he shoved himself out of the taxi, grabbing a small gym bag from the passenger's seat and tossing it to her. "I'm supposed to tell you the dog's papers and tags and stuff's in there. But do the world a favor, huh, lady? Next time this thing's going somewhere, let it walk.""She was bad?""She howled. All the way from East Sixty-third and Park to the corner of West Eighty-second. And between howls she drooled. Man, I gotta towel down my backseat now."Chantal apologized, digging in her pocket for a tip, even though she knew Nolton had already taken care of the driver at the other end.He seemed slightly mollified by the ten-dollar bill s...
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