The Timeless Love Romance Collection

by Dianne Christner

  Justin’s heart missed a beat, lurching as if he’d lost his balance. “No. A friend.” He felt his blood beat faster, warmer, at the very idea that he could call Lia Summers a friend. “A good friend. Where is she?”

  “Dunno. She woke up when we moved you back here to sleep, and I haven’t seen her today. The folks she’s with are heading out though. Chad Parker suffered a pretty bad concussion, and I’m sending him to Jackson to get better help.”

  “Jackson?” Justin jerked upright. “Have they gone yet?”

  The doctor glanced at his pocket watch. “Probably. It’s a long drive.”

  “All of them?”

  The doctor tipped his head at Justin. “I’m assuming so. Why?”

  Justin started to get out of bed, trying to roll his injured, bandaged feet to the floor. Unrolling his pant legs and reaching for the next cot to brace himself.

  “You nuts, boy? You don’t even have crutches. Hold on and I’ll help you. But you’ll be on bed rest for a couple of days, and—” The doctor turned at a knock on the door and held up a finger. “Hold on. Let me get this, and I’ll show you how to use the crutches.”

  Justin finished unrolling his pants, barely hearing the doctor, and dug on the nearby chair for his socks. He desperately needed a shower, a shave, and a toothbrush. A cup of steaming coffee after sleeping on the chilly cot and about three plates of the heartiest food Cook could dish out.

  He’d just tried unsuccessfully to stuff his swollen, bandaged foot into a scratchy wool sock when Doctor Hollowford rapped at the door. “Justin?” He poked his graying head in. “Lieutenant Lytle’s here to see you.”

  “The lieutenant?” Justin dropped the sock on the floor, his heart hammering. “What have I done now?”

  The door opened, and in strode the lieutenant, all stars and buttons and badges. He slammed the door behind him, and sleek boots tapped across the hard floor in staccato beats. Justin could smell the crisp wool of his uniform mingled with the pungent scent of pipe tobacco.

  “Sir?” Justin tried to scramble to his feet.

  “For pity’s sake, Fairbanks. Sit down.” The lieutenant waved an arm and drew his black brows together in a look of irritation as he seated himself on a nearby cot. “Tell me something. I’ve been trying to figure this out since last night, and I’m hoping you can shed some light on my little quandary.”

  Justin drew back. “Shoot,” he said. “Sir.”

  The lieutenant leaned forward, making the cot squeak. “Explain this.” He jabbed a finger into his calloused palm. “If Frankie White refused to take your boots, then why do you have frostbitten toes and he doesn’t?”

  The room fell so silent that Justin heard a clock tick from the doctor’s examining room behind the closed door.

  “Fairbanks?” The lieutenant raised his voice so that Justin jerked upright.

  “Sir?” Justin gulped. “I … uh …” He ran his hand over his stubbly jaw, blinking faster as he searched for words. “It’s … sort of hard to explain.”

  The lieutenant studied him, motionless. Staring at him so intensely that Justin felt sweat bead on his forehead.

  “I see,” said the lieutenant finally, settling back on the cot and stroking his thick mustache. “I think I get it. You don’t want to tell me Frankie did it, do you? Is that it?”

  Justin swallowed nervously, his gaze bouncing down to the floor and back up.

  The lieutenant narrowed his eyes at Justin. “I thought as much.” He leaned back and massaged his close-shaved chin. “I’ve no idea why, mind you, but it’s the only thing that makes sense to me. Do you agree?”

  “Yes sir.” Justin’s brow furrowed in confusion. “I … I think so.”

  “Well then.” The lieutenant stood. “Rest easy, Fairbanks. If there’s one man in this camp I trust, it’s you, boy. You must have your reasons.” He moved, and a glint of light fell on his medals. “I’ll reissue those orders for you to be moved up as supervisor, and we’ll say no more about it this time.”

  He clapped Justin on the shoulder. “Take care of those feet, young man. Hear me? That’s an order.”

  And he winked before stalking out of the room.

  Justin was still sitting there in a dumb stupor, wondering what had just happened, when Doc knocked on the door again. “By gravy, son, you’ve got another visitor. Who are you, Clark Gable?”

  “Another visitor?” Justin knocked his pillow to the floor in surprise, reaching for it on the wood floor. It lay just out of reach, tormenting him. So many simple things would be difficult now—walking, moving, standing.

  The door opened, and Lia edged in, one crutch under her arm. A fawn-colored hat on her head, nearly matching her brown tweed jacket. Her dress fell in a slim ivory pool, like the satin billow of Yellowstone Falls, and Justin thought he’d never seen anything more beautiful.

  The doctor helped her to the cot opposite Justin, leaning her crutch against the wall, and she nodded her thanks. Barely seeming to notice when he slipped discreetly back into the examining room, leaving the door open a crack.

  What should he say? Justin wanted to say everything, but nothing sounded right.

  “You’re still here?” he finally managed, running a hand over his scratchy jaw in embarrassment. Wishing to goodness the doc had let him get a shave and maybe a haircut before letting Lia see him like this.

  “The Parkers are leaving now, but I had to tell you good-bye,” said Lia, sitting down carefully on the cot where Lieutenant Lytle had been just minutes ago. She grimaced as she extended her splinted ankle. “And I wanted to say thank you.”

  “Thank you? To me?”

  “Of course. You saved our lives. Cynthia pretty much hates Frankie’s guts by now,” she added with a laugh. “But I told her she can’t hate him. She can’t. It’ll eat her from the inside.” She dropped her head and picked at the hole in the index finger of her glove. “If she can let go of her hate and remember her own sins, then there’s room to grow again.” She pressed her lips together, their color redder than Justin remembered. “There’s room to … to … well, love again.”

  Justin’s heartbeat quickened, and he longed to reach out and press her to his chest. But he restrained himself, running his hand along a crease in the sheet. “I’m so sorry I hurt you, Lia.” He forced his gaze up and into her eyes, determined to make her hear it. “I’m not the same person I used to be, but I can’t bring your father back. I’ll be sorry about that forever. As long as I live I’ll never be able to right it for ya.”

  Tears glittered briefly in her eyes, and she managed a smile. “I’m not the same person I was either, Justin. I’ve grown a lot in four years. Everything’s changed—my life, my family, the whole country with this Depression. I never imagined my life could change so much in a few short years. But … that’s life. We never stop. We just go on, one day at a time, begging God for strength and mercy.” She swallowed, tracing the edges of her glove. “And if my father were here, I know he’d forgive you and love you. The way he did back then.”

  Justin couldn’t speak, the lump in his throat choking him.

  “God’s sovereign over death, Justin. You know that?” Lia raised her eyes to him. “He gave my father life, and He chose to take it away—like Job said in the Bible. And we bless His name no matter what.”

  She bit her lip, which had begun to heal. The spot of blood gone, and the dryness of dehydration exchanged for a satiny sheen. “God could have spared my father, but He didn’t. And He didn’t spare His own Son either. For you and for me.”

  Justin heard the clatter of dishes from the distant mess hall even through the thick infirmary walls. The rattle of truck wheels at the far end of the camp. In a few minutes they’d be calling for her, and she’d get in the car and disappear in a puff of gravel and dust.

  All those years he’d wished time would speed forward to his death, and for the first time he suddenly wanted to jerk it to a stop. Suspending himself in this moment, this hush, forever. The color of he
r eyes like the shade of a country nightfall, crickets chirping in warm waves from the grass.

  A horn honked outside, and Lia flinched. “That’s for me.”

  Instead of speaking, Justin reached out and took Lia’s hand, pressing her fingers to his lips. Trying to memorize her scent. Fresh like soap, simple and quiet. No boisterous perfumes or exotic fragrances. Just soap and cotton and something gentle he couldn’t describe, like face powder or cold cream. She didn’t pull her hand away.

  “Come home, Justin,” she whispered, her tears spilling over.

  “What?” He could hardly breathe over the rush of emotion.

  “Come home. To Kentucky.” Lia let out her breath. “You’re welcome there.”

  The words stunned him, jolting his brain more than the first twinges of numbed flesh warming in water. “Home?” he repeated stupidly, gently sandwiching her hand between his. Picturing what Margaret must look like after a year and a half—dear Margaret—and Beanie. How big Beanie must be now. Lanky and skinny like Frankie White but with shy eyes. Practically a teenager probably.

  Justin had pictured that long dirt road that led to the farm a thousand times in his sleep, never once believing he’d see it again. The aching hole in his heart throbbed each time he remembered, trying to harden itself to force out the memories.

  “I’d think about it,” he said, more gruffly than he intended, “for you.”

  The horn blared again, and Lia jumped, turning to the window.

  Justin wanted to pull her back, to tell her to forget the car and Jackson and stay. But that was nonsense. What would she do at a CCC camp of two hundred guys? And besides, Mr. Parker needed medical treatment, and fast. He’d suffered enough already.

  Instead Justin kissed her fingertips one last time, trying to cling to their softness as long as possible. But he had to let her go. As he’d trusted God with his life, he’d trust Him with Lia as well. He slowly released her hand, letting one finger slip free at a time.

  The cot squeaked as Lia stood up, careful not to jar her ankle, and she reached for her crutch. Justin wished he could help her—carry her even—but there he sat, a broken-up wretch who could do no more than watch her leave.

  She leaned closer, catching him in a shy hug with her free arm. One side of her curls pressing against his cheek, intoxicating him with their fragrance. “I’ll be waiting for you,” she whispered, her voice close to his ear as she raised her head. And then she stood up, leaning on her crutch, and turned toward the door.

  Justin couldn’t say a word. Couldn’t trust himself to speak.

  The doc pushed the door open with a gentle squeak as she eased her way through the cots. “Lia Summers?” he said, holding the door wider. “They’re calling for you.”

  “I’m sorry. I’m coming.” Lia wiped her nose with a handkerchief and turned to slip through the door then stopped, digging for something in her pocket. “I almost forgot.” She reached a cloth bundle toward Justin. “It’s for you.”

  Justin strained to reach it, his fingers catching on a rectangle of familiar faded blue. The color of his CCC bandanna. Something hard and flat tucked inside.

  When he unwrapped the rectangle, there it lay: Lia’s precious photo of Reverend Summers. His smile wide and beaming, as if seeing straight into Justin’s heart. And there in the corner, the note he’d written in black ink. A Bible verse. “For charity shall cover the multitude of sins.”

  “I can’t take this.” Justin spoke in a whisper, holding it out.

  “Please.” Lia gently pushed it back. “I had fifteen years with him. My best memories are inside. I’ll never forget him.”

  He blinked back tears. “Then take this.” He offered his bandanna.

  Lia reached out and took it, her fingers trembling. And instead of putting it in her pocket, she pressed it to her heart. Giving him one last glance over her shoulder as the doctor helped her through the door, offering his arm to lean on.

  Justin watched the car until he could see it no more, leaning out the window of the infirmary. Dust rising up in a soft haze and burning his eyes the same way it had so many years ago when he counted the miles away from Kentucky.

  And from Lia.

  Never looking back.

  GOODIE GOODIE

  by Tamela Hancock Murray

  Dedication

  In memory of my grandfather, Bryce Anderson Hancock, who nurtured 150 rose bushes in his backyard.

  The wilderness and the solitary place shall be glad for them; and the desert shall rejoice, and blossom as the rose. It shall blossom abundantly, and rejoice even with joy and singing: the glory of Lebanon shall be given unto it, the excellency of Carmel and Sharon, they shall see the glory of the Lord, and the excellency of our God.

  ISAIAH 35:1–2

  Chapter 1

  1946

  Number Five. Willa Johnston slid her Apple Avocado Amazement into the empty slot on the wooden table. Her own creation would compete with nine other entries in the best entrée category of the Prairie County Fair bakeoff.

  Willa sprinkled her masterpiece with a coating of rat cheese. In spite of its disgusting name, the sharp cheddar would make anything taste good. Not that her hot casserole needed any help. From the corner of her eye she watched Dorothy, one of her old high school classmates, carefully place potatoes around her meatloaf entry. Dorothy raised her penciled eyebrows and sniffed in the direction of Willa’s casserole. Her reddened lips twisted as though Willa’s dish emitted a foul odor.

  What does she know? My Apple Avocado Amazement must be just fine for my brothers to tell me to enter it in the contest. How could meatloaf possibly win? It’s just plain as plain can be. No imagination or creativity.

  Willa gave her steaming concoction a nod of approval and tried to ignore Dorothy’s look, which had changed to one of amusement. Willa knew she’d have to forgive Dorothy’s merriment. Today was the first Saturday of the fair, a weeklong extravaganza of fun, food, and games, the likes of which hadn’t been seen in Prairie County since the fair’s hiatus from 1942 to 1945, thanks to the war. An abbreviated version had been hastily thrown together after the Japanese formally surrendered last year on September 2. But for 1946, the fair had returned in all its glory, finding a receptive audience ready to cut loose.

  Earlier, as she walked through the fairgrounds to the site of the bakeoff, Willa had noticed that each seat of the Ferris wheel was filled with squealing adolescents. Adults and small fry alike glided on carousel horses in rhythm to circus tunes. Carnival barkers shouted over the tinny music, wheedling high school boys to try to win cheap trinkets for their sweethearts. Sizzling wieners and burgers emitted appetizing aromas, but apples glazed with a sugar coating the color of garnets, along with pink cotton candy, tempted the sweet tooth.

  A man’s voice brought Willa back to the present. “What’s this?”

  Raising her head, Willa saw the owner of the voice was holding hands with a woman whose swelling belly indicated they would be parents come late winter.

  “Oh, it’s just the bakeoff,” the woman said, shrugging. Her eyes meeting Willa’s, the woman realized she was a contestant. With her face reddening, the woman wished her luck.

  The young man put his arm around his wife’s shoulders. “All this food is making me hungry. Would you like a burger, Honey?”

  “That sounds just wonderful!” She gazed into his face. He squeezed her shoulder, and they headed toward the nearby concession stand.

  Willa’s stomach knotted with envy in spite of her best intentions. She clenched her teeth and tossed an extra handful of cheese on the dish. If God had intended me to be married now, I would be. Besides, I’m only twenty-six. There’s plenty of time.

  Interrupting her melancholy, Dorothy grabbed Willa’s forearm and pointed to someone in the crowd. “Look. It’s our judge. Garrison Gaines.”

  Willa peered into the throng. “You mean the one who’s towering over everybody else?”

  “You got it! Tall, dark, and handsome. Isn�
��t he a dreamboat?”

  Willa didn’t want to concede her agreement to big-mouthed Dorothy. “Who did you say he is?”

  Dorothy looked at Willa as though she had taken leave of her senses. “Garrison Gaines. Haven’t you heard? He inherited the old Gaines place.”

  Willa remembered the white two-story house a couple blocks from Prairie Center’s business district. The house had been built by one of the county’s founding fathers, Rylan Gaines, in the mid-1800s and had since remained occupied by a member of the Gaines family.

  “Then how come I’ve never heard of him?”

  “Oh, he’s from back East. Maryland.”

  Willa was struck by the way his hair was the color of semisweet chocolate poured into perfect waves. Stylish clothes made him seem as though he hailed from a city. “Where in Maryland?” she asked. “Baltimore? Annapolis?”

  “Oh, no. Somewhere around the Chesapeake Bay area.” Dorothy gave Willa a scheming look. “I suppose the only way to find out more is to talk to him. I think I’ll go on over and say hello.”

  Willa eyed her fellow contestants ingratiating themselves to the handsome Mr. Gaines. As if he sensed she was staring, he looked her way. For an instant, his face became alight with interest, his eyes burning into her as if beckoning her to take Dorothy’s suggestion.

  His glance left Willa wanting to swoon like a bobby soxer in the presence of Frankie Sinatra. She wished she had Dorothy’s courage to walk right up to him and introduce herself. But the icy grip of shyness kept her feet attached to the dusty spot on the ground.

  Garrison was trying not to be rude to the women flocked around him. He might have been flattered by their attention had he not known the attraction stemmed from his position as a bakeoff judge rather than his person. Before this moment, Garrison hadn’t realized how seriously the contestants took these friendly little competitions.