Summoning instructions from every lesson his mother had drilled into him about behaving like a gentleman, Garrison answered their questions about the other Gaines relatives, those who hadn’t been fortunate enough to inherit the house. Judging from the women’s knowledge of its long-deceased builder and of the alterations various owners had made over the years, Garrison deduced that the house had become a famous local landmark. One of which they were obviously proud.
If only he could share their enthusiasm. He shuddered as he recalled the hideous journey from the East. Garrison’s buddy at a Ford dealership had managed to snag him a new woodie wagon, procured with savings from Garrison’s tours of duty in the navy. Goodie Woodie was an investment in his business, and Garrison begrudged every one of the 1,233 miles the mind-numbing trip through Maryland, West Virginia, Ohio, Indiana, Illinois, and Missouri registered on her odometer. As hills and mountains gave way to vast stretches of level land, he felt the sensation that the car was moving but not making any progress. He could only imagine what the journey had been like for the pioneers traveling nearly a century before in covered wagons. No wonder they’d had to bribe people with 120 acres of land to get them to settle in Kansas.
Garrison was proof that bribes continued to work. He’d abandoned Maryland because his sister, too much in love with her beachcombing war hero, refused to leave the East Coast. Her refusal left Garrison with no excuse not to take the faraway house. The ink was barely dry on his papers granting him an honorable discharge from the navy. He had no job in Maryland to hold him and no wife to protest a move. Of course, had Maude been willing, he would have brought her to Prairie Center as his wife. But true to her selfish ways, she chose her native Maryland over him. He was grateful the Lord had used the house to lead him away from a woman he thought he loved. Her reaction to the move meant she had been wrong for him all along.
As wrong as the little town of Prairie Center. He just couldn’t see himself living in an old farmhouse out here, eons from the nearest beach, forever. But for the time being, he could live rent free and take as many catering jobs as he could. As soon as he saved up enough money, he’d sell the old house and move. Somewhere, anywhere, on the East Coast. Preferably right beside the ocean, where he could fall asleep each night listening to the lullaby of lapping waves.
Feeling as though someone were concentrating on him, Garrison looked over to the table where most of the contestants had placed their entries. Gazing back was a gorgeous blond. Caught in the act, she turned to a bespectacled woman with gray hair and began speaking to her. But Garrison had gotten a good look at the blond’s face, with its defined cheekbones and big brown eyes. Donned in an apron edged with lace, she was the image of a happy housewife waiting with a home-cooked dinner for her husband upon his return from a hard day at the office. Which is probably what her life was really like.
He restrained himself from letting out a resigned sigh. He didn’t have time for women anyway. Not if he wanted to hightail it out of Prairie Center. And soon.
As the judging began, the contestants scrambled to one of the chairs in front of the tables so they could watch. Willa felt the air ignite with tension. Contrary to her feelings only moments before, she realized she cared greatly about winning the contest.
Willa had entered only after her brothers, Don and Ron, prodded for weeks. “Do it for Mother. She’d want you to win prizes for cooking, just like she did. Please? Please?”
She shook her head at the memory of their faces, wondering what the rest of Prairie Center would think if they observed two of their war heroes acting like juveniles.
At that moment, Willa heard an intake of breath as Garrison and two other judges sampled stuffed pork chops. The judges made their way around the table, biting into each dish, then conversing and taking notes. With the assessment of each entrée, the woman responsible visibly tensed and held her breath. After they tasted Dorothy’s meatloaf, Willa cut her gaze to her rival. Dorothy couldn’t contain a self-satisfied smile as they muttered approvingly. Next would be Willa’s turn. Folding her hands in her lap in an effort to seem calm, she alternated between studying the white polka dots on her navy blue dress and glimpsing at the judging in progress.
The judges read the sign identifying her entry as Apple Avocado Amazement. Three sets of eyebrows shot up, then squeezed together as foreheads furrowed upon examination of the entrée for eye appeal. Willa knew the greenish color, interrupted by beige slices of cooked apple and bits of maroon ham, was unique, but the topping of rat cheese and ten pats of melted butter made it look delicious and satisfying. Willa was confident that was exactly what they were writing on their little notepads.
Gingerly, Garrison dipped his fork into the casserole and served himself a small portion on one of the luncheon plates Willa had provided according to contest rules. At closer range, she was able to observe his refined features. A straight nose and lips that looked as though they’d have no problems issuing both commands and kind words set off expressive Mediterranean blue eyes. His hands, though strong, indicated by their manly smoothness that his work environment was indoors rather than in the rough elements of farm life.
As he tasted the casserole, Garrison seemed to be holding back a grimace. Willa flinched. How can that be? Don and Ron like my cooking just fine. Maybe the other judges will know what’s good.
But when her dish evoked a similar response in the others, Willa felt her shoulders sag. They didn’t even bother to take a second taste before moving on to the next dish. She knew she had lost.
Moments later, Dorothy’s meatloaf won the blue ribbon. Dorothy rushed forward and thanked the judges, throwing more than one flirtatious glance Garrison’s way. Seething at Dorothy’s giddiness, Willa was in no mood to mingle among the judges and contestants. Instead, she snuck away, trying to convince herself she’d rather look at some of the other exhibits.
Only after she thought the bakeoff area would be empty did Willa return. She concentrated on packing her supplies in the picnic basket she had brought.
“So you’re the one who made the Apple Avocado Amazement, huh?”
Willa jumped, startled by the unfamiliar male voice from behind her. Turning, she clasped a hand to her chest and met the unforgettable Mediterranean blue eyes of Garrison Gaines. “You scared me to death!” she blurted. Not an ideal way to begin a conversation.
“I’m sorry. Please forgive me.” His glance flickered to her left hand. Willa discerned a pleased expression on his face when he noted she wore no wedding band. “Miss …” He let his voice trail off, obviously hoping she’d fill in the blank.
“I suppose I might as well tell you. Since everybody here knows everybody else and tends to each others’ business, you’ll find out eventually, anyway.” Unwilling to look into his eyes lest his stare cause her to faint dead away, Willa grabbed a silver-plated fork and swiped it clean with a cotton dishtowel. “It’s Johnston. Miss Willa Johnston.” She rubbed the fork with more vigor than required, keeping her eyes upon her task. Willa noticed her voice had taken on a harsh edge. “Although a gentleman would have waited for a proper introduction.”
“Your friend Dorothy didn’t seem to mind introducing herself.”
“Who says Dorothy’s my friend?” Unable to resist temptation, she snapped, “I suppose my casserole would have won had I been as eager to meet you as she was.” Her look met his.
“My feelings would be hurt if I thought you really believed that.” An amused grin spread over his face.
“Nevertheless, I don’t make a habit of introducing myself to strangers.” Willa threw the fork into the basket as if the gesture would reinforce her statement.
“If I adopted that custom, I’d be alone forever, now wouldn’t I?” he observed.
“No gentleman remains alone for long. Especially when he follows the rules.”
“Rules left over from the last century.” He leaned against the table, folding his arms. “Yes, the nineteenth century was a charming time. If I recall correctly what Miss Ma
honey taught me in history class, this area was crawling with Indians. Some of those Indians were none too happy to see the settlers. Not to mention the other delights of the time.” Lifting his right hand, he touched each finger and thumb with the index finger of his left hand as he ticked off a number of other disadvantages. “No electricity. No telephone. No indoor plumbing. No automobiles. And last but not least—no women’s suffrage.” He leaned toward her, so closely she could inhale the intoxicating scent of his aftershave lotion. “But gentlemen and ladies were always properly introduced.”
Willa found herself unable to resist such confidence. “All right. You win.” She tried to grimace, but instead a smile played on her lips. She noticed that he, too, wore no wedding band. She extended her right hand, grateful she had painted her nails with a fresh coat of Revlon polish the previous night. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Gaines.”
His eyes widened as he gave her hand a firm grasp. “You know me?”
“I know your name is Garrison Gaines. You’re from some little burg in Maryland. And you inherited the Old Gaines Place, so if I can put two and two together properly, that’s where you live.” She flashed him her best smile.
“So you know all about me, and I don’t know a thing about you. That’s not playing fair, is it?”
“Maybe not,” she conceded.
“Then in the interest of fair play, won’t you give me a chance to acquire some knowledge about you? Say, over dinner next Saturday?”
She hesitated.
“Surely you know enough about me.”
Willa felt her heart beating. She hadn’t been out on a real date since she and Dirk had been an item. And that was too long ago. Should she accept? Surely Don and Ron would be thrilled to see her get back in circulation. Maybe they should meet Garrison first.
You’re a grown woman. Take a chance.
“It’s a date,” she agreed aloud. “I’m easy to find. Look for the big yellow house on the corner of Massachusetts and Eleventh.”
“You live alone in a big yellow house?”
“Nope. I live with my brothers. They’re tough on any guy who shows the least bit of interest in me at all. Be ready to pass inspection.” Willa kept her tone light, but her words about her protective brothers were all too true.
Her warning didn’t seem to leave Garrison ruffled. He pulled a card out of his pocket and handed it to Willa. “Tell them they can check me out.”
The cream-colored card was printed in script meant to represent strawberry icing. She read:
GOODIE GOODIE!
You Have Lots to Gain with
GAINES GOODIES
Garrison Gaines
Caterer
“So, Prairie Center now has its first caterer.” She was about to add, “That’s just swell,” when she realized he was gone.
Chapter 2
As he stood and shaved over his small white porcelain sink for the second time that day, Garrison thought about how much he regretted his impulsive decision to ask Willa for a date.
“What possessed me?” Then he remembered the way her big blue eyes gazed into his. How her lustrous blond hair framed her face, emphasizing rosy cheeks.…
Pain shot through his chin at the point where the razor dug in just a touch too deeply. Garrison flinched. “Ouch! That’s what I get for daydreaming.” His mood soured, Garrison applied a styptic pencil to the wound. Melting salt caused even worse agony, but the bleeding soon ceased.
Despite his resolve to concentrate on the task at hand, Garrison’s thoughts wandered back to Willa. Not only was she a blond beautiful enough to put movie starlets to shame, but Willa also lacked affectation. He remembered his experience as a judge at the Prairie County Fair. He’d thrown inviting glances her way, but Willa had stood back as a horde of vipers descended upon him. What was the matter with these women? You’d think they hadn’t seen a man in five years. “Well,” he chuckled, “maybe they haven’t.”
Out of all the women he might have asked out, why did he have to pick Willa Johnston? If he were a betting man, Garrison would have laid good money on the table that Willa’s family had lived in Prairie Center for generations. She’d never want to leave the security of her hometown. Why couldn’t he have found a nice girl who wanted to live on the East Coast?
Garrison sighed. He’d always known he had relatives out here in Kansas. They sent Christmas greetings every year. His family had even made the trip out West one summer. He remembered a sweet older lady and a few neighbor children who seemed nice enough, but once Garrison’s family got back on the train to return to Maryland, he hadn’t thought much about them or the Midwest. He certainly hadn’t ever planned on living in Prairie Center.
As Garrison toweled off a few remaining specks of shaving cream from his newly clean-shaven face, a reflection holding a guilt-ridden expression stared back. “I’ve got to be fair to her,” he told the mirrored man as he slapped on some bay rum aftershave. “I’ll be the gentleman and keep my promise to take her to dinner. But there will be no second date.”
Willa was ready early for dinner with Garrison. A copy of Life magazine in hand, she sat in a burgundy-upholstered chair, an inexpensive reproduction of a Victorian style. She smoothed the back of her dress, styled suitably for a diminutive figure with decorative buttons from top to bottom. The matching belt showed off her small waist and fitted softly over hips she thought a little too ample. The cool cotton fabric was named Shy Pink, a sentiment that reflected her feelings well.
Willa had chosen her Sunday-best white shoes. She imagined this would be the last time she’d have a chance to wear them outside of church before the arrival of Labor Day demanded they be put away for the winter. She felt confident her small white hat, which would soon prove another Labor Day casualty, would take her to any Kansas City restaurant. She’d also tucked her short white gloves into her small white purse just in case he took her somewhere really elegant.
What had she been thinking to let such a smooth talker entice her into going out with him? And without a proper introduction! But the Second World War had changed what was once de rigueur in etiquette. In this day and age, relationships formed as effortlessly as a summer breeze lit upon chintz curtains and flowed just as easily—sometimes too easily, in Willa’s opinion—into marriage. Unlike her best friend, Betty, Willa hadn’t allowed herself to get caught in a whirlwind courtship before the war. A marriage that at the time had seemed oh-so-romantic had ended with Betty’s premature widowhood and a little boy to rear alone.
Just as the onset of war resulted in a wave of weddings, so did its end. The love of some couples had survived long separations while military service beckoned. As soon as the service-men returned home, honorable discharge papers in hand, betrothed couples swarmed to churches and courthouses to fulfill postponed dreams of wedded bliss.
But not Willa. Her plight seemed even worse than Betty’s. If only she had married her high school sweetheart, Dirk Bridges, before he’d left for Europe! Perhaps now she would be like Betty, the mother of a little son, or maybe a tiny girl, with Dirk’s gray eyes and stubbornness just as steely. If they had married before he shipped out, Dirk never would have felt free to marry a woman he met in France, leaving Willa with a broken heart.
“You should be thanking the Lord instead of moping about how he broke it off with you,” Papa had told Willa when she received Dirk’s good-bye letter. “Better to find out now that he’s a scamp than after you’re married.” Sighing, he shook his head. “A man like that must not know the Lord at all. He could never make you happy, Daughter.” Then he opened his Bible, its cover ragged from years of use, and read aloud Proverbs 28:25–26: “‘He that is of a proud heart stirreth up strife: but he that putteth his trust in the Lord shall be made fat. He that trusteth in his own heart is a fool: but whoso walketh wisely, he shall be delivered.’”
Willa simply nodded. Papa had been right, but Dirk’s betrayal still hurt. For Papa’s sake, she focused on the wisdom of his advice and the teachings of
Scripture. From that moment forward she put on a good face, never letting on to anyone how deeply she had been wounded. How many nights she had cried in secret! How many times she had prayed to the Lord, begging to know why Dirk’s rejection was His will. Why had her faithfulness to Dirk not been rewarded? Did the breakup mean that it was God’s will for her never to marry? Willa knew in her heart that He would reveal His answer. But when?
Surely Garrison Gaines didn’t personify God’s response. Willa had fantasized about her future husband many times. He would be ingrained with all the best qualities of a Christian man. He would hold her, protect her, cherish her, and inspire her with kindness and encouragement. Garrison’s glib confidence didn’t seem to fit the bill. As for his appearance, she hadn’t pictured the matinee idol looks of Garrison Gaines. She’d witnessed his effect on women at the Prairie County Fair. Who was she kidding? Even if she managed to snag him, how could she, just a plain, ordinary girl, hope to keep him?
She shook her head. No, Garrison couldn’t be the man the Lord had in mind for her. Her glance caught the sturdy black telephone on the hall table. One call would solve her problem. Then again, backing out on the date this late would be the height of rudeness. Not to mention she might not be able to place a call on the party line. Mrs. Thompkins and Mrs. Williams would most likely be tying up the line, chatting away about their gout and arthritis. If she asked them to cut their talk short, they’d ask why. Then she could count on Mrs. Thompkins listening in on her call. The gossip wouldn’t fade away for weeks.
Willa would keep her promise. She’d be polite and try her best to provide Garrison a pleasant dinner companion. But there would be no second date. She was sure of that.
Then why was she so jittery? The grandfather clock in the parlor gonged every fifteen minutes, reminding Willa that the appointed time neared. She tried to concentrate on her magazine, but every few minutes she would put it down to peer out the window and look for Garrison’s car. She couldn’t explain why she bothered, considering she had no idea what type of car Garrison drove. She imagined it was like most of the others in town—a pre-1941 jalopy. But no one fortunate enough to own any vehicle ever complained. During the war, automobile factories had been retooled to produce military vehicles. The effort had proven worth the sacrifice, but now that the conflict was over, everyone was ready to buy a car. Any old vehicle with an engine that ran would do. A new sedan or sporty model fresh off the assembly line might be spotted in a big city, but such a vehicle was a fantasy for most people living in rural Prairie County.
The Timeless Love Romance Collection Page 56