Romance Classics

by Peggy Gaddis

  “Oh, I didn’t mean anything like that,” Cherry protested, flushed and still avoiding his eyes. “Loyce thinks maybe he’s married.”

  Now the Judge’s eyebrows went even higher.

  “Now does she?” he wondered aloud. “I can think of only one reason that should be of any interest either to you or to Loyce. And that would be that one of you is about to fall in love with him.”

  “Oh, Gran’sir, how you do talk!” Cherry scoffed.

  “I’m quite sure Loyce isn’t in any such danger,” the Judge went on, and now there was no levity whatever in his eyes or in his voice. “I wish to the good Lord that she would fall in love with somebody! Do her a world of good. But I think it’s highly unlikely. And as for you — ”

  “As for me,” Cherry cut in swiftly, still not quite meeting his eyes, “there’s Job. I have a movie date with him tonight, and I have to do my nails and set my hair and press a dress to wear, so if you’ll excuse me, there’s work to do and time’s a-wastin’.”

  “All that fussin’ just for Job?” the Judge asked lightly.

  Cherry laughed. “Certainly not. That fussin’ is for me. After all, going to the movies is a big event in my life. I want to be properly dressed for it.”

  He watched her as she went out of the room and up the stairs. Maybe he had been remiss in not questioning Jonathan more thoroughly. Well, he would attend to that tonight after dinner, though he honestly couldn’t understand why it should be so important to his two girls whether or not Jonathan was married. They had their two devoted suitors, didn’t they? It was highly unlikely, he felt, that either of them was in any danger of falling in love with even so attractive a stranger as Jonathan. And yet, he admitted ruefully, what did he, an old fussbudget of a grandfather, know about what went on in the hearts of young girls?

  Later in the afternoon Cherry went down to the kitchen, the dress she meant to wear that night over her arm. She had pinned her hair up; she wore faded blue jeans and a cotton shirt and her stockingless feet were in battered scuffs. There was nobody in the Lodge at that time of day except Muv and Elsie, and informality was the rule.

  Elsie was at the kitchen table, elbows propped on it, chin in her hands, her head bent above a somewhat battered movie magazine. Mrs. Mitchell sat in a low rocker beside the open window, beside her a sewing basket out of which she was selecting and sewing quilt pieces.

  “Hi, a date?” Elsie asked with interest as Cherry got out the ironing board and plugged in the iron. “With Mr. Gayle?”

  “Certainly not,” Cherry answered. “With Job. We’re going to the movies.”

  “Oh, no! Not on a Western night!” protested Elsie.

  “We’re going to help the good guys head off the bad guys at the pass,” Cherry answered.

  “And for that you’re wearing your best dress?” marveled Elsie.

  “This old rag?” Cherry sniffed disdainfully as she yanked the yellow-flowered cotton dress over the board.

  “That old rag my eye!” Elsie protested. “You know darned well it’s nearly brand-new and you haven’t worn it half a dozen times.”

  “Now, Elsie, don’t nag Cherry,” Muv spoke up.

  “She wants to wear a good dress on a date, and I admire her for it.” She broke off and leaned closer to the window at the sound of a car in the drive. The next instant a car horn blasted a musical summons.

  “Now who in tarnation is that?” she wondered, and glanced at Cherry. “We expectin’ a guest?”

  “Of course not,” Cherry answered.

  The horn blasted again; it had a peremptory sound despite its musical tone.

  “Well, there’s a swell-looking car out there, and a gal drivin’ it, and she sure wants somebody to come a-runnin’.” Muv was at the window now, leaning close to peer outside. “Must be one of them tourists from down the valley that got lost up here. You’d best go see what she wants, Cherry, before she ruins our eardrums.”

  “Scamper, Cherry. I’ll finish your dress,” Elsie offered.

  Cherry went out the back door and walked around to the side drive where the car was waiting: a long, sleek, impressive-looking white convertible. The girl who sat at the wheel was equally long, sleek and impressive-looking.

  She eyed Cherry with a cool, frosty blue gaze and demanded, “Is this Crossways Lodge?”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “Then have somebody get my luggage out,” said the newcomer, and swung open the door and stepped out on the drive.

  Cherry’s eyes widened even as she took in the slim length of the girl in snugly fitting cream-colored pants and a matching shirt, a powder-blue sweater almost exactly the color of her eyes swung across her shoulders.

  “I’m afraid you’ve made a mistake,” Cherry said when she had mastered her surprise.

  “You said this was Crossways Lodge,” the girl reminded her curtly. “What an utterly cockeyed name for a hotel!”

  “It isn’t a hotel; it’s a hunting-and-fishing Lodge. And the name simply means that it sits crossways on two state lines.” Cherry was somewhat nettled at the girl’s manner. “And we don’t have any facilities for feminine guests.”

  The girl slid her gloved hands into the hip pockets of her cream-colored pants, put her golden head on one side and eyed Cherry with a coolly amused gaze.

  “What a racket!” she drawled. “A hide-out for sportsmen but no room for women!”

  Cherry’s eyes blazed and her cheeks were scarlet beneath the contempt in the woman’s voice. But she kept a tight grip on her temper.

  “Sportsmen who like to fish and hunt usually don’t like to be bothered with women,” she said icily. “And besides, there are no facilities here to entertain women, unless you like fishing.”

  “I loathe it,” said the woman frankly, and chuckled. “No entertainment, where there are slues of men? Don’t be idiotic.”

  “There are facilities for six or at the most eight male guests, and they are middle-aged and dedicated to fishing or hunting or else they wouldn’t come to Crossways,” Cherry told her. “Now if you will excuse me, there are any number of motels and places where I’m sure you will find comfortable accommodations.”

  The woman merely eyed her with cool insolence.

  “Oh, I’m staying here,” she drawled, and turned to lift out a large wardrobe case from the car.

  “But I’ve just finished telling you that you can’t.” Cherry’s grip on her temper slipped slightly.

  “And I’ve just finished telling you that I intend to stay as long as I like,” the woman insisted. “That is, if Jonathan Gayle is still here.”

  Startled, Cherry asked, “Do you know him?”

  “Why else would I be here?”

  “That is something I wouldn’t know,” Cherry told her. “But there is no room for you here.”

  The woman chuckled. “Oh, just put me in the room with Jonny. He won’t mind. Or if he does, it won’t do him any good. You see, I’m Mrs. Jonathan Gayle.”

  Cherry stared at her as though she could not possibly believe her ears. The woman turned back to the car and lifted out another piece of handsome, expensive luggage, then a week-end case and finally a cosmetics case. Obviously she was prepared for an extensive stay.

  Cherry was still staring at her, wide-eyed, when the woman laughed. And Cherry was suddenly furiously aware of the way she must look in her ancient blue jeans and scuffed sneakers.

  “I must say,” the woman drawled at last with obvious amusement, “if you are the only competition I have here, I could have stayed safely in Chicago and been quite sure Jonny would come back to me. Now if you’ll have someone help me with my luggage and show me to Jonny’s room, I’ll get cleaned up after a long and tiring drive. Mountains! I devoutly hope I never see another one. They give me the horrors! And driving through them is a nightmare. I could kill Jonny for sneaking off down here.”

  “I’ll get one of the guides to look after your luggage, if you’ll come this way?” Cherry, much deflated, led the way
into the Lodge, and the woman followed her, bright malice brimming in her blue eyes.

  The Judge, sitting beside the open window in the living room, looked up as Cherry led the way into the house, followed by the woman who was Mrs. Jonathan Gayle.

  “Gran’sir,” said Cherry, her voice faintly husky, “this is Jonathan’s wife, Mrs. Jonathan Gayle. My grandfather, Judge Bramblett.”

  She saw the startled look that appeared for a moment in the Judge’s eyes. But the next moment he was his usual gracious, urbane self as he greeted the woman and made her welcome.

  Cherry’s eyes widened as she saw the transformation in the woman. Outdoors, alone with Cherry, she had been malicious, contemptuous, generally unpleasant; but here in front of the Judge she became a different person: sweet and gracious and friendly and touchingly respectful.

  “I do hope, sir, that you can find a teeny-weeny corner for me, in spite of the fact that this horrid girl says you don’t allow women here,” she cooed.

  “My granddaughter told you the truth, Mrs. Gayle,” said the Judge, bristling slightly at the phrase applied to Cherry. “Not that we are opposed to women. Some of my best friends are women, and there are several women employed here at the Lodge, including my two granddaughters. But we just do not have the luxuries, the entertainment and the frills that women seem to require.”

  Mrs. Gayle laughed softly.

  “The only frill I require, Judge, is to be with my husband again,” she cooed sweetly, and flashed a glance at Cherry.

  “Did Jonathan know you were coming here?” asked the Judge. “He hasn’t mentioned it, has he, Cherry?”

  “Not a word.”

  “Oh, well,” Mrs. Gayle made a little gesture of dismissal, “we had a silly little quarrel, and he rushed out of the house in a rage and just sort of vanished. But I love him very much, so of course I took steps to find him. And now that I’m here I’m sure we can start all over again. Where is he?”

  “Out somewhere fishing,” Cherry answered. “He should be back soon.”

  “Then suppose you have my bags taken up to my room and I’ll get freshened up. I can’t have him see me all grimy from travel after we’ve been apart so long, now can I?”

  Cherry looked uncertainly at the Judge, who nodded. “I’m sure you can find a room for Mrs. Gayle for a few days, honey.”

  “Of course,” said Cherry, and went out.

  Behind her as she went up the stairs she heard a burst of soft, silvery laughter from the ravishing golden-haired Mrs. Gayle, and her mouth thinned to a mutinous line.

  Chapter Eight.

  It was close to dinner time when Cherry came back down the stairs, dressed and ready for her date with Job. There were voices from the living room, and she paused to listen. She heard the Judge’s amused voice; the light, musical tones of Mrs. Gayle. Leaving by the back door, she headed for the barn.

  Loyce would have to be told that Jonathan was not only married but that his wife had arrived!

  Just before she reached the barn she saw Jonathan coming toward her in the late afternoon sunset glow. As he saw her he flung up a hand in greeting, and his handsome face, now sun-tanned, broke into a wide smile.

  “Congratulate me!” he called. “I didn’t catch a single thing, so we don’t have to have fish for dinner.”

  As he came closer he saw her expression and his gaiety vanished.

  “Why, what’s wrong? Something happened?” he asked in quick concern.

  “We have a guest for dinner so maybe you should have caught a trout or two,” she said quietly.

  “Let him catch his own.” Jonathan grinned, but his eyes were still puzzled.

  It’s not a ‘him’; it’s a ‘her.’ And she loathes fishing,” said Cherry mildly. “It’s your wife.”

  Jonathan stared at her, his mouth falling open in complete astonishment.

  “My what?” he shouted.

  “Your wife,” Cherry insisted. “Mrs. Jonathan Gayle. She’s in the living room with Gran’sir, being very gay and amusing.”

  “Sandra!” said Jonathan half under his breath. “No one else would have the nerve! Why, that — ” His epithet was strangled, but Cherry was sure it was an unprintable word, and in spite of herself her spirits rose a trifle.

  “You come with me,” he said harshly, and his hand clamped on Cherry’s wrist, dragging her with him at a fast clip as he strode up the path toward the house.

  Still dragging Cherry with him, Jonathan reached the living room.

  Mrs. Gayle, in a stunning formal frock of dark blue chiffon, was enthroned in a big chair opposite the Judge, who was watching her with amusement and admiration. She broke off what she was saying as Jonathan and Cherry came into the room.

  “Sandra, what the devil are you doing here?” Jonathan’s tone was one Cherry had never heard him use before. It had a whiplash sting in it, and she knew that if he ever used it to her she’d simply curl up and die.

  “Jonny, darling!” the woman fluted joyously, and ran to him, obviously about to fling herself into his arms. But Jonathan evaded her, holding her off with hands that were anything but gentle. His eyes blazed and his jaw was set so hard that a small muscle leaped along it.

  “Jonny, dearest, you’re hurting me,” she whimpered, twisting, trying to free herself from the grip he had clamped on her shoulders to thrust her away from him.

  “I ought to break your neck!” said Jonathan in that whiplash voice that made him seem suddenly to Cherry like a frightening stranger.

  “Now, Gayle, there’s really no call to use such a tone to your wife,” the Judge said brusquely.

  “My wife?” Jonathan’s tone made the two words an epithet. “Sir, she’s not my wife, and she’s never going to be. I haven’t got a wife; and if I did, it wouldn’t be Sandra Elliott.”

  His hands still held the woman, and now he shook her.

  “Tell them the truth, Sandra, or so help me, you’ll wish you had,” he grated, and flung her toward the chair where she had been sitting.

  Sandra sprawled for a moment before she managed to recover herself and once more assume a graceful pose. She looked up at Jonathan, and Cherry was appalled at the look of livid hatred in the blue eyes, now dark with helpless fury.

  “Oh, well, you can’t rule a gal off the course for trying,” she sneered. “And I can be your wife in just a handful of minutes. I’ve just been talking to the Judge. He’s retired, but he’s still a Justice of the Peace and can marry us.”

  “Afraid not,” the Judge interrupted quickly but firmly. “I’ve never, so far as I know, officiated at a ‘shotgun wedding’ and I’m not anxious to begin at this stage of my life.”

  “It would take more than a shotgun to make me marry her, Judge,” Jonathan said through his teeth, and glared at the girl who looked up at him from the depths of the big chair. “How did you find me?”

  Sandra laughed softly. “Oh, it wasn’t easy, darling,” she mocked him lightly. “But when a girl is as much in love as I am, she finds ways. Private investigators are expensive, but they are also effective.”

  “Well, you’re leaving here and now. Come on!” ordered Jonathan.

  “Oh, the Judge has said I can stay for a day or two until I rest up from my long trip,” she cooed sweetly. “It was a very hard trip, Jonny darling, and I’m simply exhausted. And I do hope dinner will be ready soon. I’m starved.”

  She turned her limpid gaze on the Judge, and somehow, Cherry could not quite see how, she managed to look young and defenseless and pathetic.

  The Judge met her eyes for a moment, and then he glanced at Jonathan and said, “We can’t turn her out at this hour of the night, Jonny, without her dinner. I’m sure she’ll be quite willing to leave tomorrow. You go wash up for dinner. It’ll be ready in a few minutes.”

  Jonathan glared at Sandra, who looked back at him with a faint smile. And then he turned and stalked up the stairs, passing Loyce.

  Jonathan paused for a moment beside her and said huskily, “I woul
dn’t have had this happen for the world, Loyce. Please believe me.”

  Loyce merely drew back to allow him to pass and averted her head. For just a moment Jonathan looked at her, and then he went on up the stairs.

  The big front door swung open to admit Job, who came like a breath of fresh air into the super-charged atmosphere. Instantly he sensed the tension and stood uncertainly until Cherry came to greet him.

  “Come in, Job, and meet our new guest,” said Cherry. She tucked her hand through his arm and drew him forward. “Miss Elliott — isn’t that what Jonny called you?”

  Sandra lifted blue eyes that were smoky with suppressed anger but that lightened somewhat as she saw the lean sun-tanned young man who stood beside Cherry.

  “I’m Sandra Elliott,” Sandra answered, and gave Job a dazzling smile. “And who are you?”

  Cherry said quietly, “Job, this is Sandra Elliott, Sandra, Job Tallent, my fiancé.”

  Job and the Judge both looked startled. Job looked down at Cherry, and his arm, through which her hand was tucked, tightened and drew her closer to him.

  Sandra raised her eyebrows slightly, and her laugh was little more than a soft chuckle.

  “Serving notice on me, are you?” she mocked. “Putting up a sign, ‘This man is mine, so hands off’?”

  Without giving Cherry a chance to answer, she looked up at Job.

  “My word, but you are a big one, aren’t you?” she cooed sweetly. “Job? Do you have the patience of?”

  Job, somewhat dazzled by her charms, laughed. “Well, I’m afraid not. It’s a hard name to live up to. But I’m delighted to meet you, Miss Elliott.”

  “Oh, do call me Sandra,” she purred, and Cherry ached to slap her as she gave Job the full benefit of her lovely smile. “When people call me ‘Miss Elliott,’ I’m afraid they are bill collectors and I’ve overlooked paying them.”