Romance Classics (106 page)
“I was trying very hard to be strong, I suppose, for your sake,” Curt confessed humbly. “And then I saw those two kids, facing nobody can be quite sure what, knowing that tomorrow may bring terrible things, and yet determined to go ahead and be together, to face whatever may come, and I realized how much I loved you and that with you in my arms, I wouldn’t give a damn what tomorrow might bring!”
“Well, it’s about time you were realizing that,” Claire scolded him unsteadily. “I’ve known it for a long time.”
“Have you, now?” The mockery was tender, inescapable. “What about last night and this morning?”
Her hand went up swiftly and covered his lips, silencing him.
“They never happened,” she told him firmly. “We’re beginning right now, from this very moment. We’re reaching for tomorrow — lots and lots of tomorrows — all of them filled with happiness because we’ll reach for them together!”
She lifted her face for his eager, ardent kiss, and, held close in his arms, very softly whispered, “Together! Isn’t that a lovely word? Together for all the tomorrows. Oh, Curt, I love you so!”
He made no answer in words, but the pressure of his mouth on hers, his arms holding her close and hard against him so she could feel the eager tumult of his heart against her own, were all the answer she would ever want.
This edition published by
Crimson Romance
an imprint of F+W Media, Inc.
10151 Carver Road, Suite 200
Blue Ash, Ohio 45242
Copyright © 1960 by Arcadia House; renewed 1988 by Peggy Gaddis
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, corporations, institutions, organizations, events, or locales in this novel are either the product of the author’s imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. The resemblance of any character to actual persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.
ISBN 10: 1-4405-7505-3
ISBN 13: 978-1-4405-7505-1
eISBN 10: 1-4405-7506-1
eISBN 13: 978-1-4405-7506-8
Cover art © istock.com/WhitneyLewisPhotography
Peggy Gaddis
Avon, Massachusetts
Chapter One.
Cherry Bramblett stood on the station platform with a pleasant smile pinned to her young face as the two portly, middle-aged men clambered aboard the train, laden with their fishing paraphernalia, leaving Crossways Lodge reluctantly after a week-end crammed to the final hour with pleasure.
The train pulled out with the two men still on the steps, waving, calling assurances that they would return very soon. When at last they had gone, Cherry turned away and drew a deep breath of relief. Always every week-end there were one or two guests who arrived by train instead of driving up from Atlanta as most of them did. Each weekend she met those two or three and each Monday morning she drove them back to the station.
As she moved toward the waiting car to return to the Lodge, the station agent called to her and came out from the office:
“Wait a minute, Miss Cherry.”
“Oh, hello, Tom. How are Grace and the children?” Cherry smiled at him.
The raw-boned man revealed discolored teeth.
“The boy’s pindlin’, Miss Cherry, but I reckon he’ll be fine soon’s schools out,” he answered, and jerked a thumb over his shoulder toward the waiting room. “Fellow here come down on the train says he wants to go to Crossways. I told him I’d see would you take him.”
The man had emerged from the waiting room now and was coming toward them with swift strides. He was well above medium height, and he had an air of anxiety that puzzled Cherry.
“Miss Bramblett, this here fellow says he’s Jonathan Gayle, from up Chicago way,” Tom presented the man, and walked away with the air of one who had done his duty and now washed his hands of the whole business.
“I understand you operate Crossways Lodge, Miss Bramblett,” said Jonathan Gayle. “I’d like to spend a few weeks there on vacation.”
Cherry looked him over with a swift appraisal that took note of his pleasantly unobtrusive good looks, his dark hair, his troubled eyes.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Gayle, but we only accept guests with previous reservations who have been carefully screened as to references,” Cherry told him quietly, making no effort to soften the baldness of her words. “And you don’t have a reservation.”
“But surely, Miss Bramblett, if I supply you with references and pay for telegrams to check on them, you could make an exception. The men you put aboard the train should have left a vacancy.”
Cherry was puzzled by his insistence, and as she studied him she saw a faint touch of red in his gaunt cheeks.
“Miss Bramblett, more than anything in the world I want to meet your grandfather, Judge Gavin Bramblett,” Jonathan admitted frankly.
Cherry stiffened slightly and her eyes cooled.
“If you have some sort of legal problem you want to discuss with Gran’sir, Mr. Gayle, he has retired from the practice of law,” she told him. “There are a couple of very good lawyers in Mountain City.”
Jonathan’s grin was thin-lipped and without mirth.
“There are three of them now,” he told her. “That is, if I may make so bold as to call myself a very good lawyer. I’ve put in a number of years trying to be one.”
“Then why should you want to meet Gran’sir?” Cherry asked.
“Because I admire him intensely,” Jonathan answered earnestly. “I have read a number of his decisions; I’ve heard a lot about him. I think perhaps his advice might help me to make a very important decision about my own future in law. Besides, I badly need a vacation and I love fishing. So how about it, Miss Bramblett?”
“Well, I don’t know.” Cherry hesitated, touched in spite of herself by the man’s plea. “Gran’sir was badly hurt a few years ago in a hunting accident. He is confined to a wheel chair, and my sister and I try to see to it that he is not disturbed or upset.”
“I promise not to do anything that could possibly upset him,” Jonathan assured her. “I’ll just fish and loaf and pick up any pearls of wisdom he may let fall. And I’m sure there will be plenty of them. He’s that kind of man.”
Cherry was scowling in bewilderment.
“To hear you talk, one would think Gran’sir was another Clarence Darrow,” she protested.
“To my mind, his is one of the most brilliant legal minds in the country, and I am hoping very sincerely that he will write a book for the guidance of young lawyers just getting a toe hold in the profession,” Jonathan told her eagerly. “We all go into it with a lot of high ideals that sort of get tarnished as we go along. I know that Judge Bramblett’s book would keep the ideals bright and shining. Nobody wants to follow a profession that takes shabby little detours now and then. You always want to believe that your client is innocent, and sometimes when the fees are very large you let yourself think that he is; and then after you’ve got him free, something happens to convince you that he wasn’t.”
Cherry nodded soberly.
“I can understand that,” she admitted. “My father fought his heart out to clear a man of a murder charge. He was convinced right down to the very last that the man’s alibi had been proven and that he was in the clear. And then afterwards when my father was crusading to clean up the town where we lived, he discovered his client, whom he had got off scot-free, was as guilty as sin. The client’s henchmen shot and killed my father because he wouldn’t stop trying to clean up the town.”
“I’m sorry,” said Jonathan gently. “But you do understand why it is so important for me at least to meet the Judge. May I?”
“Yes,” said Cherry. “Drive back with me and stay the night, and then we’ll see. You may not want to spend your vacation at Crossways after you’ve seen the place, though you’ll find Gran’sir everything and even more than you expect. He’s just about the greatest!”
“Of course.” Jonathan seemed to think that was an unnecessary tribute. “And it’s very kind of you to allow me to meet him. It’s a great privilege.”
Cherry studied him for a moment, and then she chuckled disarmingly.
“That should make any further question of references unnecessary as far as you’re concerned,” she said mockingly as she led the way to the car.
As Jonathan was stowing away his bag and his fishing gear, another car slid to the edge of the parking apron and a tall, sun-tanned, powerful-looking young man leaped out and came hurrying to greet Cherry.
“Hi, there, Cherry! I had a hunch when I woke up this morning that something nice was going to happen to me, and now it has,” he told her happily.
“Hello, Job.” Cherry smiled at him so warmly that Jonathan looked swiftly from her to the tall young man. “This is Mr. Gayle, who is going up to the Lodge to meet Gran’sir. Mr. Gayle, this is Job Tallent. He’s with the forestry service.”
The two men shook hands, each taking the other’s measure.
“Planning to be here long, Mr. Gayle?” asked Job politely.
Jonathan smiled disarmingly.
“That depends on Miss Bramblett,” he answered. “If I can assure her I’m a respectable citizen and not likely to do some foul deed, I hope to spend a vacation at the Lodge.”
“He’s a lawyer and wants to meet Gran’sir,” Cherry explained.
“Well, naturally,” Job agreed. “Who wouldn’t? The Judge is one of the area’s most beloved citizens.”
“And famous all over the country,” Jonathan said quietly.
Cherry and Job stared at him in obvious surprise.
“Oh, come now,” Cherry protested. “Flattery’s all very well, but how could Gran’sir be so famous and his own family not know about it?”
“If he wasn’t, how would I be likely to hear about him in Chicago?” asked Jonathan quietly.
Job laughed. “He’s got you there, Cherry. The Judge traveled a lot before his accident, remember? You were too young to know much about the cases he worked on. I’ve heard that if it hadn’t been for the accident, the Judge could have had a long and colorful career in politics; probably have wound up in Washington, or even overseas.”
Cherry looked from one to the other and shook her head.
“What’s that about a prophet being without honor in his own country? Gran’sir’s been holding out on me,” she said. “I’ll have to have a talk with the man! Shall we get started, Mr. Gayle?”
“By all means,” said Jonathan, and once more shook hands with Job and got into the car.
“See you at seven, Cherry?” asked Job. “It’s ‘romance night’ at the movies, remember?”
“Oh, so it is.” Cherry grinned impishly. “Come to the Lodge for dinner, Job, and we’ll take off from there.”
Job returned her grin, and there was a twinkle in his blue eyes.
“It never fails,” he told Jonathan in the tone of a conspirator. “I invite her to ‘romance night’ at the movies and she invites me to dinner at the Lodge.”
“Sounds like a very good deal,” Jonathan agreed.
“Our local movie plays Westerns and ‘shoot ‘em-ups’ five nights a week and then on Monday night they cater to the more romantic-minded,” Job confided, and turned his eyes to Cherry with a look that brought color to her lovely face. “See you at six-thirty then, Cherry.”
He stepped back and lifted his hand as Cherry started the car and drove out along the town’s one main street that led to the mountains.
Jonathan took off his hat and tipped his head back to breathe deeply of the crisp, fresh air. Cherry stole a glance at him, but the road required all of her skill and attention, and she did not look again until they had come out of a dense growth of pines to a sort of shelf above the valley. There she brought the car to a halt. When Jonathan looked at her she grinned and spread her hands, palms upward.
“Betsy’s breathing place,” she explained. “On the way up I always stop here to let the dear girl catch her breath so she won’t become overheated from the climb.”
