Romance Classics (113 page)

Cherry made an effort to wipe her mind clean of last night’s memories and said gaily, “Nothing except the problem of fitting eight guests into six guest rooms; and being sure there are plenty of guides available, not only to show the best fishing spots but to rescue and locate those who are so sure they don’t need a guide that they are certain to get lost. And there’s always one guest who forgets to bring his fishing tackle and expects us to furnish it; and then there’s the matter of ‘flies’ that have to be especially tied to suit some finicky Izaak Walton!”

The Judge nodded and managed a smile. “Oh, well, you’ll cope. You always do.”

“Thanks, pal. A vote of confidence is always appreciated,” she told him, and dropped a light kiss on his cheek as he went out to check on the various things that must be in order to maintain the Lodge’s reputation and justify its very high rates.

The week-end passed without too many complications. On Monday morning, when the last guest had departed, Cherry could relax with the feeling that she had done a good job. It would be five days before there would be another invasion of week-end guests, and she could sit down and worry about her own problems.

Suddenly she turned from the verandah where she had been lingering since the last guest departed and went back into the house. At her desk in the den, she lifted the telephone receiver, called the ranger station and a moment later was talking to Job.

“Well, hi, there,” Job greeted her happily. “I’m that touched that you’d pitch me a thought.”

“I’ve just come up for air after a crowded week-end, pal,” Cherry told him with a surface gaiety that was fairly convincing, at least over the telephone, “and I feel a vast need for entertainment. Would you have any ideas in mind?”

“Lots of them,” Job told her. “But they’re not to be discussed over the telephone, especially with so many eavesdroppers on the line. Hear the clicks?”

“Oh, well, people who have nothing better to do than eavesdrop on my conversations with you are welcome to listen.”

“I resent that,” said Job huffily. “How about conversations with other guys? Do you mind if they listen in on those?”

“What other guys?” Cherry asked, and felt her spirits rise slightly. Job, how would you like to take me to the movies tonight?”

“Monday night? Shoot-’em night? I thought you didn’t like the ‘bang-bangs.’”

“I don’t, usually. But tonight I think it might be fun to eat popcorn and help the good guys head the bad guys off at the pass,” Cherry told him. “Could you get somebody to take over for you tonight? I know it isn’t your night off, but, Job — please?”

“Honey, when you say it like that, I’d quit the job and kick the boss in the teeth and set a few fires myself,” said Job softly. “See you at seven, Baby.”

“Thanks, Job.” Her voice shook slightly.

“Hey,” Job’s voice was sharp, “are you crying?”

“Good grief, no! What’s to cry about?”

“Well, that’s better,” said Job, and she could hear the relief in his tone. “See you at seven then.”

“Make it six-thirty and have dinner with us,” she invited.

“I thought you’d never ask me.” He laughed.

She turned away from the telephone, smiling to herself. Job was a dear. He was mountain folks, as she was. She’d have a good life with Job; they understood each other, and life would be pretty wonderful. And wasn’t she the world’s prize idiot to go around with her chin dragging on the ground just because a good-looking city slicker had put his arms about her and then told her he had no intention of falling in love with her!

She made herself get up and go briskly about her business.

She and the Judge were alone for lunch. When Mrs. Mitchell came in with a big platter of vegetables and a bowl of chicken and dumplings, she announced that Jonathan had asked that a lunch be packed and had said he would not be back until dinner time.

“Chicken and dumplings!” The Judge beamed happily. “That looks mighty good after a week-end of trout, doesn’t it?”

“Don’t let the guests ever hear you say that, Judge.” Mrs. Mitchell chuckled. “That’s a mighty fine rule you made that they can’t catch more than they can eat while they’re up here. If you hadn’t, they’d have toted off every trout in the stream years ago. I had to give that fellow from Savannah what-for because he brought one back that was underweight. He swore it weighed just enough, and I made him watch me while I weighed it. And then Eben explained to him that if we let folks catch and keep the little fellers, there wouldn’t be any big ones to catch next year. City folks sure are dumb, ain’t they, Judge?”

“In some ways, Muv, in some ways,” the Judge agreed, a twinkle in his eyes.

“In a heap o’ ways, if you ask me, Judge,” she told him, and marched out.

“I know it’s unkind, but let’s hope that Jonathan doesn’t have too much luck with his fishing. I don’t feel I could possibly face another fish dinner tonight,” he suggested.

“I’ve been doing some thinking, Gran’sir,” said Cherry. “Why don’t we just let the guests eat in here and fix up a family room, maybe part of the kitchen or even a place in the den, where we can eat what we like while the guests gorge themselves on their catches?”

“It’s a tempting thought,” the Judge agreed. “But I’m afraid our guests would think we were cheating them of the family atmosphere and the hospitality that they feel they’re entitled to at the rates they pay.”

“I suppose they would.” Cherry smiled at him. “Do
you
ever feel we are gypping them, Gran’sir, with our rates?”

“Certainly not.” The Judge frowned, and she saw that he was genuinely resentful. “Get that silly idea out of your head immediately. They are given the very best facilities: a trout stream stocked with the finest rainbow trout in this part of the country; a place where they have every possible comfort. They are being given everything their rates entitle them to!”

“Yes, sir, yes, sir, begging your pardon, sir, I’m that sorry,” Cherry offered a mock apology. “It’s just that now and then when I present a bill, somebody screams as if his arm were being twisted and yells that we’re overcharging him.”

“I hope,” the Judge frowned austerely, “that you put a black mark against that man’s name and the next time he wants to make a reservation you tell him we’re booked up.”

“Oh, I do, I do.” Cherry chuckled. “It’s just that I’ve always lived up here, and I have no idea what rates at good hotels are. But you’re the boss, lamb. Whatever you say goes.”

Mollified, the Judge returned to his lunch, and Cherry said lightly, “Too bad Jonny missed lunch. But then if he wants chicken and dumplings for dinner, Muv will see he gets them.”

The Judge nodded. “She likes Jonathan,” he agreed.

“Do you, Gran’sir?” asked Cherry.

The Judge’s bushy white brows went up slightly in surprise.

“Of course,” he answered as though puzzled she should ask such a question. “Don’t you?”

“Oh, yes, I like him,” Cherry said hurriedly, and did not quite meet his eyes. “You don’t think there is anything shady in his background?”

The Judge was studying her with surprised amusement.

“Well, quite possibly there may be,” he replied. “I think it’s unlikely that any man would reach the age of twenty-five or so without some shadiness in his background. It’s in the nature of the male animal to do something along the way that he’s ashamed of later on, like maybe getting a speeding ticket or getting into a drunken brawl when he’s had four or five over the limit; maybe even pilfering from the petty cash box to put a fiver on the races.”

“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.”