Intrigue a la Mode (A Harvey House Brides Novella)

Regina Jennings

Description

Willow finds herself drawn to the hotel's new busboy, Graham, but little does she know he's a railroad heir working undercover to track down criminals using his trains. As he sets out to find the truth, another truth soon becomes equally urgent--will the Harvey Girl he has come to love care for the railroad heir as much as she cared for the lowly busboy?

Informations

• Publié par: Baker Publishing Group
• Date de parution: 31 mars 2020
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781493417131
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 1 Mo

Extrait

Cover
Books by Regina Jennings
L ADIES OF C ALDWELL C OUNTY
Sixty Acres and a Bride
Love in the Balance
Caught in the Middle
O ZARK M OUNTAIN R OMANCE S ERIES
A Most Inconvenient Marriage
At Love’s Bidding
For the Record
T HE F ORT R ENO S ERIES
Holding the Fort
The Lieutenant’s Bargain
The Major’s Daughter
An Unforeseen Match
featured in the novella collection A Match Made in Texas
Her Dearly Unintended
featured in the novella collection With This Ring?
Bound and Determined
featured in the novella collection Hearts Entwined
Intrigue a la Mode
featured in the novella collection Serving Up Love
Title Page
Copyright Page
© 2019 by Regina Jennings
Published by Bethany House Publishers
11400 Hampshire Avenue South
Bloomington, Minnesota 55438
www.bethanyhouse.com
Bethany House Publishers is a division of
Baker Publishing Group, Grand Rapids, Michigan
www.bakerpublishinggroup.com
Ebook edition created 2020
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data for Serving Up Love is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.
ISBN 978-1-4934-1713-1
Scripture quotations are from the King James Version of the Bible.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, incidents, and dialogues are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Cover design by Koechel Peterson & Associates, Inc., Minneapolis, Minnesota/Jon Godfredson
Contents
Cover
Books by Regina Jennings
Title Page
Copyright Page
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
Epilogue
Coming December 2020
About the Author
Back Ads
Chapter One

E MPORIA , K ANSAS 1898
The breakfast rush had ended, and Willow Kentworth had already reset her station. There was nothing to do now except patrol her table and guard against horseflies dying on the starched tablecloth or lilies wilting in the crystal vase. Raised in a household of shabby gentility, Willow wasn’t used to such finery. She knew that linens and silver weren’t needed for a good meal. The tattered cushions on the chairs at her mother’s kitchen table in Joplin were more comfortable than the polished mahogany in the Harvey House dining room. The honeysuckle from their garden wall smelled sweeter than the lilies.
Willow felt her crooked smile emerging as she repositioned a glass. Sour grapes, that was what she was tasting. As if she’d ever have mahogany chairs and china plates. It was just as well to decide now that she didn’t need them, she reckoned. No use in cultivating envy, Granny Laura would say to her and her innumerable cousins. Still, her job was important. Controlling every aspect of her table ensured that she kept her job and that her family would get another wire of funds from her. The bread box would be filled, and Mother would get the medicine she needed.
Reaching behind her, Willow felt for the double buttons at the back of her apron, making sure they were still securely fastened. Her puffy sleeves accentuated her slender waist, so she fluffed them once more. Dressed in her Harvey House uniform, she didn’t have to apologize for the state of her wardrobe. When she put on the uniform, she was only judged by her performance, and no one could fault her there.
“Stop preening, Willow.” Etta Mae scurried by while adjusting the hairnet that held her thick braids. “You look perfect.”
No one could fault her besides Etta Mae.
Before Willow could answer, the booming sound of a wooden mallet on bronze set the room abuzz. Outside, a busboy was beating the daylights out of the poor gong. Four miles away. That was how much time they had before the train arrived. Time Willow didn’t need, but one could never be too careful when trying to uphold the Harvey Standard.
A telegraph had arrived with news of the next train—thirty-eight passengers for the dining room and eighteen for the lunch counter. On cue, plates of fresh fruit appeared on the serving counter, already counted for the expected guests.
Willow weaved between tables to reach them. Taking two plates at a time, she glided effortlessly in the manner she had learned at the Kansas City employment office. Placing the fruit plates on the table, she frowned at a water spot on a salad fork, but when she rubbed it, she realized it was only the reflection of the crystal glass that had caught her eye.
“Excuse me, ladies.” Mrs. Sykes’s dulcet voice floated across the dining room, stopping every girl in her tracks. “Remember, we only have twenty minutes to serve our guests. In that time, their experience must be perfect. Whatever cares and concerns you have are of no importance now. The only thing that matters is your customer. Make this moment the best moment of their journey.”
Willow fought the urge to smooth back her blond hair. Mrs. Sykes, proudly wearing the black gown of the head waitress, gave some variation of the same speech every meal, and every meal Willow did her best to conform to the Harvey Standard. Whatever new regulations Mrs. Sykes could invent, Willow could match. It was a source of pride for her.
The roar of the train came through the heavy drapes as she carried her last fruit plates to the table. Taking her place against the wall, Willow clasped her hands in front of her and smiled serenely. From the chandeliers to the crystal goblets, the room sparkled. The smell of roasted, milk-fed chicken meant that the main course would soon be on the plates. Everything was ready.
And then the people came.
As usual, the girls in the back of the room offered the first greetings to draw the crowds farther in, keeping the front seats for the latecomers. Willow stayed against the wall until the appropriate number of travelers had passed, and then stepped forward to offer them seats at her table. She took account of her guests, trying to predict what special requests they might have. A young mother pulled out a chair for her little son before collapsing into her own with a baby on her lap. Extra napkins. Willow would bring some on her next pass.
An elderly couple took two seats, but they seemed to be strangers to the mother. Two professional men and a young couple finished out her table.
“Tea, iced tea, coffee, or milk?” Willow asked.
“Iced tea for me, please,” the mother said. “A cup of milk for him and, if you don’t mind, could I get some milk in the baby bottle? He just emptied it, but we’ll need more for the trip.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Willow took the glass bottle after the mother had removed the nipple, then continued around the table, moving the goblets into the correct positions. The location of the glass told Billie, the other waitress at her table, what drink to fill it with—another of Mr. Harvey’s wondrous time-saving techniques. Once she’d finished positioning the glasses, Willow waited with the empty bottle until Billie had finished filling the glasses on the table.
“Can you get this before you put the milk back?” she whispered.
Billie snatched the bottle with a nod. “Don’t want a fussy baby. It’ll disrupt the whole table.”
“Stop it.” The mother reached under the table to squeeze the leg of her son while the baby dangled half off her lap. “You’re rattling the table.” She rolled her eyes at Willow. “I probably should’ve let him run around the depot platform and skipped dinner. I don’t know how he’s going to sit still all the way to—”
The horrifying sound of crystal against china set Willow’s teeth on edge. The boy had lurched across the table to reach for the lilies and knocked over his glass of milk. Quickly, Willow snatched napkins from an unused table to toss over the spreading tide.
“Mind your dresses,” she warned her guests. “I’ll go for a towel.”
But before she could depart, the mother jumped up and thrust the baby into Willow’s arms. Jerking the boy up by the wrist, the mother hissed, “That’s the last straw, young man. You’re due a whipping.”
“But, ma’am . . .” Willow arranged the baby on her hip. “Ma’am, I have to serve. . . .”
But the mother wasn’t listening. Yanking her son along, she busted through the front doors and disappeared.
Willow scanned the dining room for help. Mrs. Sykes’s face was ashen. This was not the Harvey Standard. The baby hiccupped in her arms.
“Eww,” one of the men at the table said.
A warm, wet slime cruised down Willow’s hand.
“Oh no. Please, no,” she said. The baby had erupted all over the front of her apron and down her hand, even running beneath her sleeve. Willow looked toward the door, but the mother had vanished. Billie was mopping up the spilt milk, having returned with the bottle, but Willow couldn’t help with a baby in her arms, much less serve in a soiled apron. “Cover for me,” she whispered to Billie.
“For the whole table? And what should we do about the tablecloth? There isn’t time—”
“I’ll be back.” With head held high and baby held at arm’s length, Willow glided out of the dining room. She could feel Mrs. Sykes’s eyes on her, but she didn’t falter. If she could find the mother in a hurry, she could run upstairs and get a fresh apron.
Right outside the doors and in the heat of the steaming engine, the mother knelt before the shamefaced little boy. The lecture must have been going well, but Willow didn’t have time for it to reach a natural conclusion. “I’m sorry, but . . .”
The mother took the baby with a frown. “I’d completely forgotten about Rayland. Good grief. I told my husband I couldn’t make this trip without him. Do you have his bottle?”
His bottle? Willow was more concerned about getting upstairs and into a clean uniform before Billie missed her. “It’s on the table inside,” she said. “If you’ll excuse me.”