by Janet Dean
Abigail’s hand sought the slender chain around her neck that held the tiny gold ring Pa had bought the day she was born. He’d called her his baby girl…until everything changed. Pa most of all.
Rachel rose on her tiptoes and searched the park. “Is Leon at the bank?”
“He’ll be here before the bidding starts.”
“Guaranteeing your lunch will be snapped up,” Rachel moaned. “I’ve got to find Papa before he humiliates me.” She gave Abigail a hug then scurried off in search of her father.
Mr. Fisher adored his daughter. Rachel didn’t appreciate what she had. But then, Abigail hadn’t either until she’d lost it.
Oscar Moore motioned her over to the gazebo. “What triggered that scrap between the Roger and Collier boys?”
“Betty Jo Weaver.”
“Should’a known.” His face crinkled in a grin. “You gotta be grateful school’s out and you’re free as a bird.”
In reality, Abigail had eight mouths to feed. The fire made her search for a job difficult, as those who’d lost everything scrambled for additional income, all vying for the few available openings. “This bird is looking for a summer cage. If you hear of a job, let me know.”
“Reckon something’ll turn up iffen you pray about it.”
She’d prayed about it, but wouldn’t sit idly by when God had given her a good brain and the education to help herself.
“Well, time to get this here show on the road.” Oscar lumbered up the gazebo steps, slipped two fingers in his mouth, releasing a shrill whistle that quieted the crowd. “Reckon you all know why we’re here,” he called out. “Let’s plan on going home with full bellies and empty wallets. Show those folks, who lost everything, that we not only care, we share.” He pumped a pudgy fist. “Are you ready?”
A cheer rose from the throng. A huge grin spread across Oscar’s plump face, swallowing up his eyes.
The community had pitched in to help, exactly as Abigail would expect. Single women put up their box lunches to the highest bidder while married ladies handled the bake sale, offering pies, cakes and cookies, along with iced tea and lemonade, at tables already lined with buyers.
After explaining the rules, the auction began. Oscar accepted a bid made by the blushing box owner’s beaming suitor who opened his wallet and withdrew bills. “The best money I ever spent,” he said, handing the cash to Oscar.
At his side, his young love giggled. “I’m a terrible cook.”
“When I can feast my eyes on you, Lora Lee, I don’t care what I eat,” he vowed, taking the box and offering his arm.
“You’ll change your mind about that, sonny, when your belly meets your backbone,” someone quipped.
Those within hearing distance chuckled. The suitor merely gave a goofy grin. Abigail couldn’t remember seeing such adoration in anyone’s eyes. Not that she wanted what they appeared to have. Her teaching contract forbade her to marry. Fine with her—especially now. She desperately needed that job.
As Oscar held up another offering, this one wrapped in toile and covered with tiny silk flowers, Abigail’s gaze traveled down the block to where six empty lots left a cavernous gap on the tree-lined street, as unsightly as missing incisors in a mouth full of teeth.
Her sister Lois’s family had crowded into the apartment over the bank with Abigail and her mother. Cozy hardly described four adults, four active boys and a newborn baby crammed into four tiny rooms.
Laid up with a broken leg and arm, injuries Joe sustained falling down the stairs while escaping the fire, her brother-in-law could barely get around, much less work.
Oscar raised a beribboned package to his nose. “A whiff of this lunch suggests roast beef with horseradish. Who’ll give five dollars?” A hand shot up. “Yip! I’ve got five. Who’ll give six?”
A nod.
“Yip!” Oscar turned back to the first bidder. “Do I hear seven?”
If this spirited bidding continued, the auction would raise enough money to purchase the building supplies. Every able-bodied man in town had volunteered their labor. They’d cleared the debris. But with none of the modest houses insured, the burned-out homeowners needed assistance.
One man could handle the loss with a mere nod of his head, but George Cummings did nothing unless he benefited. What else could she expect from the ruthless banker who’d brought about her father’s death?
A nudge of conscience reminded her that the senior Cummings had burned his hands fighting the fire and no doubt suffered. But then, hadn’t he brought suffering to others often enough?
Leon Fitch stepped to Abigail’s side. Tall and thin, a thatch of russet hair parted in the middle, Leon rested gentle hazel eyes on hers. Not like the intense, unsettling eyes of that rogue across the way.
“Sorry I’m late,” he said slightly out of breath. “Right before closing time folks lined up to withdraw money for the auction. I haven’t missed your lunch, have I?”
Abigail assured him he hadn’t.
For several months, Leon had escorted her to an occasional dance and church social. Not that she’d call their outings courting. Leon was far too deliberate to take such a momentous step in haste. Their companionable relationship suited her. She wasn’t looking for love.
As they watched, two more boxes sold, one for eight dollars, the other for ten. Rachel’s lunch came next.
Across the way, Abigail’s friend stood beside her father, her hand rested on his arm as if to ensure he wouldn’t bid. Rachel needn’t have worried. Two men vied for the privilege of sharing her lunch. Jeremy Owens, the owner of the livery, and Harrison Carder, the new lawyer in town, a Harvard friend of Wade Cummings.
One glance at Wade and her heart lost its rhythm. A sudden longing rose up inside of her. Refusing to ponder the absurd reaction, she forced her attention back to the bidding.
The attorney won the bid at nine dollars. Rachel beamed while her father looked bewildered, as if he couldn’t fathom his little girl stirring the interest of a man.
Oscar held aloft a box she recognized as hers by the blue-and-white checked cloth and red bow. She’d packed a hearty lunch for two of crispy fried chicken, golden biscuits, bread-and-butter pickles, potato salad, deviled eggs and slabs of blackberry cobbler, all Leon’s favorites.
And not a single bite of strawberry pie.
Oscar inhaled. “Just take a whiff of this, gents. I’d say whoever wins the bid is in for a feast of fried chicken. Who’ll give me five?”
“Is that yours?” Leon whispered. “It’s red, white and blue like you said.”
At her nod, Leon raised his hand, fingers spread wide.
Oscar pointed at Leon, taking his bid.
Abigail shot him a smile. Not the highest bid today but generous. Especially for a man who kept a firm grip on every dollar.
A smug expression on his face, Leon leaned back on his heels. “I know the contents will be worth the cost.”
“It’s for a good cause.”
With a grin, he patted his flat abdomen. “That too, but at the moment, my stomach wins hands down.”
“Who’ll give six?” Oscar called.
“Ten dollars!”
Abigail spun to the speaker, her heart slamming into her throat then plunging to the pit of her stomach with the weight of a boulder.
Wade leaned against a gaslight lamppost, loose limbed, his expression unreadable on his Stetson-shadowed face.
A face she’d like to slap.
How dare he ridicule her in front of the entire town? Why did he bid? What did he want?
Oscar whirled to Leon, seeking a raise in the bid.
Beside her, Leon huffed. “Eleven dollars,” he said in a voice that croaked, as if he might do the same.
Wade straightened, his gaze pinning Leon as if he were a frog in a science experiment. “Twenty-five.”
“Well, praise be!” Oscar hooted. “If that ain’t a bid that’d curl a pig’s tail.”
Around her folks murmured, a few chuckled nervous
ly, aware no Cummings and Wilson shared a conversation, much less a meal.
Ever. Well, almost ever.
Abigail folded her arms across her torso and glared at Wade. Surely he had no intention of actually eating the food she’d prepared.
With her.
Not when their families had been at loggerheads for eons. Not when they’d never communicated more than a look in years. Until today.
“Leon, this here’s your chance to be one of them knights in shining armor. Are you going to twenty-six?”
Abigail met Leon’s baffled gaze. Why didn’t he raise the bid? Surely he could see the entreaty in her eyes. Would he turn her over to Wade?
Leon shoved his hat down and kept his mouth nailed shut. Obviously she wasn’t worth such an exorbitant sum. Her heart skipped a beat. Not to him.
Or perhaps Leon feared losing his job. The Cummingses owned much of the town, including the bank where Leon worked. Heat filled her veins. She wouldn’t put such malice past a Cummings.
“I’ve got twenty-five. Do I hear twenty-six? Twenty-six?” Oscar chanted, scanning the throng. As if anyone else in town had the wherewithal to match the bid. “Going, going, gone. Sold!” Oscar beamed. “Wade Cummings paid twenty-five dollars for the privilege of sharing lunch with the young lady who prepared it. Reckon with Leon bidding we all know that’s Abigail Wilson.”
Around her a few people clapped but far more spoke behind their hands. Everyone was aware of the feud and did what they could to keep the Wilsons and Cummingses apart. Agnes sat them in opposite corners of her café like prize fighters in a ring. Tellers at the bank opened a new window rather than let Wade and Abigail wait in the same line. At church the families occupied pews on far sides of the sanctuary.
Before Abigail had left the one-room schoolhouse for a position in the high school and Wade’s sister Regina and her husband had moved away, rumor had it George Cummings would refuse to let his future grandchildren sit in Abigail’s class.
As if she’d take out the bad blood between their families on innocent children, real or imaginary.
She gulped. Wade was no child, far from innocent and nowhere close to imaginary.
He took out his billfold and handed the money over to Elizabeth Logan, the pastor’s wife and president of New Harmony’s Ladies’ Club, the woman responsible for organizing the fundraiser and pretty much everything else in town. Whatever Elizabeth got involved in flourished. The feisty blonde had made a huge difference since she’d arrived at the depot two years ago to marry Ted Logan, a total stranger.
Abigail admired Elizabeth and wanted to help her sister’s family and the others who’d lost everything in the fire. But nothing could make her eat one bite of food with that man.
With long strides Wade sauntered to the gazebo, took the box Oscar handed down, his bicep bulging beneath the white shirt he wore, then strode toward her, his eyes locking with hers. Her insides quaked like the leaves on an aspen tree, but she lifted her chin, refusing to look away.
Leon slinked off, leaving her to fend for herself. Not that she needed him—or anyone—to fight her battles.
But as Wade moved closer, she recalled from history that retreat was sometimes the best strategy in battle.
Determined to escape, she held up her skirts and dashed toward the park’s entrance. The sound of footsteps propelled her on, raising the hair on her neck and drawing laughter from the onlookers.
She’d never outrun him.
Chapter Two
One glance over Abigail’s shoulder confirmed Wade’s long legs had swallowed the distance between them. Apparently this skirmish required hand-to-hand combat. She whipped around and faced him.
Wade swept the Stetson off his head, his brown sun-streaked hair gleaming. “I paid a princely sum for the privilege of sharing your lunch. Surely you don’t mean to refuse my bid.”
Her hands knotted at her sides. The urge to throw a punch slid through her. Gracious, she was conducting herself like Seth and Paul. Lord, help me hold the reins on my temper.
Composed, she met Wade’s gaze, a gaze sparkling with humor. She shot up her chin. If he found this standoff amusing, she’d use the tone reserved for disorderly students. That is, if she consented to speak at all.
“A sum that will benefit your family, I might add.” His indigo eyes issued a challenge. “Mrs. Logan won’t take kindly to reneging on your word.”
“Elizabeth will understand I couldn’t possibly share my lunch with a Cummings.”
“Is the prospect of joining me for one meal in the comfort of a shade tree that terrible? When your sister’s family and five others in town will benefit?”
Her gaze darted to the six empty lots. Wade knew exactly how to manipulate her, had from the beginning, roping her in with his phony interest then discarding her with the malice of a cold-blooded rattler.
Cecil Moore, his knobby hands looped around his red suspenders, edged between them. “You ain’t looking none too happy about these here proceedings, Miss Abigail. Reckon you know putting your box up for auction is same as promising to eat with the highest bidder.” He jerked a thumb, strap and all, toward her nemesis. “That means Wade here. Don’t you worry none. I’ll keep an eye peeled. See he treats you proper.”
Abigail sighed. What choice did she have? Cecil was right. Hadn’t she said much the same to Seth and Paul? That the highest bidder deserved to share Betty Jo’s lunch. She’d go through the motions, but wouldn’t surrender, wouldn’t eat a bite with the enemy.
She thanked Cecil, assuring him she didn’t need his protection. Then cheeks burning, she marched past smiling onlookers toward a cluster of trees, Wade bringing up the rear.
Once she reached a shady spot, she removed her hat and gloves, an attempt to cool herself and her temper. While he tossed his hat aside and sat leaning against the tree, one booted foot stretching within inches of her skirts. She un-wrapped the lunch, laying out the contents on the checkered cloth, ignoring, or trying to, his long-legged presence. With trembling fingers she loaded his plate then shoved it into his hand.
“Thanks. Looks delicious.” He had the audacity to pat the spot beside him. “Join me.” He scooted over, as if she’d consent.
“You’ll enjoy your own company far better than mine.”
“You underestimate yourself.” He laid his plate aside, rose and filled the other, then handed it to her. “I insist.” That stubborn look in his eye said he wouldn’t tolerate refusal.
Glaring at him, she accepted the food and then sat on the far side of the checkered cloth, as if that scrap of material could provide a barrier between them.
“I hope you get indigestion,” she said, ramming a fork into the mound of potato salad on her plate.
He chuckled. “You’ve changed.”
The accusation scorched her cheeks. If she had changed, the fault could be laid at Cummings’s feet. “Why would you bid on my lunch when half a dozen young ladies would’ve swooned over the privilege of dining with New Harmony’s most eligible bachelor?” She’d laced her tone with sarcasm though her meaning probably had bounced off his inflated ego.
The corners of his mouth slanted up. “Maybe I wanted to save you from that timid beau of yours.”
“Leon is not my beau.” She shot him a blistering look, surely hot enough to ignite green, water-soaked timber. He didn’t flinch.
“I see him squiring you around town. What do you call him then?”
Why did timid ring true?
“It’s none of your business.”
He munched on the chicken leg then licked his fingers like a mannerless child. Yet the sheer power of those broad shoulders, the length of his legs, the sinewy forearms made it abundantly clear, Wade was no child.
“Delicious,” he said then cocked his head, studying her. “I suspect I’m lucky you didn’t know you were cooking for me, instead of Mr. Timid.”
“You know perfectly well that his name is Leon Fitch. He works for the Cummings State Bank.” She arched
a brow. “But you’re right about one thing. If I had known you would share my lunch, I’d have been tempted to season the food with a laxative.”
Eyes alight with amusement, even approval, he chuckled. The absurdity of her claim even had her giggling. “That spunky attitude of yours is exactly why I want to talk to you,” he said.
Abigail had no idea what he meant, but whatever Wade Cummings wanted she was having no part of it.
The chuckle died in Wade’s throat. Too much hinged on Abby’s answer. The resentment he read in her eyes and knew he’d caused socked him in the gut. “To answer your question—I had to bid on your lunch to get you to talk to me.”
As he watched, the truth of his words flitted across her face, a most attractive face even dappled with patterns of sunlight and shade. His fingers itched to free her hair, to see her fair tresses cascade over those slender shoulders as they had the day of the school picnic.
Expression wary, she fiddled with a delicate chain she wore. “What on earth would you want to talk to me about?”
This feminine female possessed a forceful attitude—exactly why he required her assistance. “I’m in a bind.”
She gave a snort. A flush climbed her neck, no doubt reacting to what she’d see as unladylike behavior. “As if a Cummings doesn’t have everything he could possibly desire.”
Her erroneous claim gnawed at him. Wade could think of many things in his life he’d like to change, but he merely shrugged. “I’m not the only one in a predicament. To be blunt, your family’s mired in trouble.”
“Yes, along with five other families. The reason for this fundraiser.”
“The fire isn’t your only problem. Everyone in town knows Joe’s up to his neck in gambling debts.”
The sudden flash in her eyes promised she’d support her brother-in-law with her last breath.
“Joe found the Lord and turned his life around. I couldn’t be prouder of anyone.”
Family loyalty, they were both drowning in it.
“So I heard. But his faith in God hasn’t solved his financial mess, has it?”
Her gaze dropped to her hands. “If he had an education, Joe could pay off his debts faster, but all he knows is farming.”