An Inconvenient Match

by Janet Dean

  Wade had worked up the soil earlier, even offered to dig the holes. But he had to be at the bank and these plants couldn’t wait.

  As she bent over the handle, ready to shove the spade into the ground with her shoe, Wade strode out the back door wearing denims, boots, a rumpled shirt and a Stetson, looking more cowboy than banker, or even cabinetmaker.

  He spoke to his father then strode toward her. “Hello, lovely lady,” he said with a wide smile.

  “Hello.” The memory of last night’s kiss was seared in her mind and sealed on her lips. Yet fear of trusting Wade held her in its grip.

  He took the spade from her gloved hands. “This is a man’s job.”

  “You’ll be late for work.”

  “Work will wait. These wilted plants won’t.” He touched her chin with a finger, setting off a reaction that slithered through her. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

  His words doused her mood like a cold spring shower. Getting hurt was exactly what could happen.

  With Wade’s declaration percolating in her mind, she hurried to the pump, filled the galvanized sprinkling can then slogged to the garden with a lopsided gait, sloshing water on the hem of her skirts.

  Wade relieved her of the burden, then watered the dirt clinging to the plant’s roots. Setting the sprinkling can aside, he scooped the mound of soil into the hole, tamping it loosely in place with strong, capable hands. Perspiration beaded on his brow and he tipped his Stetson back, wiping his forehead on his sleeve, and then moved to the next plant, shoving the spade in the ground with a booted heel.

  As she watched his muscles bunch beneath his shirt, her heart thudded in her chest. Abigail swallowed hard. The temptation to lean into his strength slid through her. She couldn’t deny the appeal of those brawny muscles, of his strong work ethic, of his amazing kisses.

  George meandered over. “A bench would be nice out here. A spot to drop down and watch the bees and hummingbirds.”

  “That’s a good idea, Dad.”

  “Could you build it?”

  “Sure. How about a bench with a back and arms? Big enough to seat two?” he added, glancing at Abigail.

  “Appreciate it,” George said.

  A smile wide on his face, Wade watched his father return to his chair. The garden and sunshine had apparently been what George needed to improve his outlook. Abigail could hardly believe that father and son were speaking cordially. And George wanted his son’s handiwork. Perhaps time spent reading the Bible had made the biggest impact.

  Wade finished planting the last perennial. “The garden looks good,” he said, his gaze roaming the flower beds. “I’ll take care of hoeing the weeds.”

  “I can do that.”

  “I want to help.”

  That he seemed to want to ease her load warred against her judgment. The verdict, Wade was a good man.

  Trustworthy, kind. A man she could love. If she dared.

  With a spring in her step Abigail entered the Cummings library, one of her favorite rooms in the house. Bookshelves stretched from floor to ceiling; the world globe hung in a wooden stand on the floor. The rich patina of the paneling, the scent of leather and George’s pipe, now forgotten, permeated the room. When had she started to feel at home here?

  She carried the copy of The Red Badge of Courage. George had finally finished the book and they’d spent most of the afternoon discussing that hideous war.

  Crusty and stubborn as George could be, she’d also seen his vulnerability. Wade loved his father, obvious by his concern for his health. She suspected George loved his son but something kept them aloof, from admitting their feelings.

  She wouldn’t admit her feelings for Wade either, but the memory of his kiss scorched her cheeks. Countless times she’d relived the feel of his lips on hers. The power of the feelings he’d awakened told her she was falling for Wade again.

  Could Rachel have been right when she said Wade deserved another chance?

  As Abigail meandered toward the back wall to shelve the book, her skirts brushed against a file on George’s cluttered desk, knocking it to the floor, scattering papers on the Persian rug.

  Sighing, she laid the book aside and bent to gather the pages. A gilded letterhead caught her eye. Illinois Central Railroad.

  Why would…?

  Her heart skipped a beat. She reached for the paper, her hands trembling so badly she couldn’t distinguish the words blurring on the page. She stumbled to the chair, laid the letter on the desk then read:

  In response to your inquiry about possible interest in the Illinois Central Railroad providing a spur into New Harmony, Iowa, management has determined this enterprise would mutually benefit our company and your town.

  She noted the date. This proved George Cummings knew the railroad’s interest in Wilson land weeks before he called the loan on their farm.

  Her throat clogged. Her father had spoken the truth. He’d seen the Cummingses as enemies. This paper proved him correct. George Cummings was a blatant liar. Tears stung her eyes. She’d been a traitor to her father’s memory. How could she have fallen into the Cummingses’ snare? Again.

  Anger pumping through her body, she grabbed the paper and sped down the hall toward the parlor. Wade and George stood near the window, conspirators in this travesty.

  She marched to them, stuck the paper in front of George’s face. “You lied! You knew the railroad planned a spur into New Harmony before you called the loan on our farm. You took our farm out of greed! Not to save the bank from failing.”

  George reached for the paper. “Where did you get that?” he asked, taking it out of her hands.

  The shock in Wade’s eyes turned guarded. “I unearthed a file on the Wilson transaction and left it on your desk. I planned to examine the contents later tonight,” he said.

  “So, Miss Wilson, you took advantage of my son’s negligence,” he said, nailing Wade with a pointed gaze. “And snooped through private papers.”

  “Dad, don’t blame us. You claimed you had nothing to hide.”

  Abigail whirled toward Wade. “Don’t pretend you didn’t know about this.”

  “I didn’t. You have to believe me.” Wade took then scanned the paper. Stony eyes then lifted to his father. “She’s right. You lied when you said you didn’t know about the railroad’s interest before you called the loan.”

  “I’d decided to call the loan before I got the reply to my inquiry. Nor was I certain the Illinois Central would buy Wilson land. That parcel wasn’t the only way into town.”

  Wade huffed. “Crossing Wilson land was the direct route.”

  “Yes.” George glanced at Abigail. “I’ll admit the railroad’s interest was a bonus.”

  “I can’t stand the sight of you.” She glanced at the opulence surrounding her. “That sale brought you an easy life. The money would have enabled my father to repay the loan and save his farm. Save his life!”

  Unable to stay another minute in their presence, she lurched toward the door.

  “Abby, wait! Let’s talk about this.”

  “Whether you were aware of your father’s treachery or not, you’re a Cummings, cut from the same cloth as your father.”

  As she sped home, she faced the bitter truth. She’d opened her heart to the Cummings men. They’d shattered it into a million jagged shards that slashed with every breath she took.

  How could she have enjoyed George’s crusty company? How could she have fallen for Wade’s phony charm?

  She’d trusted emotion, not her head. What a fool she’d been. She recalled her father’s edict. Never fraternize with the enemy. Yet that’s exactly what she’d done. At her stupidity, a strangled laugh forced its way out of her throat.

  Wade’s kiss had convinced her she should cancel her dinner plans tomorrow night with Harrison Carder.

  But now, nothing could make her happier. She’d show Harrison small-town hospitality.

  And never let Wade Cummings into her heart again.

  Business
was booming at Agnes’s Café. Diners filled every table. Their conversation and laughter easing those first awkward moments of the evening as Harrison seated Abigail then sat across from her. A tented hand-lettered RESERVED sign sat in the middle of the table.

  A handsome, charming man, Harrison smiled at her. The skin on her face felt stiff, even rigid, but she forced a smile. Determined to enjoy his company, she squared her shoulders.

  What better way to forget how Wade had hurt her than to spend an evening with his best friend. To talk and laugh, share a meal. Keep too occupied to waste even one second thinking about Wade Cummings.

  She’d show him that Abigail Wilson was made of strong stuff. Perhaps she’d even give Harrison a chance. Even if she’d never give her heart again, she enjoyed an occasional evening out. Harrison would be more entertaining than Leon, who hadn’t come around since the box lunch auction. Probably afraid he’d lose his job. A valid concern.

  “You look lovely tonight,” Harrison said, his gray eyes sliding over her, an appreciative look on his face.

  “Thank you. I must say you look quite dapper.”

  “As a successful lawyer should.” He winked. “Not that I’m successful yet, but I must look the part.”

  Agnes appeared at her elbow. Round-faced, dark curly bangs clinging to her moist forehead, the proprietor looked exhausted. Perhaps Abigail would inquire about a job waitressing here. She’d like nothing better than to escape the Cummingses’ house. But needed money until school started.

  Once they’d ordered, Abigail spread her napkin on her lap. “I’m sorry your practice is slow. New Harmony doesn’t have much call for lawsuits.”

  “True. I’ve written a couple wills. Handled a divorce.”

  “Really?”

  “No one from here. Folks like to keep that quiet. Not that they succeed.” He took a sip of water. “I yearn for a trial. A case I can sink my teeth into.”

  “You may need the big city to practice criminal law. I’m surprised you didn’t stay in Boston.”

  “Eventually that’s my goal. My grades weren’t stellar so no law firm hired me. I’ll get some experience here—or if that fails to materialize, somewhere else—then return.”

  Harrison wouldn’t be staying. Fine with her. She wanted to teach. She thought of Wade. He’d wheedled his way into her heart. She could teach anywhere. Even Boston.

  “How’s our friend Wade?” Harrison asked, cocking a brow.

  Her stomach knotted. She’d had such hopes. “He’s not my friend. Quite the opposite.”

  “How so?”

  Before she thought of the ramifications, she’d told Harrison about discovering the Cummingses had prior knowledge of the railroad’s interest in Wilson land. The whole ugly story.

  “You might have grounds to litigate.”

  “Sue?”

  “If I can find cases to establish precedence, we’d have a good chance of recouping some, if not all, of that money.”

  Her hands fidgeted with the napkin in her lap. That money could release Joe from the burden of his gambling debts. That money could enable her and Ma to purchase a small house.

  That money…would be wrong.

  As much as she despised what the Cummingses had done to her family, Scripture forbade believers from suing a fellow Christian. “I’m sorry. I can’t sue the Cummingses.”

  “Why not? If they’ve wronged you—”

  “God will have to take care of it.” Abigail believed in handling things with the talent she’d been given, but she’d never knowingly take action that opposed God’s Word.

  Harrison gaped at her, as if she’d lost her mind. “If God was going to take care of it, He’d have done so by now. Think of the money you’d get if the court sided with us and found the Cummingses guilty of swindling your family.”

  The temptation for revenge slid through her. Heart pounding, her hands fisted in her lap. To see the Cummingses get what they deserved. To see them suffer as her family had suffered. To recoup the Wilson losses warred inside her.

  She sucked in a calming breath then slowly released it. The advice wasn’t in God’s will. The place she wanted to be. “Money isn’t everything.”

  Harrison leaned back in his seat. “I’ve got to hand it to you, Abigail. That faith of yours is more than talk. Most folks’ principles collapse when money’s in the mix.”

  “That’s greed.”

  “Yes, ma’am, it is. I suspect lawyers would go out of business if not for greed. Greed, not money, is the root of all evil.” Grinning, he lifted his glass of water. “Here’s to greed.”

  “The reason I must refuse your offer.”

  And the reason she wouldn’t be going to Boston.

  Harrison Carder might be joking, but she hadn’t seen evidence that he possessed a faith in God that guided his life. And he certainly hadn’t hesitated to suggest suing his friend. Perhaps evidence of his own greed.

  As the food arrived, pan-fried bluegill for her and steak for Harrison, Abigail resolved to concentrate on the evening, to put the Cummingses’ deceit behind her. For now. If she didn’t, she’d end the meal with a stomachache.

  Perhaps she could interest Harrison in worship services. “I’d like to invite you to attend First Christian. Our pastor’s sermons and the fellowship bless me each week.”

  Eyes wide and wary, he looked ready to refuse, but then nodded. “That would give me a chance to get acquainted. Let folks see I’m one of them.”

  Not exactly the reason she had in mind, but who knew what would come from hearing God’s Word?

  “What time?” he asked, slowing the fork to his mouth.

  “Church is at ten. Sunday school at nine.”

  “I should be able to make ten.”

  She smiled. “I’ll look forward to it.”

  He arched a brow. “Will you save me a seat?”

  “Of course. I’ll introduce you to my family.”

  “Perhaps I can talk one of them into suing.”

  “Not an acceptable topic in church with the Cummingses sitting across the sanctuary.”

  He laughed. “Suppose not. Don’t worry, dear lady. I won’t embarrass you.”

  Whatever motive Harrison had in mind for coming, she suspected he wouldn’t appreciate hers. She wanted him to meet more than her family. She hoped he’d meet God.

  Chapter Fifteen

  With sweat slipping beneath the brim of his Stetson, Wade slammed the hoe into the soil, chopping at weeds springing up in the garden. Nothing he did eased his anger at his father’s treachery. What he’d done to the Wilsons, to Abby, tore at him. The backs of his eyes stung. She hated him now.

  She’d turned to Harry for solace. He supposed he couldn’t blame her, but when he’d found Harry sitting beside Abby and her family in the pew yesterday, he’d wanted to grab him by his starched collar and escort him out the door.

  Not the attitude a churchgoer should have toward a visitor. But Harry’s jaunty little wave across the sanctuary had Wade grinding his teeth. Harry knew perfectly well Wade didn’t appreciate his attentions to Abby. The man would go to any lengths to get close to her. After church, he’d let it slip—no doubt on purpose—that he and Abby had enjoyed a lovely evening the night before.

  Smooth, good-looking and intelligent, Harrison Carder probably seemed like a good catch compared to most of the bachelors in this town. And Abby wasn’t wasting time getting to know him better.

  Seth rounded the corner of the house and moseyed toward him with the easy gait of a long-legged youth. “Can’t stay to work on those beds. I’m meeting Betty Jo at the café for a glass of lemonade,” Seth said, all smiles.

  The boy’s joy at seeing his girl reminded Wade of himself at that age. That girl was now a full-grown woman and couldn’t stand the sight of him.

  “I’ll be in the shop first thing tomorrow to sign the paper for that apprenticeship.”

  Wade leaned on his shovel, his back to the house. “Sounds good.”

  To him. Bu
t Abby would not agree.

  Within seconds he discovered how right he’d been. Because Abby had been standing right behind him, the frown on her face proof she’d overheard Seth.

  A flush on her cheeks, her blue eyes icy, Abby was lovely, regal and angry. He’d keep his distance, though he yearned to pull her to him, to cradle her in his arms. But he could at least warn her about Harry.

  By the time he’d repeated his concerns about trusting Harry, her frown turned into a scowl. “You have the nerve to warn me about Harrison.”

  “My father wronged your family. But I didn’t have any part of that. Can we at least talk? See if we can find a way to get past this?”

  “Too much has happened. I can’t trust your dad or you.”

  He stepped away. “Is there anyone you’d allow yourself to trust?”

  “Don’t try to turn this mess around and make it my fault.” She pushed by him, stomping toward the stable.

  He dropped the hoe then followed her in.

  She’d taken a bridle off the wall and now carried it to where Beauty waited, neck extended over the stall.

  “What are you doing?”

  Nose in the air, she ignored him, slipping the leather over the mare’s ears, or trying to.

  “Let me do that,” he said.

  She huffed and moved aside.

  With the bridle in place, he led Beauty out of the stall. “Where are you going?”

  “Your father gave me permission to use the rig. If that’s not all right with you—”

  “Of course it is.” Did she think he’d deny her anything?

  As he backed Beauty between the staves, Abby waited, arms folded, tapping her toe. Whatever she planned to do, she couldn’t wait to be on her way.

  What was she up to that she needed a conveyance? Did she have a clandestine meeting with that so-called friend of his? At the prospect jealousy roared through him and brought the words out of his mouth. “Are you meeting Carder?”

  “Where I’m going is none of your concern.”