An Inconvenient Match

by Janet Dean

  No sign of Rafe and that gun of his. They drove through the stand of trees and into a clearing where the log cabin faced west. The logs were chinked tight. The roof was solid. The door was peeling paint, no doubt battered by rain and sun, but nothing suggested neglect. What had Wade expected? A dilapidated shanty?

  As they pulled in front of the house, Rafe stepped out the door, the screen slapping shut behind him.

  Wade leaped to the ground and tied Beauty to the hitching post then strode to Abby’s side. They sprinted up the path to a stone stoop where Rafe paced. Brow furrowed, face pale, he looked terrible.

  “Is Seth with you?” Wade asked.

  Rafe nodded. “His hand. I stopped at Doc’s. He wasn’t there. I brought him home. Did the best I could, but…” He bit his lip. “I’m glad you’re here.” Rafe swiped a hand across a stubbly jaw. “It’s my fault.”

  “Your fault? I shouldn’t have left him alone.”

  He lifted bleak eyes to Wade’s. “I wanted to see Seth work. I went to your shop and startled him. He cut his hand on the saw.”

  “No one’s at fault,” Abby said firmly, in control, keeping a cool head.

  An example of how she managed a crisis in the classroom. Anywhere. Underneath that dainty, even fragile, façade was a strong woman who didn’t fall apart. A woman he admired. A woman who had shared that calm and tenderness with him.

  “Let’s see that wound,” she said.

  Rafe threw open the door and they entered a small kitchen. Seth, pale with his jaw clenched, obviously in pain, slumped on a ladder-back chair, cradling his bandaged hand.

  “I stopped the blood and cleaned the gash. He’s got a ragged wound. He can move his fingers and feel pain.” Rafe’s eyes filled with tears. “My boy’s hurting.”

  “Good signs, all of them. You’ll be fine, Seth.” Wade peeled back the bandages. The sight of the nasty gash flopped in his stomach. As ugly as it was, the wound would heal. “You’ll have a scar to brag to your friends about.”

  Seth tried for a smile that faded faster than moonlight in the morning.

  Wade redid the wraps then gave Seth’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Good idea to let Doc take a look. Make sure it doesn’t get infected.”

  “He’s really going to be okay?” Rafe asked. “I did the right thing?”

  Wade turned to Rafe, really looking at him. The lines creasing his face had eased. Color had been restored to his face. But Wade also noticed Seth’s father stood taller, had a new lucidity in his eyes. Eyes no longer bloodshot. He looked different. Sober. “You did a good job, Rafe.”

  “Thank God.”

  “Believe me, I already have.”

  Rafe dropped into a chair. “I need to thank you folks.”

  “We didn’t do anything,” Abby said. “You did all the doctoring.”

  “No, I meant about what you did before.” Eyes glistening, he glanced at his son. “You…you made me see what a gift I had. Made me see I was ruining not just my life but Seth’s too.”

  “Pa, I was fine,” Seth said.

  “No, you weren’t. These two made me see…many things.” He rose and stood before Wade. “When you were here last week, you said some difficult things to hear.”

  Wade opened his mouth to speak but Rafe put up a hand.

  “Those things needed saying. After you left, I lined up and smashed every jug of moonshine then destroyed the still.”

  Wade glanced at Seth. The boy nodded. “You quit drinking?”

  “It’s been a week now.” Rafe crossed to his son. “Seth stood by me through the nightmares and the shakes with prayers and a bucket and cold cloths. Now that I can keep food down and sleep, I’m seeing what I’d missed in that hazy world I’d holed up in. It’s been a hard week…” Rafe exhaled a shaky breath. “But it’ll get easier.”

  A week ago Wade had tried to knock some sense into Rafe. To persuade him to quit drinking; to leave his gun hanging over the door where it belonged; to treat a lady right instead of scaring her half to death. Rafe had taken those steps, had gone through torment. He’d done it for his son.

  A week wasn’t long, but long enough to rid his body of booze. Question was—would Rafe be strong enough to give up moonshine permanently? “That’s a brave thing,” Wade said. “I’d like to shake your hand.”

  “Not as brave as telling a man he was losing his son.” Rafe clasped Wade’s in his. “I’m grateful to you for taking Seth under your wing.”

  “Seth is a special young man.” Wade glanced at his apprentice and sent him a smile. “But then you know that.”

  Rafe walked to Abigail. “Miss Wilson, I’m indebted to you too. Not just for all you done for Seth. But…” He cleared his throat. “That complaint you filed woke me up. Made me realize moonshine could rob me of the only thing I cared about. I’ve never been that scared.” His eyes filled with tears. “After Peggy died, I… I wasn’t a good father. Leastwise not the father Seth deserved. If you hadn’t gone to the sheriff, I might’ve never found the courage to quit drinking.”

  Though Wade had taken exception to Abby’s actions, she’d been right. Filing that complaint had spurred Rafe to straighten out his life.

  Seth’s prayers had been answered. His faith in his father and in God justified. Proof nothing was impossible with God.

  The silence extended between them, their concern for the boy across the way connecting them while the fire crackled in the cookstove and the curtains danced back and forth in the breeze.

  Wade clung to the hope that God would answer his prayers for his father, for the end of the feud and a new beginning for him and Abby.

  “I’m relieved you’ve stopped drinking, Mr. Collier,” Abby said. “You have a fine son.”

  “Yes, I do. And you’re a fine teacher.” His gaze found the floor then rose to hers. “I apologize for scaring you. I used that gun to keep folks away, folks just being neighborly. I thought if someone saw the sorry state I was in, got wind of that still hidden in the woods, they’d take Seth from me.”

  “I’ll drop the complaint, Mr. Collier.” Abby reached out a hand.

  Rafe shook it gently, as if he thought Abby might break. “I’m beholden to you.”

  “Thanks, Miss Wilson,” Seth said, tears in his eyes.

  “If the job offer stands, Wade, I’d like to tackle that warehouse,” Rafe said, fighting tears of his own.

  “Sure does.”

  “Now that you no longer need to play nursemaid to your old man, I’m hoping you’ll have some fun, Seth.” Rafe grinned. “Invite that gal, Betty Jo, to the ice cream social next month.”

  “I just might, Pa.” Seth rose then wobbled. “I feel kinda woozy.”

  Rafe gently pushed his son back into the chair then filled a dipperful of water from a white enameled bucket on the counter and handed it to him. “This’ll help.”

  Seth gulped the contents. “I’m mighty proud of you, Pa. All you did, all you went through made me think.” He turned his gaze on Wade. “I still want to be your apprentice, Wade, but I’ve decided to finish high school.”

  “That’s a good decision, Seth.”

  “Miss Wilson’s right. I might want to go to college someday. Pa has taught me a man can change his path if the one he’s on is going nowhere.”

  “You both have taught this teacher a thing or two,” Abby said, eyes misty.

  Wade believed the cabinetmaking shop would succeed, but whatever happened, by finishing high school, Seth wisely kept his options open.

  “Truth is, son, things change. When that change hurts, a man doesn’t hide behind anything. Not behind meanness, not behind a bottle, not behind a gun.”

  Was Wade’s father’s gruffness a façade meant to keep people away as surely as Rafe’s gun?

  Abby’s father hadn’t accepted change, hadn’t been able to find another path when he’d lost the farm. Slowly Frank Wilson had withered and died, impacting his daughter forever.

  George hadn’t been able to move beyond his w
ife leaving, what he saw as rejection of himself. Perhaps, in time, with prayer, and with Wade refusing to give up on his dad—as Seth hadn’t given up on Rafe—Wade’s father would appreciate what he had—a family.

  But whatever happened, Wade would never stop hoping and praying. Love meant never giving up. Love meant never losing faith in others. Faith that with God’s help people could change, could be what God wanted them to be, had created them to be.

  Wade’s gaze drifted to Abby. For the first time in a long time he imagined a future. With her.

  But not yet.

  He had one more mountain to climb. Though Abby didn’t know it yet, that mountain loomed between them, a barrier of massive proportions.

  If he didn’t save her sister’s home, Abby would despise him as surely as her father had despised his.

  Her hand in the crook of Wade’s arm, Abigail strolled down the lane toward the carriage, no longer carrying the weight of her concern for Seth.

  Wade squeezed her hand. “Want to know something? I resented the time I spent in college, but the courses I took will help me run the business end of my cabinetmaking shop.”

  She cocked her head. “At last you see things my way.”

  Chuckling, they neared the carriage. He leaned over and brushed his lips across her cheek, his gentle touch tender, healing, then helped her inside.

  As they rode toward town, their sleeves brushing, Abigail was aware of those broad shoulders, the capable artistic hands holding the reins. She leaned into his strength, inhaling his masculine scent, trapping the oxygen in her lungs until she could barely breathe.

  When had Wade become her life?

  Wade slowed the carriage as they neared the bank. “It’s a lovely night. Would you mind walking to your house?”

  “I’d enjoy that.”

  Wade drove past the bank and her apartment overhead, then on down the street until they reached the edge of town.

  “We’re home,” he said.

  Home.

  The last word Abigail had expected to associate with the Cummingses’ residence. Yet she did.

  With the conflict over Seth ended, another layer of the barrier between her and Wade had been stripped away. Wade had no part in his father’s corrupt business dealings. She’d seen his kind heart with Seth, the effort he made to connect with his father, the love he had for God.

  All of this proved Wade had matured into a good man, someone she could trust.

  Wade drove through the roofed portico at the south end of the house and around back. He stopped Beauty then rounded the carriage and helped Abby out, his eyes searching her face. “Do you remember me telling you that a tight bit chafes?”

  “Yes.”

  “Rafe held the reins loose, giving Seth his head, giving his son the freedom to choose his own way.”

  “And Seth made the right choice.” She lifted her face to Wade. “You were right about that, you’ve been right about a lot of things.”

  “It’s not about who’s right or wrong. You and I need to trust each other in that same way.” He laid a palm on her cheek. “I care for you. I believe you still care for me.”

  She did care. But caring was a risk.

  “When we were kids, I called you my princess. Let me be your prince, Abby.” Cupping her jaw with his palm, he leaned close, pulling her to him, eyes asking permission.

  Abigail gazed up at him and lost herself in those dark blue depths. This man would not harm her. Here in his arms was where she belonged. No matter how hard she’d pretended otherwise, she’d never purged Wade from her heart.

  With a soft whimper, she slipped her arms around his neck and her hands into the hair at his nape. His lips met hers, in a soft, lingering, leisurely kiss that sent shivers clear to her toes, leaving her unsteady on her feet.

  When had she ever felt like this?

  As the kiss ended Wade pulled her into his chest. She sagged against him, clinging to the solid strength of him and felt the galloping beat of his heart.

  And knew she could love this man.

  Uninvited, the pain of the breakup rose inside her. Could she trust his words, his kiss? Hadn’t he claimed the very same thing before?

  Chest heaving, she lurched from his arms. “I…I’d prefer to walk home alone.”

  The grim expression on Wade’s face tore at her, but until she understood why he’d discarded her in high school, she couldn’t let herself fall in love with him. If she did, and he rejected her again, she couldn’t bear it.

  Her stomach knotted. Could she end up like her father?

  She stiffened her spine. She wouldn’t give Wade the opportunity. As Cecil said, a Wilson and a Cummings were oil and water. They did not mix.

  She’d do her job and keep things impersonal. She’d devote herself to teaching, to helping children reach their potential, whatever that might be.

  And guard her heart from this man.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Wade put one foot in front of the other toward the parlor and the nightly game of checkers with his father, reliving the fear he’d seen plain on Abby’s face. She didn’t trust him. The past clung to her like a frightened child clung to its mother.

  But she was no longer a child. And neither was he. He was a man ready for the woman he loved. Yet she wanted no part of him.

  In the parlor Wade’s father stood staring out the window. Steeling himself for George’s usual snarly attitude, Wade crossed the room. His father turned toward him, face haggard, eyes weary.

  Wade frowned. “You okay? You look tired.”

  “I haven’t been sleeping well.”

  “Are you having trouble breathing? I’ll speak with Doc Simmons, see—”

  George raised a palm. “Doc has no remedy for what ails me.”

  “What’s bothering you?”

  His father turned away, putting his back to him. “An uneasy conscience.”

  That his father had given his behavior a thought, much less lost sleep over it, settled inside of Wade. Lord, what do I say to that? “We’ve all made mistakes,” he said finally. “My list’s a mile long.” Abby would no doubt double his estimate. “Would talking about it help?”

  “Yapping can’t fix this.” He dropped into a chair. “All I’ve worked for leaves me…” His father’s voice shriveled like an overripe peach in the noonday sun. “Empty.”

  Wade took the chair opposite him. “Why’s success so important to you?”

  George dug a handkerchief out of his back pocket and blew his nose. Had he been crying?

  “I know your family was poor,” Wade said.

  “Dirt poor. Eight of us crammed into two windowless rooms in a rundown tenement in Chicago. Pa worked in the stockyards. The conditions and pay were dismal. I vowed then that no family of mine would experience such hardship.”

  “I’m sorry you had a miserable childhood.”

  George’s gaze grew distant, as if traveling to another place. “I, ah…forgot something about that time.”

  “What did you forget?”

  “When Pa came home at night, he’d clean up then gather us kids to him. Tell us to work hard, to look out for one another. He’d ask how we were doing in school. You see, Pa couldn’t read and wanted better for us.” His voice turned raspy. “I may have gone to bed hungry, but I went to sleep loved.”

  Wade heard the uncertainty in his dad’s voice. The uncertainty anyone cared. He wanted to tell his dad he cared, but couldn’t seem to shove the words out of his mouth. “I wish I could’ve known your parents. I only remember Mom’s dad.”

  “Ernestine was an only child. I could hardly imagine that.” A smile curved his dad’s lips. “When I met your mother and we fell in love, I felt ten feet tall, the luckiest man alive. Ernestine hadn’t grown up poor. Not that her folks were rich. Her dad loved working with wood.” He glanced at Wade. “That’s where you get your talent.”

  His father’s acknowledgment that woodworking took talent eased the trouble between them.

 
“I wanted to give Ernestine everything. So she’d never regret marrying the likes of me.” His voice trembled. “That’s what happened. She didn’t stay.”

  Even all these years later, Wade couldn’t think about that day without bringing a lump the size of Gibraltar to his throat. He swallowed hard. “Dad, I understand how Mom’s leaving hurt you. She hurt Regina and me too.” He took a deep breath, knowing what he was about to say might trigger his father’s temper. “But after she left, you never comforted us, never showed us you cared.” That lump shoved up his throat. “We lost both our parents that day.”

  His father fiddled with his handkerchief, rolling the edges round and round between his fingers. “I guess in a way you did. I see that now.”

  “Why now?”

  “Credit Abigail. That gal made me take a hard look at myself. I don’t like what I see.” He glanced at his Bible on his bedside table. “While I was building bigger barns like that farmer in Scripture, I was hurting others, hurting my family.” He cleared his throat. “I resented you for rejecting what I’d spent my life achieving. Now I realize my legacy is you and Regina. You’re all I’ve created that matters.”

  Tears welled in Wade’s eyes. His father might not be able to speak the words, but he cared.

  “Live your life the way you must to be happy. That’s what I want for you and your sister. If that means cabinetmaking, well, then that’s what you should do.”

  Wade groped for words. None seemed adequate to express the emotion swirling inside of him. “Dad,” he said, his voice rough, uneven and laden with the tears running down his face.

  A moan escaped his father’s lips. “I’m sorry for trying to run your life, for treating you badly. I’d like a second chance.”

  George reached a hand.

  Wade met his father halfway. Weeping, they embraced, a broken man, a mended son.

  Ice cream and Cora’s cookies, a combination Abigail hoped would tempt George into getting out of the office he’d been hibernating in and into the fresh air. The daily prescription Doc Simmons recommended for healing his lungs.