so every time he turned her way he could study how straight and fine her nose was. He could admire the color of her hair again and see how it shone in the slanting light from the open door. He squeezed his hands together to keep from touching her hair, aching to know if it felt as silky as it looked. He realized he still wore his hat and snatched it off to scrunch it to his lap.
Again he marveled that a body as pretty and as sweet-smelling as Lucy’s—like a field of clover in full bloom—could house a heart of coal. He tightened his mouth. He’d endure her pressed to his side, tolerate how nice she smelled and ignore the way her hair begged to be touched all for the sake of finding a chance to persuade her to show some human decency and visit her father.
Thankfully, it was soon time for the program to begin and he could concentrate on the proceedings.
A man with a handlebar moustache stood and welcomed everyone. And then the recitations began. Wade laughed at the story of a man searching for his horse and running into all sorts of calamities. His amusement grew by leaps and bounds as he met Lucy’s laughing eyes. He forced his attention back to the front of the room as a frail lady recited two Psalms. A young girl did a sweet poem of hope and love. Then Lucy rose. She fairly glowed as she began to speak, putting her heart into every word.
Wade had heard the poem before and knew what to expect, but enjoyed it just as much as the others who alternated between laughter and tears.
Lucy returned to her place at his side amidst clapping, cheering and shouts of “Bully for you, Lucy gal.” Twin roses bloomed on her cheeks. She gave Wade a look he could only interpret as triumphant.
For a moment, he couldn’t take his eyes off her then he forced himself to remember why he was here and what she was like beneath all that charm and good humor.
Three more recitations and the program ended. Wade bolted to his feet, his chest tight with a nameless anxiety. He had to get Lucy alone so he could talk to her, explain why it was so necessary to make the trek to the ranch.
But before his muddled brain could devise a plan, a black-clad woman called for their attention. “Tea and cake will be served outside. Ten cents each. Remember the money all goes to buying a bell for our church.”
“Let’s go.” Lucy grabbed his arm. “I want to get a piece of Mrs. Adam’s chocolate cake.”
Seemed everyone had the same idea. A stampede tried to squeeze out the door, pushing Lucy tight to Wade’s side. He discovered she not only fit like they were meant for each other, but that it was going to be nearly impossible to keep his thoughts on the purpose of his visit. He grunted as someone elbowed him. “Trouble with being at the front is you’re the tail going out,” he murmured.
Lucy groaned. “I know all that chocolate cake will be gone.”
A young man in a suit and tie, with a complexion the color of biscuit dough, allowed himself to be jostled against Lucy. Wade felt her stiffen, knew she didn’t appreciate the boldness of this dandified man. Wade edged forward just enough to push the man away. And then they were through the door, in the open where a person could breathe without inhaling someone else’s air. He grabbed Lucy’s elbow and hustled her to the table. ’Course he didn’t have to do much hustling. He was hard-pressed to keep up to her as she made the hundred-yard dash to the table covered with a selection of cakes. He dropped twenty cents into the plate and got two cups of tea in exchange.
“Look, there’s a piece left.” She dived for it and emerged crowing with triumph. A thought seemed to choke her pleasure. She glanced from the cake to Wade. Doubt clouded her face. “I could…”
She was considering giving up her cake after wrestling it from the kid behind her who now glared daggers at her. “You’d never forgive me.” He did not need her to hold a grudge over some cake. And to prove his point, he scooped up a large piece of spice cake with brown sugar icing, followed her away from the table to one of the benches and sat down.
Lucy ate the cake like it was a matter of life and death. She licked her fingers. Barely resisted licking the plate. He was so fascinated with her enthusiasm he forgot to test his own piece of cake.
She must have seen the wonder in his expression. “You have no idea how delicious it is.”
“Was.”
She eyed her plate.
“You ate the whole thing.”
“I offered it to you.”
“Yup.” He took a bite of his own selection. “This ain’t half bad either.”
“Like comparing beans and peaches. Both good but—” She shrugged, letting him know he got the beans but she wasn’t a bit regretful.
He mused about how best to bring up the topic of the ranch without mentioning her father. “I heard that poem before. My ma used to work in a house where they had literary gatherings. She loved that poem. Guess that’s why I like it.”
“You mean the poem I recited?” She grinned. “Or the one about chasing the horse?”
Far as he was concerned, only one poem stood out as being worthy of mention. “Yours. It made me miss her.”
“Where is she?”
“Died some years ago.”
“I’m sorry. My ma is dead, too.”
Another thing Scout neglected to tell him. “I guess you never stop missing your ma.” Though he’d started missing his ma long before she died. Once she started working for the Collins family after Pa’s untimely death, she’d never had time for him.
Lucy nodded. “I don’t expect I’ll ever forget my ma or the lessons I learned from her.”
He wanted to talk to her, ask her about her mother, tell her about the ranch but a continual string of people came by to say howdy-do to Lucy. She laughed and joked with them all. She had an easy way about her, as if life fit her well.
Someone came by and picked up the empty cups and plates.
Lucy sprang to her feet. “I could of done that. I’ll help with the dishes.”
The lady, the same black-garbed woman who had announced the refreshments, tittered and batted her eyes at Wade. “No, no, dear. You enjoy your beau.”
“My beau?” Lucy sputtered so hard Wade whacked her between the shoulder blades. True, he did so a little harder than necessary but the way she had said beau, as if he had as much appeal as a seven-day rash, kind of rubbed him the wrong way. He could be her beau if he wanted.
She stopped sputtering and shifted away from his patting, giving him a look fit to fry his brain.
“Wouldn’t want you to choke to death,” he said.
“I was in more danger of having a rib broke than choking.” She moved with the determination of a filly eager for freedom. “I’m leaving now.”
She didn’t need to go away in a huff. He hadn’t patted her that hard. He glanced around and realized the yard was emptying out. Lucy was already headed for the gate. Did she think to leave him standing in the middle of a vacant pen? He charged after her. “I’ll see you home.”
“I
