her, his touch firm and warm through her sleeve. A lazy grin rode his chiseled features, as if he found her reaction amusing. When he knew perfectly well she wouldn’t share a meal with him if he were the last person on earth.
She jutted her chin. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Are you saying you’ve forgotten the school picnic? I’ll never forget the strawberry pie you brought.”
A flash of memory of Wade capturing a speck of filling with his tongue, then declaring the pie the best he’d ever eaten as her stomach had roiled. Not from the dessert, but that he’d spoken to her at all, considering the trouble between their families. Worse when he’d asked to join her on the blanket, she’d nodded, unable to refuse the allure of those deep-set indigo eyes. That afternoon they’d strolled through the park, talked for hours. For weeks they’d spent every minute together they could. Not easy when her family adamantly refused to let Wade come calling.
That had been a long time ago. Before Wade dumped her like a sack of rotten potatoes. Before Pa died. Before she fully grasped the Cummings family treachery and suffered the consequences. She dealt with them still.
As she pivoted on her heel to avoid him and the heartache those memories awakened, Wade stopped her with a gentle hand on hers. “Did you make strawberry pie for today’s lunch?”
“No.” She shook off his touch, grateful she spoke the truth, but if she had prepared his favorite dessert, she’d never admit as much to Wade. “Leave me alone.”
Oscar Moore’s brother Cecil, self-proclaimed mayor of New Harmony, sidled up beside her. Long-faced and tall, the exact opposite of his rotund brother, Cecil lifted a brow. “From the looks of it you two could use a referee. My rheumatism’s been acting up but I ain’t too feeble to handle the job.”
“No need, Cecil. Mr. Cummings was just leaving,” Abigail said with a finality Wade couldn’t miss. And from the stubborn set of his jaw, he hadn’t.
“Well, in that case I’ll mosey on back to my post.” Cecil shook his head. “Too bad you two mix about like oil and water. Cause you look right well together. Better’n Pastor Ted’s matched team of Percherons.”
With a jaunty wave, he hobbled off, leaving Abigail with flushed cheeks.
Wade chuckled. “Hope you don’t mind being compared to a horse. In Cecil’s view there’s no higher compliment.”
“He’s mistaken. Nothing about us matches.”
“Sometimes an unlikely pair works well as one.” Wade’s gaze drilled into her. “I noticed how you stood up to those young troublemakers looking for a fight. I’d like to discuss—”
“We have nothing to say to each other.”
“Please, hear me out.”
“Why should I? Hasn’t your family done enough damage?”
Wade gave Abby a long lingering look, letting his eyes roam her blond hair, the color of honey, worn in a pouf around her face in what he’d heard called the Gibson Girl look. Her dewy peaches-and-cream complexion, flawless except for a pale birthmark near her left ear, flushed with anger. At his perusal she lowered her gaze, the sweep of her dark lashes leaving shadows on her cheeks.
For a short time that face had occupied his dreams.
Truth be told, he’d never managed to purge her from his mind. “Can we get past the trouble between our families even for a moment?”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
Under slim brows, her arresting eyes, a luminous blue, blazed with antagonism, no doubt the same look that had halted those hot-tempered adolescents in their tracks.
Abby had spunk.
Clearly, she despised him.
What difference did it make? Wade didn’t seek a relationship with Abigail Wilson. Or anyone for that matter.
But after witnessing the feisty schoolmarm rebuke Seth and the Rogers’ kid, even whack Paul with her parasol, Wade knew he’d found the perfect candidate for the job. If he could get her to listen to anything he said.
Well, he wouldn’t create a scene by insisting, not with everyone gawking. He tipped his hat. “You look mighty pretty in blue.”
Though her eyes narrowed, her hand sought her hair, fiddling with a strand near her ear. Whether she’d admit it or not, he affected her.
As he sauntered off, those within earshot put their heads together, no doubt wondering why a Wilson and a Cummings had exchanged words.
How could he make his offer if she wouldn’t talk to him?
The solution came. A solution so simple he wondered why he hadn’t thought of it sooner.
A soft chuckle rumbled inside him. He wasn’t a schoolboy she could intimidate. She didn’t know it yet, but Miss Abigail Wilson had met her match.
Heart-pounding memories tore through Abigail. Memories of Wade sitting beside her in Sunday school, walking her home from class, always parting before they reached Cummings State Bank and the Wilson apartment overhead. One day he’d given her a pink hair ribbon, a memento of his affection, he’d said.
Why had she believed him?
Refusing to give the scoundrel another thought, Abigail moved through the park, pulling into her lungs a faint whiff of smoke. The acrid odor sparked memories of the fire that had swept through New Harmony two weeks earlier, leaving behind destruction and suffering.
As she recalled the unbearable heat, the thick smoke, the terror of that night, her stomach knotted. But then the underlying scent of fresh lumber reached her nostrils and its promise of new beginnings eased the tension inside of her.
Thank you, God, no one lost their life or would be permanently disabled.
A miracle or so it seemed to Abigail.
With a thankful heart, she greeted friends and neighbors in the crowd milling around the gazebo. An amazingly festive crowd considering the town had gathered to raise money for her sister’s family and five other households who’d lost everything in that fire.
Mother Nature smiled upon today’s festivities, bestowing glorious sunshine, puffy clouds and a gentle breeze, belying her earlier tirade—the lightning strike that turned a thunderstorm into a one-block inferno.
Up ahead, Rachel Fisher waved, a straw boater tilted at a coquettish angle on her raven hair.
Rachel reached Abigail’s side and slid an arm through hers. “Papa said if no one bids on my lunch, he would.” Her brow puckered. “I’ll die of mortification.”
“Wearing that pretty dress and hat—why, you’ll have loads of admirers clamoring to share your lunch.”
“You say the sweetest things. No wonder you’re my best friend in the world.” Rachel leaned closer. “Speaking of admirers, did you see the girls fawning over Wade Cummings earlier?”
