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 nervously, 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.
