An Inconvenient Match (14 page)

“Thank you,” she said, then gifted him with a stunning smile, a beautiful and for him, rare occurrence. That smile danced over his defenses and slammed against the protective wall he’d built around his heart. Something frozen inside him softened, sliding into lonely crevices he didn’t know existed.

Yet hadn’t he seen with his parents, with himself, that love brought pain? Fighting the connection between them, he took a step back.

Abby dropped her gaze to the bouquet in her hands, fidgeting with a torn leaf then ripping it from the stem. As the leaf fluttered to the ground, she lifted her eyes to his. “I’ve seen the strain between you and your father. Not that I’m blaming you. George isn’t an easy man. Still, if you tried, perhaps you two could forge a new beginning.”

That she cared soothed like butter on a burn. But to fix the trouble between him and his father meant knuckling under and giving up his dream. “Other than following the path he’s planned for my life, I can’t please him.” Her puzzled expression said she didn’t understand. “He wants me to take over our holdings. But sitting at a desk all day, working with numbers is as arduous to me as dragging a ball and chain.”

She pursed her lips, no doubt pondering a solution. Those sweet lips had him thinking all right, thinking about kissing her.
Whoa, Cummings. You’re not ready to take that risk any more than she is.

Yet his hand moved to her cheek. With the soft pad of his thumb he wiped the smudge off her cheek. At his touch, she inhaled sharply. “Just a little dirt,” he said.

“I must look a mess.”

“You look perfect.”

His praise bloomed in her cheeks. She lowered her lashes like a flustered schoolgirl. “Perhaps if you and George could find a pastime to share, that would help.”

Work was all his father knew. “I don’t know what that could be, but I’ll think on it.” Instead an idea for a pastime to share with Abby came to mind. “I’d like to enlarge this garden, add some plants, but I have no idea what.”

Her eyes lit. “Several perennials would do well in this sunny location. I’d love to help.”

Abby lived in an apartment with only a scrap of a yard. Yet she enjoyed digging in the soil, fiddling with plants. Something he wanted to share with her. “Round up the plants you’d like. Put the expense on the Cummings account. When you’re ready, I’ll dig up the grass.”

“No need. Perennials like to crowd together.”

Wade knew nothing about gardening, but when it came to Abby, crowding together definitely appealed. Their gazes locked, those soft blue eyes of hers danced with excitement. When had he seen her look happier?

“I know several women who’d share a cutting or plant.”

“Whenever you’re ready, let me know. I’ll dig the holes.”

“You’d do that for me?”

That and so much more. “It’ll be fun.”

Such simple things. Plants, fresh-turned soil. Yet she behaved as if he’d given her a priceless gift. When all he’d done was to observe the pleasure gardening gave her and offer his time and muscle. Perhaps Abby was right; perhaps an activity could connect him and his father.

“Wade, I…” Her eyes sobered. “Thank you for forgiving me for my temper.”

“Thank you for forgiving me for riling you.” If only she could forgive him for hurting her all those years ago. Yet to explain, he would have to reveal his father’s cruel plan and hurt her more.

As much as he wanted to stay, to spend the afternoon with Abby in this garden, if he hoped to get his shop underway, he had to get out to the Collier cabin. “I need to get a move on.”

“Where are you off to?”

Once she knew his destination that smile would fade. Temptation to evade the question slid through him, but he wouldn’t lie. “I’m heading out to the Collier place, to talk to Rafe about a job.”

Her eyes dimmed. “About a job? Or Seth’s apprenticeship?”

“I see no point in talking to Rafe about Seth’s plans.”

“Thank you,” she said, laying a gentle hand on his arm. “Be careful. Rafe’s not known for hospitality.”

“I will.”

With a nod she turned away, carrying that basket of flowers to his father, a lucky man.

As Wade saddled Rowdy, he whistled a tune, feeling a smidgeon of optimism that he and his father could find a way to get along. More importantly, he had the first hope he and Abby could have a future. Moving beyond the past would take time. He wouldn’t push.

Meanwhile, he’d talk to Rafe about cleaning the empty storefront. And handle the myriad of details of getting a business underway.

With a splendid sunny afternoon ahead of him, unshackled from a desk, he gave a gentle tug on the reins, turning the horse toward open country. A flick of the leather and Rowdy clopped along at a trot, leaving behind a trail of dust.

In every field he passed, slender shoots stretched to the sun. Farmers had plowed and planted in narrow precise rows appealing to Wade’s methodical nature and desire for order.

If only he could control his life as well as farmers did these crops, but as perfect as they looked now, disease and pests riddled yields, drought and hailstones destroyed the harvest. Life was not without trouble.

At the lane leading to the Collier cabin, Wade tugged on the reins, then dismounted and tied Rowdy to a fencepost. Keep-out signs on the barbed wire fence, on the gate, even on a tree, a lone sentry in an adjoining field, all forbade entry. To Wade those signs banning entry suggested Rafe had something to hide.

Would Rafe take the job? Or would a jug hold more appeal?

Wade tried the gate. A padlock hung from the chain, giving him no choice but to walk from here. Rafe could be half-soused or working. Either way, Seth’s father didn’t tolerate visitors and wasn’t above pulling a gun on trespassers, most likely a bluff. Still, Wade wasn’t fool enough to disrespect the barrel end of a shotgun.

He scaled the gate and loped along the hard-packed ground. Halfway up the lane the blast from a shotgun stopped Wade in his tracks.

“You’re on private property. I aimed at the sky. Next time I won’t be as tolerant.”

“Wade Cummings, Rafe.”

“What do you want?”

“I’ve got a job offer for you and Seth, if you’re a mind to take it.” He took a step forward.

“That’s far enough.”

Wade froze.

Rafe emerged from a clump of trees and motioned with his shotgun. “Move back to the gate. I’ll send Seth out to hear what you’ve come to say.”

“You’re the one I want to talk to.”

“What you want doesn’t matter.”

With no hope of changing Rafe’s mind, Wade pivoted on a booted heel and retraced his steps. That he’d be talking to Seth not his pa didn’t set well. A man ought to supervise the job.

When he reached his horse, he gave Rowdy’s nose a rub, listening to the quiet, broken only by a buzzing insect and the call of birds. Did Rafe appreciate the peace of his farm? Or was he too busy slugging down whiskey and warding off intruders to notice?

In the distance, Seth approached. Alone.

Rowdy nudged Wade with his muzzle, almost knocking him off balance. “You’re not shy about asking for what you like, are you?” As he rubbed between his ears, Rowdy stood stock-still, except for his tail, swishing flies.

Seth scaled the fence exactly as Wade had, evidence that gate rarely swung open. “Pa said you had a job.”

“I do. Your pa should’ve come to hear my proposal.”

“Pa isn’t much for visitors.”

An understatement if Wade had ever heard one. “I’ve selected an empty warehouse we own off Main Street as the location for my cabinetmaking shop.”

“That’s great!”

Seth’s enthusiasm made Wade smile. “It is. But the place is dirty, infested with varmints. A few windows need replacing and the roof needs patching. Not a job for one man.”

Especially a boy.

“Our fields are planted. Crops are up,” Seth said, his voice filling with pride. “Nothing to hold us here. I’ll ask Pa.”

“If your dad wants the work, tell him to meet me at the warehouse tomorrow at noon.”

“I’ll do what I can to get him there.”

“I can’t think of any nice way to say this, Seth, but your pa can’t drink on the job. That’s not something I can tolerate.”

A flush climbed Seth’s neck. “Yes, sir.”

“I hope it works out.”

Seth bobbed his head.

“Your dad’s a fortunate man to have a son like you.”

The boy met Wade’s gaze. “I’m fortunate to have him for my pa.”

Yeah, right. A gun-toting, liquor-guzzling recluse was everyone’s aspiration for a father. Rafe Collier made George Cummings look like a perfect parent.

“Hope to see him tomorrow.”

With a nod, Seth scaled the gate and leaped to the ground, then jogged toward home.

To what?

Wade didn’t know. That uncertainty bothered him. Not that he believed Rafe would harm his son.

As he untied Rowdy then swung into the saddle, the possibilities gnawed in the pit of Wade’s stomach. Seth was a good kid. He deserved a good life. If only education was the answer for Seth as Abby believed. But the boy’s steadfast support of Rafe didn’t give Wade one glimmer of hope Seth would leave his father.

Wade’s hand knotted on the reins. Under Seth’s cheerful exterior surely lay a hurting boy. A boy needing approval, affection, a good example, someone he could look up to. Not a heartbroken drunk for a father.

If Rafe refused the job cleaning up the warehouse, Wade would see that Seth earned money to handle their expenses until harvest. But money didn’t replace a parent.

Wade knew that as well as anyone.

Cora’s sugar cookies should entice a few volunteers to lend a hand. Not that Abigail relished taking men away from rebuilding houses destroyed in the fire. But George Cummings’s shortness of breath kept him from handling the flight of stairs. A man accustomed to overseeing his realm perceived his second-floor bedroom as a prison. In this heat a torture chamber.

That morning Abigail had come up with a simple solution. Moving George’s bedroom to the front parlor would enable him to access the kitchen and the outdoors, at least as far as the front porch. She couldn’t manage the four-poster. No one person could. The image of Wade’s bulging biceps rose in her mind. She gulped. No doubt he could wrestle the bed and mattress downstairs alone. But once she’d explained her plan, George wouldn’t abide one moment’s delay.

If the move lifted George’s spirits and improved his attitude as Abigail expected, then perhaps he’d treat Wade better. And they’d take the first step toward healing the impasse between them.

Before the building site came into view, Abigail heard the rat-a-tat of hammers, a discordant but gratifying sound promising a new beginning for her sister, for all of those who’d lost everything in that fire. Two newly framed houses came into view. Square two stories with a pitched roof. One of those houses stood on the Lessman lot. Abigail laughed with sheer joy. Soon Lois would have her home restored.

Abigail patted her brow with a hankie and watched a dozen men nailing shingles on the rooftops. A nasty job in this heat. On down, crews secured wood siding. All four houses were almost enclosed.

Wade was nowhere in sight. Not surprising when he had a bank and half-dozen businesses to run. She couldn’t wait to tell him she’d gotten promises of several plants for the Cummingses’ garden. Some would have to wait until fall or at least cooler temperatures.

Pastor Ted approached, a nail pouch tied around his waist and toting a hammer. “Afternoon, Abigail. Finished Sunday’s sermon and thought I’d lend a hand.”

“Nice of you to help.” She offered the silver tray piled with cookies. Fancy for a construction site, but all she could find in the Cummingses’ kitchen. “Have a cookie.”

“Mmm, Cora’s?” At her nod, he grinned. “Better get one before they’re gone.” He helped himself and took a bite. “Delicious. Thoughtful of you to bring a treat.”

“Actually the cookies are a bribe. I need help moving Mr. Cummings’s bedroom downstairs.”

A grin spread across his face. “That’s a fine idea. Being in the middle of things should ease that impatience of his.” He shoved up the brim of his hat. “Is he giving you much trouble?”

“He tries but I don’t scare easily.” She chuckled. “Actually he’s coming around.” With a start, she realized she spoke the truth. George had tempered his attitude, at least toward her. “Probably because he’s feeling better.”

“Good to hear. Can I help round up the men you need?”

“Thanks but I’ll manage.”

“Well, better get up on a roof. I suspect you’ll have plenty of volunteers, eager to stretch their legs. If not, give me a holler.” He strode off munching on the cookie.

One nice thing about a pastor who’d left farming for the ministry, the man knew how to work when the need arose.

Oscar Moore plodded toward her, pushing a wheelbarrow loaded with a galvanized tub of iced lemonade and a dipper and singing “Oh My Darling Clementine” at the top of his lungs.

When he reached her, he released his grip on the handles, jostling lemonade, then tipped his hat. “Afternoon, Miss Abigail. Cecil and me are on the drink brigade. Can’t keep these men watered in this heat. The ladies at the Club made the lemonade.”