An Inconvenient Match (24 page)

“I made a bad decision and feel terrible about that, but how could you accuse me of trying to kill your father?”

“I’m sorry. I…” He ran a hand through his hair. “I know you’d never harm Dad or anyone. I’m to blame.”

As if they’d doused it with water, his words smothered the fire in her eyes. “Well, thank you.” She cocked her head, studying him as if evaluating a bullheaded student. “I suggested the walk because George appeared disheartened, like he’d lost his best friend. Any idea why?”

Unable to meet her intense gaze, he glanced toward the stalls. “We got in an argument last night. I blurted out my plan to open the shop. He accused me of being like my mom—putting a pipe dream ahead of duty.”

“With the fragileness of his health right now, telling him your plans might not have been wise.”

The weight of responsibility for bringing harm to his father sank inside him. “My temper hindered my judgment, but Dad needs to replace me at the bank.”

“Your father isn’t well enough to search for a replacement.”

“He’ll never replace me if I don’t force him to.” He lifted the bridle still in his hand. “A tight bit chafes, Abby. My father kept a tight grip on the reins. I’ve felt the pain of that bit in my mouth all my life.”

She sighed. “George isn’t an easy man. But under that tough hide he’s wounded. Not all that different from you.”

“What do you mean, not all that different from me?”

“Your mother wasn’t the only one with a dream. Your father dreamed of building an empire. You dream of building—”

“Empire-style furniture,” he finished for her, giving a weak smile.

“The dreams may be different but you Cummings men are alike. Alike and butting heads.”

At her assertion Wade’s jaw dropped. Were he and George alike? “If I’m like Dad, I’ve got to do more apologizing.”

She laughed at his joke and he joined in. The sound settled within him, a balm to the raw hurt he carried inside. As he stared into those gentle blue eyes, got lost in their depths, the laughter died in his throat. “You’re an amazing woman, Abby. I admire your intelligence, your feisty spirit, your compassion for my dad, a man who hurt your family.”

He lifted a hand to a strand of her hair. The tendril curled around his finger like a newborn baby’s hand. He gathered her in his arms. She fit him perfectly. They were two wounded people, harmed by the families they loved. Meant for each other.

As he leaned closer, gaze fastened on her mouth, she inhaled, all but holding her breath. He lowered his head and met her lips, soft and pliable under his. With a soft moan, she rose on tiptoe, hands encircling his neck, clinging to him. His heart hammered in his temples, pounded in his chest. Oh, how he loved her.

She pulled away, trembling before him.

He wrapped her hand in his and pressed her palm over his pounding heart. “Can you feel that, Abby? No woman affects me like you do.”

Eyes searching his, as if deciding whether to believe him, she slowly nodded, then lowered her gaze. “That’s what frightens me.”

Her words, the panic in her eyes, drilled into him. He’d seen love die, seen what happens when it did, and had lived the consequences. He couldn’t speak the words that would dispel her fear. How could he, when fear lived in him too?

Early that morning before the sun made it unbearable Abby donned work gloves and surveyed the plants she’d collected. Scattered around the Cummingses’ garden, balls of dirt held black-eyed Susan, Shasta daisy, yarrow, sweet pea vine for the trellis, all awaiting homes.

To get George out of the house and hopefully lift his mood, she’d asked for his advice on where to place the new plants. He’d been surprisingly interested and had actually helped select their locations. Now he sat across the way reading the Bible with Blue dozing at his feet.

She hoped within those Holy pages, he found a fresh perspective and the wisdom he badly needed. And a remedy for the despondency plaguing him since Wade had revealed his plans to leave the business.

Wade had worked up the soil earlier, even offered to dig the holes. But he had to be at the bank and these plants couldn’t wait.

As she bent over the handle, ready to shove the spade into the ground with her shoe, Wade strode out the back door wearing denims, boots, a rumpled shirt and a Stetson, looking more cowboy than banker, or even cabinetmaker.

He spoke to his father then strode toward her. “Hello, lovely lady,” he said with a wide smile.

“Hello.” The memory of last night’s kiss was seared in her mind and sealed on her lips. Yet fear of trusting Wade held her in its grip.

He took the spade from her gloved hands. “This is a man’s job.”

“You’ll be late for work.”

“Work will wait. These wilted plants won’t.” He touched her chin with a finger, setting off a reaction that slithered through her. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

His words doused her mood like a cold spring shower. Getting hurt was exactly what could happen.

With Wade’s declaration percolating in her mind, she hurried to the pump, filled the galvanized sprinkling can then slogged to the garden with a lopsided gait, sloshing water on the hem of her skirts.

Wade relieved her of the burden, then watered the dirt clinging to the plant’s roots. Setting the sprinkling can aside, he scooped the mound of soil into the hole, tamping it loosely in place with strong, capable hands. Perspiration beaded on his brow and he tipped his Stetson back, wiping his forehead on his sleeve, and then moved to the next plant, shoving the spade in the ground with a booted heel.

As she watched his muscles bunch beneath his shirt, her heart thudded in her chest. Abigail swallowed hard. The temptation to lean into his strength slid through her. She couldn’t deny the appeal of those brawny muscles, of his strong work ethic, of his amazing kisses.

George meandered over. “A bench would be nice out here. A spot to drop down and watch the bees and hummingbirds.”

“That’s a good idea, Dad.”

“Could you build it?”

“Sure. How about a bench with a back and arms? Big enough to seat two?” he added, glancing at Abigail.

“Appreciate it,” George said.

A smile wide on his face, Wade watched his father return to his chair. The garden and sunshine had apparently been what George needed to improve his outlook. Abigail could hardly believe that father and son were speaking cordially. And George wanted his son’s handiwork. Perhaps time spent reading the Bible had made the biggest impact.

Wade finished planting the last perennial. “The garden looks good,” he said, his gaze roaming the flower beds. “I’ll take care of hoeing the weeds.”

“I can do that.”

“I want to help.”

That he seemed to want to ease her load warred against her judgment. The verdict, Wade was a good man.

Trustworthy, kind. A man she could love. If she dared.

With a spring in her step Abigail entered the Cummings library, one of her favorite rooms in the house. Bookshelves stretched from floor to ceiling; the world globe hung in a wooden stand on the floor. The rich patina of the paneling, the scent of leather and George’s pipe, now forgotten, permeated the room. When had she started to feel at home here?

She carried the copy of
The Red Badge of Courage
. George had finally finished the book and they’d spent most of the afternoon discussing that hideous war.

Crusty and stubborn as George could be, she’d also seen his vulnerability. Wade loved his father, obvious by his concern for his health. She suspected George loved his son but something kept them aloof, from admitting their feelings.

She wouldn’t admit her feelings for Wade either, but the memory of his kiss scorched her cheeks. Countless times she’d relived the feel of his lips on hers. The power of the feelings he’d awakened told her she was falling for Wade again.

Could Rachel have been right when she said Wade deserved another chance?

As Abigail meandered toward the back wall to shelve the book, her skirts brushed against a file on George’s cluttered desk, knocking it to the floor, scattering papers on the Persian rug.

Sighing, she laid the book aside and bent to gather the pages. A gilded letterhead caught her eye.
Illinois Central Railroad
.

Why would…?

Her heart skipped a beat. She reached for the paper, her hands trembling so badly she couldn’t distinguish the words blurring on the page. She stumbled to the chair, laid the letter on the desk then read:

In response to your inquiry about possible interest in the Illinois Central Railroad providing a spur into New Harmony, Iowa, management has determined this enterprise would mutually benefit our company and your town.

She noted the date. This proved George Cummings knew the railroad’s interest in Wilson land
weeks
before he called the loan on their farm.

Her throat clogged. Her father had spoken the truth. He’d seen the Cummingses as enemies. This paper proved him correct. George Cummings was a blatant liar. Tears stung her eyes. She’d been a traitor to her father’s memory. How could she have fallen into the Cummingses’ snare? Again.

Anger pumping through her body, she grabbed the paper and sped down the hall toward the parlor. Wade and George stood near the window, conspirators in this travesty.

She marched to them, stuck the paper in front of George’s face. “You lied! You knew the railroad planned a spur into New Harmony
before
you called the loan on our farm. You took our farm out of greed! Not to save the bank from failing.”

George reached for the paper. “Where did you get that?” he asked, taking it out of her hands.

The shock in Wade’s eyes turned guarded. “I unearthed a file on the Wilson transaction and left it on your desk. I planned to examine the contents later tonight,” he said.

“So, Miss Wilson, you took advantage of my son’s negligence,” he said, nailing Wade with a pointed gaze. “And snooped through private papers.”

“Dad, don’t blame us. You claimed you had nothing to hide.”

Abigail whirled toward Wade. “Don’t pretend you didn’t know about this.”

“I didn’t. You have to believe me.” Wade took then scanned the paper. Stony eyes then lifted to his father. “She’s right. You lied when you said you didn’t know about the railroad’s interest before you called the loan.”

“I’d decided to call the loan
before
I got the reply to my inquiry. Nor was I certain
the Illinois Central
would buy Wilson land. That parcel wasn’t the only way into town.”

Wade huffed. “Crossing Wilson land was the direct route.”

“Yes.” George glanced at Abigail. “I’ll admit the railroad’s interest was a bonus.”

“I can’t stand the sight of you.” She glanced at the opulence surrounding her. “That sale brought you an easy life. The money would have enabled my father to repay the loan and save his farm. Save his life!”

Unable to stay another minute in their presence, she lurched toward the door.

“Abby, wait! Let’s talk about this.”

“Whether you were aware of your father’s treachery or not, you’re a Cummings, cut from the same cloth as your father.”

As she sped home, she faced the bitter truth. She’d opened her heart to the Cummings men. They’d shattered it into a million jagged shards that slashed with every breath she took.

How could she have enjoyed George’s crusty company? How could she have fallen for Wade’s phony charm?

She’d trusted emotion, not her head. What a fool she’d been. She recalled her father’s edict. Never fraternize with the enemy. Yet that’s exactly what she’d done. At her stupidity, a strangled laugh forced its way out of her throat.

Wade’s kiss had convinced her she should cancel her dinner plans tomorrow night with Harrison Carder.

But now, nothing could make her happier. She’d show Harrison small-town hospitality.

And never let Wade Cummings into her heart again.

Business was booming at Agnes’s Café. Diners filled every table. Their conversation and laughter easing those first awkward moments of the evening as Harrison seated Abigail then sat across from her. A tented hand-lettered RESERVED sign sat in the middle of the table.

A handsome, charming man, Harrison smiled at her. The skin on her face felt stiff, even rigid, but she forced a smile. Determined to enjoy his company, she squared her shoulders.

What better way to forget how Wade had hurt her than to spend an evening with his best friend. To talk and laugh, share a meal. Keep too occupied to waste even one second thinking about Wade Cummings.

She’d show him that Abigail Wilson was made of strong stuff. Perhaps she’d even give Harrison a chance. Even if she’d never give her heart again, she enjoyed an occasional evening out. Harrison would be more entertaining than Leon, who hadn’t come around since the box lunch auction. Probably afraid he’d lose his job. A valid concern.