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?”
Against her better judgment, Abigail turned toward her foe. He met her gaze, and then had the audacity to tip his hat, but not her world. Five years ago, the gesture would’ve quivered in her stomach. No more. She was done with that man.
“With all the eager contenders for the position, why isn’t he courting anyone? Do you suppose he feels too good for us?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Too bad.” Rachel sighed. “Wade’s handsome and rich and—”
“A Cummings,” Abigail said, hoping to put an end to where the conversation led.
Abigail’s hand sought the slender chain around her neck that held the tiny gold ring Pa had bought the day she was born. He’d called her his baby girl…until everything changed. Pa most of all.
Rachel rose on her tiptoes and searched the park. “Is Leon at the bank?”
“He’ll be here before the bidding starts.”
“Guaranteeing your lunch will be snapped up,” Rachel moaned. “I’ve got to find Papa before he humiliates me.” She gave Abigail a hug then scurried off in search of her father.
Mr. Fisher adored his daughter. Rachel didn’t appreciate what she had. But then, Abigail hadn’t either until she’d lost it.
Oscar Moore motioned her over to the gazebo. “What triggered that scrap between the Roger and Collier boys?”
“Betty Jo Weaver.”
“Should’a known.” His face crinkled in a grin. “You gotta be grateful school’s out and you’re free as a bird.”
In reality, Abigail had eight mouths to feed. The fire made her search for a job difficult, as those who’d lost everything scrambled for additional income, all vying for the few available openings. “This bird is looking for a summer cage. If you hear of a job, let me know.”
“Reckon something’ll turn up iffen you pray about it.”
She’d prayed about it, but wouldn’t sit idly by when God had given her a good brain and the education to help herself.
“Well, time to get this here show on the road.” Oscar lumbered up the gazebo steps, slipped two fingers in his mouth, releasing a shrill whistle that quieted the crowd. “Reckon you all know why we’re here,” he called out. “Let’s plan on going home with full bellies and empty wallets. Show those folks, who lost everything, that we not only care, we share.” He pumped a pudgy fist. “Are you ready?”
A cheer rose from the throng. A huge grin spread across Oscar’s plump face, swallowing up his eyes.
The community had pitched in to help, exactly as Abigail would expect. Single women put up their box lunches to the highest bidder while married ladies handled the bake