An Inconvenient Match (11 page)

“That’s nonsense. I’m your mother. You shouldn’t keep things from me.”

“Abby’s done nothing wrong. I shouldn’t have brought that up. It was a long time ago.” Lois tucked a wayward curl behind Abigail’s ear. “Forgive me?” she whispered.

Abigail nodded. Still, the time had come to sever the apron strings. She took a step back. “I’m old enough to make my own decisions. I’ve decided to work for the Cummingses. You all should trust me to know what I’m doing.”

Lois turned to their mother. “Let’s give Ab some breathing room. Though heaven knows we don’t have much around here to give.” She chuckled, obviously trying to lighten the mood.

“This argument is all the Cummingses’ fault. They continue to hurt us as they always have,” Ma said.

Was everything the Cummingses’ fault? Could the Wilsons have played a part in their own downfall? Abigail quickly tamped down the thought, unable to consider the possibility.

“Got to go or I’ll be late.” She hugged her mother, inhaling the familiar scent of honeysuckle. “I love you, Ma.” She pulled away and let her gaze roam the faces that held her heart. “All of you.”

“I love you too, dear. I don’t mean to sound like I thought you’d done something wrong. I just—” Ethel sighed. “Talking about the Cummingses brings back memories I’d rather forget.”

“For me too,” Abigail said.

Joe smiled. “Proud of you for lending the Cummingses a helping hand. Jesus met everyone’s needs, not just the deserving.”

A flash of annoyance sparked in her mother’s eyes. “If you remember, Jesus had plenty to say to hypocrites. George sits in church every Sunday, yet robbed us.”

Joe sighed. “They had legal right to call that loan.”

“Not a moral right.” Ethel dropped her gaze, fidgeting with her apron. As if she’d warred with herself and the good side of her nature had won. “The man did help put out that fire.”

“What an irony,” Lois said. “With Abby working for them, the Cummingses will be beholden to a Wilson.”

To assist her sister’s family, to regain her family’s self-respect, Abigail needed this job, as much as the Cummingses needed her. But she couldn’t help wondering if Lois had it all wrong.

Abigail stood in the open door to George Cummings’s bedroom, watching Wade attempt to feed his father. Surely father and son could find a better time than breakfast for a battle of wills. Eyes averted, neither man spoke, as if embarrassed by the small act of service.

Wade lifted a fork to his father’s mouth, jostling the utensil. A bite of scrambled egg bounced down George’s shirt, landing on his knee.

“You’re not much of a nursemaid,” George grumbled. “Abigail knows enough to tuck a napkin on my lap.”

“I forgot.” Wade tossed the bite of food onto the tray. “This would be easier if you kept your face turned toward me.”

George raised bandaged hands and nudged the bowl aside. “The eggs are dry.”

“If you hadn’t chased Cora away, she’d be fixing your breakfast, not me.”

“I’m finished,” George said glaring at Wade. “Better to go hungry than eat your cooking.”

At the cutting remark, Abigail flinched, sympathy for Wade rising within her. George found fault with everything his son did. Yet Wade merely shrugged, a mask of indifference hiding the frustration she’d glimpsed on his face.

Compelled to smooth rough waters, Abigail strode toward the window where they faced off like two fighters in a ring.

“Good morning,” she said cheerfully, and then peered inside the bowl Wade held. “A toddler eats better than that.”

George’s flinty eyes softened. “Toddler, is it? Well, in that case, I hope you’re prepared for one of my tantrums.”

“You don’t scare me.” She took the bowl and fork from Wade who’d vacated the chair beside his father. Abigail sat in his place, and with a flick of her wrist, she unfurled the napkin and tucked it under George’s chin. She popped a bite of egg into her own mouth. “Nothing’s wrong with these eggs.”

On the tray she found a spoon and filled it. “Want to try handling this yourself?”

“I won’t make more of a mess of it than Wade.” George grasped the handle in his bandaged palm, grimacing in pain. “Doc said to keep my fingers moving. They aren’t excited by the idea.”

“Sorry, but you should obey doctor’s orders.”

“Looks like I’m not needed here.” Wade nodded to Abigail then turned to his father. “See you later, Dad.”

The senior Cummings didn’t respond.

Abigail arched a brow. “Did the fire affect your hearing?”

Deep blue eyes settled on her, blinked then lifted to his son. “Hope you can manage the bank better than you managed these eggs.”

Color climbed Wade’s neck. “That’s my intent,” he said then strode out of the room.

Not a cordial exchange. Wade’s tone had been as sharp as his father’s. What stood between those two?

As George struggled to bring the spoon to his mouth without spilling the contents, Abigail rose and stepped to the window. Blue lifted his head from his paws to watch her, but remained curled alongside his master’s feet.

“How did you sleep last night?”

“When a man does nothing but lie around all day, he doesn’t sleep well.”

She turned toward him, watching him maneuver the spoon until he succeeded in getting the contents into his mouth. The next bite didn’t go as well. George dropped the spoon into the bowl and leaned back, breathing heavy.

Abigail filled the spoon, lifting it to his lips. Red-faced, he opened his mouth like a baby bird. Not that she’d mention the resemblance, but his helplessness and the obvious embarrassment it caused him tugged at her heart. “What do you say we go outside today? Fresh air would do us both good.”

“Not a bad idea for a stuffy schoolmarm,” he said, then allowed her to feed him another bite.

“You know a lady has the privilege of changing her mind.” She wagged a finger at him. “And this lady just might.”

“In my house, she doesn’t,” he said, eyes rock hard and daring her to disagree. “I’m holding you to it.”

“Then you might want to be nice.”

He looked away. “Giving orders is my way,” he said quietly.

“Well, sugar works far better than vinegar. And not merely with me. You might give that a try with your son.”

“Don’t get the notion you’re going to remake me, young lady.”

“God is the only one who can do that.” She chuckled. “I’m praying for that very thing.”

He shot her a scowl. “Let a man eat in peace.”

She snapped a salute. “Yes, sir.”

“That’s more like it.” But his testy tone ended on a chuckle. He finished the last bite of egg. She gathered the bowl and spoon. “Thanks,” he said, trying that sugar she’d mentioned.

Blue rose and meandered over to Abigail for a pat. “You’re a good dog.”

“Don’t believe Blue likes you better than me.”

Smiling, she gave the dog’s ear a scratch. “You like me better than your grouchy master, don’t you, Blue?”

George harrumphed.

Abigail merely chuckled at his little-boy antics. Why he didn’t rile her today, she had no idea. In fact she found his conduct oddly amusing. A good thing since wit proved the best way to get along with the man.

She hadn’t forgotten what he did to her family. So her attitude made no sense. Except she knew Rachel and Ma were praying for her, probably Joe and Lois too. The only explanation she had for today’s sense of peace.

With his breakfast finished, Abigail picked up the tray and stepped out of the room.

Wade leaned against the wall, arms across his chest, his sapphire eyes dismal. His dejected expression tore at her.

Within seconds he smoothed his brow and relieved her of the tray. As they walked down the hall and descended the stairs, she was all too aware of his physical strength, yet underneath that rugged exterior lived a wounded man.

“How do you do that?” he asked.

“Do what?”

“Keep that rapport with my father.”

“I refuse to let him intimidate or offend me—at least today. A dash of humor keeps the mood light. You might want to keep that in mind.”

They reached the bottom of the staircase and Wade turned toward her. “Too much stands between us.”

“A rock the size of Gibraltar stands between your father and me. I’m sorely tempted to speak my mind about what he did to my family, but good wages make guarding my tongue easier.” She grinned. “If you want to get along with George, try viewing him as an employer, not a father.”

His lips curved up. “I admire that sense of humor of yours. Now you’re using it on me.”

With a single smile that lit his eyes, Wade captured her with his mesmerizing gaze, drawing her to him like a moth to a flame. Abigail’s heart skipped a beat then fluttered like a bevy of delicate wings, shooting a surge of longing clear to her toes.

Appalled by her reaction to this man, a man she couldn’t trust, she turned away by the sheer strength of will and led the way into the kitchen. Wade set the tray on the counter near the stove. A counter strewn with a bowl of broken egg shells, a crock of butter, a breadboard littered with crumbs. The stove didn’t look much better with two dirty skillets and a pan with slices of burnt toast and a charred lump that might’ve been eggs. Maybe.

“Sorry about the mess.” Hands on hips, Wade motioned to the stove. “I despise that monstrosity. If Dad thought my scrambled eggs were dry, he should’ve seen these, the ones I burned.”

That twinkle of humor in Wade’s eyes only partially masked the hurt beneath his words. An urge to pull him into her arms, to offer him words of comfort gripped her, forging a connection she couldn’t deny.

Their gazes locked, dilating his pupils and wrapping the two of them in intimacy. His eyes dropped to her lips. He lowered his head, his intention clear. As his lips met hers, her heart tumbled, leaving her wobbly on her feet.

A knock. Abigail stumbled back. With one last lingering look at her, Wade crossed to answer the door.

Seth stood on the other side, holding his cap and squinting in the sunshine. “Morning, Wade. Is it okay to clean up the shop? The finish on the buffet should be dry.”

“Sure. You know where the key is.”

A smile broad on his face, the boy nodded then dashed off toward the carriage house.

How could she react to this man when they didn’t agree on anything? “You’ve done nothing to discourage Seth from working here.”

“I pay him to help whenever he can. He needs the money.”

“He’ll see that money as proof he doesn’t need to further his education.”

A muscle in his cheek jumped. “Would you be battling me about Seth’s future if my name wasn’t Cummings, if I hadn’t broken off our relationship?”

She grabbed a washcloth, scrubbing the counter. “What relationship? What we had was mere infatuation.” She scooped up the mess on the stove, a reminder of the mess he’d made of her life when she’d trusted him. “Your assumptions are insulting. I’m thinking of Seth’s welfare. I don’t want him to end up like my mother and sister.”

His brow furrowed. “What are you saying?”

As if he didn’t understand. Refusing to answer, she gathered the dishes and skillets and stomped to the niche, lowering them into the sink.

He followed. “I asked you to explain.”

She flung the washcloth into the sink. “When your father called that loan, he took our home, our livelihood, my father’s life. Joe started gambling, hoping to win a pile of money. Instead he wound up with a compulsion and a pile of debt.” Breathing heavy, she leaned toward him. “To put food on the table, Ma and Lois worked their fingers to the bone, all but ruining their health. If not for my education, I’d be doing the same.” She slashed a hand. “You’ve had an easy life. So don’t tell me you know what’s best for Seth.”

Wade laid a hand over his heart. “I’m sorry you and your family suffered from the loss of the farm.” He took a step closer until his booted toe brushed her hem. “But I can promise you Seth will never leave his pa to go off to college. Let the boy choose his own path.”

Wade pretended concern for Seth. In reality he only cared about his dream. He continued to toy with people’s lives, as he had hers. Making moves as if people were pieces in a chess game.

She took a deep breath, and then released it in a flood of words. “You make working here too difficult.”

“Please don’t quit. My father needs you. Think of him.” His hand reached for her then fell away. “I need you,” he said, his voice raspy.

The desperation in his tone melted something cold and rigid within her. A desire to lean into his touch, to rest against that broad chest, to forget the past battled with her common sense. She steeled her spine and drew back.

“No one else can handle him but you.”

All that mattered to Wade was his father. He didn’t care that his presence, his touch, scorched like a hot sadiron.

No matter how much she told herself otherwise, she was falling under his spell. How could she stay in this house when every day brought her closer to the web he spun?

She wouldn’t care for a long list of reasons.