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.

       Cecil Moore, his knobby hands looped around his red suspenders, edged between them. “You ain’t looking none too happy about these here proceedings, Miss Abigail. Reckon you know putting your box up for auction is same as promising to eat with the highest bidder.” He jerked a thumb, strap and all, toward her nemesis. “That means Wade here. Don’t you worry none. I’ll keep an eye peeled. See he treats you proper.”

       Abigail sighed. What choice did she have? Cecil was right. Hadn’t she said much the same to Seth and Paul? That the highest bidder deserved to share Betty Jo’s lunch. She’d go through the motions, but wouldn’t surrender, wouldn’t eat a bite with the enemy.

       She thanked Cecil, assuring him she didn’t need his protection. Then cheeks burning, she marched past smiling onlookers toward a cluster of trees, Wade bringing up the rear.

       Once she reached a shady spot, she removed her hat and gloves, an attempt to cool herself and her temper. While he tossed his hat aside and sat leaning against the tree, one booted foot stretching within inches of her skirts. She un-wrapped the lunch, laying out the contents on the checkered cloth, ignoring, or trying to, his long-legged presence. With trembling fingers she loaded his plate then shoved it into his hand.

       “Thanks. Looks delicious.” He had the audacity to pat the spot beside him. “Join me.” He scooted over, as if she’d consent.

       “You’ll enjoy your own company far better than mine.”

       “You underestimate yourself.” He laid his plate aside, rose and filled the other, then handed it to her. “I insist.” That stubborn look in his eye said he wouldn’t tolerate refusal.

       Glaring at him, she accepted the food and then sat on the far side of the checkered cloth, as if that scrap of material could provide a barrier between them.

       “I hope you get indigestion,” she said, ramming a fork into the mound of potato salad on her plate.

       He chuckled. “You’ve changed.”

       The accusation scorched her cheeks. If she had changed, the fault could be laid at Cummings’s feet. “Why would you bid on my lunch when half a dozen young ladies would’ve swooned over the privilege of dining with New Harmony’s most eligible bachelor?” She’d laced her tone with sarcasm though her meaning probably had bounced off his inflated ego.

       The corners of his mouth slanted up. “Maybe I wanted to save you from that timid beau of yours.”

       “Leon is not my beau.” She shot him a blistering look, surely hot enough to ignite green, water-soaked timber. He didn’t flinch.

       “I see him squiring you around town. What do you call him then?”

       Why did timid ring true?

       “It’s none of your business.”

       He munched on the chicken leg then licked his fingers like a mannerless child. Yet the sheer power of those broad shoulders, the length of his legs, the sinewy forearms made it abundantly clear, Wade was no child.

       “Delicious,” he said then cocked his head, studying her. “I suspect I’m lucky you didn’t know you were cooking for me, instead of Mr. Timid.”

       “You know perfectly well that his name is Leon Fitch. He works for the Cummings State Bank.” She arched a brow. “But you’re right about one thing. If I had known you would share my lunch, I’d have been tempted to season the food with a laxative.”

       Eyes alight with amusement, even approval, he chuckled. The absurdity of her claim even had her giggling. “That spunky attitude of yours is exactly why I want to talk to you,” he said.

       Abigail had no idea what he meant, but whatever Wade Cummings wanted she was having no part of it.

       The chuckle died in Wade’s throat. Too much hinged on Abby’s answer. The resentment he read in her eyes and knew he’d caused socked him in the gut. “To answer your question—I had to bid on your lunch to get you to talk to me.”

       As he watched, the truth of his words flitted across her face, a most attractive face even dappled with patterns of sunlight and shade. His fingers itched to free her hair, to see her fair tresses cascade over those slender shoulders as they had the day of the school picnic.

       Expression wary, she fiddled with a delicate chain she wore. “What on earth would you want to talk to me about?”

       This feminine female possessed a forceful attitude—exactly why he required her assistance. “I’m in a bind.”

       She gave a snort. A flush climbed her neck, no doubt reacting to what she’d see as unladylike behavior.