An Inconvenient Match. Janet Dean

shirt and bib overalls even on this warm Saturday in May, Oscar lined her box up with the others on display, a colorful mix of paper, silk flowers and ribbon.

       “I’d give Leon a run for his money and bid on your lunch exceptin’ I make it a point to never come between lovebirds.”

       Abigail bit back a grin. Lovebirds hardly described her and Leon.

       A sudden grimace marred Oscar’s placid plump face. “Land’s sake, they’re at it again.”

       Up ahead, young people circled a commotion. Abigail rose on her tiptoes. Why, inside that ring, two of her students hunched, clenched hands reared back, ready to strike a blow. Within seconds bystanders took sides, egging them on, as if they needed encouragement. Paul was a hothead, but Seth normally had a level head on his shoulders. What had happened?

       Abigail strode toward the ruckus, using her collapsed parasol to clear a path, and pushed her way between the two glowering teenagers. Not wise considering each stood a head taller than her, and outweighed her by a good fifty pounds.

       “She’s mine, you hear!”

       “Like you own her!”

       “You two are behaving like tantrum-throwing toddlers,” Abigail said. Chests heaving, eyes sparking, knuckles white, neither boy appeared to hear. “Seth! Paul! Unfold those fists!”

       Looking slightly dazed, both boys lowered their arms and took a step back.

       Seth Collier, his dark hair curling with perspiration, dropped a sheepish gaze to his feet.

       Paul Roger’s face was contorted in anger and as red as his hair, his icy-blue eyes shooting daggers. He reached around Abigail and shoved a palm into Seth’s shoulder. Seth staggered, almost losing his balance.

       Abigail slapped her parasol against Paul’s forearm. “Stop that!” Finally both boys turned toward her. “What’s this about?”

       “Seth’s going to bid on Betty Jo’s lunch. Everyone knows she’s my girl.”

       “Then outbid him. The box social is about raising money.”

       Snarling, Paul took a threatening step toward Seth. “No one bids on Betty Jo’s lunch but me.”

       “If sharing a meal with another boy will damage your friendship with Betty Jo, then face the truth, Paul, you don’t mean much to her in the first place.”

       Betty Jo Weaver, the object of the boys’ hostility, sashayed over, dainty hands planted on hips, lips flattened in a disapproving line. “I wouldn’t share my lunch with either of you blockheads, not for all the tea in China!” She spun away, petticoats and blond curls flying.

       “As you can see, gentlemen, the way to a lady’s heart isn’t through your fists.”

       “Now look what you’ve gone and done,” Paul groused to Seth then took off at a run. “Betty Jo, wait up!”

       With the fight over before it started, bystanders lost interest and dispersed.

       Abigail took in Seth’s familiar faded shirt, the elbow she’d patched one afternoon after school. Motherless with a father who drank, the boy didn’t have an easy life.

       “You need to watch what you say to Paul. You know his temper.” She smiled to soften her words. “Plenty of other girls would like to share their lunch with you.”

       “Maybe,” Seth said but didn’t look convinced.

       Did he really care about Betty Jo? If so, he was bound to get hurt. Betty Jo Weaver had bigger pickings in mind. Already she’d joined the circle of Wade Cummings’s ardent admirers.

       Foolish girl.

       Off to the side, face downcast, Paul stood watching. Young love hurt, she knew, but dismissed the thought and turned away from such silliness.

       “Seth, the school board agreed to pay someone to stoke the schoolhouse stove this winter. Would you like the job?”

       His eyes lit. “Yes, ma’am, I sure would.”

       “It’ll mean getting up early.”

       “I can manage.”

       “I know you can. Now have a good time today. And no fighting.”

       “Yes, ma’am,” he said then trotted off.

       Seth was a good kid. A bright kid. And weighted down with responsibility. With a father who saw any act of kindness toward him and his son as interference. The best way to help Seth was to get him out from under his father’s influence and into college next year.

       “This box social reminds me of a meal we once shared.”

       At the sound of his voice and the implication in that tone, the hair on the back of Abigail’s neck rose. She whirled to face the speaker, tripping on her skirts, and stared into the eyes of Wade Cummings.

       He steadied her, his touch firm and warm through her sleeve. A lazy grin rode his chiseled features, as if he found her reaction amusing. When he knew perfectly well she wouldn’t share a meal with him if he were the last person on earth.

       She jutted her chin. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

       “Are you saying you’ve forgotten the school picnic? I’ll never forget the strawberry pie you brought.”

       A flash of memory of Wade capturing a speck of filling with his tongue, then declaring the pie the best he’d ever eaten as her stomach had roiled. Not from the dessert, but that he’d spoken to her at all, considering the trouble between their families. Worse when he’d asked to join her on the blanket, she’d nodded, unable to refuse the allure of those deep-set indigo eyes. That afternoon they’d strolled through the park, talked for hours. For weeks they’d spent every minute together they could. Not easy when her family adamantly refused to let Wade come calling.

       That had been a long time ago. Before Wade dumped her like a sack of rotten potatoes. Before Pa died. Before she fully grasped the Cummings family treachery and suffered the consequences. She dealt with them still.

       As she pivoted on her heel to avoid him and the heartache those memories awakened, Wade stopped her with a gentle hand on hers. “Did you make strawberry pie for today’s lunch?”

       “No.” She shook off his touch, grateful she spoke the truth, but if she had prepared his favorite dessert, she’d never admit as much to Wade. “Leave me alone.”

       Oscar Moore’s brother Cecil, self-proclaimed mayor of New Harmony, sidled up beside her. Long-faced and tall, the exact opposite of his rotund brother, Cecil lifted a brow. “From the looks of it you two could use a referee. My rheumatism’s been acting up but I ain’t too feeble to handle the job.”

       “No need, Cecil. Mr. Cummings was just leaving,” Abigail said with a finality Wade couldn’t miss. And from the stubborn set of his jaw, he hadn’t.

       “Well, in that case I’ll mosey on back to my post.” Cecil shook his head. “Too bad you two mix about like oil and water. Cause you look right well together. Better’n Pastor Ted’s matched team of Percherons.”

       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?”