The Unintended Groom

They strolled down the boardwalk, their footsteps echoing underneath them. When they reached the steps that separated one building from the other, Harrison glanced down at the muddy ground, then at her delicate gown, and contemplated what to do. If she was his wife, he would swing her into his arms and carry her across, but she wasn’t. And yet, how could he do nothing and allow a lady to soil her garment. “If you will permit me, I would like to carry you across the mud.”

Abby blinked as if he’d gone daft or something. “Thank you. But no. I can walk. I was raised on a farm. I’m used to mud. A lot of it.” With those words, she hiked her skirt and tiptoed through the thick mire to the other side.

Harrison stared at her back. No Bostonian lady would have ever done that. In fact, they would have insisted Harrison call for a servant to carry them across or that he lay his coat down for them to walk on. Abby was nothing like those ladies. She was more like Allison in that way, too. Realizing what he was doing, he reprimanded himself for comparing Abby to his deceased wife.

They arrived at Lucy’s Diner. Harrison opened the door for Abby. Apples and cinnamon filled the air.

Abby headed to a table by the window, and he followed, holding her chair out and waiting for her to be seated before he took the chair across from her. His gaze slid around the room at the informal, homey establishment. The sparkling-clean place was small but not cluttered. It was also void of patrons, which had him wondering why since according to Abby, it served the best pie in town.

“How fortunate we are that we missed the morning breakfast rush.” Abby answered his unspoken question.

A petite, slender woman in a bright yellow dress with a stained apron over it bustled toward them. “Abby! It’s so nice to see you again. Couldn’t stay away, huh? You come back for some more of my strawberry-rhubarb pie? I made a fresh batch this morning. There’s three pieces left. So if you want one, you’d better grab a slice before the next rush of customers comes barreling in. You want coffee with that pie, or tea? Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t even ask. Maybe you don’t want strawberry-rhubarb today. I have two pecan pies coming out of the oven in a few minutes. You want a slice of that instead?” As if she finally realized Abby wasn’t alone, the woman stopped her rapid-fire talking and her brown-eyed gaze fell to him.

“Oh, dear me. Forgive me, sir. Don’t know where my manners are. Hello. I’m Lucy Cornwall. Owner of this here place.” She grabbed his hand with her sticky one and pumped it vigorously with a grip as strong as any man’s. A grasp that certainly didn’t match her petite size.

“Lucy, this is Mr. Kingsley. My new business partner. We’re here to celebrate.”

“Oh.” Her eyes lit up. “What you celebrating? Oh, wait.” She shook her head. “You said he’s your new business partner. This must mean that ornery old mayor and his little cronies gave you your license, then. Good. Cuz, if he didn’t, I was fixin’ to march down there and give that man a good tongue lashing, and let him know he’d get no more pie from me. That’d serve him right. Won’t have to now. Okay, what’ll you have?” She pulled a piece of paper and a nub of a pencil out of her apron pocket, chewed on the wood like a beaver gnawing on a log until more lead exposed itself, then she placed the dull point on the paper. Her friendly smile landed on him first, then Abby. “Now I’m ready.”

The woman reminded him of a hurricane, long-winded and unpredictable. He glanced at Abby. She winked at him and smiled before turning her attention to Lucy. “I’ll take the strawberry-rhubarb pie and tea.”

Lucy scribbled it down and turned to him.

Harrison couldn’t believe she needed to write their orders down. After all, the place was empty and it wasn’t like she had a ton of orders. Didn’t matter what she did or didn’t do, it wasn’t his place to decide how she did things. “I’ll have the same. Only make mine coffee instead of tea.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll be right back with your orders.” She whirled around and within seconds her tiny form disappeared behind a swinging door.

He shook his head.

“You get used to her.”

“You do?”

Abby laughed. “Yes. You do. I promise. She’s really a very sweet woman. One who would give you her last bread crumb. Lucy gives more food away than she has paying customers. I have no idea how she even stays in business. But she does. And people love her.”

He settled his elbows on the arms of his chair and clasped his hands. “You come here often, then?”

Heat filled Abby’s cheeks. “Yes. Once you taste Lucy’s pie, you’ll understand why. But don’t tell Veronique.”

“Your secret’s safe with me.” His lips curled upward.

The swinging door leading to and from the kitchen squeaked, and out came Lucy advancing toward their table like a locomotive trying to make its destination on time. How the woman moved so fast holding a tray loaded with two filled cups, a cream pitcher, a sugar bowl and two large slices of pie, Harrison didn’t know. Not one drop had spilled, either.

“Here you go.” She set their orders in front of them, chattering like a wound-up parrot as she did.

Harrison had a hard time keeping up with her and finally gave up—thankful Abby occupied the woman. Well, thankful wasn’t quite the word. He wanted to visit with Abby without distractions, to talk about business so they could get the theater up and running as soon as possible. The sooner the better so he could get back home. In the next breath, the mayor’s stipulations ran through his mind.

As soon as Lucy left to tend to the three customers that had just walked in, Harrison turned his focus onto Abby, who had just forked a bite of pie and settled it into her mouth. He waited until she swallowed, then asked, “What did you think about the mayor’s stipulations?”

Abby took a drink of her tea and dabbed the corners of her mouth with her napkin. “What stipulations?”

“About maintaining a male business partner.”

“Oh. That.” She placed her napkin on her lap. “You and I already discussed that, remember?”

“I do. But what if he doesn’t approve of my being a long-distance partner? Then what will you do?”

“I’m not sure. But what I am sure of is, God will take care of it. He’s taken care of everything else up to this point, and He will finish what He started.” Her smile swelled with confidence. She continued to eat her pie, sighing contentedly with each bite.

Harrison wondered how she could be so certain God would take care of it. God had never done anything for him. Course, it had been years since he had asked Him to, and God hadn’t answered his prayer back then. Since then, he wanted nothing to do with God or church. In his experience, most people who prayed or went to church did it solely for show and for social reasons.

Every Sunday he and his father sat in the front row of the largest church in the city, listening to the minister go on and on about money and how much he needed for this project and that project. Father gave the greedy man what he needed. In front of the whole congregation filled with only society’s elite—poor folks weren’t allowed there—his father made a huge display of his donation.

Then all the way home and all day long, Harrison had to endure his father’s complaints about the money he’d just donated and about how God never did anything for him, and how everything he owned he worked hard for. It ended with the same warning that God couldn’t be depended on for anything. If He could be, then he wouldn’t have to give his money and his wife wouldn’t have died. That was the one thing Harrison and his father agreed on. Just why Abby thought she could depend on Him, Harrison had no idea, but in his curiosity, he wanted to find out. “What makes you so sure God will take care of this?”

“Because He always has.” She took another bite of her pie, and a patch of red juice clung to her lower lip.

Without thinking, Harrison picked up his napkin, reached across the table and brushed her lip with it.

She stopped chewing, and stared at him.

Harrison yanked his hand back. “Forgive me. I’m so used to wiping my sons’ mouths that I didn’t stop to think about what I was doing. It’s an automatic response, I suppose.”

She relaxed her fixed stare, finished chewing and swallowed. “Trust me. I understand.” Her eyes dimmed, and her gaze suddenly fell to his untouched pie. “Aren’t you going to eat your pie?”

Confused about the sadness in her eyes and the abrupt change of subject, it took him a second before he realized what she had asked. His attention drizzled to his full plate, then over to her empty one. “Why? You want it?”

She licked her lips, a gesture that lit a spark inside him. He yanked his focus onto his plate and suddenly became very interested in his pie, devouring it within minutes.

“I guess that means yes.” Her smiling eyes danced with amusement.

He couldn’t help but smile, too. He sat back in his chair and patted his flat stomach. Something so uncharacteristic of him to do, but Abby brought out the playful side of him, just like his Allison had. Stop comparing her with Allison. He cleared his throat. “Sure was.”

They finished their drinks, talking about the weather, the mountains and nothing else of consequence, and then they headed back to her place.

He pulled his buggy in front of her mansion and stopped. He jumped out and went around the side of the buggy to help her down. Their hands connected, and the spark flew into him again. This was going to be a long three months.

* * *

Abby ignored the heat that ran up her arm when Harrison’s hand clutched hers. Soon as her feet touched the ground, the man yanked his hand from hers and stepped back. His abrupt action shocked her, but she shrugged it off. No time to worry about what had just happened; she had a business to build. And nothing, not even the charming, handsome Harrison Kingsley would stop her. She hoped. “Would you like to come inside?”

His brows pulled together.

“To discuss business. The sooner we get started, the sooner I—we—can open.”

He removed his pocket fob watch and flipped the gold H K engraved cover open. After a quick glance at it, with a click he snapped the lid shut and nestled it back into his pocket. “I told my boys I’d take them to lunch today. It’s still early. So yes, we can do that.”

“Wonderful.”

Up the mansion stairs they went.

Zoé met them at the door and took Abby’s wrap and Harrison’s chapeau. They made their way to the parlor.

Before sitting down next to him on the settee, she retrieved her writing tablet containing all her notes, along with a fountain pen. “Would you care for something to drink?”

“No, thank you. But if you do, please go ahead.”

“I don’t care for anything, either.” She smiled at him and shifted her knees his direction, careful to not touch his. “First of all, we need to hire a carpenter. I had Colette put up an advertisement on the bulletin board, but someone took it from her. If we don’t hear from whoever that was today, I thought we could put up another ad and ask around town to see if anyone knew of someone who could get the job done in the next couple of months.” How strange it felt to keep saying we. It had always been I up until today. In an even stranger way, it sounded nice.

She never thought she would admit something like this to herself, but truth be told, she liked having a partner. Oh, not just any ol’ partner, of course, but one particular strong-figure-of-a-man sitting next to her. Close enough in fact that she could detect the scent of lemon spice and something entirely masculine.

Something about the man awakened her senses to a new height and made her want to... No. No romantic thoughts allowed, Abigail. That’s what she called herself when she needed a good talking to. She shook all thoughts of romance from her head and reminded herself that no man wanted a woman who couldn’t bear children. Besides, Harrison would be leaving soon. And she’d do well to remember that, too.

“You all right, Abby?”

Her gaze darted to his. She waved her hand. “Oh. Yes. Yes. I’m fine. Now, where were we?”

“We were discussing—” Harrison stopped talking; his attention was toward the door of the parlor.

Abby shifted in the settee to see what he was looking at.

“Forgive me for intruding, mademoiselle. But there is a gentleman here to see you,” Zoé said.

“Thank you, Zoé. Send him in, please.”

“Very well.” Zoé left.

Abby twisted back in her chair. “I wonder who that could be. Hopefully the mayor didn’t change his mind again.” Abby tugged on her lip with her fingertips.

“In here, if you would, please, sir.”

Abby turned in time to see Zoé make a motioning gesture with her hand.

In stepped a man she’d never seen before.

She and Harrison stood at the same time.

“Miss Abby. This is Mr. Fletcher Martin.” Zoé presented him to her.

The man strode over to Abby. He towered over her by at least a foot. “Ma’am.” He extended his hand.

Abby accepted the gesture. Rough calluses met her hand when she did. With a sweep of her hand toward Harrison, Abby introduced him. “This is Mr. Kingsley. Harrison Kingsley.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Kingsley,” Mr. Martin said.

Two large, very masculine hands met in between them.

From the corner of her eye, Abby noticed Zoé standing by the door with her hands clasped in front of her, looking around uncomfortably. “Thank you, Zoé. You can go now.” She sent her a smile, one filled with appreciation.

Zoé relaxed and smiled. She turned and left the room with a scurry in her step.

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