face. He needed to be extremely careful just who he let into his heart. Not only for his sake, but his sons’, as well.
He cupped Abby’s elbow and led her outside the town hall building. Unlike when they’d first arrived for their meeting, nary a rain cloud could be seen, only miles of pale blue sky. Humidity and fresh air with a hint of sulphur filled his nostrils. Wagon ruts raked through the street reminding him of his sons’ drawings.
At the edge of the boardwalk, Abby stopped. She closed her eyes and turned her face upward. The sun covered her youthful skin with its bright glow. She drew in several long breaths. What a lovely vision she was. Harrison watched her with fascination. She was a woman of means, yet there was something outdoorsy about her and completely refreshing from the women he had been raised around.
Her eyes, the same blueness as the sky, slowly opened. Beauty bathed her in all its glory. Only one other woman was as comely as she, his dear departed wife. He pinched his eyes shut to blot out the painful memories that routinely followed thoughts of his sweet Allison.
“Are you all right, Harrison?” Abby’s hand settled on top of his arm.
His gaze drifted toward it. The gesture, meant to comfort him, sizzled his arm with her feminine awareness. A feeling he knew all too well. When he’d first met his wife, the same thing had happened to him back then, and he’d married her. Stunned at the correlation and its impact on him, he abruptly stepped to the side, allowing Abby’s arm to separate from his. “I’m fine.”
One look at her face and he knew he hadn’t fooled her, her disbelieving frown told him as much. “Why don’t we go and celebrate?” he asked to keep her from questioning him a second time. “Pie and coffee. My treat.” He pulled his attention from her and settled it on the town before them. “Who here makes the best pies?”
Her sigh was audible as she pointed to a sign hanging several doors down from the hall. “Lucy’s Diner. Her pies are exquisite. Almost as good as my mother’s. Her pie crust is so flaky and light, it barely holds together.”
“Sounds like my kind of pie. Shall we?” He offered her the crook of his arm. Big mistake that turned out to be. That same heat sizzled up his arm again, only this time he refused to let his mind dwell on it or its implications. Instead, he reminded himself that he was here for the sole purpose of securing his inheritance for not only his sons’ sake, but for the sake of the unfortunate people back in Boston who his father had greatly wronged. A quick glance at Abby and he needed to add one more reason to the mix. After meeting Abby and seeing just how much she wanted this business to succeed, he wanted to do everything in his power to make her dream come to fruition, as well.
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