“I propose a wager that entails nothing more than bragging rights. I bet I can knock you right off your feet. If I’m wrong, you get to brag that you can read me better than a novel. If I win, I get to brag that I outwitted a real detective.”
Abraham studied Lydia from head to toe. She wasn’t too much shorter than him, and she was solid enough to make himoomphwhen thrown into him, but there was no way she’d take him down. “I will not wrestle with a woman.”
Her squeaky mouse laughter bubbled out. “I don’t need to wrestle you to win. Trust me, brains win over brawn every time.”
Perhaps not every time, but he had both to work with in this particular instance. “Fine. I’ll allow you one shot, but no weapons allowed.” He nodded at the horseshoe.
“Agreed, and just to show you I can play fair, you may take my sole weapon.” She extended the horseshoe toward him.
There was something not quite right with this offering. Did she expect to yank him off balance? That would be the most likely tactic, and one easily avoided. He spread his stance before wrapping his larger hand around the iron. Their knuckles brushed, but he ignored the tingling sensation as he prepared to thwart her plan.
The grin that spread across her face screamed a premature victory.
Just as he anticipated, she jerked her arm backward.
He remained firmly planted, but Lydia flew forward. She crashed into him, and he dropped the horseshoe to catch her around her waist before she fell. Once she was secure against his chest, he looked down to declare his victory.
Her brown eyes danced with humor, and before he could react, she popped to her toes with lips puckered.
CHAPTER23
JUST BEFORELYDIA’S LIPS CRASHEDinto Abraham’s, her brain caught up to her impulse. What was she doing? The touch of his chapped lips lasted less than a second, but the feel of them branded her a hoyden.
They thrust apart at the same time. He stepped back to keep his balance, but caught the corner of the low table. Lydia flung out an arm to catch him. Instead, she whacked him across the nose as he fell.
The thud of his landing shook the floor, and for a moment she feared he’d cracked his head against the edge of the sofa. One leg draped across the table, foot dangling in the air, while the rest of his body sprawled across the rug. Watery eyes peered at her like she was a lunatic, and his hands shot to cover his nose.
Oh heavens. Had she broken it, and blood gushed already?
She dropped to her knees beside him, determined to assist like Papa might. But what should she do? Abraham didn’t need his pulse checked. By the glare he leveled at her, his heart was furiously beating. Should she check for broken bones? Perhaps a busted rib or fractured arm? No, the only thing likely to be broken on him was his nose. She reached to pry his hands away, but he averted his face so quickly he banged against the floor. A muffled word she likely didn’t want to hear escaped.
She winced with sympathetic pain. The poor man had been nothing but kind, and here she’d done with great success just as she’d promised. Blast her competitive nature. Abraham was sure to regret his offer now and condemn her to facing Mr. O’Dell alone. Perhaps it was best to make light of the situation.
“It seems I’ve knocked you off your feet.” The chuckle she meant to give came out as a choked whimper.
He sat up and released his nose with a flinch. “I’m the one who gets kissed, trips, then receives a blackened nose, and somehow you’re the one crying?”
She sob-laughed but couldn’t get any words out. It really was absurd. If anyone should be crying, it should be him. Although that felt equally laughable. Men cried, she knew, but over a kiss and being hit by a girl? Maybe if she were in pinafores and Abraham in short pants. Which actually made quite an adorable and distracting picture. He must have been devilishly cute, and probably a holy terror, if what she heard about raising boys was to be believed. Abraham, the rascal child, now an upstanding officer. What a contrast.
A smile sneaked through, and she sniffled into her handkerchief to hide it. If the man could read her mind, he’d abandon this tenuous friendship for the safety of Cincinnati’s riotous streets.
Abraham shook his head as he rose to his feet, and then offered her a hand up.
She accepted, unsure if the warmth that shot through her at the feel of his firm grip was embarrassment or pleasure. Either way, her face was sure to be the color of Marcus’s editing ink.
Once she was standing, he put more distance between them and folded his arms. “I underestimated you. A kiss and a shove, all to win a wager? How often have you pulled that stunt?”
The heat in her face blazed into an inferno. Her lips had never touched a man’s until now—not that Abraham would ever believe that after such a flippant display. Twenty-two years of saving her first kiss for a romantic encounter with the man she loved, and she’d tossed it aside to win a bet. What was wrong with her? It didn’t matter that it was Abraham, her own personal Detective Darcy. She’d conducted herself as carelessly with that gift, that blessed treasure of a first kiss, as she had with her words.
Words that must come to an end.
Thankfully, the unpleasant duty of meeting with Mr. O’Dell would serve as a distraction from that lackluster kiss.
She cleared her throat and focused on the table’s askew doily. As she slid it back into place, she asked, “Will you still go with me to break my contracts?”
“Avoiding the question does not reflect well on you. Am I to take it you’ve employed that tactic often?”
Her head jerked up. “No! You’re the first and only. I’m sorry. That did not go how I intended. It’s my stupid competitiveness. I don’t know what I was thinking. I should have never—”
