Page 30 of More than Words Can Say

She nodded.

He touched her elbow and drew her away from the counter. “I can leave work early, be back by four, if you want.”

Abigail frowned for a moment, then recalled Rosalind’s invitation to Sophia. She smiled, touched by his offer, but shook her head. “There’s no need. She won’t come. Not if there won’t be an audience.”

Zach raised a brow, questions nearly popping from the furrows in his forehead. Yet he didn’t ask them, because he recognized this wasn’t the time. She had a business to run, and he had his own vocation to see to. He’d already stayed later than usual.

“We’ll talk later,” she promised. And maybe they would. He was her husband now, after all. Her problems were his problems, just as his were hers. Yet she didn’t want to burden him so soon after saying their vows and make him regret tying his life to hers. It wasn’t fair for her to be the only one making deposits into that particular account.

He looked at her hard, as if privy to her thoughts and not pleased with their direction. “We will talk,” he said, his tone giving no quarter. “We’re partners now, Abby. Whatever affects you affects me too.”

“All right.”

At her agreement, his face cleared. “I’ll see you this evening.”

She nodded absently, giving him a good-bye smile as he turned and exited through the back.

One thought echoed louder than any other in her mind as he left. He expected her to share her troubles with him, but would he share his with her?

CHAPTER

16

Dear Evie,

Weather’s been nice. A little on the warm side, but

Zach groaned and crumpled the paper. His sister didn’t care about the weather. She wanted to know how he and Abby were getting along. He knew this because she’d left strict instructions before heading back to Pecan Gap, demanding letters on a regular basis with details about how the courtship was progressing.

He scratched at an itchy place beneath his chin, grimaced, then pulled a second piece of paper from the desk drawer.

Courtship was a slow business. Especially when one’s wife retired an hour after supper every night. But if he didn’t put a few words to paper soon, Evie was likely to sic Logan on him. The last thing Zach’s courtship needed was the sins of his past hanging around in the flesh.

He situated the clean sheet of writing paper in the middle of the walnut desk and dug around in his brain for a handful of words to satisfy his sister’s curiosity. He came up empty. Grinding his molars, Zach twisted his pen between his fingers and glanced at the walls for inspiration. They were the only masculine walls in the entire house, but like a friend who didn’t want to get involved in personal affairs, they offered no input.

He thought he’d been prepared to move into a feminine household. All he needed was a bed, after all. Maybe a chair and a place to put his feet up. The surroundings didn’t much matter. Or so he’d thought. But after nearly a month of lacy curtains, roses blossoming on the walls, and female undergarments dangling above the bathtub in the washroom, he’d started feeling a tad claustrophobic. Even the pitcher and basin on his washstand had been smothered with blue flowers. A matching shaving mug had been set out for him, as if that made the collection more masculine somehow. His plain white mug had supplanted the botanic blight the first morning of his residence, but he’d hesitated to replace the remainder of the set.

Abigail seemed the practical sort who wouldn’t balk at a plain white ewer and basin, but if he hoped to woo her into sharing the room with him, he didn’t want to do anything that might deter her from feeling welcome there. If she liked floral washbasins—which she must, since petal-bearing specimens adorned everything from seat cushions to dinner plates in this home—he wouldn’t banish them from his room. He’d just try not to look at them. A strategy that had earned him several nicks on the thumb while rinsing his razor blade over the past four weeks.

Thank the Lord for Edward Kemp. He might have been an insensitive clod when it came to appreciating his daughters, but he’d managed to carve out a corner of masculinity in the sea of flowers that was his home. A tiny study at the end of the hall boasted dark wood paneling. A desk and chair stood at the rear, in front of a narrow bookcase. A lumpy armchair and scuffed lamp table sat near the entrance. A thin brown rug with worn edges adorned the floor. The room was a cave, especially at night, but like all good caves, not a single leaf or bud bloomed anywhere within. The perfect male retreat.

So why couldn’t Zach relax enough to write?

Clenching his jaw, he dipped his nib in the ink and threw a handful of words onto the blank page.

Evie,

Things are good here. Folks in town were surprised to learn of the wedding at first. The mayor’s wife tried to stir up a scandal, but that passed.

Abby had been right about Mrs. Longfellow. She hadn’t shown up to talk in private that Saturday afternoon. In fact, at church the following morning, she had gone around telling people how disheartened she was that Abigail hadn’t come to her for advice before taking such drastic action. What woman of sound moral character would choose marrying a virtual stranger over a straightforward business arrangement? If she wanted to hold on to her little bakery that badly, all she needed to do was partner with one of their local businessmen, a partnership the mayor’s wife would have been more than happy to orchestrate.

Thankfully, Audrey Sinclair caught wind of Mrs. Longfellow’s rumor-weaving and countered with some well-crafted information of her own. She’d gushed to all who would listen about the intimate wedding ceremony she had hosted in her parlor. About the way the couple had stared into each other’s eyes as they recited their vows, and especially about the kiss Zach had planted on his new wife at the end. Obviously Zach’s daily visits to the Taste of Heaven Bakery all these months hadn’t been solely on account of the sticky buns. He must have been developing a taste for something even sweeter.

Zach hadn’t denied the story when acquaintances ribbed him about pining after the young baker. He’d just shrugged and accepted their teasing as his due. Maybe a dab of truth lived in the tale. There had been something about Abigail from the beginning that had drawn him, made him anticipate seeing her each morning. He’d never named it or put any effort into understanding it, but that didn’t mean it hadn’t existed.

Even good old Beekman unwittingly aided their cause. The man himself was too decent to gossip, but Maggie Rayburn, his landlady, had cheerfully spread the tale of how she’d witnessed Zach run Elmer Beekman off when he’d found Abigail speaking privately with the deacon near the boardinghouse oak tree. Why would he do that, if not out of jealousy? Then after an extensive private conversation, Zach had taken Abigail’s hand, and the two had walked away together. Yes, Miss Maggie insisted, the secret lovebirds had definitely been courting.

Mrs. Longfellow’s insinuations had gradually withered beneath the town’s desire to believe in a secret romance. Zach still wasn’t sure why the mayor’s wife was so bent on blackening Abby’s name, though. All his wife had told him was that the two of them had been close friends as children and that a mistake Abigail made drove a wedge between them. She’d looked so heartbroken that he hadn’t wanted to press for more details, but something told him this rift was only going to tear wider, and he’d need to be armed with the facts of what happened if he was to offer his family adequate defense.