Page 52 of More than Words Can Say

“Guess the angelic shine blinded me,” Zach said, completely stone-faced.

Reuben busted out a laugh, then slapped Zach’s free shoulder. “My pulchritude is legendary, but I’m pretty sure it wasn’t me who has you distracted.” He winked. “Tonight’s the night, right?” He waggled his eyebrows. “The picnic, the sunset, holding her close on horseback . . . You’ve been planning this little escapade for days. I’m amazed you haven’t sawn off a finger or two by now.”

“Need ’em to steer the horse.”

“Uh-huh.” Reuben rolled his eyes. “Try not to overwhelm her with your gushing sentimentality when you’re out there tonight.”

Zach sidestepped his know-it-all partner and dropped the fresh-cut boards onto the planing pile. “Abigail’s a practical woman.” One of the things he liked best about her. “She doesn’t need gushing sentimentality.”

He brushed the sawdust from his hands and turned, only to spy Reuben’s wagging head and pitying expression, clearly indicating his opinion of Zach’s intelligence. Or lack thereof.

“All women need gushing sentimentality, my friend. Well, maybe not gushing, and certainly not anything insincere, but a woman wants sweet words from her man. Even if she tells you she doesn’t—trust me, she does.” Reuben swaggered forward and grabbed Zach’s shoulder. “After being married to Audrey for close to a dozen years, I’ve picked up a few pearls of wisdom. One of my favorite being that sweet words inspire warm feelings. And warm feelings from one’s wife open many a desirable door.” He released his grip on Zach’s shoulder to thump him on the back.

Zach had to admit that he craved what his friend had. Not just the physical intimacy that Reuben’s waggling eyebrows obviously referred to, but the closeness he had with his wife. A closeness that allowed him to know what she needed without her even having to say it aloud.

Zach had never experienced that kind of closeness with another person. Maybe with his mother, but he couldn’t remember her. He’d idolized his father, the legendary riverboat gambler who taught his son card tricks and knew a hundred schemes to outplay an opponent. Yet despite the good times they shared, Zach would not consider them close. Jedidiah Mitchell had intentionally held himself apart from his son. Most likely for Zach’s protection, but the barrier had existed all the same. He had separated himself from a boy too young to follow him into high stakes saloons in good times and too vulnerable for the dark alleyways and underhanded deals in bad times. Then there was Grandfather. With his cane and his resentment and the cotton he forced Zach to work until his fingers bled and his back gave out. A thousand miles wasn’t enough distance between them, even if the man was surely dead by now.

Zach had closed himself off after escaping Grandfather’s farm and become a loner, depending on no one but himself. Until the Children’s Aid Society got their hooks into him. Even then, he’d walled himself off. Didn’t socialize with the other kids in the orphanage. Bucked the system as often as possible in the hopes of getting kicked out. It would’ve worked too, except they opted to rid themselves of him by sticking him on one of the orphan trains headed west and trying to farm him out as free labor under the guise of adoption. No way was he going to work another farm, though, so he did what he did best—sabotaged himself. Acted belligerent, disrespectful, and downright mean to make sure no one wanted him. His size and stature made it difficult to dissuade those in the market for a field hand, but a well-placed threat to kill them in their sleep usually did the trick.

Then the train derailed, and Hamilton Pearson saved Zach’s life, losing his own in the process and leaving his four-year-old sister without a protector. Evie and her mismatched eyes, Seth with his sickly constitution—Zach couldn’t leave them to fend for themselves. They’d never make it on their own. So, at thirteen, Zach became head of the Hamilton family. A family more real than any he’d had blood ties to. Yet even with his adoptive siblings, he’d still held part of himself back. He’d been the oldest, the one the others depended on for survival. So he’d ensured they survived. No matter what that entailed, taking pains to protect them from any taint he accrued along the way. His secrets preserved their innocence, yet they also prevented true closeness.

Could he really have such a thing with Abigail? Or would she pull away once she learned the truth about his past?

“Easy, man. If that frown gets stuck, your wife will never get on that horse with you.”

Zach blinked at Reuben’s words. His partner’s tone teased, yet his eyes held a concerned light that proved their friendship went deeper than business.

“Abigail’s too resilient to be scared off by a little frown.” The thought cheered Zach a bit, boosted his confidence. She was resilient. She’d handled her sister’s mistakes with grace and a fighting spirit. Surely she’d handle his the same way.

If she loved him.

Did she love him?

His gut tightened. He wanted her love. Wanted her to accept him. All of him.

Did that mean he loved her?

He liked her. Admired her. Desired her. But love? He wasn’t sure what that was. He loved Seth and Evie, he supposed, if love meant feeling unswerving loyalty, wanting whatever was best for them, and being willing to fight to the death to protect them. He felt those things for Abigail, yet he felt them for Rosalind too. Because they were family. But the craving he had for Abigail went deeper than his signature on a marriage license. Deeper than a sense of responsibility and fidelity.

He wanted to throw open the cellar door and let all his secrets escape so her light could shine into his dark places. Yet at the same time, he wanted to padlock that door shut and never risk her disappointment.

Was that love? If so, he couldn’t fathom why poets waxed on about it being such a blissful state. As far as he could tell, it was about as blissful as riding an unbroke horse, a bone-rattling endeavor where one held on for dear life, unable to recognize if he was making progress until either the horse quit buckin’ or the ground smacked him in the face.

’Course, he was probably doing it wrong.

“Do I need to kick you in the pants to get you moving?” Reuben threatened. He swept his hand out in an exaggerated gesture, pointing toward the office. “The door’s that way.”

Maybe Zach did need a kick in the pants if it meant getting out of his own head.

“I’m going,” he said, glaring at Reuben for good measure. He couldn’t have him thinking Zach actually appreciated his interference.

He’d made it halfway across the lumber shed floor when Reuben called out to him. “Zach?”

He turned, expecting a smirk or eyebrow waggle, anything but the supportive comradery etched into his friend’s face.

“Remember. She chose you.”

Zach nodded, then resumed his walk to the door. His back a little straighter, his chin a little higher, and his stride carrying a touch more strut than he’d sported a moment ago.