Page 68 of More than Words Can Say

While Rosalind laughed and gave the twins instructions on proper flag waving, Zach collected two biscuit-filled baskets from the wagon, sidling extra close to his wife as he did so.

She smiled shyly at him, and his chest muscles flexed in response, remembering the heated way she’d looked at him that morning. He might as well flaunt his good points. Heaven knew he didn’t have many, so he’d better make the most of what he had. The way her gaze skittered along his arms as he curled the baskets over the wagon’s side tempted him to find something even heavier to lift for her. Too bad there weren’t any giant rocks in the middle of the road needing to be moved out of the way or a stack of lumber to clear out of their path. The best he could do was slow the basket-fetching down and soak up as much admiration as he could before it ended.

“Need some help there, speedy?” Reuben thumped him on the back and reached for one of the baskets, a crooked grin sprouting on his impertinent face.

Tempted to straighten that crook with his knuckles, Zach settled for a glare instead as he bypassed his smart aleck partner to hand the basket to the sweet little girl standing behind her daddy. “Here you go, Dinah.”

She reached for the basket handle with both hands.

“It’s not too heavy for you, is it?” Zach asked.

They’d opted for multiple smaller baskets that could be switched out during the parade instead of larger baskets that would cause the children’s arms to tire. He and Reuben would handle fetching the replacements. Two extra baskets had been placed on each side of the wagon in readiness.

She shook her head. “I can do it.”

Zach tweaked the end of her nose. “Of course you can.”

As he turned to hand the second basket to Simeon, the band struck up the opening notes of Sousa’s “The Liberty Bell.”

“Hurry, children.” Audrey clapped her hands. “Dinah on the left with your father. Simeon on the right with Mr. Zach. Don’t give out the biscuits too quickly, now. Make them last.”

Zach moved to take up his assigned position, happy when Abigail came with him. Though when he smiled down at her, he realized her attention was focused on her sister, not him.

“I’ll watch out for her,” he vowed.

She looked up at him, touching his arm. “I know.”

“The mayor and his wife are in the buggy directly behind the band, so there shouldn’t be any trouble from that quarter while the parade is going on. But I’ll keep an eye on them too.”

“Thank you.” Grabbing his shoulder for balance, she rose up on tiptoes and aimed a kiss at his cheek.

He bent sideways to close the distance for her, his heart thumping like one of those bass drums in the band. All too soon it was over, and his wife was letting him go.

“I’ll take the back road down to the bakery and open the shop so we’ll be ready for customers once the parade ends. I’ll wave at you and Rosalind from the doorway.”

He gave her a nod, then watched her scurry away, his heart starting up a second cadence when she glanced back at him and waved before turning the corner down Seventh Street.

Abigail hurried down Seventh with a giddy energy that a woman who’d risen before four in the morning shouldn’t be feeling. Then again, any woman fortunate enough to be married to Zacharias Hamilton had to learn to expect flutters and tingles and excessive giddiness from time to time.

Biting her lip to keep her smile contained, she reached into her skirt pocket to retrieve the key to her shop. Entering the alley, she checked to make sure she had the key situated correctly for sliding into the lock. Before she could reach for the handle, however, the door flew inward, and a boy flew outward. He barreled past her, knocking her to the ground.

“Hey!” Abigail barely had time to register the fact that some little ruffian had broken into her bakery before a volley of muted gunshots firing inside her kitchen stalled her heart.

CHAPTER

34

Abigail’s stomach tightened into a hard knot of dread as she scrambled to her feet. Her first thought was to run, but something about the gunfire inside struck her as odd. Sporadic. Some pops impossibly close together. Others delayed.

Bracing a shaky hand against the doorframe, she inched closer. Then, after taking a breath that was far too shallow to have any calming effect whatsoever, she chanced a quick peek inside.

No outlaws took shots from behind overturned worktables. No deputies returned fire from the stairwell. Her kitchen looked exactly as she’d left it.

Abigail’s lungs finally began taking in sufficient air as she pressed her back to the wall of her shop. Not gunfire. Thank the Lord.

Another series of pops exploded. What were they? The sound of the band competed with the muffled bangs inside her shop as the parade entered the square.

The parade . . . the boy . . .