Page 8 of More than Words Can Say

Her dimples appeared for the first time that afternoon as her lips curved in a triumphant grin. “You, my dear sir, are option number three.”

He raised a brow.

“I can’t sell Taste of Heaven. Even if I accepted Samson Gerard’s adequate offer for the bakery, it would take years to build up a clientele in another town. Starting from scratch would mean leaving our home and friends, all with no guarantee of success. And taking on a partner opens me up to all kinds of potential problems. First and foremost being that I’d have to share the profits. Just because someone in trousers was named on the deed.” She sliced her hand through the air. “Not a chance. I plan to keep all the Kemp profits within the Kemp family.”

Zach shifted his weight and leaned a hip against the workbench, interested in hearing how she planned to do that.

“Option three entails expanding my family. A husband will give me a male name to put on the deed while keeping all the profits within the family unit.” Something in her eyes changed as she looked at him. They softened a bit, her attention becoming more personal, less theoretical. “I know I’m not the grand beauty men typically favor, but if you were to marry me, Mr. Hamilton, you’d receive many other benefits.”

Great. Now she had him thinking about benefits again. This woman was going to be the death of him.

“First, I can offer financial benefits. You can move into our rooms above the bakery, thus no longer paying rent for your living quarters. Meals would be provided. Laundry and mending services, as well. In addition, I would not expect you to pay any of the bakery’s expenses with your earnings from the lumberyard. Our accounts and books would be kept separate. I’ve stipulated that in the contract.” She nodded to the forgotten papers in his right hand. “You would not be held liable for any financial difficulty the bakery might face—not that I anticipate any, but I wanted to make sure you were protected.”

Thoughtful. Smart, too. Showed foresight.

Also showed a bit of canniness. She might be talking about protecting his assets, but judging by the angle of her jaw, what she was really after was keeping her potential husband out of the workings of her bakery. Having his name on the deed might give him rights over the property itself, but Miss Kemp was obviously taking steps to ensure he had no control over the business. She had a brain behind those dimples. And the guts to forge her own path when the world tried to confine her to established roads.

He’d liked her well enough before as a talented baker who knew when to leave a man alone instead of yapping his ear off when he was trying to eat, but now true admiration stirred.

“With your living expenses reduced,” she continued, “you would enjoy increased profits from your own work. Plus, you’d have access to all the baked goods you could ever want, at no cost.”

She smiled again, and his gut clenched. It wasn’t fair for her to be all soft and sweet and tempting like that. It made a man forget all the reasons marriage was a bad idea.

Freedom. That was what he craved. More than baked goods. More than increased profits from his work. More even than the benefits he’d been picturing earlier. Benefits that, come to think of it, she’d made no reference to. She probably wanted one of them marriages of convenience with separate sleeping quarters. As if any red-blooded man could live in the same house with all those curves, knowing they were legally his to enjoy, and not go insane from the wanting.

No, thanks. He preferred to be of sound mind.

“Then there’s the intangibles,” she continued. “The marriage-minded mamas of the town will cease throwing their daughters in your path. I’ve, um, noticed how quickly you escape the churchyard when the females start flocking in your direction after services, and how you avoid most social events. Once you are off the market, the flocks will focus their attention elsewhere.”

That was the most compelling argument she’d made yet. Nothing wore down his patience faster than a gaggle of geese honking and cutting him off at every turn. He’d thought the attention would stop when the novelty of his being the new man in town wore off, but he’d been here over a year, and the problem had only grown worse. A few had given up or married elsewhere, but there always seemed to be a fresh batch waiting to whittle on him. Pretty soon he’d be worn so thin he’d snap. No telling what damage he’d cause then. Those same mamas who’d been so eager for him to tie the knot with their daughters would probably lead a campaign to run him out of town.

Wait. What was he thinking? He couldn’t protect his bachelorhood by getting married. That was about as oxymoronic as one could get.

No. His answer was still no.

Figuring she wouldn’t accept the papers from him since he’d made zero effort to read them, he reached for the strap on her satchel, tugged the bag toward him, and stuffed the contract inside.

“I’m sorry for the predicament you’re in, Miss Kemp. The council’s wrong for railroading you, for sure. But I’m not your man.”

Her face fell, though she firmed up her mouth in a quick attempt to hide it. Did she actually want to marry him? Surely not. He was just expedient, that was all. And really, he was doing her a favor. No woman as pleasant as Abigail Kemp deserved to be saddled with a grouchy bachelor with a shady past. All she knew of him was that he was punctual and liked sticky buns. If she knew the truth, she’d thank her lucky stars he’d turned her down.

He was doing her a favor.

“You should ride over to Bonham and appeal to a judge there,” he suggested, hating to leave her with no help whatsoever. “Maybe a ruling from the county seat would carry more weight with our local council.”

She shook her head. “Judge Hardcastle made it clear that I had no grounds for further appeal unless the ordinance was rescinded. Mayor Longfellow assured me the council had no intention of removing the law from the books at this time. Perhaps at some ambiguous future date . . .” She waved her hand dismissively. “But that would be too late to do me any good. I have to have a man in place in some capacity by the end of the month, or I lose my bakery.”

Five days. Actually, only three, as the month ended on a Sunday. Bankers and lawyers didn’t work on the weekend, and both would be needed to draw up whatever paperwork would be required to transfer ownership. She didn’t have many options.

But that wasn’t his problem.

Zach clenched his jaw and steeled his heart against any sympathy trying to worm its way inside. He was no one’s hero. Not anymore. Never should have been in the first place. As soon as a fellow like him tried to be a hero, he doomed himself, along with those he cared about.

Freedom. That was what he needed.

Unencumbered freedom.

“Well, I won’t waste any more of your time, Mr. Hamilton.” Her gaze dropped as she straightened the papers he’d rammed inside her satchel with his big oaf fingers. Her cheeks glowed pink, and she started backing away. Then her chin lifted, and a determined light sparked in the gold of her eyes. “I’ll be on my way. I have two more candidates to interview before nightfall. Good day.”