Page 82 of More than Words Can Say

Her oven. He had to be talking about her oven.

He set his jaw, and his eyes hardened. “I’m your husband. It’s my job to provide for you. To protect you. To ensure you have what you need.” His right hand fisted, and he tapped the pad of it against the wall as his attention jerked to the ceiling. “I plan to ask about a loan at the bank on Monday, but Reuben warned me that the manager is related to Sophia and likely to turn me down, even if I had sufficient collateral. Which I don’t. Without a loan, there’s only one way I know to make the kind of money we need to replace your oven.” He met her eyes again, his own pleading. “I wouldn’t cheat this time, I swear. And I’d only wager my own funds. I won’t put the bakery at risk. It might take a few weeks or months, depending on how deep the play is, but I think—”

Abigail pressed her fingers to his mouth to shut off the words bringing tears to her eyes. She shook her head, her chest throbbing. “No, Zach,” she said softly as she dragged her hand from his mouth down to rest directly over his heart. “Put the cards away.”

“But it’s the only way I can fix this,” he groaned.

“It’s not your problem to fix.”

His eyebrows slanted down in an angry V. “Don’t you dare start quoting that contract to me again, Abby. The bakery might be yours, but you’re mine, and that makes your problems mine as well.”

She smiled at his grumpy possessiveness, only loving him more for wanting so badly to take care of her. But she fully intended to take care of him too, and his soul was worth much more to her than the bakery.

“I love you, Zach, and I trust you to provide what I need. But I don’t need a new bread oven. My business might need that, but I don’t. What I need is a husband who will support me through the hard times, who will hold me and encourage me and let me know that I’m not alone in the fight. The bakery may fail, or by God’s grace it may survive the upcoming storm and come out the other side even better than before. Only God knows what the future holds. All we can do is learn from the past. And what I’ve learned is that choices have consequences. If you choose to return to the gambling tables, there will be a price—a price that no fancy oven is worth.” She stroked the side of his face. “I want to hear you sing in church, Zach.”

His eyes widened, and she knew he understood what she meant. She wanted no new barriers between him and God. Especially not on her behalf.

“I’m not ceding the battle,” she said with a smile, sliding her hand from his jaw around to his nape so she could dip her fingers into his hair. “I might not be able to afford a new industrial oven, but I have enough money set aside that I can order a large cookstove from Montgomery Ward. If I place the order on Monday, they could have it delivered in a week or two. The bakery wouldn’t need to be closed for long. In the meantime, I can work on refining our menu to focus on our best-selling items and eliminate the rest. At least temporarily. Who knows? Maybe I’ll even take some time off. I can’t remember the last time I had a few days to myself.” She drew a line with her finger, tracing his collarbone. “Maybe even spend some extra time with my husband.”

The cards fell from his hand and scattered over the floor as he reached for her. His arms came around her waist, and he tugged her close.

Her heart thumped a little harder, and her desire to talk grew weaker. But she had one more point to make, so she held back the fog of encroaching passion for one moment longer.

“The future is in God’s hands, Zach. Not yours, and not mine. Trusting him to bring about what is best is the only choice we need to make.”

Her husband made no reply except to lean down and nibble at her neck. Had he heard a word she’d said?

“Zach?”

He reached for the top button of her nightdress. “You talk too much, wife.”

She was starting to agree with him, but she couldn’t let the matter drop. Not yet. She pushed at his hand. “Zach.”

He sighed and met her gaze. “I’ll let God take care of tomorrow,” he said, “but I’ve got a vision for the more immediate future in my hands right now, and I aim to see it fulfilled.” He raised one of those piratey brows at her. “With your permission, Mrs. Hamilton.”

Heat suffused Abigail’s face, but she managed a tiny smile as she dipped her lashes. “Permission granted, Mr. Hamilton.”

CHAPTER

41

“Are you . . . whistling?”

Reuben’s disbelieving tone should have grated on Zach’s nerves, but he couldn’t find the wherewithal to shoot his usual scowl at his partner. The taunt simply bounced off Zach’s back and lost itself in the sawdust at his feet.

Reuben dropped a load of boards fresh from the mill onto the stack waiting to be planed, then wagged his head. “I never thought I’d see Zacharias Hamilton reduced to vaudeville status. You gonna break out in song next?” He pulled the hat from his head and flung it over his heart in dramatic fashion, then started belting, “‘Daisy, Daisy, give me your answer, do. I’m half-crazy, all for the love of you!’”

Zach threw his own hat straight at his partner’s nose. Reuben broke off his song in order to duck, a chuckle rising up between them.

“So you’re saying I shouldn’t sign you up for the next local production at the opera house?”

“Not if you want me to keep bringing extra honey biscuits to work with me.”

Reuben held his palms out in surrender. “Mum’s the word. Can’t risk losing those biscuits.”

It had been four days since the loss of Abigail’s oven. The Taste of Heaven was now only open for breakfast service, and the menu had been simplified to focus on quick breads: scones, muffins, popovers, and biscuits. Items that could be baked in smaller batches with shorter cook times in the single oven. Abigail had to maintain a steady run of baking through mid-morning to keep up with customer demand, but without having to knead, rise, and bake the yeast breads, she managed to make it work. Nate did all the fetching and carrying, dishwashing, and shop setup, freeing Rosalind to tend to customers in the morning and give Ida Mae sewing lessons in the afternoons, helping the girl make herself and her brother some much-needed new clothing.

The Miller kids, Zach had come to learn, had lived with their mother in a small house outside of town until she died from a rattlesnake bite last fall. They’d been on their own for nearly a year, squatting in their old house until the bank sold it to a new family at the start of the summer. A kid could survive without a home during the summer and early fall, but come winter, those two were going to need four solid walls separating them from the elements. Which was why Zach had convinced his previous landlord to extend his rental contract and allow the kids to live in his bachelor abode. He had to promise to keep an eye on them and repair any damage done to the place, but Zach didn’t expect there to be any. Nate was as responsible as they came. He’d even insisted on having his wages cut to cover some of the rent. Integrity like that would take the boy far.