The Baker's Christmas Miracle

by Cheryl Wright

  “I, I had better get back to the customers,” she said, then scurried away. If she wasn’t careful, she might end up liking her husband far more than she’d intended.

  Theirs was meant to be a marriage of convenience, and nothing more.

  As the thought entered her mind, her heart thudded. Was that really what she wanted? A marriage of convenience?

  That was certainly Ethan’s wish. His letter stated he wanted a wife to help him in the bakery and produce children for him. He couldn’t have been any clearer than that.

  So why did he go on with the pretense of wanting to be more than mere friends?

  It didn’t make any sense whatsoever.

  Before Abigail could analyze the situation any further, she had to attend to her customers. Soiled dishes sat on the tables, and that wouldn’t do.

  * * *

  They sat around the table eating.

  Ethan’s Christmas cake looked to be perfect. They’d find out for sure in the morning when they cut it ready to sell.

  Tonight they were both exhausted – they’d been rushed off their feet today. As much as Ethan wanted his business to grow, he didn’t want it so busy they couldn’t keep up.

  He reached across the table and covered Abigail’s hand. “Thank you for all your help today,” he said gently.

  His wife nodded. She’d told him repeatedly there was no need to thank her, but he still wanted to. One thing he’d learned living with his father, and later becoming his apprentice, was voicing your appreciation was important.

  Not to the person voicing it, but the person on the receiving end.

  It was a thankless job working in a bakery, and when you weren’t being paid wages, it was even worse.

  “I can’t wait to cut the cake in the morning, and see how it came out.”

  She grinned at him. “Hopefully it’s perfect. I’ve been rounding up customers all day for your Christmas cake special tomorrow.”

  He suddenly felt alarmed. What if the cake turned out to be inedible?

  He groaned.

  She squeezed his hand. “Don’t stress. I’m certain it will be perfect. I have made hundreds of them, and never had a single failure.”

  Hundreds? Why would she have made hundreds?

  He had the beginning of a headache.

  Ethan glanced at her. She was chewing on her bottom lip. Again. What secret was Abigail hiding from him?

  “Is there something you want to tell me?”

  He was answered with a frown. She shook her head and jumped up from the table. He held tight to her hand.

  “I need to take the cherry cobbler from the oven.”

  He reluctantly loosened his grip.

  Patrick looked from one to the other of them, but said not a word. Ethan shot him a glance, warning him not to interfere.

  Perfectly portioned slices of the pie with their equally perfect clotted cream was placed in front of each of them.

  Ethan leaned in. “It smells amazing. Where did you learn to cook like this?” He glanced across to his wife, who was once again chewing on her bottom lip.

  He squeezed his eyes tightly, then looked up at her. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but she was hiding something.

  Perhaps she’d worked in a café or a diner? He shook his head. That didn’t sound feasible. Not unless she was the cook there.

  He dearly wanted to ask her, but not in front of Patrick. As much as he loved his brother, he really wanted privacy. There was so much he wanted to know, needed to know, but didn’t want to confront her or embarrass her in front of his brother.

  She sat back down at the table and threw him a quick smile. He lifted his spoon and took a mouthful of the delicious smelling dessert.

  He glanced up at her. “You’ve outdone yourself this time,” he said genuinely. “This is the best cherry cobbler I’ve ever had.” He took another mouthful.

  Patrick joined in. “It’s the best I’ve eaten too.”

  “Thank you,” she said coyly. “I’ve been cooking since my mother died some years ago.” She nibbled on her bottom lip again.

  That might be true, and likely it was, but he was still convinced it was only half the story.

  When they’d finished eating, the men moved into the sitting room. He’d again offered to help with the dishes, but Abigail would have none of it.

  The moment they were settled, Patrick glanced across at him, a frown on his face. “I’ve almost finished the fit-out for the bakery,” he said. “If it isn’t a problem for you, I’ll leave once it’s done.”

  He appeared somewhat stressed, why, Ethan had no idea. “That’s perfectly fine. It was always temporary. What will you do?”

  Patrick perked up a bit. “I’ve had an offer of work in Great Falls. The town is expanding beyond expectations, and new buildings are needed.”

  His heart thudded. The brothers had rarely been apart in their entire lives, but it was too good an opportunity to miss out on. “I’ll be sorry to see you go, but that’s excellent news, a great opportunity for you.” It truly was. Patrick had been working toward this for most of his adult life. “When do you have to leave?”

  Patrick swallowed. “I start work on Monday. It doesn’t give me much time, but I’ll finish your job first, then leave Thursday. It will give me time to find somewhere to live before I have to start.”

  Ethan leapt out of his chair and shook his brother’s hand. Patrick stood and the two men hugged. They jumped apart when Abigail stepped into the room.

  “Uh, sorry. I can go…” She turned to leave.

  “Don’t go, this affects you too. Patrick has secured an exciting position in Great Falls. He’ll be leaving us in a few days.”

  Was that relief he saw on her face?

  He had to admit it would be better with only the two of them. They were newlyweds after all. Newlyweds with no privacy, and no chance to talk about the things they needed to discuss.

  She nodded. “Congratulations. You must be thrilled.” She stepped up to him and gave him a quick hug. “I’ll be sorry to see you go.”

  The last thing Ethan had expected was for his wife to be hugging his brother.

  Patrick glanced across at him and grinned. Jealousy was not something Ethan had experienced before, but watching his wife hug another man, it quickly moved to the surface. To make it worse, Patrick was enjoying himself.

  He reached out and pulled Abigail to him, wrapping his arms around her shoulders. It was an act of possession, there was no doubt about it.

  “We’re going to miss you,” he said, squeezing her shoulders. “But it is important for your future.” He turned to Abigail. “I’m going to cut a slice off that cake. I want to ensure it’s flawless. If not, I still have time to bake another one.”

  He watched as she frowned. “I know I can’t convince you otherwise, but it will be cooked to perfection. Trust me.”

  Trust her? Right now he wasn’t sure what to think – she was hiding something, and Ethan had convinced himself they weren’t insignificant in the scheme of things. No, the secrets Abigail was hiding were big ones. Perhaps even important to their future.

  “Oh, alright then. Cut a small slice off the side. You’ll see I’m right.” She pulled out of his grip and headed toward the bakery.

  He had to unlock the door for her to enter.

  The Christmas cake was on the counter cooling, a clean kitchen towel covering it. He lit a lantern and snatched up a large cook’s knife, then carefully cut a slice from the end.

  He held his breath – was this going to be the disaster he feared?

  “Ha! See, I told you it would be fine.”

  He glanced up at his wife. She was right – it was absolutely perfect, and moist. It was the most moist Christmas cake he’d ever had the good fortune to make.

  He pulled her close and kissed her forehead. “You were right. I should have trusted your judgement.”

  “Yes you should have,” she said, not unkindly. “Perhaps next time you will.”
<
br />   Having been admonished in no uncertain terms, he covered the cake again and followed her out of the bakery.

  He locked the adjoining door again, and decided it was time for bed.

  It would be nice if he could get to hold his wife tonight. So far he’d not had that luxury.

  * * *

  Abigail snuggled down into the bed in her new nightgown.

  Ethan had lit the fire earlier, so the room was warm and toasty by the time she entered.

  So far she’d avoided the inevitable by ensuring she was asleep when her new husband came to bed. He was not demanding, but eventually things would change.

  She knew they would.

  Voices drifted along the hallway, and she assumed the two men were saying goodnight. Patrick would be gone soon – Abigail wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not. At the moment she was able to bide her time. Ethan hadn’t asked the questions she knew he was desperate to ask.

  Every time she let something slip, she could see it on his face. The unanswered questions. The suspicion. The desperation that his eyes displayed.

  She would have to tell him, but if he was unhappy about her deception, she’d rather it happen when Patrick was not around.

  The door to their room opened and her husband entered. She stared up at him. For not the first time she noticed what a wonderful specimen he was.

  Ethan had muscles where most men didn’t. It came from lifting the sacks of flour, and from kneading the bread each day.

  As he closed the door he began to unfasten the buttons on his shirt. She blinked at his bare chest, and the hair she could see there.

  Abigail closed her eyes, then heard him chuckle. “Have you never seen a bare chest before?” he asked, still chuckling at her actions.

  She sat upright in the bed. “Of course not! How dare you suggest otherwise.”

  Despite her protests, he continued removing his clothing. She gasped at the sight before her, then covered her mouth with her hands. Her eyes followed his every move.

  She knew she shouldn’t, but she couldn’t help but stare. He stood at the end of the bed grinning at her, then sat down beside her.

  “In case you’ve forgotten, we are married,” he said gently, lifting her hand to his lips. “It is totally acceptable to see me naked.”

  He wasn’t quite naked, but he certainly wasn’t far from it. She felt the heat creep up her neck and face. How red she must be!

  He laughed again. “My sweet and innocent wife,” he said, laying her back down, and brushing her lips with his own.

  Abigail liked it when he kissed her. It felt good, and it sent a shiver down her spine. He was special, this husband of hers, in so many ways.

  He went to the other side of the bed and climbed in, shutting down the lantern.

  “What about your nightgown,” she asked, horrified to think he would be laying next to her in just his drawers.

  At least his did wear his drawers.

  The thought entered her head before she could push it away. She felt herself blush again.

  She rolled over to face the door, her back to her husband. Her eyes began to drift closed. It had been a big day, a busy day, and she was beyond tired. She needed to sleep.

  Her eyes shot open when his arm snaked over her hips and cradled her belly. She reached up to push his hand away, but paused when he wriggled across to her side of the bed.

  “Do you mind?” he asked gently.

  She couldn’t say no. He’d been so kind to her, taking her in. Giving her a place to stay, and a reason to get up each day.

  “I don’t mind,” she said in a whisper, and he tightened his grip.

  It felt nice lying there with her husband, feeling his muscles against her back. She didn’t know it could be like this being married. But she knew there was more to it than only being held. Abigail wasn’t sure what she thought about that.

  His lips gently kissed her neck, and her hand reached up and touched his cheek. His skin was soft, but the stubbled scratched her fingers.

  “I’m not sure…” she began, but soon changed her mind.

  Chapter Seven

  As the sunlight crept through the curtains in the bedroom, Abigail slid quietly out of bed.

  Last night had been an eye opener for her – without a mother to talk to about such things, she had no idea what to expect.

  She sat quietly on the edge of the bed and reached for the robe Ethan had purchased for her. She squealed as a hand reached out and pulled her back into bed.

  Abigail shook her head. “I have to get up,” she said, pushing his hand away. “I have far too much to do to be…”

  She didn’t finish the sentence as he continued to try and coerce her. “Seriously. I have work to do.” She pulled away and headed toward the bathroom.

  Today would be busy. She’d seen to that by planting ideas in their customer’s heads. Christmas cake with clotted cream on the side. An absolute delicacy, she’d told them. They could have it with tea or coffee for a discounted price.

  To top it all off, orders could be placed that day.

  These were all tactics her father used in his bakery, and it had been thriving for many years. She was the one who baked the Christmas cakes. Father didn’t have time for such frivolity – he’d told her time after time – but put his hand out for the profits. Abigail had never seen even a cent of it.

  At least this time she would be helping her husband, and the profits would be put to good use. She had long suspected her father of gambling, but had no proof. She wondered if that’s how Peter Jones came to have the promise of marrying her.

  Did her father gamble her life away? The thought brought tears to her eyes.

  As she headed to the kitchen, she wiped at her eyes and didn’t see Ethan step out of the bedroom. They collided and she ended up on the hallway floor.

  She squealed.

  Patrick ran from his room in only his drawers. Ethan glared at him. “What did I tell you?”

  He backed up. “Sorry, I heard Abigail scream, and thought I’d better check on her.”

  She stared up at him, averting her eyes from his near-nakedness. “Thank you, Patrick. That was very thoughtful of you. Your brother and I collided. I’ll be alright.”

  Without warning, Ethan reached under her and picked her up, carrying Abigail to the bed, which was only a matter of steps away. She was exasperated. “Put me down,” she said under her breath. “I am quite capable of walking.”

  He glanced at her. “You don’t know that. Let me check you over.”

  “Seriously,” she said. “I am perfectly fine.

  He laid her on the bed and began to feel up and down her legs. The action made her heart thud in her chest.

  She glanced up to see Patrick standing in the doorway, a grin on his face.

  “Can you close the door,” she whispered. Ethan looked back over his shoulder.

  He kicked the door then turned back to what he was doing. “I’ll be glad when he’s gone.”

  Abigail gasped. “You don’t mean that.”

  He rubbed his hands across his unshaven face. “No, I don’t, but he’s so…annoying at times. Besides,” he said dramatically. “I want you all to myself.”

  She reached up and ran her fingers along his chin. The action sent shivers down her spine. Ethan leaned in and kissed her – gently at first, but then the kiss became more urgent.

  “Ethan,” she whispered. “This is not the time.”

  He lifted his head slightly and glanced at her, shaking his head. “No, you’re right,” he said, regret clearly evident in his voice. “But I reserve the right to continue tonight.”

  She said nothing, but inwardly, warmth invaded her whole body.

  He grinned then continued to check her over.

  “I told you I was fine,” she said, sliding off the bed. “Now let me organize breakfast.”

  Ethan stared at her, but didn’t say another word.

  “I’m making scrambled eggs and bacon this morning
,” she said as she opened the bedroom door. When she arrived in the kitchen, Patrick was stoking the fire. The kettle was close to boiling, and she pulled the mugs down out of the cupboard, then reached for the frying pan.

  “It’s a pity you’re taken,” he said. “I could do with a wife like you. I can’t cook to save myself,” he said as he chuckled.

  “She is taken,” Ethan said firmly as he entered the kitchen and overheard the conversation. “This little lady is mine.” He wrapped his arms around her, and despite being disturbed in her quest to prepare breakfast, Abigail didn’t mind in the slightest.

  It felt good to be wanted, to be cared for, and to be needed. Perhaps one day Ethan would even come to love her.

  Not in the traditional way, but after some time he might become accustomed to having her there and find himself having a special connection with her. Much like her parents had before her mother had died.

  She pulled out of his arms and reached for the eggs. Breaking them into a porcelain bowl, she took a fork from the drawer and pulled the milk from the cooler. Ethan handed her the salt and pepper.

  They were a good team. Even in the bakery they worked well together. Perhaps that’s where their relationship lay. She didn’t care provided they continued to get on together, and he wasn’t abusive toward her.

  He hadn’t been so far, so there was really no reason why Abigail should even think it.

  As each piece of bread was toasted, Ethan buttered it and placed it on the plates. Soon the rest of the food was ready, and they bowed their heads and said a prayer of thanks.

  “I’m going to miss this,” Patrick said. “Your cooking, I mean.”

  “Perhaps you can find somewhere that provides meals with the lodgings,” Ethan declared. It made perfect sense.

  “That’s a great idea, but nothing will compare to the amazing food Abigail has been making.”

  Ethan glanced at her. “He’s right, you’re an amazing cook.” He shoved a forkful of food into his mouth. “This is delicious.”

  Abigail was grinning, she knew she was. But how did you not when two grown men sang your praises for cooking something so basic as scrambled eggs?

  “You’re both wonderful,” she said quietly. “The truth is, anyone can make this – even a child.”