More Than Words Can Say

by Karen Witemeyer

  Her toe stubbed on the top step, and her eyes flew wide open.

  Sleep. Good gracious. Tonight was the night she and Zach were supposed to . . .

  Abigail swallowed hard, suddenly awake. She made her way down the hall to her bedroom, but the door had been pulled closed. She tried the handle. Locked.

  What on earth? They never locked this door.

  Rosalind had stayed behind to clean up dinner and was then meeting up with a group of friends to watch the fireworks. She wouldn’t be home for at least an hour or two. But why would she lock Abigail out of their room?

  A seed of suspicion took root, sending Abigail down the hall to the master bedroom. That door stood open. One of her nightgowns—the pretty one with the embroidered roses at the neckline—lay draped across Zach’s bed. And there on the washstand sat her brush and hairpins. And the soap she liked. Her Sunday dress probably hung in the wardrobe as well. Rosalind had always been good with details. The romantic little schemer.

  “Everything all right?”

  Her husband’s voice nearly scared a shriek out of her. When had the hammering stopped?

  Abigail spun around, her cheeks flaming at the scene she knew he could see over her head. “It seems Rosie’s ready to kick me out of her room.” She grinned, trying to lighten the mood even as her pulse accelerated. “She locked me out.”

  Zach’s dark blue eyes searched hers. “I can take the door off the hinges if you want to sleep there.”

  Heavens how she loved this man. Always ready to put her needs ahead of his own.

  Despite her uncertainty about what the marriage act actually entailed and her embarrassment over what her husband might think of her shape without all the tucks and lifts of her corset, she knew in her heart that it was time. Yes, children might result from their union, but she’d leave that possibility in God’s hands. It wasn’t right to keep herself from her husband out of fear that she couldn’t be both mother and professional baker. If children came, she and Zach would figure out the best way to handle that particular challenge in the same way they were handling their current challenges—together.

  It was time to become Zach’s wife in full and to show him exactly how deep her love ran.

  Zach could barely breathe as he watched his wife nibble on her lower lip. Please choose me, he silently begged even though he wouldn’t hold it against her if she didn’t. He hungered for her worse than he’d hungered for food during those lean years of his childhood, but he’d abide by her wishes. Abby had endured enough people foisting their will onto hers today. Her desires, her needs would come first.

  Her fingers trembled as she reached out to touch his arm. She took one step closer and tilted her chin up, just like she did when he claimed his good-night kisses. Stuffing down his disappointment, Zach placed his palm on her hip and leaned toward her. It might not be what he’d hoped for, but a kiss from Abigail was still a pleasure to savor.

  He lowered his head. However, before his lips reached hers, she spoke.

  “I don’t want to share Rosalind’s room anymore,” she murmured, her voice breathy and soft as her fingers squeezed his bicep. Her lashes lifted, and her brown eyes glimmered with shy invitation. “I want to stay with you.”

  “You’re sure?” Heaven help him if she backed out now, but he didn’t want any second thoughts getting in the way later.

  When she gave a small decisive nod, a host of fireworks that had nothing to do with the country’s birthday shot off inside his chest.

  Digging his fingers into her hip, he tugged her closer. The movement caught her off guard, and her head fell backward. He took advantage and laid a trail of kisses on the soft skin of her neck.

  “Thank you for choosing me,” he rasped as he passed by her ear. Not only choosing him tonight, but choosing him all those weeks ago when she searched for a husband. He shuddered at how close he’d come to making the biggest mistake of his life by turning her down. Thank God for Rosalind. Without her push, he might still be an antisocial bachelor believing he was better off alone.

  “I always choose you.” Abby’s vow slipped between his ribs to wrap around his heart. He pulled back slightly, and she met his gaze. “Always.”

  A surge of strength flooded his muscles, making him feel invincible. Perhaps even strong enough to return her love.

  In a single movement, he swept his wife into his arms and carried her across the threshold. Her nervous giggle heightened his confidence as he marched forward, barely pausing long enough to kick the door closed behind him.

  He might not have the words yet, but he’d make sure every touch, every kiss, every passionate embrace communicated his devotion.

  Sometime in the middle of the night, Abigail rolled over and met cold sheets. She sought out her sister’s warmth, but Rosalind wasn’t there. And her pillow smelled decidedly masculine. Abby’s eyes popped open.

  Zach.

  Memories assailed her. Gentle, patient loving. Her husband holding her close and brushing his fingers lightly over her back until she drifted off to sleep as the pop of fireworks reported in the distance.

  Her husband. In all ways.

  Abigail hugged the knowledge close but quickly grew discontent, wanting to hug her husband close instead. The man who was supposed to be beside her.

  A quiet ruffling sound echoed by the window that overlooked the alley. Propping an arm beneath her, Abigail leveraged herself up and searched for Zach in the shadows. He stood by the window, his face turned away from her as he gazed into the darkness. In his hands were a set of playing cards, expertly slipping through his fingers like well-trained soldiers on the march.

  Abigail’s belly tightened, and she pushed back the covers. Padding on bare feet, her white cotton nightgown fluttering down to cover her legs as she moved, she silently approached her husband. “Zach?”

  He didn’t jump at her voice, so he must have been aware of her presence, but it still took long moments for him to stop riffling the cards and bring his face around to meet her gaze. When he did, the torment etched in his features broke her heart.

  “I want to fix it, Abby. I need to fix it.”

  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.

  “Speaking of biscuits,” Reuben said, gallantly retrieving Zach’s hat, then ruining the kindness of the gesture by smashing it down on his partner’s head so far that Zach couldn’t see anything above his friend’s knees, “isn’t it about time for your wife to stop by with your lunch?”

  “Yep.” Zach adjusted his hat, his heart giving an extra thump as his mind drifted to Abigail.

  “I want to hear you sing in church.”

  Those words had lingered in his mind ever since she’d uttered them. And truth be told, they’d brought him to his knees. She’d chosen him over her bakery. Shown him what it meant to trust God with her future instead of trying to shape her fate herself. It had humbled him. And challenged him.

  He and the Almighty had been chatting regularly since that night and had finally come to an understanding this morning while Zach was driving out to one of the ranches north of town to deliver an order of fence posts. The quiet had provided plenty of thinking space, and after wrestling and rationalizing for nearly an hour, he finally admitted that the logic he’d gripped so tightly through the years was flawed. He had had a choice all those years ago, and he’d made the wrong one.

  He hadn’t trusted the Lord to take care of Seth and Evie. He’d only trusted himself. And that fear-driven arrogance had taken him down a path that led to a man’s death and damaged his own soul in the process. He’d told himself that the end justified the means. But that had been a lie, one he’d swallowed so fast he hadn’t even noticed the bitter aftertaste of brimstone. He’d noticed it today, though, when he finally released his grip and let God yank it from where it had burrowed into his gut. It burned all the way out, but peace had rushed in to fill the hole. A much friendlier traveling companion than guilt.

  Zach would never admit it out loud, but when he’d made his confession from that wagon seat earlier today, he swore he heard angels rejoicing. Probably just the wind playing tricks on his ears, but that song had taken residence in his head with such stubbornness that he’d started whistling without even being aware of it until Reuben came in and harassed him.

  “You think she’ll have some of them lemon scones with her again?” Reuben asked, a dreamy look in his eyes. “I could eat a dozen of those things.”

  “Doubt it.” Zach stepped away from his workbench and slapped Reuben on the back. “I told her you prefer bran muffins.”

  “You didn’t!”

  Zach chuckled at the horror on his partner’s face. Reuben had proven a true friend. After Charlie Evans denied Zach’s request for a loan as Reuben had predicted, Zach’s partner offered him an advance on his wages. Zach had turned him down, of course. He’d never do anything to put the welfare of the Sinclair brood at risk, no matter how many assurances their hardheaded father gave him that they could afford it. The fact that the offer had been made at all was gift enough.

  Reuben suddenly straightened, shifting his attention to the doorway. “
Speak of the lady, and she appears.”

  Zach spun around and drank in the sight of his wife sashaying into the lumberyard, basket on her arm and smile on her lips. A smile aimed directly at him. Now, that was an invitation he couldn’t refuse. He sidestepped Reuben and wrapped Abigail in an enthusiastic embrace that lifted her feet straight off the ground.

  She giggled, then swatted his shoulder and ordered that he put her down.

  He chuckled, slow to obey due to the joy spiraling through him. He’d expected that making peace with God would help him feel closer to the Almighty. He hadn’t expected that it would make him feel closer to his wife as well. But it had. Holding her had always been a pleasure, but never this keen, never this . . . pure.

  Never this . . . public. Maybe he should put her down. Reuben was their only audience, but still. A wife as precious as Abigail should be treated with the utmost respect and decorum. That was hard to do, though, when her brown eyes danced with the same excitement that spun like a whirligig in his own chest. It made a man want to take his woman home and lock out the rest of the world for the afternoon.

  Swallowing a sigh, he set her on her feet, trying not to be offended when she left him behind to totter over to Reuben. The line she took was riddled with zigzags, though, proof that his attentions had left her unsteady. A fact he found immensely satisfying.

  “I’ve come to bribe you, Mr. Sinclair,” Abigail said. Zach followed, intent on claiming his place at her side.

  Reuben held a hand over his heart. “I’m a man of integrity, my lady,” he pronounced with great pomp. “No amount of bran muffins will persuade me to compromise my principles.”