Page 11 of More than Words Can Say

“More than a few minutes, Abby,” Rosalind hounded. “Promise me.”

Why was this so important to her? Why not just get it over with? Yet something in her sister’s eyes compelled Abigail to agree. “Fine. I’ll stay long enough to brew a cup of tea and read over the contract. Happy?”

Rosalind strode to the door, triumph in every step. “Yes.” She gave a wink, then shuffled out the door.

Forgetting to close it behind her. That girl.

Abigail stuck her head out into the alley, intending to tease her sister with a scold about living in a barn, but changed her mind when she noticed Rosie heading south down the alley instead of north.

“You’re going the wrong way,” Abigail called. “The Prescotts live on Elm.”

Rosalind pivoted to face her sister but kept moving down the alley, walking backward. “I know. I have a quick errand to run first.” Then she spun around and scurried around the corner leading to Sixth Street.

Abigail shrugged and pulled the door closed. Where on earth Rosalind thought to go with a basket of day-old bread getting in the way, Abby couldn’t imagine. But wherever it was, she sure seemed keen to get there.

CHAPTER

7

Zach had just stored his plane in the large tool chest beneath his workbench when young Simeon arrived with a second female in tow. The lad’s face glowed beet red as he escorted the girl in, his gaze veering to her so frequently that it was amazing he didn’t trip over his feet.

“Mr. Zach. A, uh, ’nother Miss Kemp to see ya.”

Zach sighed. He hadn’t thought Abigail the type to gang up on a fella. Sending the sister to plead on her behalf was beneath them both. Unless . . .

He narrowed his gaze at the blond woman with too much hair and a deficit of dimples. “You’re not here to make the same offer, are you? ’Cause my answer won’t be changin’.”

Instead of taking offense, she smiled at him. Then she turned to the boy at her side. “Thank you for showing me the way, Simeon.” Her smile beamed, and the lad nearly face-planted, so steep was his lean toward her. Rosalind reached into the oversized basket dangling from her left arm and pulled out a pair of dinner rolls. “Why don’t you share these with your pa while I have a few words with Mr. Hamilton.”

Simeon just stared at her without making a move for the bread.

Zach rolled his eyes. At this rate, he’d never get out of here. He yanked the bread out of Rosalind Kemp’s hand, shoved it at Simeon, then gave the kid a push in the right direction. “Tell Reuben I’ll close up the shed,” he said, wanting to make sure the besotted boy didn’t make up some excuse to come back and gawk at the Kemp girl.

Simeon nodded, his feet moving automatically in the direction Zach had started him. He dawdled but kept moving and eventually disappeared into the main lumberyard.

“Look,” Zach grumbled, “I don’t know why your sister sent you, but—”

“Oh, Abigail doesn’t know I’m here,” Rosalind said as she spun to face him. All residual pleasantness faded from her features, leaving a slightly panicked look in her eyes that snagged Zach’s attention. “I don’t have much time.”

He crossed his arms over his chest, not wanting to look too interested. Pretty girls had ways of getting their hooks into fellas before they knew what was happening, and while Abigail’s sister had never flirted or pestered him, she might not be above using wiles to try to manipulate him. Not that he’d let her, of course. He could read truth on a person’s face the way a preacher read it from the Bible. Learning at the knee of the most renowned riverboat gambler on the Mississippi had given him a distinct advantage: he could spot a bluff a mile away.

“I’m listening.”

She set the bread basket on the ground, then stepped close and laid a hand on his arm. “You need to marry my sister.”

Well, she could get to the point. That was a mark in her favor.

“To save your bakery, I know. But there are other ways to save it that don’t require a leg-shacklin’ on my part. She might not like the idea of joinin’ up with a partner, but—”

“It’s more than the bakery.” Rosalind bit her lower lip and cast a quick glance around before turning back to him. The fear in her eyes was real. He’d stake a year’s wages on it. “I did . . . something a while back. Something Abigail knows nothing about. Something that started a chain of events I can’t seem to undo. No danger has touched Abigail yet, but there’s a chance . . .” She bit her lip again.

Zach heard the unspoken words. The danger might not have touched Abigail yet, but it had touched Rosalind. Enough to put that panic in her eyes.

“If you don’t marry her, she’s going to propose to Elmer Beekman, and I’m pretty sure he’ll say yes. He’s about as tepid as they come, and at his age, he’s sure to jump at the chance to gain a young wife with nothing beyond agreement required on his end. But he won’t be able to protect her, Mr. Hamilton.” Her grip on his arm tightened. “Not from the council. Nor from . . . other trouble.”

Elmer Beekman? That was who she planned to replace him with? The man was a mouse. Timid, bland, and old enough to be her father, for Pete’s sake. She could do better. Much better. And her sister was right. Beekman would be about as useful in a fight as wet newsprint.

Tension radiated up Zach’s spine, crimping his neck. He rolled his head back and forth on his shoulders to loosen the muscles, then looked down at the girl before him. “What kind of trouble we talkin’ about?”