Page 17 of More than Words Can Say

CHAPTER

10

“He’ll do it. You’ll see.” Rosalind grinned as she set plates on the tables near the front window. As if the outcome had already been decided.

Abigail knew better. If the matter had been decided, Mr. Hamilton would not have needed the night to consider things. Her hands shook slightly as she placed a selection of sticky buns in the display case. His sticky buns. Not until this morning had she realized that she thought of them that way. She’d been doing so for weeks, apparently. Now, thanks to her impetuous marriage proposal, he’d probably start breakfasting elsewhere to avoid the awkwardness. Which would be for the best. Especially if she managed to convince Elmer Beekman to take his place, a prospect that didn’t sit as well with her as it once had.

After her conversation with Mr. Hamilton yesterday, and their discussion of intimacies, Abigail just couldn’t picture anyone other than him as her husband. Especially not Mr. Beekman and his breath of doom. But if Mr. Hamilton’s night had been anything like hers, he was probably questioning why he’d ever considered her offer in the first place.

Whenever Abigail had awakened during the night, which had been far too often, she’d prayed. At first she’d begged God to convince Mr. Hamilton to agree to her scheme. Then, as the night grew darker and her doubts and insecurities grew louder, she’d asked him simply to save her bakery. When morning came and she rose exhausted from a restless night of little sleep and no reassurances, her petitions deteriorated to a humble plea that God provide a way for her and Rosalind to survive.

“Look!” her sister exclaimed as she leaned close to the window. “Here he comes now . . . wait.” Her smile dimmed. “That’s not Mr. Hamilton crossing the square. It’s Marshal Burton. Carrying a box of tools.”

Abigail straightened. Tools? That didn’t sound good.

“Unlock the door.” Abigail flapped her arm at her sister as she scurried around the counter. “Hurry!”

Rosalind bustled to the shop entrance and turned the key in the lock, her face full of questions Abigail didn’t have time to answer. She swept past her sister and pulled open the door.

“Marshal,” she greeted, a wide smile masking the terror floundering in her chest. “We don’t open for another fifteen minutes, but I’d be glad to make an exception for the man who keeps Honey Grove safe. What can I bring you? A cinnamon roll, perhaps, or a croissant?”

The lawman mounted the boardwalk in front of her shop and tipped his hat. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but I’m not here for breakfast. I’ve been tasked with posting a public notice stating that the Taste of Heaven Bakery is conducting business illegally and will have all operations shut down by the end of the week.” His gaze softened with regret, but his eyes never flinched as he delivered the devastating news. He handed the printed notice to her to examine.

The glaring headline of City Violation jumped off the page in print so large that people would be able to read it from halfway across the square.

She shook her head, slowly at first, then with greater speed as reality forced its way into her numb brain. “You can’t do this.” She glanced up from the paper. “The council gave me until the end of the month to comply with the ordinance. My time’s not up. If you post this inflammatory notice, you’ll do irreparable harm to my reputation and the reputation of this bakery when I’ve done nothing wrong.”

Marshal Burton bent sideways and set his box of tools on the boardwalk with a jangle of metal. He stuffed a few nails in his trouser pocket, then grabbed a hammer and straightened. He took the notice from her hands and laid it flat against the siding next to the door.

“If you have an issue with the notice, you can take it up with Mayor Longfellow. He’s the one who gave the order. He said you had failed to communicate any plan regarding coming into compliance, so he thought it best to warn the public of the upcoming closure.”

“The council never asked for any communication. They just gave me a deadline. I do have a plan in place to bring the bakery into compliance, but I need to finalize a few details first. Give me until Friday. If I haven’t addressed the issue by then, you can post the notice. Posting it now would be prejudicial and malicious.”

The marshal dug a nail out of his pocket and set it at the top right corner of the page. He slanted a glance at her. “Anything in this notice untrue?”

“Not precisely,” Abigail hedged, “but it paints an inaccurate picture of the situation.”

He shrugged and swung the hammer. It connected with a bang that sounded far too much like a nail being driven into a coffin—a death knell for her business.

“Please,” she begged, taking hold of his arm. “Don’t do this.”

“Sorry, ma’am,” he said, gently but firmly removing her hand from his arm. “It ain’t my call to make. You’re gonna have to take it up with the mayor.”

But not before all her morning customers saw the notice and spread the tale. Even if the mayor relented, it would be too late.

Zach strolled up Sixth Street at a leisurely pace. At least that was what he told himself he was doing—strolling. It wasn’t cowardly feet dragging if a man was simply enjoying a lovely summer morning. Zach blew out a shaky breath and tried to focus on the sunshine and the cool breeze, but every time that breeze swirled around his face and neck, he had to fight the urge to scrub at his skin. After spending most of the night tangled in a nightmare where snakelike ropes coiled around him from head to toe, he was a little on edge.

Get a grip, man. You’re not marching to the gallows. Though he had to admit he’d welcome a reprieve if Miss Kemp changed her mind. He’d prayed she would let him off the hook, take the decision out of his hands, but his gut told him she wouldn’t. She was fighting for her livelihood and her family. Powerful motivators. Ones Zach understood far too well. Yet he couldn’t help but hope for a miracle. After all but giving her his word yesterday during their conversation, he didn’t feel like he could call things off and still be a man of honor. But if the lady’s wishes had changed? Well, that was an entirely different matter.

As he neared the square, a commotion outside the Taste of Heaven made him pick up his pace. Was that the marshal? What was he doing? And why was Abigail trying to pull him away from her shop?

Zach broke into a jog and pounded up the boardwalk steps. The marshal paused his hammer mid-swing and turned to assess who approached. Apparently determining Zach wasn’t an immediate threat, he continued his swing and pounded a nail deep into the bakery’s siding. His sprawled hand kept Zach from being able to read the words printed on the paper the lawman was posting, but if the tears welling in Abigail’s eyes were any indication, it wasn’t good news.

“What you got there, Marshal?” Zach’s gaze bounced from Abigail to marshal.

“A public notice,” Burton said before shifting his hands so he could dig in his pocket for another nail. As his hands moved, the heading of the notice was revealed.

Zach frowned. “Violation?” His gaze swung to Abigail.