Page 26 of More than Words Can Say

Samuelson refocused his attention on Abigail. “Joining lives together in holy wedlock is one of my favorite duties. So much hope for the future.”

“Well, we appreciate you officiating.” She dipped her chin, then jerked it back up as if she’d just hooked an elusive fish. “Can I fix you a plate, Parson? Surely you’ll stay and eat. It’s the least we can offer in compensation.”

Not really, Zach mused. He’d already paid the preacher handsomely not only to enact the hitching but to deliver proof to the city council so there’d be no doubt that Abigail had met the terms of their ridiculous ultimatum. He and Abigail had a meeting scheduled at the bank Monday morning, as well, to add his name to the bakery’s deed. The council would have no leg to stand on after tonight.

“Thank you for the offer, Mrs. Hamilton, but I promised my wife to be home for supper.”

Mrs. Hamilton. That was going to take some getting used to—having a missus. Hearing his name attached to someone other than a sibling. Not that he minded sharing his name with Abigail. He respected the spunky not-afraid-to-do-what-had-to-be-done-to protect-her-family woman. Understood the impulse, the determination. Oh, and she wasn’t too hard on the eyes either.

“I’ll stop by the mayor’s office on my way home,” the preacher intoned in a lower voice. “Let him inspect the marriage license while I testify to the validity of the union.”

Abigail looked dismayed. “The mayor?” She turned to Zach, her eyes pleading. “Couldn’t we . . . send a note or something to one of the aldermen instead? No need to bother the mayor tonight.”

Why was she in such a dither? She was the one under the deadline. “Any other council member would still have to report to the mayor. I figured it’d be better to cut out the middle man and go straight to the fellow in charge.”

The preacher aimed a solicitous look at Abigail. “Would you prefer I wait, ma’am?”

She nibbled her lower lip for a moment, then shook her head. “No. My husband is correct. It’s much more efficient to inform Mayor Longfellow directly.”

So why did she look so doggone depressed by the idea?

“Thank you for tending to the errand for us, Brother Samuelson,” she said.

The preacher bobbed his head. “My honor, ma’am.” He pivoted and offered Zach his hand. “See you in church on Sunday.”

He had a surprisingly strong grip for a fellow who made his living with his mouth. Zach firmed up his shake, making it clear he wouldn’t be dictated to, even by a preacher man. He’d be in church, but not because the minister expected it. He and the Almighty had a rocky relationship, but the Big Man had proven he could be trusted. Zach’s backside would warm the pew because he owed it to the God who’d seen him through hard times, not because Samuelson wielded guilt like a soldier did a sword.

Just to be contrary, Zach left the comment hanging and his grip clenching. Samuelson didn’t back down, though. He probed Zach’s gaze as if trying to see into his soul. Zach tensed.

“We’ll be there,” Abigail assured the preacher, casting Zach a curious glance before turning her dimples on Samuelson. No man could resist those. Including preachers, it seemed.

The minister released Zach’s hand and sketched a small bow in Abigail’s direction. “Excellent. See you then.”

Zach felt the weight of his wife’s attention, of questions hanging in the air between them—questions he’d prefer not to answer. At least not here. So, like any good card player whose gut told him a bluff wouldn’t win the hand, he folded and left the table. Or escaped to the table, in his case.

“Gonna get some food.” He strode past Abigail without meeting her gaze. It wasn’t cowardly; it was strategic. At least that was what he told himself as he started piling his plate full of potatoes, ham, and other items the ladies had set out for consumption.

Thankfully, his wife didn’t remain abandoned for long. As soon as he moved to the food table, her sister scurried over to fill the vacancy. Almost as if she’d been waiting for an opening.

His own urge to hide dissolved as his wife and sister-in-law put their heads together and whispered between furtive glances cast in his direction. What were they discussing?

Zach stepped toward them, only to be waylaid by Logan offering his congratulations.

“Finally found a woman willing to put up with you, huh?” Logan thumped Zach’s shoulder blade, nearly sending his freshly piled potatoes cascading to the floor. “Smart of you to snatch her up before she changed her mind.”

Zach grunted in response, earning a chuckle from Evie’s husband.

“Smooth talker.” Logan smirked. “No wonder you swept her off her feet.”

“Shut up, Fowler.” Zach cast a glance his wife’s way. She nodded at something her sister said, and Rosalind immediately cut a swath through the crowd, heading for the door.

What was going on? Why would Rosalind leave her sister’s wedding celebration?

The only one with answers was making her way into the main part of the kitchen, where the majority of the guests had gathered. Zach moved to intercept, but his brother-in-law stepped into his path.

“Eva wanted me to check with you about accommodations,” Logan said.

Zach bit off a growl as Abigail stopped to talk to Audrey Sinclair, who stood at the dry sink, stacking dishes. His wife added his cake plate to the pile, but not before lifting the last bite into her mouth. She took a moment to scrape the remaining icing off the plate too and licked it off the fork. The same fork he’d used. His chest clenched. It was stupid to notice, to care about something so inconsequential. He and his siblings had shared more than utensils in those rough early years. Yet her sharing his plate and fork felt intimate somehow. It was something families did, not business partners.