Page 27 of More than Words Can Say

“Zach?” Logan’s voice cut into his thoughts. “Accommodations?”

Right.

“You can stay at my place.” His rent was paid up through the end of next month, since his plans for the future at the time of payment had not included accepting a marriage proposal. Going from confirmed bachelor to pronounced husband in less than a week left a few ripples in a man’s pond. “Seth can make a pallet on the floor.”

Logan leaned in close. “She’s going to want details, you know.”

Of course Evie wanted details. Not that Zach had many to give. But his sister wouldn’t be satisfied with anything short of the full story.

“I know you’ll be occupied elsewhere tonight,” Logan said, pitching his voice low, “but she hoped to corner you in the morning before we skip town.”

“Have her stop by the lumberyard.” Weary of his least favorite brother-in-law—no contest, since the only other fella with the title was four-year-old Archie, who knew better than to stick his nose where it didn’t belong—Zach thumped Logan on the shoulder and sought out his wife.

An hour later, the food had disappeared and the conversation had lulled, cuing Zach to make an exit. Audrey had already snuck away to put the younger children to bed, and Rosalind had never returned after her abrupt departure, so all of Abigail’s support had deserted her. Evie headed her direction, no doubt intending to fill the gap, but Zach didn’t want her pressing Abigail for the details she craved. His sister could grill him all she wanted, but he didn’t want her saying anything to make Abigail uncomfortable.

Besides, he’d already spotted his wife stifling two yawns. She was tuckered out. Hadn’t eaten anything, either. He’d have to see about making her a sandwich or something when they got back to her place. Their place, he corrected. The rooms above the Taste of Heaven Bakery belonged to him now too.

Decision made, Zach marched up to Abigail and captured her hand. “Time to go, wife.”

Abigail’s eyes widened slightly, and her throat worked as she swallowed. Evie aimed one of her baby kitten scowls at him, but he ignored her, choosing to focus on his bride instead.

She smiled an apology at his sister even as she stepped closer to him. Choosing him. Accepting him. Even when he sounded like a growling bear.

“Please stop by the bakery before you leave town tomorrow,” Abigail urged. “Family eats free.”

Evie grinned. “We will. Thank you.”

They made their good-byes to the rest of the gathering, then finally escaped into the quiet of the evening. At half-past seven, the sun hung low but still lit the sky. Zach helped Abigail into the lumber wagon, his small trunk of belongings already stashed in the back.

Neither spoke on the way to the bakery, which suited Zach just fine. He’d had enough yapping in the past couple hours to last him a week. Though he wouldn’t mind a few hints about what was going through his wife’s mind.

Was she quiet because she liked the peace, or was she scared of what he might do when they got home? On their wedding night. He’d promised not to press her for any relations until she was ready, and he was a man of his word. So she shouldn’t be worried. But then, how would she know if his word meant anything until he proved it to be solid? It wasn’t like he could offer references or anything.

Thankfully the ride was a short one—his brain couldn’t take much more of the guess-what-your-new-wife-is-thinking game—and he parked the wagon behind the bakery and helped Abigail down. She looked real pretty all spruced up, sneaking shy glances his way. Made a man wish he hadn’t made promises to wait. But he had, so he would.

He moved to the side of the wagon, collected his trunk, and hefted it to his shoulder. “I’ll take this inside, then return the rig to Reuben.” That would give her time to get comfortable having him in her home.

“All right.” She strolled to the back door and opened it wide, making it easier for him to enter. She then led the way upstairs, and they met Rosalind in the hall.

“Everything’s in order,” Rosalind reported, her hair a bit mussed and her fancy dress traded in for a plainer one. She cast a quick glance at Zach, then disappeared into a small bedroom to his right.

Not quite sure what to make of that, he held his tongue and followed Abigail to a larger room to the left. A room, he was relieved to see, that held a bed big enough for two. They might not have a customary wedding night planned, but he’d been looking forward to sleeping next to his wife. Even if she insisted on stuffing some kind of bolster between them. They’d still be close, and close would be needed if he hoped to woo her over to the more intimate side of marriage.

“You can place your belongings in here.” Abigail stepped inside the room and held the door for him as he entered.

He set his trunk at the foot of the bed and glanced at the bureau across from the bed and the wardrobe to the left. Not a trinket in sight. He knew Abigail was a practical woman, but even a practical woman had brushes and hairpins and such, right?

“Make use of any drawers you like,” she said.

He turned to her. Any drawers?

She started backing out of the room. “I’ll be sharing Rosalind’s room. A man needs his privacy, after all. His space.” She dipped her chin, clearly aware that privacy was the last thing a husband wanted on his wedding night. “All of my things are already moved, so make use of whatever you like.”

She waved her hand at the furnishings, but his gaze never wandered from her eyes. At least he knew what the sister had run off to do.

He stalked toward her. She retreated into the doorway.

“I usually retire around eight o’clock,” she babbled, “since I get up at four to prep the ovens and prepare the sweet breads. I wouldn’t want to disturb you.” She backed into the hallway.