Page 40 of More than Words Can Say

“Stop.”

Her head snapped up at his sharp tone.

He worked his jaw back and forth, his temper flaring with a heat he hadn’t expected. Busybodies and their small-minded pettiness. Yet it irked him that Abigail had allowed them to get under her skin. And what was she thinking, calling herself a plow horse? If a man had made such a comment about his wife, he would have flattened the scoundrel.

“Stop belittling yourself, Abby. And stop apologizing for trapping me in this marriage. I’m a grown man who’s been making his own decisions since I was thirteen years old. No one trapped me into anything. I came into this marriage as a willing partner and spoke my vows without any duress. And if I ever hear you compare yourself to your sister in such an unflattering way again, so help me, I just might bend you over my knee and take a paddle to your backside.”

Eyes wide, she blinked at him as if he’d started spouting Chinese. Well, maybe a little Chinese would finally straighten out her thinking.

Hoping he was on the right track, he jumbled together the rest of what he had to say and tossed it at her before she could close the door on him for good. “Some cad harassed your sister in town today, and I put my arm around her in an effort to protect her from prying eyes, just like I would shelter Evie if she had been the one involved. I took her to the stables because I couldn’t think of anywhere else in the immediate area where we would be assured some privacy. Rosalind needed to tell me a few things without a bunch of busybodies around to eavesdrop.”

Abigail’s forehead scrunched. “What would she tell you that she couldn’t tell me?”

“I promised to keep her confidence, so I can’t say, but I did encourage her to talk to you. Told her you would support her no matter what.”

“Of course I would!” That fierce light he loved so much flashed in her eyes.

“Just like I will support you no matter what.”

She tilted her head, her gaze searching his.

He gently gripped her upper arms and rubbed her shoulders with his thumbs. “I vowed to stand by your side for better or worse, and I meant it. But there’s more than a wedding vow holding me to you, Abby.”

She blinked, then nodded. “Our contract.”

Good grief. Was she really so blind to her own value? He shook his head. “I haven’t given that piece of paper a second thought since we wed.”

Her brows rose slightly as she scanned his face for clues. “Then, what?”

“You, Abby.”

Her head tipped back. “Me? I–I don’t understand.”

And that was the problem. One he needed to rectify. No more patiently waiting for her to get used to him. Time to stake his claim in a way she wouldn’t be able to doubt.

“I didn’t marry you to save your bakery.”

“Y-you didn’t?”

“Nope.” His grip on her arms tightened slightly, urging her to pay attention. Words weren’t exactly his specialty, and he didn’t want to have to repeat himself. “If some other female had proposed marriage to me in order to keep her sewing shop or laundry business, I would have turned her down.” He gave her a sharp look. “Even Rosalind.”

Her breath stuttered a bit as she inhaled. “Why?”

“Because I’m selfish. I ain’t about to tie myself to a woman for the rest of my days when I hold no affection for her.”

She swallowed. “Are you saying that you . . . care for me?”

“I’m saying that of all the women in this town, you’re the only one who could have tempted me to say yes.”

“But why?”

Could she not just believe him and be done with it? How much explaining did a man need to do to convince his wife of his affection? He felt sweat gather between his shoulder blades. He was no good at making pretty words. The more he opened his mouth, the greater his chances of mucking things up. But she was looking up at him with such a mix of confusion and expectancy. He knew that if he failed to give her an answer, he’d undo any progress they’d just made.

“Your dimples,” he blurted.

Oh, good one. Zach fought not to roll his eyes at his ineptitude. He dropped his hands from her arms and shifted his weight. “I like looking at them, all right? When you smile, your cheeks crease and it makes me feel . . . I don’t know . . . lighter.”

That had to be the stupidest attempt at flattery ever uttered. Even he could hear how defensive and grumpy he sounded. But she didn’t scoff or grunt in disgust. No, she smiled, letting those little creases dance for him, and something shifted inside him, making him feel—yep—lighter.