Page 49 of More than Words Can Say

Yep. Though what he hungered for most wouldn’t be found in any pot.

“No need to go to any trouble,” he said, casually stalking his wife until he stood a mere foot from her position. She shot a look his way, and her teeth peeked out to nibble on her bottom lip. “We live in a bakery. I’m not gonna starve. Just slice up some of that ham from last night, and we can make sandwiches.”

“But you had that for your lunch today.”

He shrugged. “Filled my belly then. Imagine it’ll do the same now.”

Something flared in her gaze. Interest? Appreciation? Whatever it was, it had him itching to get her in his arms again.

“Why don’t you go wash up?” she suggested as she turned to retrieve some bread from the cabinet that held their personal stores. The bread was a day old—all fresh baked goods went to paying customers—but it was still some of the best Zach had ever tasted. “I’ll throw together some sandwiches and meet you upstairs.”

“I’ll just take mine to my room,” Rosalind said, mischief dancing in her eyes as she shot him a conspirator’s smile. “That way I can baste this bunting on the Singer machine before you turn in for the evening, Abby. Get an early start on all that gathering.”

“There’s no rush.” Abigail glanced over her shoulder, her brow furrowed. “It’ll keep until tomorrow when you have more daylight.”

“I don’t mind. Besides, it’ll do the two of you good to have some time alone together without me hanging around like a third wheel.”

Zach had to give the girl points for directness. Abigail would have a hard time wiggling out of that one.

“You’re not a third wheel, Rosie. You’re family.”

Apparently not a hard enough time. Zach bit back a sigh. Was she still nervous to be alone with him? Or was she just trying to be a good sister and not allow her sibling to feel excluded? He thought he had seen something in her gaze earlier, something that seemed more open to physical closeness, but maybe it had been his own desire reflecting back at him, showing him what he wanted to see.

“I know,” Rosalind said, turning to her sister. Something passed between them that Zach couldn’t quite decipher. “But I could use a little time alone tonight anyway. To sort my thoughts.”

Abigail touched Rosalind’s arm, her gaze never leaving her sister’s face. Then she nodded, and everything was decided.

It looked like he’d get his wife all to himself after all.

With a little extra pep in his step, Zach headed for the stairs, barely pausing long enough to yank his boots from his feet. “Guess I’ll go wash, then.”

Neither of the sisters paid him any mind, but that didn’t matter. He had an engagement with his wife to prepare for and a good two hours of her company to enjoy before she retired. He aimed to make the most of it.

After hustling up the stairs, Zach pushed open the door to his room and crossed to the wardrobe, his fingers working shirt buttons through their holes. A clean shirt was in order. One smelling more of soap than sawdust and sweat. A man who intended to sit close to his wife on the settee while she read aloud after supper needed a clean shirt. Maybe a shave as well.

Nah. That’d be too obvious. He could practically see her mind whirring as she tried to figure out the implications of a clean-shaven jaw in the evening. Better not get ahead of himself. He’d save that for the abduction.

Zach grinned. Wooing one’s wife might require more effort than he’d originally anticipated, but the hunt invigorated him. He might have to continue the abduction tradition even after she was fully his. Keep things interesting.

Not paying much attention, he yanked open the wardrobe door with one hand while shrugging his other shoulder out from under his suspender. As the strap fell away, his gaze caught on a foreign object on the top shelf. Two objects, as a matter of fact. The horrid floral basin and ewer that normally adorned his washstand. Why would they be in his wardrobe?

Zach freed himself from the second suspender and leaned back to see around the wardrobe door. There on his washstand stood a white china ewer and basin set with nothing but a band of dark blue to break up the plain display. No fluted edges or decorative handle. Just a straightforward, simple design without a single flower in sight.

He rubbed at an itchy place on his chest that just happened to be directly over his heart.

She’d thought of him. Fondly, apparently. The itch deepened into an ache. His practical wife had spent her hard-earned money on something completely unnecessary. The old wash set had been functional. Ugly, but functional. Yet she’d purchased a new one simply to please him.

His pulse ratcheted up to high speed even as he warned himself not to read too much into the gift. It didn’t mean she’d developed feelings for him, although the thrill that surged through his blood at the thought had his hands fumbling as he tugged his shirttails free of his waistband.

Leaving the wardrobe door open, Zach moved to the washstand and fit his palm to the ewer handle. He poured a stream of tepid water over his other hand into the basin, enjoying the experience far more than the act warranted. Setting the ewer on the stand, he dried his wet hand on his trousers, then stripped out of his work shirt. He wadded it into a ball and tossed it at the basket on the far side of the wardrobe. It fell dead center, which only enriched Zach’s good mood. Lathering his hands with a cake of soap, he washed his face, arms, and torso, then toweled dry.

Soft voices in the hall told him the women were finished in the kitchen, which meant Abigail would be waiting for him in the small sitting room off the parlor that served as their dining room. Alone.

Zach grabbed the first clean shirt he came to and threw it over his head. As he stuffed his shirttails into his trousers, his gaze caught on the corner of the leather case that hung over the edge of the top shelf.

His hands stilled.

She’d found his cards. Not that he’d been trying to hide them from her, but the thought of her touching that tainted part of his past brought the acrid taste of bile to the back of his throat. He wanted to erase that bit of history, scrub it away as he had the sweat and dirt from his hands, so that it wouldn’t defile her. But it was a part of him. A part she deserved to know about. But when? They were just starting to gain their footing in this marriage. Surely it’d be wise to fortify the foundation before he started shaking the walls.