Page 63 of More than Words Can Say

She blinked, then slowly focused on his face. “I don’t know if I can do it.”

“Do what?” Let her sister risk exposure?

“Bake enough biscuits. I worked all afternoon to have enough goods to accommodate the usual surplus of customers. There’s not enough time to put out a couple hundred biscuits for the parade, let alone double that to supply paying customers afterward. I’m not even sure I have enough flour.”

Zach’s mind spun as he started to piece together Sophia’s scheme. She was setting Abigail up for failure. Late notification to ensure time was short, stores closed so she couldn’t resupply her ingredients. She probably planned to do a slipshod job on the bunting for the wagon too.

He clenched his jaw. He shouldn’t have waited until after work to bring this idea to Abigail. He’d shaved her time even more. Well, he’d just have to fix that problem. Because his wife was not going to fail. Nor was she going to shoulder this load on her own.

“I’ll go to the Sinclairs’ tonight. Get Reuben to help me put together a booth. Paint the signs. Ask Audrey about the kids and see if she has any flour I can buy from her. I’ll stop by the Longfellows’ house on my way, tell the mayor we accept his offer and collect the bunting so Rosalind can do the decorating. Then, tomorrow, I’ll get up with you, and you’ll put me to work.”

Abigail’s brows arched. “But you can’t—”

He cut off her protest with a shake of his head. “I sure enough can. I’ll fetch and carry whatever you need. You make the dough, I’ll cut out the rounds and slather ’em with the honey butter sauce. If I can use a jigsaw, I should be able to handle a biscuit cutter. And I got decent painting skills, so you don’t have to worry about me missing spots. Every top will be covered. Rosalind can run the shop with whatever goods you’ve already got on hand. Anything else people may want will just have to be listed as sold-out. Most folks’ll be home preparing for the day’s activities anyway. In the meantime, you and I will make so many biscuits, we’ll have to cart them around in a wagon bed.”

His wife stared at him, her brown eyes wide. Then, without a word, she pushed her chair back, rose to her feet, and came to stand directly in front of him.

A little worried he might have gotten himself in trouble by being too presumptuous—after all, his knowledge of running a professional kitchen wouldn’t cover a nailhead—he leaned back in his chair and braced himself for whatever she might dish out.

Braced for anything except the kiss she planted on his mouth. At the dinner table. In full view of her sister. Her palms cupped his jaw as her lips touched his. By the time his dull wits processed what she was doing and urged him to respond, she had pulled away. But then she spoke.

“I love you, Zacharias Hamilton.”

His heart gave a donkey kick. She’d said the words. Again. On purpose. And in front of a witness.

And again, his tongue glued itself to the roof of his mouth. Only this time she didn’t seem to expect anything from him. Even if he could have managed to spit out a word or two, she didn’t give him the chance. Just started rattling off orders of her own, their kiss apparently galvanizing her practical nature back into working order.

She straightened to her full height, and the affection in her gaze hardened into tactical alertness. “If Audrey agrees to let the children help with distributing the baked goods during the parade, I want you and Reuben flanking their movements at all times—one with each child. I don’t want any overeager spectators grabbing at their baskets or crowding them in any way. Their safety must be paramount.”

Zach nodded. Couldn’t argue with good sense.

“After the parade, you stick to her like glue.” Abigail pointed to her sister, the intensity in her face giving neither Zach nor Rosalind any room to quibble. “The square will be filled with wagons and folks milling around, most of them men. Rosalind is not to be left alone. Agreed?”

“Abby . . .” Rosalind whined, but a sharp look from her sister cut off the complaint.

Zach drew his wife’s attention by pushing to his feet. “Agreed.” He’d hoped to spend more of the holiday with Abigail than her sister, but he’d learned a long time ago that life didn’t always give you what you wanted. Watching out for Rosalind was the right thing to do. And the best way to support Abigail, which, after all, was his main concern.

“Good.” Abigail nodded her satisfaction, then pivoted sharply back toward the table. “I’ll clear the dishes and prep the kitchen for tomorrow.”

She started stacking plates in the crook of her arm, barely pausing long enough for Zach to scrape the last bite of potato from his before adding it to her collection. Her brown eyes danced with teasing light as she snatched his plate away before he could get his fork out of his mouth. The dimples he adored flashed, and the task before them suddenly felt much less daunting.

“Rosalind, if Audrey has no flour to spare, you might ask Mrs. Putnam,” Abigail said as she piled dishes into the dumbwaiter that would lower them to the kitchen. “Be sure to pay her more than it’s worth, though. Or if she refuses money, take note of the amount so we can replenish her supply with interest. I won’t have dear Lydia going hungry because of my predicament.”

“Don’t worry,” Rosalind said as she rose and reached for the serving dishes. “I’ll find the flour you need and generously compensate whoever donates.”

Abigail nodded, collected the glasses and the few miscellaneous items remaining on the table, then signaled her sister to lower the dumbwaiter and left to meet it downstairs in the kitchen.

As Rosalind worked the pulley, her gaze zeroed in on Zach.

“Be careful with her heart,” she said in a low voice. “Abby might be a practical-minded businesswoman, but her heart has taken a lot of abuse through the years. It’s bruised and battered, but it’s still a priceless treasure.” Her blue eyes narrowed slightly. “Treat it as such.”

Zach held her gaze without flinching. “I will.”

He knew the value of the gift Abigail had given him. Knew he didn’t deserve it. Yet he vowed to guard her heart with every ounce of his strength and do everything in his power to shore up those bruised places and keep from adding any new damage. A challenging task for a rough fellow who knew next to nothing about healthy relationships, but one he’d endeavor to accomplish nonetheless.

Rosalind held his gaze for a long, measuring moment before giving a nod. “Then let’s go to the Sinclairs’. Abby needs that flour, and we need to make that float something she’d be proud to have carry the bakery’s name.”

Once they were out of the house and on their way, Zach gave his sister-in-law a considering stare. “You sure you’re all right with the whole Queen Bee thing?”