Page 64 of More than Words Can Say

Rosalind didn’t break stride, just rolled her shoulders as she marched down the street. “Can’t say I’m looking forward to it, exactly, but I can bear a little discomfort for Abby’s sake. She’s been making sacrifices for me for years.”

The girl had grit.

“Keep your eyes peeled when you’re on that float,” he cautioned. “I can’t help but think Sophia Longfellow’s got some kind of trick up her sleeve with this last-minute addition.”

He’d already pictured several unpleasant possibilities. Spooking the float horses. Recruiting delinquents to throw rotten vegetables. Sabotaging a wheel or axle. Humiliation seemed the most likely goal, based on past experience.

Rosalind’s brow crinkled. “You might be right, but I don’t think she intends any harm toward me. She always aims her vitriol directly at Abby. I wouldn’t put it past her to try to discredit the bakery in some way, though.”

A horrible thought jumped into his mind, and he pulled up short.

Rosalind slowed and turned a perplexed look on him. “What?”

“You don’t think she found out about those photo cards, do you? Even if Sophia hasn’t attacked you in the past, instigating a large scandal with ties to the bakery could be an effective way to destroy the business.”

Rosalind paled. “I-I don’t think she knows.” She shook her head, her gaze dropping to the street. “I’ve only ever been approached by out-of-town men. No one local.” She inhaled a breath and lifted her chin. “Sophia and Chester run in elevated circles, well separated from the rail hands and cowboys who drift in to visit the saloons.” A touch of color returned to her face along with a determined glint in her eyes. “If Sophia planned to start a scandal, I don’t think she would have named me Honey Grove’s Queen Bee. That associates me with the town, and more directly, with the council, including her husband.”

Zach nodded, the knot in his gut loosening a smidgeon. “I’m sure you’re right,” he said, offering a smile he hoped looked brighter than it felt.

Rosalind’s logic was sound, but revenge had a tendency to warp a person’s mind when allowed to fester for long periods of time. One couldn’t trust logic to win out over vengeance.

He’d be keeping a close eye on Mrs. Longfellow.

“Whatever that woman has in mind, we’ll just have to beat her to the punch. Take away her opportunities to cause mischief. You and me will see to the wagon decoratin’. I’m not letting Sophia Longfellow anywhere near that float until the parade is over.” The more elements he controlled, the more protection he could offer his family.

Unfortunately, he couldn’t control everything. And the variables dangling out of reach made him nervous.

CHAPTER

32

Abigail rose earlier than usual the following morning, her bedside clock registering ten minutes before four o’clock. Thankful for the nervous energy that had made sleep elusive despite her weariness, she drew back the covers and crawled out of bed, taking care not to disturb her sister.

It had been after eleven last night when Rosalind finally came to bed. Even later for Zach, Abigail imagined. Her husband didn’t seem the type to take his rest before his work had been completed, and he’d set himself a mountain of tasks. Building a booth, painting signs, decorating a wagon for the parade. As Abigail splashed water on her face, she considered letting him sleep. Surely he was exhausted.

She dressed in her navy blue work dress and pinned her hair in a simple braided wreath around the back of her head, then picked up her shoes and eased the door open. She tiptoed into the hall, but her efforts were for naught. Zach had taken his own measures to ensure he wasn’t excluded from this morning’s activities.

His door gaped wide, and the moment she clicked hers shut, rustling echoed from his bed. The rope supports creaked and drew her gaze as he swung his legs over the edge of the mattress. As she watched, unable to look away, Zach stood, yawned, and stretched. And heavens, what a stretch. He slept without a shirt, giving her a spectacular view of muscles, swarthy skin a few shades lighter on his chest than his neck and forearms, and a smattering of dark hair that her fingers itched to explore.

Rumpled and eyes half-lidded, he prowled toward her. Abigail’s mouth dried in an instant. She’d always found her husband attractive, but gracious. He was magnificent.

His gaze caught on the shoes she carried. He raised a sleepy brow to notify her that she’d been caught, then slanted her a slow, cocky grin, obviously proud of himself for outsmarting her. Not a single iota of disappointment manifested in her over her defeat. How could it when she had such a vision to feast her eyes upon? And even better was the evidence of the heart of the man before her. Selfless, dedicated, committed. She doubted he’d had more than four hours’ sleep, yet here he stood, ready to do biscuit battle on her behalf. No wife could ask for a better champion.

“I’ll be down as soon as I throw a shirt on,” he said, his voice thick with the rasp of sleep.

Words failed her, but she managed a nod, thinking all the while that a shirt would be a shame.

“Abby?”

“Hmm?” Slowly, she dragged her gaze away from his chest to find his eyes. His extremely fierce, suddenly wide-awake eyes.

That cocky grin slid back into place a heartbeat before he grabbed her waist and pulled her tight against him. Her shoes dropped to the floor, and her palms flattened against the muscular expanse that had so mesmerized her.

“Mornin’.” Then his lips captured hers. Passionate yet gentle, the kiss ended far too soon to her way of thinking. But then, they did have a couple hundred biscuits to bake.

Was it too late to change her mind about the float? Spending the day with her husband in non-baking pursuits suddenly seemed a much better use of her time.

Thankfully, Zach possessed more sense. He brought his hands up to cup her shoulders and planted a kiss on her forehead. Then he bent to retrieve her shoes, handed them to her, spun her around, and gave her a little push toward the stairwell.