Page 7 of More than Words Can Say

Mr. Hamilton stood in place, his legs braced slightly apart as if prepared for any eventuality. This was not a man who would be easily bowled over. The observation should have given her pause, seeing as how she aimed to be in charge of this arrangement, yet she found it oddly comforting instead. He wouldn’t be blown off course when life’s storms battered his hull. He’d hold fast, a shelter for those under his protection.

Now all she had to do was convince him to take on a passenger with sizeable baggage and a penchant for steering the ship.

Before she could lose her courage, Abigail unstrapped her satchel and retrieved the marriage contract she’d constructed.

“Mr. Hamilton,” she said, thankful that her voice trembled only slightly, since her insides were quaking like the ground beneath a racing locomotive, “I have a proposition for you.”

CHAPTER

5

Zach picked up the steel square edge from his workbench, but instead of testing the board he’d been planing for perpendicularity like he normally would, he fiddled with the L-shaped tool while he stared at the woman before him.

She’d changed her clothes since that morning. Why he should notice that insignificant detail, he couldn’t imagine, but he had. She looked different without her apron. And without the flour that more often than not dusted some part of her face. Looking for the telltale streak each morning proved entertaining, not that he’d ever admit that he enjoyed examining her face. Someone might get the wrong idea.

But her countenance at the moment provoked no entertainment whatsoever. Her brown eyes glowed with purpose, and her chin angled upward in a manner that reminded Zach of his little sister when she was in the mood to lecture him.

What kind of proposal could Miss Kemp possibly have for him? If she needed shelves for the bakery, surely she would have included Reuben in the discussion, yet she’d looked relieved when he and Simeon had left.

And now her cheeks were growing pink. Probably because he was just standing here staring at her like an idiot instead of saying something.

Tightening his grip on the square, he cleared his throat. “What kind of proposition?”

She thrust a set of papers at him, the sheets crinkling as the corners bent against his chest. “A business proposition. A rather, um, unconventional one, but one I believe will prove beneficial to both of us if you’ll look past the first hurdle.”

He reached for the papers. “That hurdle being?”

She straightened her posture, which was an impressive trick of engineering, since she was already standing as stiff as the board he’d been working on moments ago. Then she met his gaze, and something grabbed at his gut. “Marriage,” she said. “To me.”

A cough exploded in his throat. He ducked his chin and turned aside, the choking sensation worsening to the point that he had to brace his arms against the workbench as he struggled to control the spasms. He’d always wondered how his brother Seth felt when an asthma attack hit. Now he knew.

“It might appear to be a beggar’s bargain on the surface,” she said from behind him, “but I promise there are benefits.”

At the word benefits, images jumped immediately to Zach’s mind. Vivid images. Of bedsheets and unpinned hair. Of luscious curves, dimpled smiles, and welcoming glances.

His throat constricted further. Not even a cough could escape now.

“To start with, you can have all the sticky buns you like free of charge. For life.”

Breakfast. She was talking about breakfast.

A bit of air seeped into his lungs, allowing him to wrestle his unruly thoughts into submission as he turned to face Miss Kemp. He leaned back against the workbench, not yet trusting his knees to hold him up on their own, and forced himself to meet her gaze.

He thrust the crumpled papers back at her. “I ain’t lookin’ for a wife.”

She made no move to take the documents. “Well, I wasn’t looking for a husband either, until Judge Hardcastle backed me into a corner.”

Zach jerked upright. That randy old goat had assaulted her? Was she pregnant? What else could have set her on this desperate course? “Did he hurt you?” he growled through clenched teeth.

Her brow scrunched. “Who? Judge Hardcastle? No. Why would you . . . ?” Her face cleared as comprehension dawned. “Oh. No. Sorry.” Flustered, she stumbled over her words, making it even more difficult for him to follow. “I can see how you might have thought—with the whole marriage thing . . . it was a proverbial corner he backed me into, not a literal . . .” The explanation died beneath a heavy sigh. “Heavens, but I’m making a mess of this.”

Zach relaxed. The judge hadn’t accosted her. Thank God. The thought of someone as sweet as Abigail Kemp being ill-treated in such a despicable fashion made him want to tear whoever dared touch her limb from limb. But if she wasn’t with child, why was she proposing marriage? And why to him? Surely there were other men in town more suitable, more . . . worthy.

“There’s a law,” she blurted. “A ridiculously archaic city ordinance that precludes women from owning businesses in Honey Grove. So after my father died, the city council gave me three months to grieve, then approached me with an ultimatum. If I don’t sell the business, I can either partner with a male financial backer by the end of the month or have the marshal close the bakery doors for me. Permanently.”

Zach frowned. That seemed a bit extreme, but he didn’t doubt her word. Plenty of men believed that women belonged in the home and nowhere else. And he wouldn’t put it past them to enforce their will by dusting off some outdated legislation.

“That’s unfortunate, but I still don’t see what this has to do with me.”