Page 76 of More than Words Can Say

She folded her hands in front of her and gave a solemn nod. “All right.”

He opened his mouth, then stopped, his jaw hanging agape for a beat before he reshaped his lips to form a new reply. “All right?” He’d been barreling down the rails with such speed, the switch in the tracks must have thrown him momentarily.

“Yes, husband. All right.” She tried not to smile, she really did, but he was just too adorable, getting all ruffled on this boy’s behalf, a boy he didn’t even know beyond a couple hours’ acquaintance. “It sounds like a fine idea. I haven’t figured out how to manage the oven’s loss yet, but if I hope to keep the bakery open on any level, I’ll need a lot more time in the kitchen, as I’ll be baking in smaller batches on a tighter rotation. Having someone to run errands, wash dishes, and clean tables would be a blessing.”

“Well . . . good, then. I’ll tell him he can start Monday.”

“Have him come by around one o’clock. I’ll feed him—his sister too—then he can help Rosalind with the closing of the shop and work whatever jobs need to be done until suppertime, when I’ll feed them again.”

Abigail nearly laughed at the blank mask that locked down Zach’s face. He managed to blink once, the only proof that he was, in fact, still alive behind all that stillness. No wonder he’d been such a good card player. Whenever something shocked him, his expression simply shut down, giving away no hint of his thoughts or feelings. Which meant he was thinking and feeling quite a lot, if she didn’t miss her guess.

She patted his arm. “You might be paying his salary, husband, but I fully intend on fattening him up. His sister too. Can’t have scrawny workers in a bakery. It’s bad for business.”

Abigail smiled and spun away, intending to help Rosalind load up the dumbwaiter, but before she could take more than a step, Zach’s hand snagged her elbow and whipped her back toward him. Her palms flew up to brace herself against the wall of his chest. His arms immediately encircled her, trapping her against him. Not that she had any desire to go anywhere.

“You’re an incredible woman, Abigail Hamilton.” His voice came out a little thick, and his grip was a tad too tight, but the moment could not have been more perfect.

That was about as close to I love you as she’d ever heard from him. Close enough that she might as well give him credit for the sentiment.

“I love you too,” she murmured softly, her gaze zeroing in on his lips, her heels lifting off the ground.

Rosalind’s throat clearing across the room brought Abigail’s feet back to a flat position, however.

“Our, ah, guests are here,” Rosie said, making a valiant effort to hide her smile as she gestured with a tip of her head toward the back door someone happened to be knocking on.

Zach released Abigail, but before he moved away, he leaned close and rumbled low in her ear. “We’ll continue that later. When you come to my room. Our room.”

Heat radiated from her cheeks, and her heart fluttered so hard that she had to blink several times to clear the specks from her vision. She reached for the corner of the worktable, afraid her knees might buckle. There was no misunderstanding that invitation.

A heartbeat before he opened the door to admit their visitors, Zach glanced over his shoulder and captured her gaze. His dark blue eyes speared into her with an intensity that stole her breath. “Tonight, Abby.”

He said it as a statement—a demand, really—yet she wasn’t so far in the woolies that she failed to catch the plea for agreement.

It was that plea that gave her the strength to lift her chin and nod shakily at her husband. “Tonight.”

CHAPTER

38

“I brought the signs and scrap wood you asked for,” Nate said, wiggling the arm that held all the materials against his body.

Zach nodded at the kid, but in truth his mind was too busy thinking about his wife to care about wood scraps. Tonight she’d be fully and completely his.

“If ya got a hammer and a few nails, I can board up the winder for ya before supper.” The kid shifted his weight, jiggling the boards. The soft clatter sharpened Zach’s attention enough to kick his brain back into motion.

“Nah. Just lean the boards up against the wall for now. I’ll tend to it later.”

Nate moved to obey, revealing the little girl who’d been hiding behind him. She followed her brother, sticking to his side like sawdust to sweat.

“I don’t wanna go in,” she whispered, probably thinking the four feet of distance between her and the man in the doorway was enough to keep him from overhearing.

It wasn’t.

“They’re good people,” Nate reassured her, taking his time stacking the wood in order to cover the awkward conversation. He tossed a quick glance Zach’s way, but Zach made a show of examining the dirt under his fingernails, giving the kids at least the illusion of privacy.

“Can’t you smell that?” Nate asked. “Smells like fried ham. I bet they got taters too. Maybe even some more of them biscuits. You liked those.”

The girl looked about ten or eleven and mule-stubborn. She crossed her arms and shook her head. “I ain’t gonna do it, Nate. I ain’t going in.”