More Than Words Can Say

by Karen Witemeyer

  Her skin tingled, her stomach danced, but she held his gaze. She expected one of his nods, like the ones he gave her when leaving the bakery—acknowledgment with just a hint of personal connection—but instead of dipping his chin, he moved his feet in her direction.

  Belly tightening, she turned back to her cake and positioned her knife, even though plenty had already been sliced.

  “You make it?” The warm, masculine voice of her new husband rumbled close to her ear.

  She pasted on a smile as she lifted her head to face him. “Yes.”

  Goodness, he was close. Bare inches separated them. She jerked her attention back to the cake, her hand trembling slightly as she moved the knife to cut the last piece. With all the guests cramming inside, the kitchen had grown crowded. When little Ephraim wiggled his way through the guests’ legs to get to his mama by the stove, Zach bumped up against Abigail. The contact was brief but sufficient to scorch her with memories of his touch on her face. His kiss.

  “Can I have some?” he asked.

  She spun to face him, knife still in hand.

  He dodged backward. “Whoa. Easy there.” Gently, he circled her wrist with one hand and extracted the cutlery from her with the other. “I didn’t think having dessert before supper was a fatal request.” His lips twitched slightly. “Guess I can wait ’til afterward like the rest of ’em.”

  Cake. Of course. He’d been talking about cake. Not kisses.

  She brazened a smile. “Sorry about that. I’m a little jumpy.”

  He raised a brow. A little?

  She shrugged, silently conceding the point. “I think it would be permissible for the groom to receive special treatment on his wedding day.” Something flashed in his eyes, but she ignored it. Her imagination had gotten her into more than enough trouble already. Reclaiming the knife that Zach had placed on the table after confiscating it, she slid the flat of the blade under the widest piece of cake and moved it to a nearby plate. “Just don’t let the children catch you, or Audrey will rap your knuckles.” She collected a fork and handed over the dessert.

  “I’ll hide over here in the corner.” He moved around the table to a spot a few strides away against the wall. Fitting his back into the corner’s crease, he sliced off a large piece of cake and lifted it to his mouth.

  As people milled closer to the table and started filling plates, hiding seemed like an excellent notion. With no appetite to speak of, Abigail picked up one of the glasses of water she’d filled earlier, then abandoned her post by the cake and moved to assist Zach in holding up the far wall.

  “Good cake,” he said as he shoved another bite into his mouth.

  She guessed that meant he liked chocolate. Abigail grinned to herself. He made no further effort at conversation, and she was glad. It was nice just to stand next to him without worrying about what to say.

  Although there was one question she’d been pondering. Something a wife should know about her husband. “Is Mitchell your middle name?”

  The bite of cake must have lodged in his windpipe, for he suddenly started coughing. Much like he had when she’d first proposed, as a matter of fact.

  Alarmed, Abigail took the plate from him and pressed her water glass into his hand. “Here. Drink this.” She worked a hand between him and the wall and thumped his back.

  Apparently her husband was allergic to marriage proposals and personal questions. He’d managed to overcome his marriage allergy right enough, so hopefully he’d recover from the questions as well. Because there was a whole bucketful waiting for answers, and she didn’t intend to remain ignorant.

  CHAPTER

  14

  Zach guzzled every last drop of water from the glass his new wife handed him, needing the time to compose an appropriate response. One that would answer her question without opening up his past for further investigation.

  “Are you all right?” Abigail touched his arm.

  He nodded, taking quick stock of the rest of the room. No one else seemed to have noticed his episode, or at least they were putting up a good front of being unaware. Except Logan, who was chuckling under his breath. At least until Evie smacked him with the back of her hand. Sisters did have their uses.

  Gripping the empty drinking glass, Zach ran the pad of his thumb over the rim, memories assailing him. Riverboats. Orphan trains. A sacrifice he’d never deserve. “Mitchell’s the surname I was born with,” he finally admitted. No need to go into more detail about his sire. A famous riverboat gambler as a father might impress saloon rats, but it wasn’t exactly the heritage a proper woman like Abigail would appreciate. “Hamilton’s the name Evie, Seth, and I adopted when we became a family. It was the name of Evie’s blood brother who died in the derailment.”

  “Derailment?” Abigail’s brown eyes exuded compassion, but Zach wouldn’t be drawn in. The fewer details he offered, the better. She might feel pity for a bunch of orphans surviving on their own, but her charity would shrivel and die if she learned all he’d done to aid that survival. Better to turn her soft heart in another direction.

  “Orphan train.” Zach dropped his gaze to his boots. He didn’t like to think of that day. The broken glass. The blood. The wrong boy dead. “Hamilton saved my life in the crash.” He rumbled his throat to clear out the thickness. “Made me promise to watch out for his sister. So I did.” Not always in the way Hamilton would have wanted, Zach knew, but he’d done his best. “Evie’s a Fowler now, and Seth reverted to Jefferson when he married, but I want to keep Hamilton. Honor the kid who saved my life.” And hide the man he didn’t want to be.

  “So you use both names.” A practical statement from a practical woman. He hadn’t realized how much he appreciated that side of her until now. She understood without the frills of emotion flapping around and distracting from the core truth. She simply nodded as if his choice to carry a name that didn’t belong to him made perfect sense.

  He met her gaze. “I keep both for legal purposes, but my name is Hamilton. Our name is Hamilton.”

  A dusky pink flushed her cheeks at the possessive tone of his voice. The force of the statement had surprised him as well, but he didn’t regret it. She needed to know where he stood. Vows had been spoken. Abigail was bound to him now, and he to her. Yes, they had some details to iron out between them, but time would work out the wrinkles.

  He hoped.

  Because if it was left up to him, things might stay bumpy. He wasn’t exactly one of them smooth lothario types who could put a woman at ease with a pretty compliment and gallant manners. Though he did have a knack for planing lumber until it leveled enough to be useful. Zach stood a little straighter. Charm and flattery made flimsy building materials for crafting a life with someone. Much better to use something with actual substance. Most women cared more about flocked wallpaper than the hidden beams supporting it, but hopefully his practical little baker would prove an exception.

  Brother Samuelson skirted the food table and made his way toward them, Bible tucked under his arm.

  Abigail stepped forward to greet the preacher. “Thank you for a lovely ceremony, Parson. And on such short notice. I hope we didn’t interfere with your schedule too badly.”

  “Not at all.” He smiled at Abigail, then slanted an arch look at Zach.

  The two of them had engaged in a rather vigorous discussion about the rushed nature of the wedding. Samuelson had expressed several qualms. In fact, he’d refused to perform the ceremony at first, but Zach had explained the need for haste and given his promise to provide for and protect the Kemp sisters. That assurance, plus the grilling the preacher had dished out for the next quarter hour, finally convinced Samuelson to reconsider. He’d shoved a heap of scripture at Zach about weaker vessels and one flesh and loving one’s wife as Christ did the church, then promised to keep the wedding secret and appear at the appointed time. The look he aimed at Zach clearly insinuated that he’d held up his end of the bargain. Now it was Zach’s turn.

  Samuelson refocused his atten
tion on Abigail. “Joining lives together in holy wedlock is one of my favorite duties. So much hope for the future.”

  “Well, we appreciate you officiating.” She dipped her chin, then jerked it back up as if she’d just hooked an elusive fish. “Can I fix you a plate, Parson? Surely you’ll stay and eat. It’s the least we can offer in compensation.”

  Not really, Zach mused. He’d already paid the preacher handsomely not only to enact the hitching but to deliver proof to the city council so there’d be no doubt that Abigail had met the terms of their ridiculous ultimatum. He and Abigail had a meeting scheduled at the bank Monday morning, as well, to add his name to the bakery’s deed. The council would have no leg to stand on after tonight.

  “Thank you for the offer, Mrs. Hamilton, but I promised my wife to be home for supper.”

  Mrs. Hamilton. That was going to take some getting used to—having a missus. Hearing his name attached to someone other than a sibling. Not that he minded sharing his name with Abigail. He respected the spunky not-afraid-to-do-what-had-to-be-done-to protect-her-family woman. Understood the impulse, the determination. Oh, and she wasn’t too hard on the eyes either.

  “I’ll stop by the mayor’s office on my way home,” the preacher intoned in a lower voice. “Let him inspect the marriage license while I testify to the validity of the union.”

  Abigail looked dismayed. “The mayor?” She turned to Zach, her eyes pleading. “Couldn’t we . . . send a note or something to one of the aldermen instead? No need to bother the mayor tonight.”

  Why was she in such a dither? She was the one under the deadline. “Any other council member would still have to report to the mayor. I figured it’d be better to cut out the middle man and go straight to the fellow in charge.”

  The preacher aimed a solicitous look at Abigail. “Would you prefer I wait, ma’am?”

  She nibbled her lower lip for a moment, then shook her head. “No. My husband is correct. It’s much more efficient to inform Mayor Longfellow directly.”

  So why did she look so doggone depressed by the idea?

  “Thank you for tending to the errand for us, Brother Samuelson,” she said.

  The preacher bobbed his head. “My honor, ma’am.” He pivoted and offered Zach his hand. “See you in church on Sunday.”

  He had a surprisingly strong grip for a fellow who made his living with his mouth. Zach firmed up his shake, making it clear he wouldn’t be dictated to, even by a preacher man. He’d be in church, but not because the minister expected it. He and the Almighty had a rocky relationship, but the Big Man had proven he could be trusted. Zach’s backside would warm the pew because he owed it to the God who’d seen him through hard times, not because Samuelson wielded guilt like a soldier did a sword.

  Just to be contrary, Zach left the comment hanging and his grip clenching. Samuelson didn’t back down, though. He probed Zach’s gaze as if trying to see into his soul. Zach tensed.

  “We’ll be there,” Abigail assured the preacher, casting Zach a curious glance before turning her dimples on Samuelson. No man could resist those. Including preachers, it seemed.

  The minister released Zach’s hand and sketched a small bow in Abigail’s direction. “Excellent. See you then.”

  Zach felt the weight of his wife’s attention, of questions hanging in the air between them—questions he’d prefer not to answer. At least not here. So, like any good card player whose gut told him a bluff wouldn’t win the hand, he folded and left the table. Or escaped to the table, in his case.

  “Gonna get some food.” He strode past Abigail without meeting her gaze. It wasn’t cowardly; it was strategic. At least that was what he told himself as he started piling his plate full of potatoes, ham, and other items the ladies had set out for consumption.

  Thankfully, his wife didn’t remain abandoned for long. As soon as he moved to the food table, her sister scurried over to fill the vacancy. Almost as if she’d been waiting for an opening.

  His own urge to hide dissolved as his wife and sister-in-law put their heads together and whispered between furtive glances cast in his direction. What were they discussing?

  Zach stepped toward them, only to be waylaid by Logan offering his congratulations.

  “Finally found a woman willing to put up with you, huh?” Logan thumped Zach’s shoulder blade, nearly sending his freshly piled potatoes cascading to the floor. “Smart of you to snatch her up before she changed her mind.”

  Zach grunted in response, earning a chuckle from Evie’s husband.

  “Smooth talker.” Logan smirked. “No wonder you swept her off her feet.”

  “Shut up, Fowler.” Zach cast a glance his wife’s way. She nodded at something her sister said, and Rosalind immediately cut a swath through the crowd, heading for the door.

  What was going on? Why would Rosalind leave her sister’s wedding celebration?

  The only one with answers was making her way into the main part of the kitchen, where the majority of the guests had gathered. Zach moved to intercept, but his brother-in-law stepped into his path.

  “Eva wanted me to check with you about accommodations,” Logan said.

  Zach bit off a growl as Abigail stopped to talk to Audrey Sinclair, who stood at the dry sink, stacking dishes. His wife added his cake plate to the pile, but not before lifting the last bite into her mouth. She took a moment to scrape the remaining icing off the plate too and licked it off the fork. The same fork he’d used. His chest clenched. It was stupid to notice, to care about something so inconsequential. He and his siblings had shared more than utensils in those rough early years. Yet her sharing his plate and fork felt intimate somehow. It was something families did, not business partners.

  “Zach?” Logan’s voice cut into his thoughts. “Accommodations?”

  Right.

  “You can stay at my place.” His rent was paid up through the end of next month, since his plans for the future at the time of payment had not included accepting a marriage proposal. Going from confirmed bachelor to pronounced husband in less than a week left a few ripples in a man’s pond. “Seth can make a pallet on the floor.”

  Logan leaned in close. “She’s going to want details, you know.”

  Of course Evie wanted details. Not that Zach had many to give. But his sister wouldn’t be satisfied with anything short of the full story.

  “I know you’ll be occupied elsewhere tonight,” Logan said, pitching his voice low, “but she hoped to corner you in the morning before we skip town.”

  “Have her stop by the lumberyard.” Weary of his least favorite brother-in-law—no contest, since the only other fella with the title was four-year-old Archie, who knew better than to stick his nose where it didn’t belong—Zach thumped Logan on the shoulder and sought out his wife.

  An hour later, the food had disappeared and the conversation had lulled, cuing Zach to make an exit. Audrey had already snuck away to put the younger children to bed, and Rosalind had never returned after her abrupt departure, so all of Abigail’s support had deserted her. Evie headed her direction, no doubt intending to fill the gap, but Zach didn’t want her pressing Abigail for the details she craved. His sister could grill him all she wanted, but he didn’t want her saying anything to make Abigail uncomfortable.

  Besides, he’d already spotted his wife stifling two yawns. She was tuckered out. Hadn’t eaten anything, either. He’d have to see about making her a sandwich or something when they got back to her place. Their place, he corrected. The rooms above the Taste of Heaven Bakery belonged to him now too.

  Decision made, Zach marched up to Abigail and captured her hand. “Time to go, wife.”

  Abigail’s eyes widened slightly, and her throat worked as she swallowed. Evie aimed one of her baby kitten scowls at him, but he ignored her, choosing to focus on his bride instead.

  She smiled an apology at his sister even as she stepped closer to him. Choosing him. Accepting him. Even when he sounded like a growling bear.

 
“Please stop by the bakery before you leave town tomorrow,” Abigail urged. “Family eats free.”

  Evie grinned. “We will. Thank you.”

  They made their good-byes to the rest of the gathering, then finally escaped into the quiet of the evening. At half-past seven, the sun hung low but still lit the sky. Zach helped Abigail into the lumber wagon, his small trunk of belongings already stashed in the back.

  Neither spoke on the way to the bakery, which suited Zach just fine. He’d had enough yapping in the past couple hours to last him a week. Though he wouldn’t mind a few hints about what was going through his wife’s mind.

  Was she quiet because she liked the peace, or was she scared of what he might do when they got home? On their wedding night. He’d promised not to press her for any relations until she was ready, and he was a man of his word. So she shouldn’t be worried. But then, how would she know if his word meant anything until he proved it to be solid? It wasn’t like he could offer references or anything.

  Thankfully the ride was a short one—his brain couldn’t take much more of the guess-what-your-new-wife-is-thinking game—and he parked the wagon behind the bakery and helped Abigail down. She looked real pretty all spruced up, sneaking shy glances his way. Made a man wish he hadn’t made promises to wait. But he had, so he would.

  He moved to the side of the wagon, collected his trunk, and hefted it to his shoulder. “I’ll take this inside, then return the rig to Reuben.” That would give her time to get comfortable having him in her home.

  “All right.” She strolled to the back door and opened it wide, making it easier for him to enter. She then led the way upstairs, and they met Rosalind in the hall.

  “Everything’s in order,” Rosalind reported, her hair a bit mussed and her fancy dress traded in for a plainer one. She cast a quick glance at Zach, then disappeared into a small bedroom to his right.

  Not quite sure what to make of that, he held his tongue and followed Abigail to a larger room to the left. A room, he was relieved to see, that held a bed big enough for two. They might not have a customary wedding night planned, but he’d been looking forward to sleeping next to his wife. Even if she insisted on stuffing some kind of bolster between them. They’d still be close, and close would be needed if he hoped to woo her over to the more intimate side of marriage.