“You can tutor me tonight and tomorrow,” Zach said, “but not on Thursday.”
She tilted her head. “Why not Thursday?”
Heat flared in his eyes again as his gaze caressed her face. “I’m abducting you.”
Her pulse tripped. “Abducting me?”
“Mm-hmm.”
The beast left it at that, picking up his second sticky bun and tearing off a large bite instead of explaining himself.
“Should I notify the marshal?” Abigail quipped while he chewed.
Zach quirked a half grin and shook his head.
What is he planning? Whatever it was, he seemed in no hurry to relate the details. Unless, of course, he simply enjoyed prolonging her torture.
He leaned forward and took another bite of his bun. Yes. Definitely enjoying the torture.
Time to shift the balance of power.
Abigail manufactured a bored little sigh and got up from the table. “I suppose I’ll find out on Thursday.” She waved a hand as if completely uninterested in what would transpire that evening. “I better get my pastries into the shop.”
She turned her back on him. A mistake. Before she managed two steps, he’d abandoned his chair and wrapped an arm around her midsection, hauling her backward against his chest. She gasped at the sudden contact.
All right. Not a mistake. Abigail smiled, keeping her face aimed away from him. She was exactly where she wanted to be.
His face bent close to her cheek. So close that she felt the rasp of his whiskers against her skin. Then his voice rumbled low in her ear. “I’m stealing you away, wife. Getting you alone. Taking you up on my horse and carrying you off into the countryside, where we’ll feast on a dinner packed by the Commercial Hotel, walk along a pretty little stream, and watch the sun set behind the trees.”
Her heart beat faster than a hummingbird’s wings, as much from his nearness and the low, seductive murmur of his voice as the actual description of her abduction.
Unable to speak and barely functional enough to breathe, she made no comment, just leaned her head back against the hollow of his shoulder.
“Still want to invite the marshal?”
Her eyes slid closed, and she gave a small shake of her head, which earned her a growly chuckle from her very-pleased-with-himself husband.
The click of the door leading to the shop brought Abigail’s eyelids to attention. She stiffened in Zach’s arms as Rosalind strolled into the kitchen.
“It’s nearly opening time, Abby. Where are the—oh.” Her sister drew up short, her eyes widening, then crinkling as a smile blossomed across her face. “Never mind. I’ll, ah, just wait to open until you’re ready.” With a sharp pivot, she made a hasty exit and left Abigail alone with her husband.
Her sister’s dancing eyes and obvious delight in finding the two of them together soothed some of Abigail’s embarrassment, yet it also brought the unanswered questions from last night back to the front of her mind.
“Zach?” She twisted in his arms and leaned away from his hold.
“Hmm?” He seemed reluctant to let her go. His fingers lingered at her waist.
“Is Rosalind in some kind of trouble?”
Zach’s hand fell away from her hip, and she felt the loss so keenly that she almost wished she hadn’t asked. Yet this was her sister. If something was wrong, Abigail needed to know.
Her husband straightened and blew out a breath as he scratched at a spot beneath his chin. “It’s not my story to tell,” he said, “but I promise that I will do everything I can to ensure no harm comes to her.”
“No harm?” How serious was this? Abigail’s chest tightened. “Does this have something to do with the man who accosted her yesterday?”
“It’s more complicated than that, but I really can’t say more. You need to put the questions to her.”
She would. At first opportunity. Abigail rubbed her arms, suddenly chilled.
“Oh, and in case some interfering busybodies decide to come tattle on me again,” he said as he casually reached behind him to grab the last bite of sticky bun from his plate, “I should let you know that your sister is meeting me behind the church today at noon for some lessons on personal defense.” He popped the bun into his mouth.
“Personal defense? Zach, you’re scaring me.” Abigail fisted the fabric of her apron. “Is she in danger?”
He shook his head as he swallowed. “Nah.” But his eyes hinted that might not always be the case. “She’s spooked after yesterday. Learning how to protect herself will restore her confidence.” He grabbed his coffee and swigged down the last of it. “Besides, it’s foolish for a woman not to know how to protect herself.” He plunked down the cup. “I made sure Evie knew where all a man’s vulnerable spots were and how to get to them. I’ll teach Rosalind the same.” He eyed her speculatively. “I could teach you too, if you want. It never hurts to be prepared.”
“Focus on Rosalind for now.”
He gave a sharp nod, then reached out to squeeze Abigail’s shoulder. “I’ll be watching out for her,” he vowed.
Abigail nodded. Then, needing more than words to calm the worry exploding in her heart, she pressed her cheek to his chest and wrapped her arms around his waist. He embraced her in turn, dropping a kiss on her forehead.
Oh, Rosie. Have I been so busy taking care of the bakery that I’ve failed to take care of you?
CHAPTER
22
Abigail pointed to a patriotic display behind the clerk’s head. “I’ll take ten yards of bunting, a spool of paper festooning, and a dozen of your small muslin stick flags.”
The clerk glanced behind him, then turned back. “Those are actually our medium-sized flags. Three and a half by six. They’re only two cents more per dozen than the tiny two-by-three-inch ones.”
“All right, let’s do the medium size.” She’d give the decorations away to local children after she closed her shop on the Fourth, and they’d have much more fun waving the larger size around.
Wilkins, Wood & Patteson Dry Goods had to be the most festive store on the square. Red-white-and-blue displays filled the windows and shelves. They carried the largest selection of dress goods all year round, but in July, they were the exclusive purveyor of the bunting officially approved by the Honey Grove City Council. Every business on the square had to purchase the same bunting to present a uniform appearance, but Abigail was just now getting around to purchasing her required length. Thankfully, Rosalind had volunteered to deliver the widow bread this afternoon, which freed Abby to take care of this errand. Though, in truth, if she and Zach hadn’t discussed their plans for July Fourth this morning, she’d probably still be procrastinating.
Decorating was not her forte. She could braid a beautiful loaf and ice the perfect cinnamon bun, but drape bunting and hang streamers? She didn’t possess the patience nor the talent for such an undertaking. Thank heaven for Rosie. Her sister would have the bunting gathered and swathed in the time it would take Abigail to add a single length of paper festooning to the three shelves of her display case. Rosie was a marvel.
The clerk folded the cloth he’d finished cutting, counted out her flag sticks, and removed a spool of festooning from the display behind him and plunked it onto the counter next to the rest of her order. “Anything else today, Mrs. Hamilton?”
A handsome ewer and basin set in a display at the end of the long counter caught her eye. Several different razors and shaving soaps were artfully arranged atop draped toweling around the masculine basin. The ewer matched its counterpart, both solid white with a smooth finish and a single stripe of midnight blue around the rim. The blue reminded her of Zach’s eyes.
She’d noticed his plain white shaving mug on the washstand in his room when she went in to dust and clean the rugs. Her mother had selected the floral set she’d shared with Abigail’s father, and after she died, Papa hadn’t had the heart to replace it. But that didn’t mean Zach should be forced to face such femininity every time he washed. Now
that she thought about it, she was amazed her burly husband had not banished the entire set at once.
“How much for that ewer and basin set?” Abigail nodded at the display of red razor boxes stacked around the white-and-blue porcelain. Even their ordinary goods had been made to look patriotic.
The clerk smiled, obviously eager to make another sale. “Three and a quarter for the entire ten-piece chamber set.”
“Oh, I don’t need the entire set.” She blushed at the thought of buying her husband a chamber pot. They might be growing closer, but they weren’t that close. Not yet. “Just the ewer and basin, please.”
The clerk’s smile dimmed just a bit. “The two pieces alone will run you two dollars, ten.”
She raised a brow at the price. That was two-thirds the overall cost for only two-tenths the pieces.
“My manager doesn’t like to break up sets,” the clerk explained with an apologetic shrug. “And those are two of the largest pieces of the set. You sure you don’t want all ten for only a dollar fifteen more? It really is the better bargain.”
Abigail shook her head. Paying more for something she didn’t need did not constitute a bargain. Not for a woman on a budget. “No, thank you. I’ll just take the two pieces we discussed.”
“Very good, ma’am. I’ll fetch some from our inventory in the storeroom so I don’t break up the display. I’ll be back in just a moment.”
She smiled, thankful he wasn’t the type to press her for a larger sale against her wishes. But the instant he disappeared from behind the counter, a woman pounced like a lioness waiting for a weakened gazelle to separate itself from the herd.
“Abigail! Oh, you poor dear. I just heard.” Sophia Longfellow snatched up Abby’s hand, her voice carrying in a loud stage whisper.
Abigail snatched her hand back. “Stop, Sophia. Just stop.” Whatever she was about to say, Abby didn’t want to hear it.
Sophia reared back, eyes wide at Abby’s blunt statement. She blinked once, then recovered her poise, a tiny pout slipping into place, as if she were the wronged party. “Stop what, Abigail? Being a concerned friend?”
Abby sighed and shook her head. “You stopped being my friend a long time ago.” Her heart ached as she forced herself to accept that sad truth. This perfectly coifed, fashionably dressed woman before her was not the Sophie of Abigail’s childhood. The one who’d been her partner in adventure, who’d run around in pigtails, muddy boots, and torn hems—that girl no longer existed. “For years I hoped we could mend our fences and at least get to a place of cordiality if not friendship,” Abigail admitted, “but you’ve made it clear that is not an option.”
“I’ve made it clear? I’ve done nothing but look out for your interests.”
Abigail held her chin up, determined not to be cowed. Guilt would not blind her this time. She wouldn’t scurry away to wallow in her insecurities again. She knew the truth, and it was past time to give it voice. She met Sophia’s gaze straight on. “You tried to destroy my marriage. How is that in my best interest?”
Sophia’s eyes narrowed. “I did no such thing. I’ve only tried to protect you from that philandering man you call husband. Just today he was seen out behind the church with his arms around your sister! That’s twice in as many days. The man has no shame!”
Several patrons had taken an interest in items on shelves closer to the front of the store, their eavesdropping intentions clear. Heat rose to Abigail’s cheeks, but she refused to back down. Sophia had disparaged Zach, and that, she would not allow.
Head high, heart pumping faster than a locomotive at full steam, Abigail stared down her former friend and ensured her voice carried to all those who cared to listen.
“Zacharias Hamilton is an honorable man and a good husband. Anyone who knows him at all will attest to his character. Yesterday my sister was accosted by a man in town, and Zach came to her aid. Today he met with her at noon to teach her how to defend herself against such villainy should a similar situation ever arise in the future.”
Sophia shook her head as if she believed Abigail’s faith too blind for her own good, but when she opened her mouth to offer her opinion, Abby cut her off. She wasn’t about to let her spew more of her poison.
“You have good reason to bear me a grudge, Sophia, but I won’t allow you to speak ill of my husband. He has done you no harm and doesn’t deserve your scorn nor the scorn of anyone who listens to your perverse twisting of the truth.”
Sophia gasped, as did a few of the ladies close enough for Abigail to hear. But she wouldn’t back down now.
“Neither of us can change the past, as much as we might wish we could.” And heaven knew how much Abigail wished she could. “All we can do is move forward with grace and build the best future we can. You have a life with Chester, a political career to navigate, and a town to help run. More than enough to keep you busy. Leave me and Zach alone.”
Sophia lurched toward Abigail, her expression hardening in an instant, though she was careful to keep her face angled away from the other patrons. Abigail drew back slightly, shocked at the vitriol in Sophia’s gaze.
“Chester isn’t the life I wanted,” Sophia hissed in a voice that, for once, wouldn’t carry. “You know that.” Her fingers grasped Abigail’s wrist and tightened like a shrinking manacle. “An eye for an eye, Abby. Isn’t that what the Good Book teaches? You stole my future from me. I’m returning the favor.”
After a final squeeze that nearly cut off the blood flow to Abigail’s hand, Sophia released her, pasted on an utterly false smile, and twirled back into the main part of the store. “Our Fourth of July celebration is going to be the best yet, don’t you agree, Mrs. Timmons?” She waltzed over to the woman closest to the counter, who held a conveniently located mortar trowel in her hand as if she were seriously contemplating trading in needlepoint for bricklaying as her hobby of choice. “Now that our dear Abigail has finally purchased her bunting, we’re guaranteed to have the finest-looking square in a hundred miles. Have I told you that the city has purchased fireworks for the occasion? Chester insisted. He does love a good show.”
As Sophia deftly drew the attention of the other shoppers, Abigail turned from them and stared unseeing at the top of the counter where her parcels lay. She absently rubbed the sore spot on her wrist, but the throbbing of her arm was not half as painful as the throbbing in her heart. Mercy. She’d known Sophia harbored a grudge against her, but she had never imagined her former friend actually wished her ill.
“Are you all right, Mrs. Hamilton?” The quiet murmur of the clerk brought Abigail’s chin up. Kind eyes met hers, and the softness there nearly undid her.
She blinked away the moisture gathering faster than she would like behind her lashes and smiled. “Yes. Thank you.” She fiddled with her purse strings, the obstinate things tangling instead of opening. “How much do I owe you?” Her purse refused to cooperate. Stupid strings. Must they set themselves against her too?
The clerk set the basin and ewer he’d fetched on the counter and reached for her hand. Unlike Sophia, his touch was gentle and feather-light atop her fingers. “I’ll write up a bill and send it around to the bakery later today. Don’t worry about it now.”
Her fumbling fingers stilled. She met his gaze, her own blurry with tears she refused to let fall. Yet she had the feeling that should one escape, her only witness would not hold the transgression against her.
“Thank you.” The words were too small to represent the flood of gratitude rising within her, yet he accepted them with a nod that somehow communicated he understood the wealth behind the words.
He removed his hand, stepped back, and recorded her purchases on a sales slip. “Let me summon a delivery boy to help you home with your purchases.”
Normally she would turn down such an offer. The ewer and basin weren’t so heavy she couldn’t manage, and a delivery boy would expect a tip, an extra expense she usually opted to avoid. But seeing as how she couldn’t even manage to open her own purse string
s, having someone else carry her items gave them a better chance of arriving home unscathed.
“That would be much appreciated.”
By the time the boy arrived, Abigail had her emotions in check and her eyes dry, or at least no longer threatening imminent rainfall. She’d even managed to unknot her purse strings enough to extricate a coin for when the lad completed his duty.
A duty that was interrupted less than two storefronts down the boardwalk when Mary Bowen scurried up from behind.
“Abigail. Wait.”
Waiting was the very last thing Abigail wanted to do. Goodness, could she not just be left alone to lick her wounds and try to get her head on straight before Zach came home?
She kept walking.
“Please, Abigail.” Mary huffed a bit as she caught up. “I want to apologize.”
Not pour salt in her wound? Abigail cast a sideways glance at Mary. She looked sincere. Abashed, even. Abigail slowed.
The delivery boy fell back a couple paces, giving the ladies a modicum of privacy.
“I never should have told Sophia what I saw yesterday. She twisted it into something ugly that I knew wasn’t true. I barely slept at all last night, fretting about not standing up to her when she started spinning her tales.” Mary nibbled on her bottom lip and glanced at the ground before meeting Abigail’s eyes. “But you stood up to her today. Back there in Wilkins’s store. I heard you. We all heard you. It’s like you’re a completely different person from who you were yesterday. You didn’t let her intimidate you or sway you into believing anything bad about your husband. You just stopped her in her tracks and stood up for what was right. It was . . . amazing.”
Abigail’s feet ceased moving altogether. Amazing? Her?
But Mary wasn’t done. “What changed?” she asked, a hungry look on her face as if she too wished to transform overnight. “How did you find the courage to stand up to her?”
“I didn’t find it,” Abigail said, a shy smile on her face as she recalled Zach shoving his foot in her door, demanding they talk things through and siphon out the poison before it infected their marriage. “It found me.”
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