CHAPTER
13
Abigail’s pulse hiccupped as Zach lowered his face toward hers, and when their lips touched—mercy, but her knees nearly buckled. He was kissing her. Honest-to-goodness kissing. As if he meant it. As if this marriage were something more than a business arrangement. As if he actually had feelings for her.
His hands on her face held her upright. Strong. Insistent. Yet tender at the same time. And when his fingers moved through her hair, shivers coursed down her neck and over her shoulders. For the first time in her life, she felt beautiful. Desired.
By Zacharias Hamilton.
Leaning into him, she kissed him back. His hold on her shifted, gentled, even as his kiss deepened.
Until the clapping started. And the hooting. And the whistling.
By the time Zach pulled away, Abigail’s cheeks smoldered. She tried to hide by ducking her head, but Zach tucked her arm into the crook of his and forced her around to face the gathering.
Brother Samuelson’s voice rang out behind them. “I now present to you Mr. and Mrs. Zacharias Mitchell Hamilton.”
Mrs. Zacharias Hamilton. The name felt surreal. But where had the Mitchell come from? Zach’s middle name? She’d never attended a wedding where the groom’s middle name was used in the pronouncement. She slanted a questioning look at her new husband, but he was too busy dragging her over to the well-wishers to notice.
She had so much to learn. About him. About his family. She slanted another glance at him, her tongue darting out to moisten her lips. About how to kiss properly.
Would he be expecting such liberties on a regular basis? Anticipation swirled in her belly. She wouldn’t be opposed to a few kisses every now and then. Not if the sample she’d received was an accurate indicator of what could be expected in the future.
Fortunately, now was not the time to ponder her new husband’s expectations in regard to physical intimacies. Family and friends waited to celebrate, and heaven knew Abigail could use the distraction.
As the men circled around Zach and engaged in a raucous round of backslapping, the women flocked to Abigail and spirited her off to the kitchen, where aprons were passed around and food was set out.
Being in the kitchen settled Abigail’s nerves as nothing else could. Audrey Sinclair tried to stick her in a corner, claiming the bride should not be allowed to work, but Abigail insisted. She sliced cheese, poured water, and set platters on the table. Basically any task with a low probability of soiling her dress. While Audrey finished frying the potatoes and Rosalind made fresh coffee, Abigail unboxed her cake and started slicing.
“That looks delicious,” Evie declared, coming up beside her. “Do you use a boiled icing or an unboiled one?”
Abigail smiled. “Unboiled. But I do melt the chocolate ahead of time. It incorporates better than grated chocolate.”
Pausing with her knife above the cake, Abigail glanced at her new sister-in-law. “Does Zach like chocolate?” She hated admitting that she didn’t know the answer to that question, but she needed to start learning his preferences sometime. Having his sister at hand afforded the perfect opportunity. “The cake itself is white, but chocolate just seemed to fit him better.”
As if a man’s coloring determined his flavor preferences. She gave her head a tiny shake. Perhaps she’d been working in the bakery too long, matching people with food based on appearances.
“I’m not sure.” Evie shrugged. “We rarely had chocolate around the house growing up. But if you made it, I’m sure he’ll love it.” She touched Abigail’s shoulder and grinned. She really was a cheerful sort. And those eyes—so expressive. Abigail found it hard not to stare.
Forcing her attention back to the cake, Abigail brought the knife down for the next cut. “Will you be in town long? I’d love the chance to visit with you. To learn more about your brother.” She lowered her voice. “You might not realize, but our marriage is a bit . . . unconventional. We haven’t actually courted, so beyond his preference for sticky buns, his skill with lumber, and his penchant for rescuing bakers in distress, I really know very little about him.” Pulling the knife from the cake, she pivoted to face Evie. “I want to be a good wife to him. I swear I’m not just using him to get out of a bind.” Shame bent her gaze downward. “Well, I am, but—”
A hand on her arm stopped her rambling. Slowly, Abigail lifted her face to meet the vivid eyes of the woman before her.
“I’ve prayed for you,” Evie said. “For more than a year now.”
Abigail’s brow scrunched. More than a year? How was that even possible? She’d never met Evangeline Fowler before today, and judging by the commotion Evie made when she first arrived, Zach’s sister hadn’t known about her brother’s nuptials until this morning.
Evie laughed at her consternation. “Oh, I might not have known your name, but God did.” She smiled and pulled two chairs from the table, then motioned for Abigail to sit. “Ever since Logan came into my life, and Christie into Seth’s, I’ve pleaded with the Lord to bring the right woman into Zach’s life as well.” Her expression softened. “He gave up his future to take care of us when we were kids. He made sacrifice after sacrifice to ensure we had food to eat and a place to lay our heads.” She met Abigail’s gaze. “Some of those sacrifices carried prices he’s still paying.”
Abigail wanted to ask. Heavens, how she wanted to ask. But a crowded kitchen with children rambling about wasn’t the place. And really, the story should come from her husband, not his sister. Perhaps in time . . .
“You,” Evie pronounced with a tap to Abigail’s knee, “are the answer to those prayers.”
Abigail started to shake her head, but Evie stopped her with a wagging finger.
“Nope. No arguments. I asked the Lord to bring the right woman into Zach’s life, and He brought you. Therefore, you are the right woman. Never doubt it.”
Could it possibly be true? In Abigail’s selfish quest to find a husband to save her bakery, had Providence brought her into the life of a man who needed her as a wife? Abigail’s chin came up a notch, the idea shifting her perspective and planting a sense of purpose in her heart.
If Zach needed her as much as she needed him, well, that opened an entire realm of possibilities.
Abigail reached for Evie’s hand. “You are staying a few days, right? I have a hundred questions for you.”
Zach’s sister laughed. “I’d love nothing better than to tell stories on Zach all weekend, but I’m afraid we’re heading back to Pecan Gap in the morning. Seth refuses to be away from Christie for more than one night.” She leaned forward, a twinkle shining in her blue eye. “She’s expecting their first baby.”
“How wonderful!” Abigail smiled even as her spine sagged in disappointment. She was venturing into an unknown country, and the most experienced guide available was leaving her to flounder about on her own.
“You ladies ready for me to call the men?” Audrey Sinclair shot the question over her shoulder while sliding sizzling potato slices onto an already heaping platter.
No! I need more time. But, of course, that wasn’t what Abigail said. She rose from her chair, smiled, and resumed slicing the cake. “Sure.”
Audrey sent her daughter Dinah to fetch the men from the parlor, and voices soon echoed through the hall as the herd approached.
Evie stood and leaned in close. “I will give you one piece of advice, though.”
Abigail turned her head, cake forgotten. “What?”
“Don’t expect him to tell you how he feels,” Evie murmured, glancing toward the doorway as the voices increased in volume. “Look for his feelings in his actions. That’s where they live.” The men poured into the kitchen, and Evie waved to her husband. “Zach’s more of a grunter than a sharer,” she said in parting, “but don’t let that fool you. His heart is as big as they come.”
Abigail knew he had a big heart. He never would have let her talk him into this arrangement if he didn’t. But would she ever be able to claim a piece of that heart as her own?
She stared at the man standing just inside the door, the man chatting with a brother he’d obviously missed, yet a man who also seemed to sense her regard, for he turned his head and pinned her with his dark blue eyes.
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.