CHAPTER
16

Dear Evie,

Weather’s been nice. A little on the warm side, but

Zach groaned and crumpled the paper. His sister didn’t care about the weather. She wanted to know how he and Abby were getting along. He knew this because she’d left strict instructions before heading back to Pecan Gap, demanding letters on a regular basis with details about how the courtship was progressing.

He scratched at an itchy place beneath his chin, grimaced, then pulled a second piece of paper from the desk drawer.

Courtship was a slow business. Especially when one’s wife retired an hour after supper every night. But if he didn’t put a few words to paper soon, Evie was likely to sic Logan on him. The last thing Zach’s courtship needed was the sins of his past hanging around in the flesh.

He situated the clean sheet of writing paper in the middle of the walnut desk and dug around in his brain for a handful of words to satisfy his sister’s curiosity. He came up empty. Grinding his molars, Zach twisted his pen between his fingers and glanced at the walls for inspiration. They were the only masculine walls in the entire house, but like a friend who didn’t want to get involved in personal affairs, they offered no input.

He thought he’d been prepared to move into a feminine household. All he needed was a bed, after all. Maybe a chair and a place to put his feet up. The surroundings didn’t much matter. Or so he’d thought. But after nearly a month of lacy curtains, roses blossoming on the walls, and female undergarments dangling above the bathtub in the washroom, he’d started feeling a tad claustrophobic. Even the pitcher and basin on his washstand had been smothered with blue flowers. A matching shaving mug had been set out for him, as if that made the collection more masculine somehow. His plain white mug had supplanted the botanic blight the first morning of his residence, but he’d hesitated to replace the remainder of the set.

Abigail seemed the practical sort who wouldn’t balk at a plain white ewer and basin, but if he hoped to woo her into sharing the room with him, he didn’t want to do anything that might deter her from feeling welcome there. If she liked floral washbasins—which she must, since petal-bearing specimens adorned everything from seat cushions to dinner plates in this home—he wouldn’t banish them from his room. He’d just try not to look at them. A strategy that had earned him several nicks on the thumb while rinsing his razor blade over the past four weeks.

Thank the Lord for Edward Kemp. He might have been an insensitive clod when it came to appreciating his daughters, but he’d managed to carve out a corner of masculinity in the sea of flowers that was his home. A tiny study at the end of the hall boasted dark wood paneling. A desk and chair stood at the rear, in front of a narrow bookcase. A lumpy armchair and scuffed lamp table sat near the entrance. A thin brown rug with worn edges adorned the floor. The room was a cave, especially at night, but like all good caves, not a single leaf or bud bloomed anywhere within. The perfect male retreat.

So why couldn’t Zach relax enough to write?

Clenching his jaw, he dipped his nib in the ink and threw a handful of words onto the blank page.

Evie,

Things are good here. Folks in town were surprised to learn of the wedding at first. The mayor’s wife tried to stir up a scandal, but that passed.

Abby had been right about Mrs. Longfellow. She hadn’t shown up to talk in private that Saturday afternoon. In fact, at church the following morning, she had gone around telling people how disheartened she was that Abigail hadn’t come to her for advice before taking such drastic action. What woman of sound moral character would choose marrying a virtual stranger over a straightforward business arrangement? If she wanted to hold on to her little bakery that badly, all she needed to do was partner with one of their local businessmen, a partnership the mayor’s wife would have been more than happy to orchestrate.

Thankfully, Audrey Sinclair caught wind of Mrs. Longfellow’s rumor-weaving and countered with some well-crafted information of her own. She’d gushed to all who would listen about the intimate wedding ceremony she had hosted in her parlor. About the way the couple had stared into each other’s eyes as they recited their vows, and especially about the kiss Zach had planted on his new wife at the end. Obviously Zach’s daily visits to the Taste of Heaven Bakery all these months hadn’t been solely on account of the sticky buns. He must have been developing a taste for something even sweeter.

Zach hadn’t denied the story when acquaintances ribbed him about pining after the young baker. He’d just shrugged and accepted their teasing as his due. Maybe a dab of truth lived in the tale. There had been something about Abigail from the beginning that had drawn him, made him anticipate seeing her each morning. He’d never named it or put any effort into understanding it, but that didn’t mean it hadn’t existed.

Even good old Beekman unwittingly aided their cause. The man himself was too decent to gossip, but Maggie Rayburn, his landlady, had cheerfully spread the tale of how she’d witnessed Zach run Elmer Beekman off when he’d found Abigail speaking privately with the deacon near the boardinghouse oak tree. Why would he do that, if not out of jealousy? Then after an extensive private conversation, Zach had taken Abigail’s hand, and the two had walked away together. Yes, Miss Maggie insisted, the secret lovebirds had definitely been courting.

Mrs. Longfellow’s insinuations had gradually withered beneath the town’s desire to believe in a secret romance. Zach still wasn’t sure why the mayor’s wife was so bent on blackening Abby’s name, though. All his wife had told him was that the two of them had been close friends as children and that a mistake Abigail made drove a wedge between them. She’d looked so heartbroken that he hadn’t wanted to press for more details, but something told him this rift was only going to tear wider, and he’d need to be armed with the facts of what happened if he was to offer his family adequate defense.

Turning back to his letter, Zach inked his nib and scribbled a few more lines.

It’s a good thing I cart lumber around all day, or I’d be several pounds heavier by now. It’s hard to go hungry living in a bakery.

In truth, he ate like a king. Abigail packed him a lunch every morning, usually a sandwich and a piece of fruit. Ham or roast or sometimes a couple of hard fried eggs with bacon between thick slices of the best bread he’d ever eaten. Hearty yet not dense, just the right texture to fill a man’s belly and keep him going through the afternoon. And there was always something for dessert. A couple cookies, a slice of cake, even a fruit tart had been known to make an appearance in his lunch bucket, causing more than one scuffle with Reuben when his partner tried to nip a treat without permission. When Zach complained about his friend’s thievery, Abby started packing extra sweets in his tin. She did love to feed people.

The courting is

Zach paused, unsure of what to write. Frustrating was the word that immediately jumped to mind, but that wasn’t fair to Abby. She was holding up her end of the bargain and sharing kisses with him every night—kisses he looked forward to from the moment his eyes opened in the morning. She fed him. Did his laundry. Well, Rosalind did most of the laundry and household chores while his wife worked in the bakery, but Abby was the one who mended the tears in his trousers and the holes in his socks. The one who read from the Bible every evening after supper. The one who asked him how his day went at the lumberyard and smiled as if “fine” was a brilliant response.

One of his biggest fears before saying his vows was that once she had a claim on him, Abigail would start making demands on him as well. Demands for conversation. Before Evie had left town, she’d given him a stern lecture about how womenfolk liked to know what their menfolk were thinking, and worse yet, feeling. Zach had dreaded those first few evenings with his wife and sister-in-law. But all his worry had been for naught. Abigail never pressed him for conversation. She’d ask questions, enough to let him know she was actually interested in the answers, but she never grew testy about his brevity. Never huffed or glared or rolled her eyes like his sister did when she found his responses lacking. She simply accepted what he was willing to give. And, ironically, her acceptance of his silence made him want to share more.

Zach scratched a few more words onto the stationery.

The courting is going well. Abby and I are getting to know each other, and I can honestly say that I have no regrets. She’s a good woman.

Zach scanned what he’d written so far. Nearly ten lines. Might be a record. He grinned, proud of his efforts, then inked the pen a final time.

All my best to Seth, Christie, and little Archie.

Oh, and tell that husband of yours that my offer to shoot him still stands if he gets out of line.

He had to get at least one dig in. Evie was smart enough to see through her big brother’s bluster to read the fondness between the lines. Logan might have been a no-good scoundrel with nothing but revenge on his mind when he’d first crossed their paths last year, but Zach couldn’t deny that Logan had been good to his sister. Good to all the Hamiltons, actually. Shoot, if it wasn’t for the guilt that stabbed Zach’s gut every time he looked at him, he might actually like his brother-in-law.

Shaking his head, Zach signed his name to the bottom of the letter and set it aside to allow the ink to dry. The onerous task of letter writing complete, he turned his mind to other pursuits. Namely, how to carve out some private time with his wife. He liked Rosie and all, but if a man wasn’t sharing a bed with his wife, he needed to find other avenues for conducting his wooing. Reuben had suggested the opera house, but Zach didn’t see how sitting in a theatre with a room full of strangers would aid his cause. He needed time alone with Abigail.

Maybe they could go for a ride out to some pretty spot in the country. Reuben hadn’t grown up around here, he and Audrey having moved to the area about five years ago to be closer to Audrey’s sister, but surely he’d know a few good courting spots. Maybe even someplace with flowers. Abby liked flowers.

Zach thought of renting her a horse, but he had no idea if she knew how to ride. A buggy would work, but he’d rather just take her up with him on Jack. Ride double. It might raise a few eyebrows, but who cared? They were married. Zach’s pulse quickened at the idea of holding his wife close. Tucking her against his chest. Her hands gripping him for support.

Like a predator catching scent of his prey, Zach lifted his head and readied muscles that had gone stiff from sitting. His blood thrummed. His mind spun with plots and plans. No slapdash effort would do. If he was going to elevate his courtship, he’d best make sure the results were impressive.

First thing tomorrow, he’d get Reuben’s recommendations on scenic locales in the area, then he’d corner Rosalind and see if he could convince his sister-in-law to aid his cause.

Only . . . someone else cornered her first.

Monday afternoon, an hour before his usual quitting time, Zach left the lumberyard armed with directions to the three best courting spots in Honey Grove. He marched up Seventh Street, heading to the wagonyard where he stabled Jack, but a familiar head of blond hair in the alleyway snagged his attention.

Rosalind, a market basket filled with parcels wrapped in butcher paper slung over her arm, shook her head adamantly at a disreputable-looking fellow that Zach didn’t recognize.

Protective instincts flaring, Zach turned into the alley.

“You’re mistaken,” Rosalind said, lurching back toward Sixth Street.

“I don’t think so, love.” The man stepped into her path and blocked her escape. He pulled something about the size of a playing card from his pocket, studied it, then looked back at Rosie’s face. “You’re her, all right. Wait ’til I tell the boys. They’ll all want to come take a gander.”

“Let me pass.”

Zach couldn’t see Rosalind’s face, but the shakiness of her voice had him striding forward. She attempted to skirt around the stranger, but the vermin grabbed hold of her arm.

Zach broke into a run, jaw set and fingers clenched.

This man had just made a date with his fist.