CHAPTER
20

When Zach’s lips skittered off the edge of Abigail’s jaw, hurt hit him square in the chest. Followed by confusion. Then a spark of anger.

Straightening, his hands fell away from her face. “You’re upset.”

She offered no comment, just spun around and made for the doorway.

Not so fast, chickadee.

Zach clasped her wrist and halted her escape. She glared at him over her shoulder and gave a tug on her arm, but he held firm.

“Let me go.” Defiance flared hot in her golden eyes as she tugged a second time.

He stepped closer so her tugs wouldn’t strain her arm, but he didn’t release his grip. “Why didn’t you let me kiss you?”

In answer, she jerked her arm again, harder this time. He opened his hand, not wanting to hurt her.

Abigail darted into her room and flung the door at the jamb with enough force to splinter wood—or injure a man’s foot, if he happened to be fool enough to stick it in the way. Zach bit back a groan as the door ricocheted off the side of his stocking-clad foot. Wishing he hadn’t left his boots downstairs tonight, he tried to ignore the throbbing, but his clenched jaw must have given him away, for when his wife yanked the door open to glare at him for interrupting her grand exit, a flash of regret crossed her face. It only lasted a moment, but at least he knew she cared a little about his well-being.

“Remove your foot from my door,” she demanded.

He shook his head. “Not until you explain.”

Chest thrust forward, eyes flashing, chin proudly erect—she was beautiful. Full of fire and spice. He wanted to snatch her off her feet and carry her to his bed to see what else they could set aflame. Too bad the passion she displayed at the moment most likely leaned toward bashing his skull with a bread tin.

“The physical truly is all you care about, isn’t it?” she said.

Zach gave a guilty start. Had she read his mind?

“Fine. A bargain’s a bargain. You want a kiss every night? Have a kiss.” Anger laced her words, but not so much that he failed to hear the sorrow in the crack of her voice.

Before he could blink, she jabbed her face at him and poked his cheek with all the finesse of a woodpecker drilling for worms. Thankfully, the reaction time of his arms was faster than his brain, for the instant she attacked, he grabbed her about the waist. Her palm splatted against his chest as she caught her balance, and a quiet sob squeezed out of her.

That sob scraped his heart raw. But he couldn’t let this wound fester. Especially if he was the cause. Which he must be, even if he didn’t understand what he’d done.

Their marriage might not be conventional, but that didn’t mean he didn’t care how it fared. How she fared. He’d vowed to cherish her, and judging by her obvious dissatisfaction with him at the moment, he’d missed that mark by a pretty wide margin today. He needed to adjust his aim, but until he could figure out which way the wind blew, he risked making things worse.

She no longer fought him, but her tucked chin hid her face, making it impossible to gain clues from her expression. He had a sneaking suspicion there might be tears. He hated tears. Never knew what to do to make them stop. He steeled himself for dripping eyes and set his jaw.

He’d warned her he wasn’t marriage material, but she’d wed him anyway. Too late for either of them to back out now. Zach might not know much about being a husband, but Brother Samuelson had given him a list of verses to study up on the matter. He distinctly recalled one of them stating that they weren’t to let the sun go down on their wrath. So tears or not, he’d find a way to cut through this wrath and defuse it before letting Abigail dodge off to bed.

He slid a hand under her chin and gently inched her face upward. Damp lashes blinked back pooling moisture. His gut knotted, but he didn’t stop. He caressed her jawline and forced his gaze to hold hers. “I don’t care about one missed kiss, Abby,” he said. “I care about why. Why did you turn away from me? From us?”

“Because I was foolish enough to believe that you might be coming to care for me. But those kisses we share don’t really mean anything to you, do they? They’re just to pacify your manly needs. Isn’t that what you said? That men tend to focus on the physical side of relationships?”

Zach winced, his thoughts from a moment ago rising to convict him.

Her head fell back down, her shoulders sagging. “That’s what I thought. If you cared for me at all, you wouldn’t keep secrets from me.”

Secrets? Zach’s hand fell away from her face, dread clinching in his gut. What had she heard? He didn’t think anyone in Honey Grove knew about his past, but things like that didn’t stay hidden forever.

He cleared his throat, determined to face whatever consequences had risen up to bite him. He owed her that much.

“Ask me,” he said as he braced himself for the bullets she would fire. They might blow this marriage to bits, but he’d made a vow, and he aimed to hold up his end of the bargain.

She slowly lifted her chin, hope warring with hurt in her golden-brown eyes. “What were you and Rosalind doing alone together in the stables?”

Zach blinked. He’d braced for a shotgun blast, and she’d hit him with a slingshot. The question bounced off his chest with such insignificant impact that it left him a bit stupefied.

“What?”

“Today. In town. You and Rosalind were seen together . . . embracing . . . and–and disappearing into a stable for . . . extensive periods of time. Alone. I asked Rosalind about it, gave her a chance to explain, but she offered only evasive responses and nervous gestures. Then at the table, I saw the way you two looked at each other. Guilty glances. Secrets. It’s obvious that you’re hiding something from me.”

Zach’s mind spun, searching for a way out of this tangle without hurting either sister, but he hesitated too long.

“I never should have forced you into this marriage.” Her gaze slid back down to the floor, and her toe kicked at a knothole in the floorboard. “It wasn’t fair to you. My hours in the bakery keep me from being the attentive wife a husband deserves. And while I don’t believe the foul rumors that are circulating about how you and Rosalind are carrying on behind my back, I understand why they are easy for people to believe. She’s so much prettier than I am. Sweet-natured and charismatic. You could have had the sleek, spirited Arabian filly, but you got stuck with the dumpy plow horse instead.”

“Stop.”

Her head snapped up at his sharp tone.

He worked his jaw back and forth, his temper flaring with a heat he hadn’t expected. Busybodies and their small-minded pettiness. Yet it irked him that Abigail had allowed them to get under her skin. And what was she thinking, calling herself a plow horse? If a man had made such a comment about his wife, he would have flattened the scoundrel.

“Stop belittling yourself, Abby. And stop apologizing for trapping me in this marriage. I’m a grown man who’s been making his own decisions since I was thirteen years old. No one trapped me into anything. I came into this marriage as a willing partner and spoke my vows without any duress. And if I ever hear you compare yourself to your sister in such an unflattering way again, so help me, I just might bend you over my knee and take a paddle to your backside.”

Eyes wide, she blinked at him as if he’d started spouting Chinese. Well, maybe a little Chinese would finally straighten out her thinking.

Hoping he was on the right track, he jumbled together the rest of what he had to say and tossed it at her before she could close the door on him for good. “Some cad harassed your sister in town today, and I put my arm around her in an effort to protect her from prying eyes, just like I would shelter Evie if she had been the one involved. I took her to the stables because I couldn’t think of anywhere else in the immediate area where we would be assured some privacy. Rosalind needed to tell me a few things without a bunch of busybodies around to eavesdrop.”

Abigail’s forehead scrunched. “What would she tell you that she couldn’t tell me?”

“I promised to keep her confidence, so I can’t say, but I did encourage her to talk to you. Told her you would support her no matter what.”

“Of course I would!” That fierce light he loved so much flashed in her eyes.

“Just like I will support you no matter what.”

She tilted her head, her gaze searching his.

He gently gripped her upper arms and rubbed her shoulders with his thumbs. “I vowed to stand by your side for better or worse, and I meant it. But there’s more than a wedding vow holding me to you, Abby.”

She blinked, then nodded. “Our contract.”

Good grief. Was she really so blind to her own value? He shook his head. “I haven’t given that piece of paper a second thought since we wed.”

Her brows rose slightly as she scanned his face for clues. “Then, what?”

“You, Abby.”

Her head tipped back. “Me? I–I don’t understand.”

And that was the problem. One he needed to rectify. No more patiently waiting for her to get used to him. Time to stake his claim in a way she wouldn’t be able to doubt.

“I didn’t marry you to save your bakery.”

“Y-you didn’t?”

“Nope.” His grip on her arms tightened slightly, urging her to pay attention. Words weren’t exactly his specialty, and he didn’t want to have to repeat himself. “If some other female had proposed marriage to me in order to keep her sewing shop or laundry business, I would have turned her down.” He gave her a sharp look. “Even Rosalind.”

Her breath stuttered a bit as she inhaled. “Why?”

“Because I’m selfish. I ain’t about to tie myself to a woman for the rest of my days when I hold no affection for her.”

She swallowed. “Are you saying that you . . . care for me?”

“I’m saying that of all the women in this town, you’re the only one who could have tempted me to say yes.”

“But why?”

Could she not just believe him and be done with it? How much explaining did a man need to do to convince his wife of his affection? He felt sweat gather between his shoulder blades. He was no good at making pretty words. The more he opened his mouth, the greater his chances of mucking things up. But she was looking up at him with such a mix of confusion and expectancy. He knew that if he failed to give her an answer, he’d undo any progress they’d just made.

“Your dimples,” he blurted.

Oh, good one. Zach fought not to roll his eyes at his ineptitude. He dropped his hands from her arms and shifted his weight. “I like looking at them, all right? When you smile, your cheeks crease and it makes me feel . . . I don’t know . . . lighter.”

That had to be the stupidest attempt at flattery ever uttered. Even he could hear how defensive and grumpy he sounded. But she didn’t scoff or grunt in disgust. No, she smiled, letting those little creases dance for him, and something shifted inside him, making him feel—yep—lighter.

So he tried again.

“I like your hands too.”

She held her palms out in front of her and flipped them over, as if trying to see what he could possibly appreciate. He brought his own hands up and traced the lines of her fingers, the pads of her palm. “They’re strong hands. Not afraid of hard work. Yet delicate and gentle too.”

She watched his hands move over hers, her fingers quivering at his touch.

He searched for another compliment to give, gaining a bit of confidence at her response. But the next several parts of her anatomy that jumped to mind as being exceptionally admirable were not exactly appropriate to mention.

Slowly, her focus lifted from their hands back to his face, and he saw the craving there. The hunger to believe she could be wanted for herself.

Come on, man. Think of something.

“Your clothes.”

Her nose scrunched, and she cast a quick glance down at her plain, dark blue frock. “My clothes?”

“Not your clothes, exactly,” he hedged, trying to find the words for what he meant. “More the fact that you don’t really care about how they look.”

She frowned.

He knew he would screw this up if he kept opening his mouth. “That didn’t come out right.” He let go of her hands and paced. “What I meant was that you don’t waste time gussying yourself up.”

“And you like having a plain wife?”

“You’re not plain!” Zach groaned. Could he dig this hole any deeper? “I’m no good at this, Abby.” He blew out a breath and gazed at the ceiling. “I’m trying to compliment you on being practical and concerned about things that actually matter instead of superficial fripperies, all right? Cut me some slack.”

A strangled sound erupted from his wife. He slanted a glance at her. Abby’s hand covered her mouth as her eyes twinkled with mirth. He scowled, which only made her eyes brighter. Ornery woman.

“So what you’re saying,” she said, dropping her hand from her mouth and stepping closer to him, “is that you like that I’m a businesswoman, even if that means I don’t have time to gussy myself up for you.”

He harrumphed. “You don’t need any gussying. You’re plenty pretty without all the rigmarole females call fashion.”

Her fingers fiddled with the shirt button in the middle of his chest. His pulse kicked up.

“And you don’t think I’m a neglectful wife because I go to bed early and leave you to your own devices instead of doting on you hand and foot?”

“Shows you’re sensible,” he said as her fingers worked their way up to the next button. “A well-rested woman makes better company than one who’s short-tempered ’cause she didn’t sleep enough. Besides—” He paused to clear his throat. She had walked her fingers up to the button just beneath the opening at his neck, and concentration was becoming scarcer by the moment. “My, uh, hands and feet work just fine. Don’t need you waiting on me.” Her finger slipped inside his collar, and her cool skin brushed against his heated neck before dodging away to lay against the fabric of his shirt. “Though I’d, uh, not be opposed to a little doting every now and then.”

“Zach?”

“Hmm?”

Her head tilted up. “I’m ready for that good-night kiss now.”

Thank heaven. He could finally do something with his mouth that didn’t require words.

Zach clutched his wife to him and claimed her lips with such intensity, such heat, that their connection would surely be seared into her memory, cauterizing all doubt.

And just in case a few worrisome breaches remained, he kissed her again.