CHAPTER
21

The following morning, Abigail hummed as she pulled her second batch of sticky buns from the oven. Memories of the kiss she’d shared with her husband last night zinged through her mind and energized her work.

Zach had been kissing her good night for a month, but as much as she’d enjoyed every one of those kisses, none of them had left her as staggeringly altered as the ones they’d shared last night. Perhaps it was because they’d shared more than a physical connection. They had laid their hearts bare to each other, exposing the raw and ugly places. Anger, jealousy, and self-derision had swirled within her, yet Zach hadn’t shrunk back. Even when the muck inside her spilled out onto him. Instead, he stepped into the fray, fought for her—for them. With the most backward, inelegant, completely wonderful compliments she’d ever received. No poet could stir her heart as completely as her husband grousing at her to cut him some slack because he couldn’t get the words out right.

Abigail grinned as she flipped the round baking pan over and coaxed the sticky buns onto the worktable. The sweet concoction of maple syrup, brown sugar, and nuts she’d lined the pan with glistened atop the buns in sheer perfection. Judging the dozen buns with an expert eye, she picked out the two best from the batch and set them on a plate for Zach. She’d carry them upstairs as soon as she finished organizing her bakery trays for the morning. Perhaps instead of simply leaving his breakfast for him, she could seek him out and share a pleasantry or two before they went their separate ways.

As if her thoughts had conjured the man she sought, a stair creaked and a pair of large feet worked their way down. Unable to look away, she watched as long legs appeared, gradually stretching up into a solid, well-muscled chest. When his face finally cleared the stairwell wall, her breath caught. His midnight-blue eyes locked directly onto hers as if he’d known precisely where she stood.

“Mornin’.” His low voice rumbled, and her skin registered the vibrations with delightful tingles of awareness.

Her lips curved upward. “Morning.”

He didn’t say more, just took a seat on the third stair and reached for his boots. He winced slightly as he shoved his right foot in, and Abigail immediately recalled the abuse she’d dished out with her bedroom door last night.

“Sorry about your foot.” She took a hesitant step toward him, her gaze climbing upward as he stood.

His intense regard didn’t flicker one iota at the reminder of her less-than-commendable behavior. It just kept radiating heat in her direction. “It’ll heal.”

Goodness. She wouldn’t need her oven the rest of the morning if this heat between them kept up.

Clearing her throat, she ventured a step closer. “You’re down early today. I just pulled the sticky buns out of the oven.”

“Thought I’d start breaking my fast here in the kitchen.” With you. His mouth didn’t say the words, but his eyes did.

Abigail wasn’t accustomed to such overt masculine attention. It made her jittery and altogether uncomfortable. Yet she refused to duck her head as instinct demanded. Zach had emboldened her last night, made her believe she might actually be worthy of a man’s regard despite her unconventionally round shape. Perhaps even because of it. And wasn’t that a mind-altering thought? Zach might actually prefer abundant curves to wispy waists and delicate features. As much as that contradicted her previous experience with men, she could no longer deny the possibility. After all, there had been nothing polite about Zach’s most recent kisses. They had been passionate. Barely contained. Not the kisses of a man simply doing his duty.

“I’d like that,” she said, finally turning away from his sizzling gaze to collect the sticky buns she’d set aside for him. She carried the plate to the small table she kept in the kitchen, then fetched a mug from the cupboard and filled it to the brim with coffee from the freshest pot on the stove.

The bakery would open for business in about thirty minutes, and Rosalind would soon bustle between the kitchen and the shop as she tended to customers. But for now, Abigail and Zach had a few private moments.

“Sit with me?” Zach held out the second chair.

She nodded. All of her breakfast items were done and cooling. She’d need to arrange them on the trays and move them to the display case in the shop, but that could wait a few minutes.

Abigail seated herself across from him, her gaze raking his features while he turned his attention to his breakfast. Broad shoulders encased in blue cotton, nearly black hair in need of a trim curling slightly behind his ears, tanned swarthy skin, dark whiskers shadowing his square jaw. He hadn’t shaved. He must have changed his morning routine to accommodate having breakfast with her. Her heart warmed at the thought.

She watched as he sipped his coffee, deciding that she liked his dark scruff. It enhanced his rugged appeal. Made him look just the tiniest bit dangerous. Though not to her. Never to her. He was her protector, only dangerous to those who threatened what belonged to him. And she belonged to him. While some independent women who ran their own businesses and made their own decisions might balk at that rather primitive idea, the concept secretly thrilled Abigail, because she knew that he belonged to her as well. Equal partners. Mutual respect. Belonging wasn’t ownership, it was relationship. A relationship she very much wanted to build with Zacharias Hamilton.

He’d finished his first bun while she wool-gathered. Embarrassed to have made no effort to converse, Abigail frantically dug around for something to say, latching on to the item most on the town’s mind of late.

“Will Mr. Sinclair be closing the lumberyard early this Saturday for the Fourth of July celebration?”

“Yep.” Zach wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then reached for his coffee. “If we can get the order for the James Gilmer house filled by Friday, we’ll take the entire day off.”

She smiled. “That’s wonderful! I’m glad you’ll have time to relax and enjoy the festivities.”

The coffee halted halfway to his mouth. “I thought we’d be enjoying the festivities together.”

“I’ll be there,” Abigail hedged. “Eventually.”

Zach set the coffee cup down with a thunk and shot her a frown.

“Holidays and special events bring so many people to town that the businesses on the square remain open late into the afternoon.” She shrugged in apology. “I make some of my best profits in the hours before and after the Fourth of July parade.”

“Then I guess you better give me some pointers on how to help in the shop.”

Help in the . . . ? Abigail blinked. Surely she’d misunderstood. Zach didn’t know the first thing about baking, and he certainly wasn’t the sociable type to chat up customers while they stood in line. And picturing him in an apron was ludicrous in the extreme. Her father might have worn one, but Zach? Abigail bit back a giggle.

“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?