CHAPTER
31
That night at dinner, Zach broached the topic of the parade float.
“I’ll leave it up to you gals to decide what you want to do,” he said as he helped himself to a second scoop of potatoes. “Far as I’m concerned, the council can sit on their float till next year. No telling what their true motives are in making the offer so late in the game.”
“It would be good promotion for the shop,” Rosalind hedged, her level of enthusiasm less impressive than her sense of duty to the family business. “Hundreds turn out for the parade.” Her throat worked a long swallow.
Abigail reached across the table and touched Rosalind’s hand. “No advertising is worth your peace of mind. If you don’t feel good about it, we won’t do it. End of discussion.”
Man, but he admired his woman. Zach hid a grin by stuffing a bite of potato into his mouth. He’d known she’d choose the good of her sister over the good of the bakery, but it was mighty satisfying to see her prove him right.
She glanced up at him as that thought traipsed through his mind. He stopped mid-chew. Her eyes held his, a question in them. Was she seeking his approval? His chest tightened. He’d told them the decision was theirs to make, yet she sought to include him. Treated him like family. Like the head of the house. Even when their pre-wedding agreement stipulated that he had no legal footing in bakery business.
He gave a small nod.
Abigail’s lips tipped up slightly at the corners, as if having his agreement lightened her load. As if she needed him. Wanted his support, his opinion. Him. The unrepentant cheat who couldn’t manage to straighten out his own life.
Lord, I ain’t never gonna be worthy of her, but if you and I can find a way to work out our differences, I might at least come a little closer to being the man she deserves. David asked you to make him a clean heart. I ain’t no king, but I’m gonna ask for the same treatment. Can’t seem to get the job done on my own.
“I’m not a baby to be coddled,” Rosalind said, her chin jutting out despite the dread in her eyes. “If smiling and waving to a crowd will drum up business, then what is there to discuss? Sales are bound to increase if people actually get a sample of your baking. They won’t seek out your shop simply because they get hungry, they’ll seek it out because they’ve had a taste and they want more.” A spark of excitement flared, bringing new life to Rosalind’s gaze. “And since they’ll have seen me on the float, if they spot me again, they’ll know to look for more treats. I can set up a stand at the opposite end of the square to sell smaller items like your honey-glazed biscuits. Then, if people want to make a larger purchase, I can direct them to the shop.”
Zach turned his attention to his wife and found her nibbling her lower lip. He swore he could hear her thoughts warring with each other as she balanced risk for her sister with reward for the bakery. He understood the protective urge that compelled her to take no chances, yet stifling a sibling’s freedom to decide her own destiny rarely turned out well. He’d dangled off the edge of that particular cliff more often than he’d care to admit. Thankfully, Seth had never stomped his fingers and sent him hurtling into the ravine of broken relationships, but they’d come dangerously close a time or two.
“The idea has merit,” he ventured, not quite sure if opening his mouth was a wise move at this point but opting to do it anyway. “Your honey biscuits are nearly as good as your sticky buns. They’d go fast.” He scratched at his chin where his afternoon stubble was growing in. “I could rig a box frame for a booth and attach the signs from the parade wagon to the top and bottom to help with visibility.”
“That’s a great idea!” The last traces of trepidation disappeared from Rosalind’s face as she scooted to the edge of her seat to face him. “Do you think the Sinclairs would let us hire Simeon and Dinah to help? No one can resist a child. The kids could walk on either side of the float with baskets of goodies to hand out. Then later they could be our runners if we need to replenish our supply of biscuits at the booth. The twins could ride with me on the float so they don’t feel left out.”
And to deflect attention away from her too, no doubt. Good strategy. Give people something else to look at than just the pretty girl at the center. Ash and Zeb’s antics would no doubt provide ample distraction. But before Zach could say as much, Abigail’s drinking glass clinked against her plate and interrupted Rosalind’s enthusiastic scheming.
Zach’s head came around. His wife looked like a herd of cats had stampeded over her lap, leaving her dazed and confused. It took two tries for her to find the proper place to set down her glass.
He leaned around the table corner and clasped her shoulder. “Abby?”
She blinked, then slowly focused on his face. “I don’t know if I can do it.”
“Do what?” Let her sister risk exposure?
“Bake enough biscuits. I worked all afternoon to have enough goods to accommodate the usual surplus of customers. There’s not enough time to put out a couple hundred biscuits for the parade, let alone double that to supply paying customers afterward. I’m not even sure I have enough flour.”
Zach’s mind spun as he started to piece together Sophia’s scheme. She was setting Abigail up for failure. Late notification to ensure time was short, stores closed so she couldn’t resupply her ingredients. She probably planned to do a slipshod job on the bunting for the wagon too.
He clenched his jaw. He shouldn’t have waited until after work to bring this idea to Abigail. He’d shaved her time even more. Well, he’d just have to fix that problem. Because his wife was not going to fail. Nor was she going to shoulder this load on her own.
“I’ll go to the Sinclairs’ tonight. Get Reuben to help me put together a booth. Paint the signs. Ask Audrey about the kids and see if she has any flour I can buy from her. I’ll stop by the Longfellows’ house on my way, tell the mayor we accept his offer and collect the bunting so Rosalind can do the decorating. Then, tomorrow, I’ll get up with you, and you’ll put me to work.”
Abigail’s brows arched. “But you can’t—”
He cut off her protest with a shake of his head. “I sure enough can. I’ll fetch and carry whatever you need. You make the dough, I’ll cut out the rounds and slather ’em with the honey butter sauce. If I can use a jigsaw, I should be able to handle a biscuit cutter. And I got decent painting skills, so you don’t have to worry about me missing spots. Every top will be covered. Rosalind can run the shop with whatever goods you’ve already got on hand. Anything else people may want will just have to be listed as sold-out. Most folks’ll be home preparing for the day’s activities anyway. In the meantime, you and I will make so many biscuits, we’ll have to cart them around in a wagon bed.”
His wife stared at him, her brown eyes wide. Then, without a word, she pushed her chair back, rose to her feet, and came to stand directly in front of him.
A little worried he might have gotten himself in trouble by being too presumptuous—after all, his knowledge of running a professional kitchen wouldn’t cover a nailhead—he leaned back in his chair and braced himself for whatever she might dish out.
Braced for anything except the kiss she planted on his mouth. At the dinner table. In full view of her sister. Her palms cupped his jaw as her lips touched his. By the time his dull wits processed what she was doing and urged him to respond, she had pulled away. But then she spoke.
“I love you, Zacharias Hamilton.”
His heart gave a donkey kick. She’d said the words. Again. On purpose. And in front of a witness.
And again, his tongue glued itself to the roof of his mouth. Only this time she didn’t seem to expect anything from him. Even if he could have managed to spit out a word or two, she didn’t give him the chance. Just started rattling off orders of her own, their kiss apparently galvanizing her practical nature back into working order.
She straightened to her full height, and the affection in her gaze hardened into tactical alertness. “If Audrey agrees to let the children help with distributing the baked goods during the parade, I want you and Reuben flanking their movements at all times—one with each child. I don’t want any overeager spectators grabbing at their baskets or crowding them in any way. Their safety must be paramount.”
Zach nodded. Couldn’t argue with good sense.
“After the parade, you stick to her like glue.” Abigail pointed to her sister, the intensity in her face giving neither Zach nor Rosalind any room to quibble. “The square will be filled with wagons and folks milling around, most of them men. Rosalind is not to be left alone. Agreed?”
“Abby . . .” Rosalind whined, but a sharp look from her sister cut off the complaint.
Zach drew his wife’s attention by pushing to his feet. “Agreed.” He’d hoped to spend more of the holiday with Abigail than her sister, but he’d learned a long time ago that life didn’t always give you what you wanted. Watching out for Rosalind was the right thing to do. And the best way to support Abigail, which, after all, was his main concern.
“Good.” Abigail nodded her satisfaction, then pivoted sharply back toward the table. “I’ll clear the dishes and prep the kitchen for tomorrow.”
She started stacking plates in the crook of her arm, barely pausing long enough for Zach to scrape the last bite of potato from his before adding it to her collection. Her brown eyes danced with teasing light as she snatched his plate away before he could get his fork out of his mouth. The dimples he adored flashed, and the task before them suddenly felt much less daunting.
“Rosalind, if Audrey has no flour to spare, you might ask Mrs. Putnam,” Abigail said as she piled dishes into the dumbwaiter that would lower them to the kitchen. “Be sure to pay her more than it’s worth, though. Or if she refuses money, take note of the amount so we can replenish her supply with interest. I won’t have dear Lydia going hungry because of my predicament.”
“Don’t worry,” Rosalind said as she rose and reached for the serving dishes. “I’ll find the flour you need and generously compensate whoever donates.”
Abigail nodded, collected the glasses and the few miscellaneous items remaining on the table, then signaled her sister to lower the dumbwaiter and left to meet it downstairs in the kitchen.
As Rosalind worked the pulley, her gaze zeroed in on Zach.
“Be careful with her heart,” she said in a low voice. “Abby might be a practical-minded businesswoman, but her heart has taken a lot of abuse through the years. It’s bruised and battered, but it’s still a priceless treasure.” Her blue eyes narrowed slightly. “Treat it as such.”
Zach held her gaze without flinching. “I will.”
He knew the value of the gift Abigail had given him. Knew he didn’t deserve it. Yet he vowed to guard her heart with every ounce of his strength and do everything in his power to shore up those bruised places and keep from adding any new damage. A challenging task for a rough fellow who knew next to nothing about healthy relationships, but one he’d endeavor to accomplish nonetheless.
Rosalind held his gaze for a long, measuring moment before giving a nod. “Then let’s go to the Sinclairs’. Abby needs that flour, and we need to make that float something she’d be proud to have carry the bakery’s name.”
Once they were out of the house and on their way, Zach gave his sister-in-law a considering stare. “You sure you’re all right with the whole Queen Bee thing?”
Rosalind didn’t break stride, just rolled her shoulders as she marched down the street. “Can’t say I’m looking forward to it, exactly, but I can bear a little discomfort for Abby’s sake. She’s been making sacrifices for me for years.”
“Keep your eyes peeled when you’re on that float,” he cautioned. “I can’t help but think Sophia Longfellow’s got some kind of trick up her sleeve with this last-minute addition.”
He’d already pictured several unpleasant possibilities. Spooking the float horses. Recruiting delinquents to throw rotten vegetables. Sabotaging a wheel or axle. Humiliation seemed the most likely goal, based on past experience.
Rosalind’s brow crinkled. “You might be right, but I don’t think she intends any harm toward me. She always aims her vitriol directly at Abby. I wouldn’t put it past her to try to discredit the bakery in some way, though.”
A horrible thought jumped into his mind, and he pulled up short.
Rosalind slowed and turned a perplexed look on him. “What?”
“You don’t think she found out about those photo cards, do you? Even if Sophia hasn’t attacked you in the past, instigating a large scandal with ties to the bakery could be an effective way to destroy the business.”
Rosalind paled. “I-I don’t think she knows.” She shook her head, her gaze dropping to the street. “I’ve only ever been approached by out-of-town men. No one local.” She inhaled a breath and lifted her chin. “Sophia and Chester run in elevated circles, well separated from the rail hands and cowboys who drift in to visit the saloons.” A touch of color returned to her face along with a determined glint in her eyes. “If Sophia planned to start a scandal, I don’t think she would have named me Honey Grove’s Queen Bee. That associates me with the town, and more directly, with the council, including her husband.”
Zach nodded, the knot in his gut loosening a smidgeon. “I’m sure you’re right,” he said, offering a smile he hoped looked brighter than it felt.
Rosalind’s logic was sound, but revenge had a tendency to warp a person’s mind when allowed to fester for long periods of time. One couldn’t trust logic to win out over vengeance.
He’d be keeping a close eye on Mrs. Longfellow.
“Whatever that woman has in mind, we’ll just have to beat her to the punch. Take away her opportunities to cause mischief. You and me will see to the wagon decoratin’. I’m not letting Sophia Longfellow anywhere near that float until the parade is over.” The more elements he controlled, the more protection he could offer his family.
Unfortunately, he couldn’t control everything. And the variables dangling out of reach made him nervous.