Page 62 of More than Words Can Say

“What did you have in mind?” Zach lifted his hat from his head and rubbed the sweat from his brow with his shirtsleeve. Longfellow’s gaze followed the movement, but Zach’s remained locked on the mayor’s face, taking in the eyes, the tightness around the corners of his mouth, the too-smooth forehead of a man practiced in creating an illusion to instill confidence in others, whether or not that confidence was warranted.

“The Honey Grove City Council regrets having to take such a hard line with your wife upon her inheritance of her father’s bakery, and we wish to do something to make amends.”

Zach crossed his arms over his chest and stared down at the shorter man. If Longfellow thought Zach was going to fawn all over him in gratitude for the crumb he was offering, he was fixin’ to be disappointed.

The mayor cleared his throat, slightly nonplussed, but gamely continued on. “We’d like to add a last-minute float to our parade lineup. One specifically designed to honor the prettiest young lady in the city—the Honey Grove Queen Bee.”

“Not sure how that’s supposed to make amends to my wife, unless you want to make her the queen.” And if they did? Zach wasn’t sure he particularly liked the idea of other men ogling his woman, but having the town name her Queen Bee might go a long way toward proving to his self-conscious wife that she could compete with any female when it came to beauty.

Chester Longfellow cleared his throat. “No, ah, the council decided that only unmarried young women would be eligible for nomination. Your sister-in-law, Miss Rosalind Kemp, was unanimously voted in as our queen.” At Zach’s darkening glare, he hurried to spill more words, as if that would help matters. “We thought that if Miss Rosalind agreed to represent Honey Grove, we would show our gratitude by allowing the Taste of Heaven Bakery to sponsor the float she rides on. The bakery’s name would be printed on signs hanging over the sides of the wagon. And perhaps instead of tossing penny candy to the children, Rosalind could toss dinner rolls. Give them a taste of heaven, as it were.” He snickered at his play on words, but when Zach failed to crack even a hint of a smile, he cleared his throat and resumed his attempt at persuasion. “Your partner, Mr. Sinclair, has already agreed to donate lumber for the signs, and my lovely wife insisted on providing additional bunting. It would be great advertising, don’t you think?”

What he thought was that Rosalind would never agree. Not after the run-in she’d had with that clod in the alleyway. There was no way she would want to be the focus of hundreds or even thousands of staring eyes.

Zach kept his arms crossed and his scowl affixed. “You got a backup candidate if Rosalind’s not interested?”

The mayor’s brow crinkled. “Why would she not be interested? This is a huge honor. Her name in the paper, her face declared the fairest in the land. She’ll be the envy of every girl in town.”

Zach shrugged. “All that may be true, but Rosalind has a mind of her own. If she don’t want to stand around in the back of a fancified freight wagon and wave her arm off for an hour, I ain’t gonna force her.”

“Well . . .” Longfellow straightened his shoulders and jutted his chin. “I’m afraid that if Rosalind fails to agree, we’ll just have to postpone our first annual Queen Bee float until next year. We don’t have time to vote in a replacement.”

And whose fault was that? Dumb question. Zach knew exactly who was behind this sudden Queen Bee nonsense—Sophia Longfellow. What he failed to grasp was why. Had she finally realized that her unjust treatment of Abigail reflected poorly on her and was now making a last-ditch effort to repair her reputation? Or did she have something more malicious in mind?

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?”