Page 23 of More than Words Can Say

The preacher did his duty and spat out all the necessary words. A bucketful of unnecessary ones as well, but Zach endured without fidgeting too much. Abigail’s hand on his arm made the pontification bearable.

At the appropriate time, he promised to stick by her for better or worse, to cherish her, and to keep himself faithful unto her for all his days. Abigail did the same, even agreeing to obey him when the minister insisted, though she added a caveat of obeying “in domestic matters” under her breath that only the three of them heard, making Samuelson raise a brow and Zach cough to cover an ill-timed laugh.

Then came time for the ring. Please, God, let it fit. The last thing he wanted to do was embarrass his bride on her wedding day. Too small, and he wouldn’t be able to get it on her finger. Too large, and he’d insult her.

Zach reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out the smooth gold band he’d purchased that afternoon. He’d studied Abigail’s hands the past couple mornings when she served him breakfast in her shop, taking her measure as best he could without actually touching her. She had strong, working hands. Capable fingers. Wider than her sister’s but thinner than his own meaty paws. In the end, he’d decided to purchase a band that fit the widest part of his smallest finger.

Holding his breath when the minister directed him to place the ring on her finger, Zach slipped it past the first knuckle. He had to muscle it over her second knuckle, which brought a film of perspiration to his brow as doubts jabbed at him, but once the ring made it over the mountain, it slid into the valley with no resistance. Silently thanking God for answering his prayer, he let out the breath he’d been holding and spoke the required words. “With this ring, I thee wed.”

“I now pronounce you husband and wife.” Brother Samuelson grinned his approval. “What therefore God hath joined together, let not man put asunder.”

Zach set his jaw at the preacher’s words. No man would be putting anything asunder in this marriage. He guarded what was his, and as of this moment, Abigail Kemp was his.

“You may kiss your bride.”

Abigail’s eyes widened slightly as Zach bent his head. He hated that their first kiss was up for public consumption, but if she expected him to give her a polite buss on the cheek, she was fixin’ to be disappointed.

He wanted no doubt in anyone’s mind, especially his new wife’s, that this marriage was real. So he cupped her face between his hands, burrowed his fingers into the fancy hairdo at the back of her head, and slanted his mouth over hers.

CHAPTER

13

Abigail’s pulse hiccupped as Zach lowered his face toward hers, and when their lips touched—mercy, but her knees nearly buckled. He was kissing her. Honest-to-goodness kissing. As if he meant it. As if this marriage were something more than a business arrangement. As if he actually had feelings for her.

His hands on her face held her upright. Strong. Insistent. Yet tender at the same time. And when his fingers moved through her hair, shivers coursed down her neck and over her shoulders. For the first time in her life, she felt beautiful. Desired.

By Zacharias Hamilton.

Leaning into him, she kissed him back. His hold on her shifted, gentled, even as his kiss deepened.

Until the clapping started. And the hooting. And the whistling.

By the time Zach pulled away, Abigail’s cheeks smoldered. She tried to hide by ducking her head, but Zach tucked her arm into the crook of his and forced her around to face the gathering.

Brother Samuelson’s voice rang out behind them. “I now present to you Mr. and Mrs. Zacharias Mitchell Hamilton.”

Mrs. Zacharias Hamilton. The name felt surreal. But where had the Mitchell come from? Zach’s middle name? She’d never attended a wedding where the groom’s middle name was used in the pronouncement. She slanted a questioning look at her new husband, but he was too busy dragging her over to the well-wishers to notice.

She had so much to learn. About him. About his family. She slanted another glance at him, her tongue darting out to moisten her lips. About how to kiss properly.

Would he be expecting such liberties on a regular basis? Anticipation swirled in her belly. She wouldn’t be opposed to a few kisses every now and then. Not if the sample she’d received was an accurate indicator of what could be expected in the future.

Fortunately, now was not the time to ponder her new husband’s expectations in regard to physical intimacies. Family and friends waited to celebrate, and heaven knew Abigail could use the distraction.

As the men circled around Zach and engaged in a raucous round of backslapping, the women flocked to Abigail and spirited her off to the kitchen, where aprons were passed around and food was set out.

Being in the kitchen settled Abigail’s nerves as nothing else could. Audrey Sinclair tried to stick her in a corner, claiming the bride should not be allowed to work, but Abigail insisted. She sliced cheese, poured water, and set platters on the table. Basically any task with a low probability of soiling her dress. While Audrey finished frying the potatoes and Rosalind made fresh coffee, Abigail unboxed her cake and started slicing.

“That looks delicious,” Evie declared, coming up beside her. “Do you use a boiled icing or an unboiled one?”

Abigail smiled. “Unboiled. But I do melt the chocolate ahead of time. It incorporates better than grated chocolate.”

“I’ll have to remember that.”

Pausing with her knife above the cake, Abigail glanced at her new sister-in-law. “Does Zach like chocolate?” She hated admitting that she didn’t know the answer to that question, but she needed to start learning his preferences sometime. Having his sister at hand afforded the perfect opportunity. “The cake itself is white, but chocolate just seemed to fit him better.”

As if a man’s coloring determined his flavor preferences. She gave her head a tiny shake. Perhaps she’d been working in the bakery too long, matching people with food based on appearances.