Coming Up Roses

by Catherine Anderson

  Her gaze chased off toward the window. "I didn't exactly forbid it. Discouraged would be a better word."

  Zach sighed and set his untouched plate of food on the bedside table. Salmon, again. Much more fish, and he'd grow gills. "Kate, I…" He waited until she looked back at him, then met her gaze head-on. "I apologized for using bad language. Are you going to hold it against me forever?"

  A flush stained the graceful curve of her neck. "Of course not. You can speak in any fashion you wish, Mr.

  McGovern. Just not around my daughter."

  "I give you my word. I won't say a single cussword in her presence. If I promise you that, what harm is there in letting her visit me?"

  She stepped briskly away from the bed. "I just don't think it's a good idea, that's all."

  "But why? Can't you at least give me an explanation?"

  "I don't feel it's necessary to explain my reasons. I'm her mother. I know what's best for her. You'll simply have to accept my judgment."

  "Kate, wait. Don't leave. Can't we discuss this?"

  Back rigid, she continued on toward the door. "I can't see any point. You won't change my mind."

  Incredulous, Zach watched as she disappeared into the hall. Recalling his bargain with Miranda and wondering how on earth he would explain this turn of events to her, he felt a wave of anger surge through him. Since he was helpless to follow Kate, other measures were called for, and in that spilt second, only one came to mind.

  "Goddammit, come back here. I saved her life, for Christ's sake! You owe me at least five minutes to plead my case. Short of that, you should at least give me a reason."

  Just as he knew she would, she reappeared in the doorway. Brown eyes snapping, she swept into the room, grabbed the door, and slammed it closed behind her with a resounding crash. "Keep your voice down!"

  "Not on your life."

  "Not one single cussword? Ha! You wouldn't be capable of speaking with a clean tongue if your life depended on it!"

  Zach relaxed against the pillows. "At least I've got your attention."

  Watching her, he knew the precise instant when she realized she had been had. The flush of anger on her neck turned blazing crimson. "I don't find this the least bit amusing."

  "Well, I'm not having a barrel of fun, either."

  She turned back toward the door.

  "Walk out, and I'll yell what I have to say. They'll hear me all the way to Roseburg . You can bet your sweet little ass on it."

  She stopped midstride, doubled her hands into fists, and slowly pivoted to face him. Anger became her, Zach decided. She walked back to stand at the foot of his bed. Folding her arms around her waist, she threw a fierce glance at the clock, then turned the glare on him.

  "A half minute of your time is used up," she finally said.

  Zach grinned. "Did anyone ever tell you you're beautiful when you're mad?" It was an age-old line, but judging from Kate's flustered reaction, she had never heard it.

  She hugged her waist more tightly. "Now it's a minute. You've only four left."

  Zach gave it up and forked his fingers through his hair. Lowering his gaze, he tried to think what to say. In the end, he came straight out with it. "I'm lonely as hell. What possible harm can it do if she spends a little time with me?"

  She rolled her eyes. "Listen to yourself."

  Zach went back over what he had just said and groaned. "I wouldn't say hell in front of her."

  "Filthy talk shoots out of your mouth like peas from a pod."

  "Filthy talk?" He could only wonder at her definition. In his estimation, colorful would have been a better word.

  "Yes, filthy talk. So much that I'm not at all certain you're aware of it. If not, you can't possibly correct it."

  "I will," he promised.

  She shook her head. "No. I'm sorry, Mr. McGovern, but I truly don't think—"

  Zach shoved up on one elbow. "She's a precious little girl. Do you really believe I'd do or say anything that might change that? At least give me a chance. Whether you realize it or not, she needs me as much as I need her."

  "Don't presume to tell me what my daughter needs."

  "Then open your eyes. She misses her father. I know I can't take his place. But I might help ease the ache a little."

  In her urgency, she leaned forward. "You tell me to open my eyes? She wants more than friendship. Can't you see that?"

  Zach saw tears fill her eyes. "Katie…"

  She raised a fist at him. "Don't call me Katie. It's Kate! And don't you dare start calling my daughter by your pet names, either. Mandy!" She clucked her tongue. "Oh, yes, she told me about that, and I won't have it. Do I make myself clear?"

  Too late, Zach realized there was a whole lot more worrying Kate than the language he sometimes used. "I think maybe we should start all over. It's not my cussing that's the issue here, is it?"

  She dug her teeth into her bottom lip and stared at the ceiling. When she finally looked back down at him, she had managed to blink the tears from her eyes. "I don't want her hurt. She's building a castle of dreams around you. Are you truly so blind you haven't noticed? You're right up there with fairies and elves and mystical unicorns. Miranda's hero. Can you live up to that, Mr. McGovern?"

  Zach had no idea how to answer. Miranda's hero?

  Her gaze clung to his. "If you can't, you'll destroy what few little-girl dreams she has left."

  He licked his lips. "I'm not perfect, Kate. But I don't think Miranda expects me to be."

  "She's falling completely in love with you," she whispered. "In her eyes, you are perfect. No one can measure up to that."

  "No, and I won't try, if that's what's worrying you. I'm not cut from hero cloth. But I don't think she's looking for a hero. She just wants a friend, someone to fill the empty places in her life now that her father's gone."

  "She's looking for magic," she insisted in a tremulous voice. "I know you can't possibly understand, but—" She gave her head an emphatic shake. "You won't be here forever. Before we know it, you'll be gone, and that castle of dreams she's trying to erect will be absolutely shattered. I can't stand by and allow that to happen. Don't ask me to."

  "She knows I won't be staying here. We discussed that."

  Surprise filled Kate's large eyes, which were nearly as guileless as her daughter's. "You did?"

  He held up his hands. "I realized right off that she was hoping for things that could never happen, and I explained to her why they couldn't. We settled on being best friends. I live nearby. When I leave here, there's no reason we can't continue to be friends. What's the harm in that?"

  "The harm will come when you forget she exists."

  Zach snorted.

  "It'll happen," she assured him. "You'll marry eventually and have children. You won't have time for someone else's little girl. You probably won't even think of her. But she will think of you. And she's suffered enough grief."

  He fell back against the pillows. "What do you take me for, a heartless bastard? If I tell the kid I'll be her best friend, then I damn well will be. You have my word on that."

  She stood there staring at him, her indecisiveness etched in rigid lines upon her face. "You make promises very lightly, Mr. McGovern. How are you at living up to them?"

  For a fleeting instant, Zach nearly backed off, not because he feared he might disappoint Miranda, but because all his instincts told him there was far more boiling beneath the surface of this discussion than Kate was letting on.

  Far more. She wasn't just concerned about her child; she was terrified. The question was, why? She didn't strike him as the type to grow this frantic without reason.

  "Is there something you aren't telling me?" he asked softly. "If so, you'd better be up front with it."

  At his question, the color drained from her face. Zach had his answer. As she often did when feeling shaken, she pressed a palm to her waist. "No, there's nothing. Miranda's just a very sensitive little girl
who's lost her father. I don't want her hurt. I know you mean well, but—"

  "I do mean well," he interrupted. "If you'll give me half a chance, I'll prove it."

  Even as he spoke, Zach wondered why he was persisting this way. Then a picture of Miranda's small face flashed through his mind . I don't s'pose you want a little girl? The memory made his heart catch. What if Kate was right?

  What if he did hurt her? Maybe, in their innocence, children didn't see things the way adults did. When the day came that he had to leave, would Miranda view his departure as abandonment?

  "I wish you had talked to me sooner," he said softly. "As it is, you're a little late. This afternoon, Miranda and I agreed to be best friends. We even shook hands on it. I don't see how I can go back on that without disillusioning her, which is apparently what you've been trying to prevent."

  Her lips thinned into a tremulous line.

  "Kate, I won't hurt your daughter. Now that you've explained your concerns to me, I'll go out of my way to make sure she doesn't build false hopes. Trust me."

  "I pray not. Because if you do, I'll take every tear she cries out of your miserable hide."

  With that, she turned and fled the room.

  Chapter 11

  Over the next few days, Zach felt as though he were on trial. To Kate's credit, she no longer tried to keep Miranda away from his room. But he didn't kid himself. One wrong move, just one, and she'd forbid the child to see him. He couldn't count the times that he glanced up while playing with Miranda to see Kate in the doorway, her watchful gaze reflecting emotions he couldn't read. Dread? Fear? Perhaps even a bit of jealousy? Try as he might, he couldn't figure out what her problem with him was.

  She wanted him on his feet and out of her house, the sooner the better; she made that as clear as rain. Not intentionally, he felt sure. He didn't believe Kate had it in her to be unkind. But the message came through. The moment he was strong enough to don his jeans and sit on the edge of the bed, she looked happy enough to bust and began encouraging him to try his legs. Though he complied and managed a few shaky steps, he couldn't help but feel like a bad case of influenza she couldn't wait to be rid of.

  What kind of man did she think he was, anyway? Only a monster would steal a child's heart and then callously break it.

  As perverse as he knew it was, Kate's fierce protectiveness of Miranda and her suspiciousness of him only served to make him more determined to befriend the child. If it was the last thing he did, he'd make Kate admit his relationship with Miranda was one of the best things that had ever happened to her.

  And so it was that he deliberately set out to capture Miranda's heart. Bad move. Before he knew exactly how it happened, he was the one who had fallen hopelessly in love.

  Miranda… She was laughter and magic and sweetness, all rolled up in a tiny bundle. When she settled in the circle of his arm and cuddled close, he felt a sense of contentment and purpose. Listening to her talk held him spellbound for hours. Her endless questions about the world and everything in it gave him a new outlook on the everyday things he took for granted.

  Some of her questions he was able to answer, others he wasn't. Either way, he was left pondering things that had never concerned him. Why did the wind blow and then stop? Why did folks say "I beg your pardon" when they hadn't done anything wrong? Why was it all right for husbands to have fat stomachs, but ladies had to wear corsets? Why did cream separate from milk? Why were religious folk referred to as God-fearing if they weren't afraid of God? Why did some plants make flowers and others didn't? If the rain was in the clouds, why did the whole sky turn dark before a storm? What made lightning? And why did the air feel prickly before the lightning came?

  One of Miranda's unanswerable questions troubled Zach. Why was it that parents could be bad to their children and that was okay, but when children were bad, they got whipped? Not spanked. Not thrashed. Not punished. Not scolded. But whipped? The expression on Miranda's face when she asked that question made a cold shiver run up Zach's spine.

  When Miranda wasn't asking questions, which took up a great deal of their time, Zach entertained her by telling her stories or teaching her games. She spent hours playing oops, a game of dexterous skill Zach constructed that involved catching a ball in a cup. When her interest in that waned, he sent her to find two sticks and an embroidery hoop so they could play graces, the object being to catch the hoop with the sticks.

  Since Miranda was a girl, Zach knew it was inevitable that she'd eventually ask him to play with her dolls. That was where he intended to draw the line. But when the moment finally came, he didn't have the heart. For one, the armload of rags she held were the most pitiful excuses for dolls he had ever seen. Kate had fashioned them from worn-out socks. Their button eyes didn't match. Their yarn hair was so sparse they looked as though they had a bad case of mange. And, like the quilted counterpane on his bed, their dresses had been fashioned from old clothing scraps, all in shades of mourning. Even so, Miranda held them with reverence and touched them as if they were beautiful.

  Zach played dolls. What the hell. Only a man who wasn't very sure of his own masculinity was afraid of being sissified.

  "This is our secret," he warned Miranda. "If your ma comes in, the dolls go under the bed. Agreed?"

  Miranda's first response to that was a giggle, but she finally conceded with a nod. Zach settled down to play dolls. The first crack out of the bag, Miranda complained that Zach's doll, Suzanne, was a girl doll, and therefore she didn't "talk scratchy." Feeling absurd, Zach tried to speak in a high-pitched voice. His efforts sent Miranda into fits of laughter. They finally decided that Suzanne had a sore throat.

  In one afternoon of playing dolls, Zach learned more about Miranda than he had in all their previous hours together. The first thing he noticed was that her doll families always had a ma, but never a father. When he suggested they remedy that, Miranda's favorite doll, Sarah, promptly hid beneath the sheet.

  "Where did Sarah go?" Zach asked carefully, not liking the bloodless pallor of Miranda's face. "Is she tired of playing?"

  "She's in the cupboard," was Miranda's reply.

  "In the cupboard?" Zach circled that. "Why, Mandy?"

  "Because her pa comed home, and she don't like him."

  That stopped Zach dead. "Then let's give her a new pa."

  "She can't get a new pa if the old one just comed back."

  That made sense. He guessed. "So she's hiding in the cupboard? That isn't very fun."

  "She likes the cupboard. She can't do nothin' bad in there. And she knows her ma won't tell where she's at, so her pa can't find her."

  "Oh, I see." Only, of course, Zach didn't see at all. An ache filled his chest. "Mandy, are you—is Sarah afraid?"

  She fixed wide, wary eyes on his. "Not when she's in the cupboard. Not unless her pa calls her and she don't answer. Then she gets afraid. 'Cause he'll get mad if she don't come."

  "What'll he do if he gets mad?"

  A muscle at the corner of her small mouth began to quiver. "He'll hit on her ma." She glanced furtively over her shoulder, almost as if she were afraid someone might be behind her. "That makes Sarah cry. 'Cause her ma's gettin' blue spots, and if Sarah unhid herself, her pa'd give her the blue spots instead." A haunted look came into her eyes. Sarah's ma says blue spots don't hurt grown-up ladies like they do little girls. But Sarah thinks her ma's fibbin', and she feels sad."

  "Does Sarah's ma get lots of blue spots?"

  Zach wasn't sure he wanted to hear the child's answer. And as it happened, Miranda didn't exactly give him one.

  Instead, she brightened and said, "Let's make her pa go away again. On a trip. He can go to—" She wrinkled her nose. "What's that faraway place where nobody goes?"

  " Texas ?"

  She gave an emphatic nod.

  Zach phrased his next question cautiously. "Why don't Sarah and her ma go on a trip instead? That way they'd never have to worry about her pa coming home."r />
  "They don't gots enough money to go on trips, and her pa always finds 'em if they try to walk. One time Sarah's ma saved her pennies for train tickets, but the 'ductor and sher'ff made 'em git off in Medford and wait till her pa got there. After that, Sarah's pa hid all the pennies."

  "I see," Zach said softly. "Well, in that case, we'll just have to send Sarah's pa away, then. Clear to Texas so he won't come back for a long, long time."

  She agreed with another emphatic nod.

  Texas it was. And Zach never again made the mistake of conjuring up a father for Miranda's dolls. That didn't prevent an ugly suspicion from forming in his mind. Miranda was a bright child, and he knew from playing dolls with her that she had a vivid imagination that often amazed him. But how inventive could a child her age possibly be? Unless she had firsthand experience, how could she know so much about bruises and trains and conductors and the town of Medford ?

  A couple of times he considered asking Kate about her deceased husband. What kind of man had Joseph Blakely been? Was he the reason Zach sometimes thought he saw fear in Kate's and Miranda's eyes? In the end, though, he kept silent. After all, Joseph was dead. If he had once been a threat, he wasn't now. Zach had no more right to pry into Kate's past than she did his. It wasn't as if he didn't have a secret or two of his own that he didn't want to share.

  Kate seldom mentioned Joseph, but when she did, her features always settled into a grim stillness. Her memories of him clearly brought her pain. Now Zach was no longer certain that her pain stemmed from grief.

  * * *

  About a week after Kate began letting Miranda visit with Zach, he was awakened one morning shortly after dawn by the sweet sound of the child's voice.

  "Today's my ma's birthday."

  The announcement dragged Zach up to consciousness. He turned his head and opened one eye a crack. Miranda stood beside his bed, her small form a gray blur. He blinked and tried to focus.