Coming Up Roses

by Catherine Anderson

  Miranda glanced across the kitchen at the milk pail on the tripod. A bruised look came into her expressive eyes.

  In a tremulous little voice, she said, "Nope. Alls it takes is a bucketful if somebody sticks your head in it."

  A piece of cookie lodged in Zach's throat. He struggled to swallow, then turned his gaze toward the milk pail.

  Dear God in heaven.

  Before Zach could think of anything to say, he heard a distant screech. Kate? He cocked his head. Another shrill cry drifted through the house. It sounded as though she was out in the front yard.

  Moving more slowly, Zach followed Miranda from the kitchen. When they spilled out onto the front porch, he sagged with relief. Nosy had been digging in the rose garden again, and Kate had taken after him with her hoe.

  Bending at the waist, Zach rested his folded arms on the wobbly porch railing. Instead of whistling for the dog, as he knew he should, he simply watched for a moment. As she had once done with her broom, Kate drew the hoe up short every time she swung at the dog, coming close but never actually hitting him.

  Kate Blakely had never laid a hand on her child. He would go to the bank on that.

  * * *

  That night when Kate came to the sickroom to get Zach's supper dishes, she didn't rush to leave as she usually did. Instead, she hesitated before picking up the tray from his bedside table, her face drawn, her hands plucking at her apron.

  "I—um—I've noticed that you've been venturing outdoors yesterday and today," she started.

  Though stretched out on the bed, Zach was fully clothed. Two days ago, he might have been amused by her nervousness. Now it made him feel sick. She was so young, so very young. Yet he could only guess at the trials she must have endured.

  She clearly wanted to talk with him about something. Since that suited his purposes, he forced a smile.

  "Why don't you sit down? Our conversation yesterday didn't end very pleasantly." He patted a spot beside him on the bed. "No hard feelings, I hope."

  To his surprise she sat where he indicated instead of on the chair a safe distance away. "No, no. None at all. I know you meant well." She fell silent for a moment. "I take it that you must be feeling stronger?"

  He wondered where this was going. "Yes, a bit stronger."

  She clasped her hands in her lap. Late evening light came through the nearby window, casting the shadows of her long eyelashes onto her cheeks. Whatever it was that she wanted to say, she was having a devil of a time getting it out.

  Zach didn't mind the silence. Because she was in it. And, God, how that realization hurt. How had he come to care so much? The more fool he.

  Her small white teeth tugged at her bottom lip, depressing the blood so the almost unnoticeable scar at one corner turned pink. Had Miranda been the only one abused by Joseph Blakely? Once the question entered his mind, he couldn't turn it loose.

  She's looking for magic. Are you truly so blind you haven't noticed? Miranda's hero. Can you live up to that, Mr.

  McGovern?

  The words whispered in his memory. He had indeed been blind. Time after time, he had searched Kate's gaze, troubled by an elusive something that shadowed her lovely eyes. Now he realized he had been unsettled, not by what he had seen there, but by what he hadn't. Trust. His Katie no longer believed in heroes. Magic existed for her only in the stories she told her daughter.

  Zach wished he could change that. If he could, he would build her a castle out of clouds and turn her wishes into rainbows. But he was just an ordinary man with both feet rooted deeply in reality, as imperfect within as he was without.

  She finally looked up. The shadows veiled her expression. "I suppose we should both be thinking in terms of your leaving soon," she said softly.

  So that was it. Not that he didn't have it coming. He had butted in where he wasn't wanted and pressed for answers she had no wish to give. Besides, it wasn't as if he hadn't already drawn the same conclusion himself.

  Wishes weren't rainbows, and the time had come for him to go.

  In a husky voice, he offered, "I'll gather up my things in the morning and be ready to leave when Marcus stops by tomorrow night. I'd light out sooner, but I should probably have someone riding along with me my first time back in the saddle."

  She nodded and averted her gaze. "I don't want you to think I've minded having you here. I haven't. It's just—"

  She shrugged. "I'll always be indebted to you. If you ever—" Her eyes sought his. "Anything. All you need do is ask, and it's yours. You'll always have a friend in me."

  He wanted much more than friendship. He sensed she knew it. He settled his hand over hers where they rested in her lap. Judging by her expression, even that much contact unsettled her. What would she do if he kissed her or drew her into his arms?

  "You say anything." He hated himself for this. But what did he stand to lose? "And all I need do is ask? What if I asked you to marry me."

  "Pardon?"

  "I think you heard me."

  With both her hands trapped beneath one of his, he was free to touch her, and he did, running a fingertip across her lips, then along her cheek to her ear. She shivered and shrank away.

  "Don't, please, don't," she whispered.

  He grasped her chin and leaned toward her. "You act stunned. I can't believe I've caught you by surprise. I haven't made a secret of my feelings—not for you or for Mandy."

  She didn't move, didn't blink. He couldn't be sure, but he suspected she had even stopped breathing.

  "Katie?"

  He touched his lips to the spot on her cheek where her dimple always flashed. She drew in a shuddering breath.

  "Sooner or later, you'll be forced to remarry," he whispered. "You can't make it on your own here. Why not me? I know I'm not much to look at, but there's more to a man than—"

  "Stop it!" she cried. She wrenched away from him and lunged from the bed. Coming to stand before the window, she clamped her hands against her waist, looking for all the world as if something vile had just upset her stomach.

  "I can't marry you. I don't intend to marry anyone. Miranda and I will get by."

  He studied her pale profile. Lord, how he wanted to make pretty promises he could probably never keep.

  "Kate, this place is going to rack and ruin. You work from dawn till dark, and you still can't keep up with it. One hard year of needing loans to get your crops in, just one, and the banker will be on your stoop, serving you eviction papers. Where will that leave you and your daughter? Out in the cold, that's where. If you won't think of yourself, think of Miranda."

  "No! Prunes. I'm going to raise prunes and—"

  "Prunes!" he said with a snort. "You'll be the prune, dried up and in the grave long before your time." He swung his feet to the floor and sat up, bracing his arms on his denim-clad knees. "If you married me—"

  "I can't marry you. Not you or anyone else."

  "Why? Because the last time around you tied up with a son of a bitch?"

  She gasped and whirled to face him.

  "It's true. You asked me once if I was blind. The answer is no." He pushed slowly to his feet, acutely aware that she retreated a step when he stretched to his full height. "Miranda wasn't the only one Joseph Blakely mistreated.

  Look at you, shrinking away from me." He came to a stop several feet from her. "What happened in this house, Kate?"

  At the question, she turned deathly pale. Her distress was so obvious that Zach nearly backed off. He, of all people, knew what it was like to be haunted by the past, and he had a couple of secrets of his own that he'd never find it easy to divulge. The difference was that he had learned to live with his, and Kate clearly hadn't.

  He plunged on. "Where did you get that scar on your lip?"

  Her fingertips flew to the spot.

  "Did he backhand you? Or worse? And that place on your forehead. What happened? Did you tangle with a door? Let's hear how good you are at inventing quick, belie
vable lies."

  "I haven't been telling you lies."

  He leaned toward her. "Haven't you? Look me dead in the eye and swear you were the one who abused your daughter."

  She moistened her lips and glanced frantically around the room, as if she might find answers there. "It wasn't Joseph. You have to believe that. As for the scars on my face, I had an accident in the barn. I—I fell. Coming down the loft ladder. My shoe got caught on my skirt."

  "And pigs can fly."

  Her eyes went stormy dark. "You choose not to believe me. That's your choice. Either way, I really don't care.

  My daughter and I are none of your business, anyway."

  "Whatever else I may feel for you, Kate, I also think of you as a friend. I don't turn my back on people I care about. In a nutshell, I've made you my business."

  She made fists in her apron. "As I said, I think it's about time for you to leave."

  With that, she moved toward the door.

  "I can't turn off my feelings quite that easily."

  His words stopped her dead. She slowly turned to face him again.

  "If there's someone or something you're afraid of," he tried, "why not let me help? Do you really think I'll be able to sleep nights? What if I'm wrong, and it wasn't Joseph? That question will haunt me. You're terrified of something. It's written all over you. Why won't you trust me with it?"

  For a fleeting instant she looked as though she might confide in him. He saw the longing in her eyes, along with another emotion he couldn't identify. Then her chin came up. "Tomorrow," she whispered. "Don't wait for Marcus. Get your things, saddle your horse, and go. I'm sorry to have your stay here end with unpleasantness, but it seems you're bent on it. As long as you are, then stay away from me."

  "And Miranda?"

  "Miranda, too."

  She whirled, flung open the door, and rushed out into the hall.

  Chapter 13

  Z ach folded his coat around his extra change of clothing, then swept the small pile of his personal belongings off the bedside table and stowed them in one pocket. His supper tray still sat on the table, a silent reminder of all that had passed between him and Kate last night before she fled the room. In all the time he had been here, she had never once left his tray until morning. Her doing so now was testimony to how badly his proposal of marriage had rattled her.

  As he started to roll the sheepskin, his fingertips grazed a rough spot, and he paused to examine two puncture holes. Fang marks. Those horrible moments down inside the well rushed back to him with harsh clarity.

  Thanks to his damned mouth, things were in a dandy fix. If he'd had a lick of sense, he would have eased off Kate last night. But he'd kept pressing. And she'd fought back the only way she could.

  Now what? He had no choice but to leave. But how would he explain to Miranda that he couldn't come back?

  Zach sank onto the edge of the bed and cradled his head in his hands. He could apologize to Kate. Not that it would do much good. Once a man admitted his feelings to a woman, it either drew them together or wedged them apart.

  He sighed and rubbed his temples. Then a strange sound made him look up. Voices. He turned his head to listen.

  A man, and from the sound of it, he was fit to be tied.

  Zach stood and moved slowly into the hall. The voices became clearer. He heard Kate cry, "That's preposterous!"

  Then the man roared, "You're acting like a Jezebel. Everybody in town is talking."

  It sounded as if Kate had her hands full. Zach strode along the hall, acutely aware of how weak he still was.

  Nothing like going to a gunfight armed with a slingshot. When he reached the foyer, he paused. Maybe he'd get lucky and the guy would stand five foot three and weigh no more than a hundred pounds. With that thought to bolster him, he opened the door.

  There was no God in heaven.

  The man who stood at the bottom of the steps was a strapping six feet if he was an inch. Even in a serge double-breasted sack suit, he looked broad across the shoulders, narrow of hip, and powerfully muscled. At six five, Zach was seldom intimidated by another man's size. But then his legs didn't usually feel as limp as wet straw, either.

  The man's fedora hat, made of gray felt to match his jacket and neatly creased trousers, sat crookedly on his head, the dip of the crown angled over his temple instead of his brow. He didn't pause in his ranting when Zach stepped out onto the porch.

  "I told you once, and I'll tell you again, I won't stand by and watch you ruin that child. I can't force you to marry me. But I can get custody of the girl. And that's exactly what I'll do if you won't listen to reason."

  Kate stood resolutely on the top step, looking small, defenseless, and totally unnerved. Not that Zach blamed her.

  As far as he could tell, the man hadn't made any threatening moves toward her, but his blue eyes glittered with rage. Leaning a shoulder against the porch post, Zach folded his arms, not at all certain it was his place to interfere.

  The man's voice rang a bell. He frowned slightly. Then a vague memory came flooding back. A dream? Surely it had been a dream, conjured during his delirium.

  "Who, may I ask, is this?" the fellow demanded to know and gestured toward Zach.

  Kate's voice rang as shrilly as chiming crystal. "This is the neighbor I mentioned the last time you were here. Mr.

  McGovern, the man who was bitten by rattlers while rescuing Miranda from the well." She glanced at Zach. "Mr.

  McGovern, my brother-in-law, Ryan Blakely."

  Zach inclined his head. As if from nowhere, memories popped into his mind. I should beat you. Then other words filtered in. Insane, all of it. Kate's body, weeping with lust? He'd happily await the moment, but he wouldn't hold his breath. If ever he'd met a woman with too much starch in her bloomers, Kate was it.

  Knotting his hands into fists, Blakely moved up a level on the steps. Zach pushed erect. Weak or not, he'd have to take over if the stupid ass got any closer.

  "So the rumors are true? He's still staying here? I can't believe it. Have you no sense of shame?"

  Two bright spots of color flagged Kate's cheeks. "He's been ill, Ryan. Surely you can see that. Why, he can scarcely walk!"

  Oh, joy… Nothing like having his handicaps pointed out to his opponent right before a scuffle. Zach shot Kate a look. She didn't intercept it.

  "Tell him how weak you still are, Zachariah. He thinks— Well, it's obvious what he thinks." She finally met his gaze, hers filled with appeal. "Say something, won't you? Tell him his accusations are groundless."

  Zach shifted his gaze to Blakely's fists. Women. Sometimes, he didn't think they had the brains God gave a gnat.

  "I've been in better shape," he offered.

  "Better shape?" she wailed. "You can barely stand." She lifted her hands. "Ryan thinks we've been—that I've—

  that you and I have—" She broke off and blinked. "The very idea is outlandish."

  Zach met Blakely's gaze. Possessiveness shone in the other man's eyes. They slowly assessed one another.

  Blakely straightened his shoulders and tightened the muscles across his chest. After so many weeks in bed, Zach was none too sure he had any muscle left to flex.

  Kate made an exasperated little sound. "Zachariah? Say something! Tell him nothing indecent has occurred between us, that we haven't even entertained the notion!"

  Maybe Kate had never entertained the thought. Zach had. On more occasions than he cared to count. And he felt fairly certain Blakely knew it. "You heard the lady."

  Clearly frustrated by his lack of support, Kate cried, "That's all you can say in my defense?"

  "A lady doesn't need defending. Her word should be enough." Zach glanced at Kate, then back at Blakely. "And a finer lady I've never met."

  Blakely curled his lip and shook his fist. "You'd better think over what I've said! I won't turn my head and ignore this! I'll take that child away from you, as God is my witness."
/>   Kate flinched. Zach stepped closer. "It might be a good idea if you calmed down a hair, Mr. Blakely."

  Nosy came running out onto the porch, lip snarled, teeth bared. As much as Zach could have used some reinforcements, he didn't want the dog getting hurt, and ordered him to sit. The animal growled, but dropped obediently to his haunches. Zach glanced toward the open doorway, hoping Miranda wasn't hiding nearby and overhearing all this.

  "And you!" Blakely cried, leveling a finger at Zach. "She's got you fooled. A lady? It amazes me how blind all you people can be."

  Seeing as how he had just implied that the entire town was gossiping about Kate, Zach found that observation interesting. Clearly not everyone believed the worst of her.

  "Well, you can't fool me." As Blakely spoke, he thumped his chest. "I know what kind of woman you really are.

  Just like I know what really happened to my brother. People will laugh out the other side of their faces when I find proof! And so help me, I will. If I have to dig up every square inch of this property!"

  Kate's face went bloodless. If it hadn't been for the fact that he could see how upset she was, Zach would have laughed. What was this lunatic accusing her of, anyway?

  He couldn't stand by and let this continue. "What the hell are you saying, mister?"

  "I think that's obvious!" he retorted.

  "Damned right, and I'll tell you something else that's obvious. You're crazier than a coot." Zach gave Kate a measuring glance. "She couldn't kill a man if she tried. Even if she had it in her, which she sure as hell doesn't, she isn't big enough to do it."

  Blakely snorted. "Naturally, you'd defend her. As far as I know, you might have helped her hide his body." To Kate, he said, "Is this the kind of sterling character you allow to be around your child? Language suitable only for a barroom, I swear. And you standing there, allowing it to go on."

  Zach agreed; this had definitely gone on long enough. He moved down a step and placed himself in front of Kate.

  She touched his sleeve, a silent warning to keep his temper, he felt sure. As if he needed one. Getting his ass kicked wasn't exactly high on his list.