Coming Up Roses

by Catherine Anderson

  She lowered her lashes, clearly uneasy. Zach bit the inside of his lip, then plunged ahead, convinced that even a bungled attempt at easing her mind was bound to be better than letting her continue to believe the bullshit Joseph had told her.

  "Katie, a man can get aroused just by watching a woman walk into a room," he whispered.

  At that proclamation, her eyes widened with horror. "Are you saying you don't want me to walk in front of you?"

  The suggestion was so preposterous that if any other woman had made it, Zach would have felt certain she was joking. Not so with Kate. She clearly wished to avoid enticing him, no matter what lengths she had to go to. It was also equally obvious that she hadn't the faintest notion what aroused the opposite sex.

  "Of course I'm not saying I don't want you to walk in front of me," he replied patiently. "I'm just trying to make you understand—" He broke off, his heart catching at the way she hung on his every word. "Katie, sweetheart, what I'm trying to say is that a woman is seldom responsible when a man becomes aroused. It just happens."

  "She isn't?"

  "Take walking, for instance. It might be the way her skirts cling to her hips. Or the way she moves. She can be totally unaware of him, not even trying to entice him, and he can start to want her."

  By the bewilderment he read in her expression, Zach knew she needed to hear this even if it embarrassed her, which it surely would.

  "Just by smiling at Mandy, you've made me ache with wanting you." he informed her in as matter-of-fact a tone as he could manage.

  "I never intended—"

  He rested a finger across her lips. "I'm not laying blame, Katie girl. You're not responsible for the thoughts that go through my head." Her obvious distrust brought a smile to his mouth. "You have fifteen buttons on the bodice of your black dress, fourteen on the brown, and I've imagined unbuttoning each one a thousand times."

  She looked completely scandalized at the thought. "You counted all of them?"

  "I did." His grin broadened. "The night we quarreled in the sickroom? When you were ordering me out of the house? Correct me if I'm wrong, but I don't think enticing me was foremost in your mind. But I wanted you even then."

  She drew back slightly to escape the pressure of his finger on her mouth. "You did? When I was so angry?"

  "You're beautiful when you're angry," he replied huskily. "And beautiful when you're not. A man who'd blame you for his own lusty urges ought to be horsewhipped.

  "Sometimes when you move a certain way and the bodice of your dress pulls tight, I want you so badly that I ache. Or you bend over and—"

  The color that flooded to her face was visible even in the moonlight, and upon seeing it, Zach cut himself off. He smoothed her hair from her tear-streaked cheek.

  "You can't change the way God made you," he whispered. "The differences between us, my need to touch you …

  that's natural and right. When we make love, it should be glorious for you, not frightening."

  She cupped a shaky hand over her eyes. "Joseph said I was sinful and wicked for making him want me. The most awful part was that I was never certain what he thought I'd done." After moistening her lips, she continued. "He came to me only when—when he was long overdue in performing his husbandly duty—just to beget offspring, like Scripture tells us. When the urge came over him to do more than that, he grew furious."

  "His husbandly duty? At the dresser, you mean? Always quick and polite, never so much as touching you?"

  She gave a nod.

  "And what of those times when he wanted to do more? Did he?"

  Her response this time was a negative shake of her head. Then, in a ragged whisper, she added, "He believed anything more was a sin and that I must have deliberately seduced him if those wicked urges came over him."

  Very gently, he drew her hand down. "Sweetheart, what did he do? Those times when be got angry, what did he do?"

  Where seconds before her face had been flushed with embarrassment, it now went deathly pale. She slid her gaze from his. Her throat worked with the effort it took for her to speak. "Some things—" She took a shaky breath.

  "Some things are so awful they can't be put into words. Please don't ask me to try. Please don't."

  Pictures flashed inside his head. Pictures of Kate at the dresser, as she had been earlier, the man behind her not him, but Joseph. The possibilities made his guts clench. Aching for her, he bent his head to kiss the tears that had spilled over onto her cheeks. As she said, some things were so vile, so appalling, a person couldn't describe them, and he would be a callous bastard if he forced her to try. The haunted look he had seen in her eyes conveyed enough. He only hoped he could be as eloquent, in the way he touched her, in the way he held her—that with unfailing gentleness and patience he could heal the wounds Joseph had inflicted.

  "Katie, sweetheart, I—"

  Before Zach could finish the sentence, he heard the doorknob click. All memory of what he intended to say fled his mind. He jerked Kate's nightgown down and twisted to look over his shoulder. Hinges squeaked, the door swung open, and there stood Miranda, a tiny white wraith in the darkness.

  Chapter 17

  W hen Kate saw Miranda and Nosy standing in the doorway, her body became electrified with a new kind of fear. One of Joseph's rules had been that Miranda should never open their bedroom door without asking his permission. The few times the child had forgotten, Joseph had become enraged and punished her—most times severely.

  When Zach spotted the pair, he swore under his breath, which convinced Kate he was furious. When he shifted to leave the bed, she reacted instinctively, crying out and grabbing his arm.

  "No! She didn't mean—" Kate scrambled to her knees, yanking at the folds of her nightgown so she could move.

  "Don't hurt her! Please! I'll make sure she doesn't do it again!"

  Miranda fell back against the wall and started to wail. Nosy began to bark. Kate scurried to place herself between her angry husband and her child. Zachariah scotched that plan, seizing her by the shoulders.

  "You stay put," he ordered in a gravelly voice. "I'll handle this."

  "No, please…" Kate grabbed his arm with both hands. "Please, Zachariah. She didn't mean it."

  He jerked free of her grasp and hissed, "Stop it, Kate. You're scaring her to death."

  With that, he shoved up from the bed. To Kate, he seemed a giant, a broad-shouldered, muscular giant. And her precious baby looked so small, so terribly small. She sobbed and leaped to her feet. Zachariah wheeled, clamped his hands at her waist, and lifted her back onto the mattress as if she weighed no more than the child. Helpless against such strength, Kate hugged herself and sobbed, daunted by the realization that not even Joseph in one of his rages had been able to overpower her so easily.

  "I said I'll handle this," he repeated. "You stay put and keep quiet." He snapped his fingers at the barking dog.

  "You, too, you no-account mutt."

  His tone brooked no argument. As he traversed the floor toward Miranda, Kate pressed her hands over her mouth to stop herself from crying out, prepared to intervene if she had to, terrified of what he'd do if that became necessary. With strength such as his, one blow from one of his massive fists would probably shatter her jaw.

  Regardless, if he became violent, she'd have to face him. Better her than her daughter.

  Miranda shrank against the wall, her wail turning to a shriek when Zachariah reached for her.

  "Hey," he said silkily, as he lifted the child into his arms. "What is this? We're best friends, remember?"

  Miranda gulped and tried to arch away from him but her strength was no match. Nosy whined anxiously and nudged his master's pant leg. Kate gaped in amazement as Zachariah began to pace the room slowly, whispering soothingly and stroking the child's hair. Miranda's terrified shrieks gave way to ragged sobs, and those soon diminished to exhausted catches of breath. At last, the child hugged his neck with her tiny arms.
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br />   "There, that's better," Zachariah murmured. "Old Nosy was about to chew my leg off, afraid I was hurting you.

  Since he knows I wouldn't, he's in a fine state of befuddlement."

  Miranda sneaked a peek at the dog, gulping down a sob. "I'm okay, Nose," she managed.

  Zachariah drew up at the window and stood there gazing out into the moonlit yard, his arms gently jostling the child to lull her. Kate continued to gape, not quite certain she believed the evidence of her own eyes.

  "What happened, Mandy?" he finally asked in a low voice. "Did you wake up and want your ma?"

  "I gets bad dreams," she squeaked.

  "Uh-oh. Those can be scary," he sympathized.

  "I waked up and it was all dark."

  "That's even scarier," he agreed. "I've done the same thing, and it feels like the bad dream is real, doesn't it?"

  She sniffled and snuggled closer. "Yep. But it goes away if my ma hugs me."

  Zach glanced over his shoulder at Kate. "Well, let's go get you a hug, then, hm?"

  With Nosy as an escort, he turned and walked slowly toward the bed. When he leaned forward, Kate reached for her daughter with trembling arms. Miranda clutched Kate's neck, digging in with pointed elbows and knees as she searched for a comfortable position. Kate held her close and hid her face in the child's hair. She felt the mattress sink under Zachariah's and Nosy's weight. The canine's cold, wet nose nudged her cheek.

  "You mustn't open our bedroom door without knocking," she whispered. "Do you understand, Miranda? Not ever."

  A heavy, warm hand settled on Kate's shoulder. "We'll talk about that tomorrow, Katie."

  She glanced up. Belying the gentleness in his voice, his eyes glittered with unmistakable anger in the moonlight.

  Dread constricted Kate's throat. He was furious with her. And in her experience a furious man was a dangerous one.

  Anxious to get her child out of harm's way, just in case Zachariah's temper blew, she tightened her arms around Miranda and whispered, "Let's get you and Nosy back to your bed, little miss."

  "She's still upset," he ground out. "Let her stay in here for a while."

  Kate hesitated, her thoughts invaded by memories. "Y-You don't mind?"

  He shot her a look that spoke volumes and threw back the quilts. "In you go," he ordered, his words clipped and harsh. "Both of you. Morning will come early. Let's try to get some sleep."

  Miranda didn't need to be told twice. She scrambled from Kate's lap and dove for a spot in the center of the bed.

  Zachariah fell back onto a pillow beside her, his dark chest and shoulders covering a wide margin, his eyes still aglitter in his shadowed countenance. Kate stared at the pair of them, her limbs frozen. Nosy licked her hand, as if to comfort her.

  "Kate?"

  The irritation in his tone spurred her into moving. On shaky knees, she crawled forward, flipped the quilt and sheet out of her way, and lay down, her back wedged against the wall. Miranda sighed and burrowed down in the softness between them. Nosy found a vacant spot at Miranda's feet and flopped down, for all the world as if he was welcome there. Uncertain how her husband might react to that, Kate swallowed, her mouth dry and cottony.

  She heard Zachariah sigh, the sound filled with annoyance.

  Fearful that he still might vent his rage, she managed to croak. "I—I'm sorry."

  "We'll talk about it tomorrow," he warned.

  A knot of dread formed in the hollow of her belly. She squeezed her eyes closed, trying not to think about it, but unable to ignore his anger, which seemed to electrify the air.

  Minutes passed, the seconds dragging as slowly as footsteps mired in wet clay. To Kate, the silence was a terrible thing, so thick it nearly suffocated her.

  For Zach, the silence was accusing.

  He lay there, his gaze fixed on Joseph Blakely's ceiling. Beside him lay the man's child and his wife. Signed documents couldn't change that. The bastard owned them, heart and soul. Even from the grave, he still had the power to hurt them.

  Zach's arm still stung where Kate's nails had raked his skin. The terror he'd heard in her voice clawed at his conscience now. How could he have reacted as he had? At the moment, it had seemed imperative that he be the one to collect the child, if for no other reason than to prove he wasn't the monster her mother clearly believed him to be.

  But what of Kate? What of her fear? And what of her feelings? Their wedding this afternoon had forever altered their relationship, putting her into a position of subservience, he into one of ultimate authority. That was the way it went in their society. She was carrying a load of unpleasant memories into this marriage, and he couldn't expect her to trust him immediately simply because he smiled a lot. To her, having a husband was synonymous with hell on earth, and it was going to take a spell before he could show her that it could be different.

  He wasn't going to manage that by snarling at her when she grew frightened. Even now, he could still feel the tension in her. There wasn't much he could do about that, not with the child lying between them. He smiled slightly, recalling the time Miranda had told her mother that her ears stayed awake longer than her eyes.

  Whatever he had to say to Kate was going to have to wait until morning.

  Rolling onto his side, Zach curled one arm around Miranda and stretched his other across the pillows to rest his hand on Kate's hair. He felt the jolt of fear that ran through her at his unexpected touch. Threading his fingertips to her scalp, he began a light massage, trying in the only way he knew to let her know he was no longer angry.

  As if he had a right to be…

  "It's going to be all right," he whispered. "We just need time, Kate."

  She stirred slightly but didn't answer. He hated to leave her fretting for the entire night, but the child's presence between them limited what he could say. A fine line, that was what he walked, and it wasn't going to be easy.

  Both mother and daughter were going to need constant reassurance for a spell. The problem was that he couldn't reassure Kate that he would never harm her child without putting it into Miranda's head that he might.

  For now, Kate's anxieties had to play second fiddle. As much as he hated that, he also knew Kate would want it that way.

  Everything for Miranda, nothing for herself. That's the way it had been for a number of years, he guessed.

  Another few hours wouldn't kill her.

  * * *

  The next morning, Kate spent more effort on breakfast than she usually did. Ham, eggs, fried spuds, biscuits, and milk-gravy, a meal fit for a king. Sometimes, though not often, a particularly tasty meal had appeased Joseph when he was in a foul mood.

  When Zachariah came in from doing the milking, Kate stiffened. After stomping his boots clean on the stoop, he stepped inside, the milk pail swinging wide of one lean leg as he turned to shut the door. Dark windswept hair, red cotton, faded denim, leather. Everything about him screamed man as he passed behind her to set the bucket on the tripod.

  He seemed surprised by the spread she had put on the table. Rubbing his thigh, he lowered himself onto a chair and smiled. "If this isn't the finest breakfast I've ever clapped eyes on, I'll be hornswoggled."

  Kate rubbed her hands dry on her apron. "A man needs his nourishment before he starts his day."

  "So does a woman, and it looks to me like you've already put in a fair amount of work. Come sit down."

  Miranda climbed up onto a chair. Nosy positioned himself beside her to catch any morsels she might drop.

  Zachariah gave the dog an amused glance. "Such loyalty. I raised him from a pup, and what's he turn toward me now? His south end."

  Kate perched on a chair, not at all certain she could eat but determined to make a good show of it. Normality, that was her aim. She tried not to look at her husband, but his was a presence that was difficult to ignore.

  Damp curls the rich brown of chocolate fell across his high forehead, and he was freshly shaved. He wore
his red shirt unbuttoned at the throat to reveal a patch of bronzed chest and curly dark hair, the sleeves rolled back over his powerfully muscled forearms. When he took knife and fork in hand to slice his ham, it seemed to her he was all shoulders. With his gaze cast downward at his plate, the fan of his mahogany eyelashes shadowed the masculine planes of his cheekbones. Early morning sunshine coming through the window highlighted the bold bridge of his nose and glanced off the stubborn thrust of his squared jaw.

  Uncomfortable with the silence, she observed, "Your leg's paining you this morning."

  He lifted his gaze to hers. Shot through with sunlight, his hazel eyes gleamed as golden as a predatory cat's. "It'll take a spell to heal completely. Deep wounds often do."

  The words seemed to carry a double meaning. Uncertain exactly what he meant, she searched his eyes and couldn't mistake the lambent gleam of desire in those golden depths. Because she knew he must still be angry about her outburst last night, the yearning she read in his expression unsettled her even more than it might have otherwise. How could a man want a woman when he was furious with her? Because Joseph had resented his need of her, he had taken her in anger more times than not. But that didn't mean she'd ever come to accept it.

  She bent her head, visions of what had transpired between her and Zachariah last night making her cheeks hot.

  Did he always remove his shirt? she wondered. The idea seemed scandalous to her. And on the bed? Joseph had never taken her there, and Kate couldn't figure how it must be done—unless, of course, she availed herself on hands and knees. That seemed so animalistic. It would be doubly so if he was in a foul mood when he came to her.

  She filled her mouth with potato. The more she chewed, the bigger the mouthful seemed to grow. Through the veil of her lashes, she watched Zachariah eat and wondered if he'd go after her with the same enthusiasm. He wasn't a very refined man. It was the height of his ambition to grow grapes and produce sinner's swill. He hadn't even paused to say a blessing before beginning the meal. He swore so frequently that she scarcely even noticed it anymore. She supposed she shouldn't be surprised if it turned out that he went at coupling like a barnyard beast.