Coming Up Roses

by Catherine Anderson

  Numb with incredulity, Kate watched as he followed Miranda from the kitchen, for all the world as though nothing untoward had just occurred between them.

  Later? He'd get back to her later? She didn't know whether to laugh or cry, and then decided she didn't have the strength to do either.

  Chapter 18

  Over the next week, Kate learned another new meaning to an old word, trust. Zachariah proved himself worthy of hers in a dozen small ways, but the most important one was his unfailing patience with Miranda. The child awoke from nightmares seven nights running and came to Kate's room for solace, timing her arrival to coincide almost perfectly with her parents' bedtime. With two farms to tend, the days were so busy their retreat to the bedroom offered their only opportunity for privacy.

  For Kate, the delay in consummating their marriage was a welcome reprieve, but she sensed Zachariah didn't share that sentiment. Incredible as it seemed, he never lost his temper over the interruptions and welcomed Miranda into their bed, his one request being that she remember to knock before entering.

  At first, Kate feared his patience was an act and that he would begin to show his true colors as his frustration mounted. But as the days wore on, her anxieties about that slowly faded. Miranda spilled her milk, and Zachariah mopped it up, never indicating anger by so much as an inflection of his voice. When Miranda spoke out of turn, instead of slapping her mouth as Joseph had, he stopped talking to give her audience. When the child grew rowdy inside the house, he joined in, tickling her, romping with her, adding to the overall din. When Miranda wet the bed—in this instance, Kate's bed—Zachariah seemed to sense how frightened she was of the consequences, and he insisted the roof must have sprung a leak even though it hadn't rained in days. Though it was the middle of the night, he good-naturedly helped Kate change the bed linen, then went in search of a dry gown for Miranda, exclaiming over the child's miserable luck. That darned old roof had leaked on her and missed everyone else!

  Happy tears . Because of Zachariah, Kate found herself blinking away buckets of them. If he noticed, he said nothing. And because he did, another of her fears melted away. Unlike Joseph, Zachariah didn't chastise her for crying for no reason. If anything, he seemed to find that flaw in her endearing.

  Unlike Joseph… Those words ran through Kate's mind at least a dozen times a day. And each time they did, she relaxed a tiny bit more and soon found herself enjoying Zachariah's presence in her world. Evenings became a time of celebration, the three of them coming together to enjoy simple pleasures, reading aloud, telling stories, playing games, conversing.

  Even if he disagreed with her, Zachariah seemed interested in what Kate had to say. For the first time, she was encouraged to express her opinions. What truly amazed her was when her new husband listened to her opposing views, weighed what she said, and sometimes shifted his stand to agree with her.

  The one time Zachariah's patience did seem to grow frayed over Miranda's nightly appearance at their bedroom door, he went down and sat on the porch rather than vent his frustration on the child. After Miranda drifted back to sleep, Kate went in search of him, anxious to defuse the situation if she could. When she joined him on the steps, she didn't know what she was expecting. An outburst, possibly. Perhaps an ugly confrontation. But once again, Zachariah took her totally by surprise.

  "Want a swig?" he asked as she perched beside him.

  Hugging her knees, Kate peered through the darkness to see what he held in his hand. Shadows frustrated her.

  "What is it?"

  "Fine Kentucky bourbon," he replied in a silken voice. "I'm going to get noodle-legged, rip-roaring drunk."

  "Drunk?" Kate's heart tripped on a beat and felt as though it somersaulted. Joseph had railed against the evils of alcohol, claiming it turned civilized men into animals. "Aren't you afraid it might"—she angled a frightened glance at the hemp-wrapped jug—"impair your judgment?"

  Tilting his dark head, he took a hearty slug, gave a satisfied sigh, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

  Kate's gaze fell to the unbuttoned front of his blue shirt and the bare expanse of his chest. With every movement, muscle rippled in the moonlight, testimony to the storehouse of untapped power in his body. Joseph had always come to bed wearing his underwear, so Kate wasn't used to seeing the masculine form.

  "Impaired. Now there's a word. Synonymous with stupid drunk, isn't it?"

  Kate wasn't sure how to take his mood. The smell of the bourbon touched her nostrils, and she was surprised by the sweet mellowness. It seemed to her that something so vile ought to smell awful, but it didn't.

  "Men do irresponsible things while intoxicated," she informed him shakily.

  "I reckon some do." He gave her a slightly crooked grin. "All I do is go to bed. Preferably with someone. Isn't that a hell of a note?"

  The way Kate saw it, he had an oversupply of bed companions. "I'm not sure I follow you."

  "If I thought you would, I'd head for the barn and a nice pile of hay." With a humorless chuckle, he leaned forward and braced his arms on his knees, the jug dangling from the crook of one finger. "Mandy asleep again?"

  "Yes."

  "I've got to work with that child on her timing. I haven't so much as kissed you in over a week. She doesn't give me a chance."

  She smoothed her muslin nightgown around her ankles, glad for the balmy breeze. "I just came down to tell you how sorry I am about that. I've never known her to have nightmares so many nights running."

  He gazed intently at something in the moonlit darkness. "It'll pass. I think she's feeling a little unsettled. It's not every day her ma up and gets married."

  "It's what she wanted—more than anything."

  "Reality is never quite as nice as dreaming." Brushing his knuckles along his scarred cheek, which Kate had long since noticed was a habit of his, he added, "When she was angling for me to be her pa, I don't think she looked ahead to things like us sleeping together and her being excluded. I reckon she's a little jealous. In time she'll realize I'm not much of a threat."

  He said the last with some bitterness. Kate dug her nails in at her knees. "Perhaps I should talk to her, after all.

  I'm afraid if this situation continues that you'll eventually lose your temper with her."

  "God forbid," he said with a wry grin.

  Kate moistened her lips. "It isn't a joking matter."

  "What isn't. Miranda? Or my temper?"

  Kate chose to ignore that. "She's an obedient little girl. If I ask her not to visit our room, she won't. Why allow the situation to fester until your patience snaps?"

  He took another swig of bourbon, swallowed with a shudder, and drew back his lips over clenched white teeth.

  "Honey, my patience already snapped. About thirty minutes ago." He gestured at the jug. "Which is why I'm going to get noodle-legged, rip-roaring drunk. Unlike Joseph, when I get to the end of my rope, I drown myself, not my kid."

  She winced at that and averted her face.

  "That's why you followed me out here, isn't it? Because you're afraid of what'll happen if my temper does blow."

  There was no point in denying the obvious, so Kate nodded.

  He sighed and leaned back to brace his elbows on the step behind them. The jug chinked as it settled against the wood. "Let me explain something," he said huskily. "If I lose my temper, and I stress the if because I pride myself on keeping it most times, I might yell and raise holy hell. If I really lose it, I may even take the house down around your ears. But when the dust settles, you and Miranda will be standing untouched in the rubble. I'll never lift a hand to either one of you in anger. You have my solemn oath on that."

  Kate hunched her shoulders. "I wish I could believe that."

  The words were out before she could stop them. She could feel his gaze on her, and his silence unnerved her.

  When she could bear it no longer, she turned to look at him. The angle of the moonlight fell across his
sharply carved features, gilding the thrust of his nose, shimmering in his eyes. To her surprise, his expression was inexplicably tender.

  Lifting one arm, he rasped the backs of his knuckles along her cheek, his touch so light and slow that it made her throat tighten with an emotion she couldn't name.

  "I wish you could, too, Katie," he whispered. "If I could have my choice of wishes, that'd be it. I'd be one happy man if I could chase all those shadows out of your pretty eyes."

  "Shadows?"

  He cupped her chin and tipped her face. "Yes, shadows. Not nearly enough sunshine."

  His intense regard unsettled her, made her feel vulnerable, made her yearn for an inexplicable something.

  "Shadows and sunshine? How poetic. I think you are getting drunk, Mr. McGovern," she said with forced lightness.

  "And that worries you, doesn't it?" He bounced his jug against the step. "Sinner's swill. Sure to bring out the worst in a man, hm? One of these times, I'd love to argue Scripture with you on that point, but for tonight, rest assured that you can relax. I don't get mean when I drink."

  "Never?"

  "Never have yet." He gave her another slightly off-centered smile. "I promise not to start with you. So why don't you go on back to bed and leave me to my business?"

  "About Miranda—"

  "Let's just leave Miranda to settle in at her own pace," he said. "She's frightened when she wakes up from the dreams. It'd be cruel not to let her come to us. If she keeps on having them, there's always another jug where this one came from."

  "Where did that one come from?"

  He turned a mischievous gaze on her. "The barn. I figured I might be needing a swig and stashed it out there.

  Better than a night of playing five-fingered stud."

  Kate frowned. "Five-fingered stud?"

  His lashes drooped over his twinkling eyes. "It's a game of solitaire. Ever played solitaire, Katie?"

  "Joseph frowned upon card games of any kind."

  His teeth flashed again. "His loss, my gain. I'll have to teach you how to play poker sometime. You can ante out with the pennies in your savings crock."

  "Those wouldn't last me long."

  "Exactly," he came back in a honeyed voice laced with amusement.

  Kate felt very like she had as a child playing keep-away, always too short to compete and mocked for her lack of stature. She lifted her chin and folded her hands atop her bent knees. "I take it you're laughing at some private joke? If you would care to share it, perhaps I'll laugh with you."

  His grin broadened. "I did share it."

  Kate went back over what had been said. "Would you care to explain, then? I'm afraid the humor has escaped me."

  "I've offended you. I didn't mean to."

  "I don't enjoy being laughed at."

  "I'm not laughing at you, Katie girl, I'm smiling. My pa used to say that the thing he loved most about my mother was her innocence. Since I was the fourth of seven boys, I could never figure what he meant. Now I finally do."

  Kate circled that. "You seem to constantly confuse me with a young girl, Zachariah. I'm far from innocent, I assure you."

  "By whose measuring stick? You're not exactly worldly, Katie. Not that I'd change a hair on your head."

  She went back over their conversation again, and if there was a joke hidden in there someplace, it still escaped her. Finally, she gave up on it and said, "Well, I suppose I'll do as you suggested and leave you to your business."

  "I won't come into the house drunk, so you don't need to worry that Mandy'll see me."

  "If you're a drinking man, I reckon she'd best get used to it. You needn't hide your bourbon, Zachariah. You're the man of the house. If you choose to partake of liquor, you can certainly do so in the comfort of your home."

  "Except for rare occasions, I'm not a drinking man. But if I was, I wouldn't do it in the house because it'd upset you." He shrugged a muscular shoulder. "My aim's just the opposite, to make you happy if I can."

  Kate took that promise with her when she returned to bed, and over the next few days she recalled it repeatedly.

  Happiness? Since her marriage to Joseph, she hadn't had much time to contemplate what that meant to her. To see Miranda smile, yes. But beyond that? She wasn't at all certain there was anything else she truly yearned for out of life. Her child's happiness was her happiness, and when she could ensure that, it had always seemed enough.

  Zachariah seemed to sense that. If he had tried to woo Kate, she might have rebuffed him, but she found his wooing of Miranda an irresistible draw. Standing apart, always watchful, Kate saw her daughter blossom into a giggling, lighthearted little girl with stars in her eyes. It was an old saying, but true; the way to a woman's heart was through her child.

  From day to day, Kate didn't know what to expect from her husband. He was either a consummate actor or had an unquenchable thirst for laughter. Though he worked hard and always seemed on the go, he was never too busy to play for a while.

  One morning when Kate entered her kitchen, she found Zachariah and Miranda engaged in a contest to see who could flip a griddle cake the highest and still catch it with the spatula. The plank floor in front of her Estate stove was polka-dotted with their misses, and Nosy lay amid the mess, his appetite appeased for the first time since she had known him. Kate stood unnoticed by the door, her back to the wall, tears nearly blinding her as she listened to Miranda's chortling laughter.

  During dinner one night, Zachariah used his spoon to flip peas at a bowl he had placed in the center of the table.

  Before Kate knew quite how it happened, she had been drawn into the competition, and peas were flying everywhere, the three of them giggling like fools. The perfect ending to that activity was when Zachariah got down on hands and knees to pick up peas, saying she had enough to do without having to clean up his messes.

  Joseph had never once helped her with a household task.

  Another evening, Zachariah had come home toting a new Montgomery Ward catalog. He insisted on cooking dinner while Kate leafed through it and placed an order for clothing for her and Miranda. Why he bothered with the formality of letting her choose, Kate couldn't imagine, because when all was said and done, he erased every one of her choices and reordered to suit himself, selecting colors and styles and quantities that Kate felt certain would make Joseph turn over in his grave. No more browns and grays and blacks, Zachariah vowed. He wanted his wife and daughter dressed in pastels and brilliant colors, and he didn't want them wearing the same outfit twice in a two-week stretch.

  As much as Kate knew she'd enjoy having pretty things, and as entertaining as Zachariah's nonsense could be at mealtime, it was the scores of little things he did that truly touched her. Though she knew he didn't have time to watch after a child, he took Miranda with him over to his place nearly every afternoon. Ching Lee's granddaughter came to visit, and for the first time, Miranda had a playmate her own age.

  Every evening when Miranda and Zachariah returned home, he sent her into the house first so she could greet him at the door and get her magic wish—a pa who would toss her way up high in the air and then tickle her with his chin whiskers when he came home at night. Kate was impressed that Zachariah even cared about Miranda's little-girl dreams. But what truly touched her was his willingness to make them come true.

  In short, Zachariah made himself irresistible. Kate tried to withstand his tactics, she truly did, but the bottom line was that when he hugged her child, he was hugging her. When Miranda smiled, she smiled.

  And when Miranda fell in love, Kate wasn't far behind her.

  Oddly enough, the crushing blow to Kate's defenses came when Zachariah finally did lose his temper, not because of Miranda's untimely interruptions each night, as she had feared, but because the child disobeyed him and nearly got hurt.

  Unbeknownst to Kate, the hayloft flooring had rotted through in one spot. When Zachariah found the weak boards, he forbade Miranda to play up t
here until he got them fixed. The hayloft had long been one of the places where Miranda took refuge when visitors came. One morning when the iceman made his delivery, up the ladder she went to hide. As she crossed the loft, the flooring gave under her weight, and she plunged twelve feet to the ground below. The only thing that saved her from breaking her neck was a pile of straw that Zachariah had been forking next to a stall. Interrupted in the middle of the task by the ice delivery, Zachariah had tossed the pitchfork atop the mound, and when Miranda fell, she was nearly impaled by the tines.

  Kate's first clue that something had happened was when she heard Zachariah roaring with anger. When she ran outside to see what was amiss, the ruckus led her to the barn where she found her husband, Miranda, Nosy, and the iceman, all in a fine dither. Zachariah had her daughter clutched in his arms, looking for all the world as though he couldn't decide whether to hug her or thrash her. After a quick look at his white-lipped countenance, Kate feared the latter inclination would win out.

  "You need a good tanning, girlie!" Mr. Cantrell exclaimed in between Zachariah's ranting. "Disobeying your pappy like that's a good way to get yer neck broke!"

  To Kate's relief, Zachariah didn't follow through on that suggestion. Instead, he started to pace with Miranda caught in his trembling embrace, Nosy shadowing his footsteps. Kate could see that Zachariah had gotten the sand scared right out of him.

  "Durned near landed on the pitchfork," Mr. Cantrell enlightened Kate. Measuring off a scant inch with thumb and forefinger, the thin, balding man shook his head. "Came just that close. The good Lord had her in the palm of his hand."

  Kate's gaze shifted to the pitchfork and boards that were scattered in the hay. Her knees nearly gave out when she realized what had nearly happened.

  "The dad-blamed flooring is rotten in the loft. I've told her not to go up there a dozen times," Zachariah informed her in a shaky voice. "I had Marcus put in an order for lumber two days ago. I was going to fix it next week."

  Kate watched him pace, understanding now why he looked so unnerved. Miranda had her face buried in the hollow of his shoulder, her frightened wails muffled by his shirt. Kate resisted the urge to grab her child out of his arms. Her reasons seemed idiotic when she analyzed them, but Zachariah had taken the decision out of her hands with his utterance of one word, dad-blamed. She knew very well how colorful his language ordinarily was when he got angry. He was shaking with anger now.