Coming Up Roses (16 page)

* * *

Zach found Kate in the kitchen pantry. She was reaching for a jar of green beans from the shelf, and when his shadow fell across her, she started. It seemed to be his day for frightening females. So be it. This confrontation was bound to get worse before it got better.

"Somebody has been mistreating your daughter," he blurted. "I want to know who. If the bastard's not already dead, he'll wish he was by the time I get done with him."

Kate gasped and stepped back against the wall. The blood drained from her face, leaving her skin a translucent white.

Zach took her hand, led her from the pantry, jerked a chair out from the table, and pressed her down onto it.

"I want answers, Kate. Who abused your daughter?"

Strength quickly flagging, Zach pulled out a chair for himself, and not a second too soon. As if possessed of a will of their own, his legs folded. A clammy sweat sprang up all over his body. He needed to rest. Desperately.

White lipped and big eyed, Kate stared at him, making no attempt to give him the answers he was determined to get.

"I asked you a question. Neither of us is leaving this room until you answer me."

She curled her fingers over her knees. Zach could almost see her thoughts racing, and he had the sick suspicion that she was trying to think of a lie to pacify him.

"It was Joseph, wasn't it?"

She flinched as if he had slapped her. "No," she whispered. "What gave you that idea?"

She looked as frightened as Miranda had a few minutes ago. Recalling the little girl's story about Sarah's ma and the blue spots, he couldn't help wondering if Kate was afraid he would strike her. Later, he might ask her about that, but for now, his main concern had to be for the child and her immediate safety. Someone had abused her. If not Joseph, then who?

As if she read his thoughts, Kate hugged her waist and cried, "I promise you, it'll never happen again. There's no need for you to meddle."

"Meddle?"

"Yes, meddle. She's my daughter and therefore my concern, not yours."

He jackknifed forward and caught hold of her chin. "I'm making her my concern. Understand that. If you think I'll turn my back on this, not knowing for certain that she's safe, you've got another think."

The rasp of his own voice filled Zach's ears. He sounded like a man within inches of turning violent. Calling upon all his self-control, he released her and settled back in the chair. Struggling to speak in a calmer tone, he said, "Someone mistreated that little girl. You can't blame me for wanting to know who." He held her gaze, relentless in his pursuit of answers. "It must have been Joseph. Who else?"

She swayed slightly, looking as if she might faint. "No, it wasn't Joseph. I—I'm the one to blame. And I swear, it'll never happen again."

With that she lurched up from the chair and darted past him. He shot out a hand and captured her wrist, spinning her back around to face him. If ever he had doubted how slightly built she was, he didn't now. He nearly jerked her off her feet and had to check her fall. She staggered toward him until their faces were scant inches apart.

"Don't say something like that and then run out."

She tried to wrench away from him. Afraid that the grip of his fingers might bruise her wrist, he relented and let her go.

"I said I was the one to blame," she cried. "Just leave it at that and trust me not to let it happen again."

Her words still ringing, she left the room, slamming the door behind her. It was Zach's second shock of the day.

Kate had been abusive to her daughter?

Kate?

He didn't believe it. She didn't have it in her to harm anyone. She hadn't even been able to clobber Nosy with her broom, for God's sake. Yet she expected him to believe she had hurt her own child?

He went back over their conversation, recalling how pale she had become when he mentioned Joseph's name. If he didn't know better, he'd think she was terrified of a dead man.

* * *

The next afternoon, after taking a short walk to the barn, Zach happened into the kitchen for a drink of water and caught Miranda sneaking a dipper of cream from the pail of milk Kate had left sitting on a tripod in the corner.

"Ah-ha! I caught you red-handed," he said teasingly.

The child gave a violent start, dropped the dipper, and fell back against the wall. As she moved, her elbow bumped the pail. It rocked precariously, gravity gained the upper hand, and before Zach could move, milk went everywhere.

One look into Miranda's eyes told him how terrified she was. An awful paralysis gripped him as well. For a moment, he was afraid even to breathe for fear of frightening her more.

"Uh-oh," he said softly. "Now we've got a mess to clean up. If your ma sees this she might scalp us both."

As he stepped ever so slowly toward her, Zach saw that she was quivering.
Easy does it. No sudden moves. Act
like it's nothing.
He set the bucket upright, drew two towels from the rack over the sink, and hunkered to mop up the spill.

"This brings back memories. When I was a boy, I dipped in the cream every time my ma turned her back." He wrung the towel over the empty bucket and flashed her a smile. "I could never figure out how she always knew what I'd been up to."

Some of the fear ebbed from her eyes.

"Can you guess how she always knew?" he asked.

Clearly too frightened to think, she glanced at the milk.

"Because I had a mustache," he admitted with a low chuckle. "Clear up to my nose. I was about ten before I finally caught on, and then I started wiping my lip with my sleeve."

A bit of color returned to the child's cheeks. Her gaze moved to his mouth, and her own pursed as if to speak. At first no sound came forth. Zach's heart broke as he watched her.

At last, she said, "Wh-What h-happened then? D-Did you st-still get caught?"

"My ma was one smart lady. She took to grabbing my wrists and jerking my arms up to check my cuffs. If she found smears of cream, she tweaked my ears."

She moved away from the wall. "Does tweaks hurt?"

Oh, Mandy… Zach had to speak around a lump in his throat. "My ma didn't tweak hard. Mostly it was a game between us, me sneaking and her trying to catch me at it." He handed her a towel. "Want to help?"

Though she was still quivering, she timidly accepted the cloth. After watching him for a moment, she finally gathered her courage and squatted to blot up some milk. Working in tense silence, they finished cleaning up the mess. When all was set right again, Zach was so exhausted he made a beeline for a chair.

When he was settled, Miranda asked, "Do you still like cream?"

He winked at her. "Sneak a sip every chance I get. But now I'm careful not to get it on my face. There's a trick to it." He braced his elbows on his knees, feeling as shaky as she looked. "You have to stick your chin out and kind of lean your head back. And don't tip the dipper too much."

A faint smile curved her precious little mouth. "I gots a long tongue. I can lick clear up to my nose."

Zach assumed an incredulous expression. "Ah, go on. Nobody's tongue is that long."

Her expression still grave, she nodded, stuck out her tongue, and touched the tip to her nose.

"I'll be." He studied her intently. "I've never seen the like. Do it again."

She obliged him, face contorted, eyes crossed to look at her nose. Zach couldn't help but laugh, and she rewarded him with another timid smile. Ghosts still lurked between them, though.

"My ma says I gots a tongue that'd put lizards to shame."

"I should say so." He straightened and braced an arm on the table. His elbow bumped a plate of chocolate cookies, leftovers from Kate's birthday party, he guessed. Inspiration struck. "You know what sounds good to me right now? Milk and cookies. But I guess I'm out of luck. We spilled all the milk."

"Ma's got other milk, but she says I shouldn't eat cookies right afore supper 'cause it ruins my—" She wrinkled her nose. "My hungry part. What's it called?"

"Your appetite," he supplied, and glanced over his shoulder. "Does your ma keep a running count on the cookies?"

Looking bewildered, she shook her head.

Zach winked. "Then as long as we eat a good supper, she'll never know if we have some, will she?"

Her eyes widened. "You mean you wanna sneak?"

"I won't tell on you if you won't tell on me."

A mischievous twinkle crept into her eyes. She dashed to the icebox and opened the lower left door. Straining under the weight, she removed a half-gallon pitcher from the shelf. Weary though he was, Zach rose to help before they ended up with more milk on the floor. He located the shelf where Kate kept her glasses, filled two, returned the pitcher to the icebox, and then joined Miranda at the table. After reseating himself, he snagged four cookies from the plate, giving the child two, keeping the others for himself.

"You know how to dunk?" he asked, then promptly showed her how. "Cookies never taste so good as when they're dunked in cool milk."

She wiggled around to get on her knees so she'd be tall enough to dunk her own. Zach smiled to himself when she cupped her hand under her chin to catch the drips as she took a bite. There was definitely a world of difference between little girls and little boys.

"Mmmmmm," she murmured appreciatively.

They settled down to some serious eating, grinning at each other like partners in crime. After finishing her cookies, Miranda drank nearly all her milk and then contemplated the remaining inch of liquid in her glass. A distant expression came into her eyes. "Did you know you can get drownded in milk?"

"Drownded? Drowned, you mean?" He thought it a rather odd observation but pretended to give it due consideration. "I reckon a person could. It'd take a powerful lot of milk to do the job, though."

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, believable 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.