Coming Up Roses (15 page)

* * *

Shortly after supper, Zach smelled cookies baking. A few minutes after that, Kate and Miranda came to his room, each bearing a tray, the child's filled with freshly baked sweets, Kate's with three mugs and a pot of hot cocoa.

"It's time for our party!" Miranda informed him in an excited voice. "Are you ready?"

Aside from eating, Zach wasn't too sure what they might do to celebrate. He hoped the child wouldn't be disappointed. He needn't have worried. Kate was nothing if not inventive. She told stories. They sang songs.

Then they capped off the evening by playing charades. In all his life, Zach had never laughed so much or so hard.

When the hour grew late, Kate gathered Miranda onto her lap and ended the festivities with another story, which she told in a low voice that made Miranda start to nod off.

Thinking the child was asleep, Kate let her voice trail off. Miranda immediately jerked awake. "Then what happened?"

"I'm sorry, sweetness. Your eyes were closed, and I thought you were snoozing."

Miranda snuggled back down. "My eyes goes to sleep before my ears does."

Kate resumed the story. Zach thought she looked ready to nod off herself. She'd been going full tilt since before dawn, doing work that would exhaust a man. Most mothers would have accepted the plaque, said thank you, and gone to bed.

But not Kate. Her child was clearly the most important thing in her life, and no sacrifice was too great if it would make Miranda happy. Such love, so very much love.

The lamp on the bedside table threw out a warm glow that created a nimbus of gold around her and the child.

Watching Kate's face and the emotions that played upon it, Zach found himself wishing she'd look at him that way. Just once.

Though he knew he had overstayed his welcome, he didn't want to leave. The thought made him feel desolate.

Yet the day was bound to come soon, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

From beyond the open window, the sounds of the summer night drifted to him, a dreamy backdrop for the gentle cadence of Kate's voice. The harmony of crickets and frogs floated on a soft breeze that rustled through the trees and over the tall grasses. So peaceful, just the three of them like this. It felt so right, so absolutely right. If time had substance, Zach would have grabbed this particular handful and stuffed it under his pillow. But, alas, the ticking of the clock didn't falter, and the precious moments swept by, forever lost to him.

After she finished the story, Kate smoothed Miranda's hair and whispered, "I'd best get her tucked in." She lifted luminous eyes to his. "I'll come back down to clear up the mess."

He couldn't help but note the shadows that lined her cheekbones. "Leave it till morning. You look plumb tuckered out."

"It's a very wonderful kind of tired," she said with a smile. "All women should be so blessed."

Blessed? She slaved every waking moment of every day, yet still had trouble making ends meet. Because she refused to take money, Zach had commissioned Marcus to bring over food—flour, sugar, potatoes, smoked and dried meat, anything that would keep and in far greater quantities than Zach could ever consume. But that wasn't enough. She needed a man to look after her. Most farm widows set out lickety-split to find a new husband, a period of mourning be hanged. Survival, that was what it boiled down to. Surely she realized that. Yet never once had she indicated that her thoughts were running along that line.

If they had been, he was the perfect candidate, scars or no. He loved her child. His property bordered hers. He was well-set financially, and nobody could say he didn't have the muscle for hard work. He could give her everything a woman could want.

At the thought, his throat tightened. He wanted to give her so much. Did she realize that? Was that why she seemed so unsettled every time their gazes locked, because she sensed what he was thinking?

She pushed to her feet, cradling Miranda in her arms as though she held a precious treasure. "If I leave the cleanup till morning, it'll throw me off stride the whole day. As tempting as it is, I reckon I'd better do it tonight."

"I wish I could help."

"Nonsense. It won't take me more than a few minutes." She turned toward the door. "I'll be right back."

While she was gone, Zach got out of bed and started cleaning up. Each step was an effort, and before long, his hands started to quiver. Even so, he managed to gather the cups and put the plate of cookies back on the tray.

Afterward, he lay on the bed in a pool of sweat, resenting his weakness, yet acutely aware that it was his only excuse for remaining here.

Excuses. He had been making excuses for days, trying to put off the inevitable. Deep down, he knew his time here already should have come to an end. With the help of Marcus and Ching Lee, he could manage to get along over at his place now.

He closed his eyes, hating to make the decision yet knowing he had to. This woman and child didn't belong to him. They never would. It was time to pick up the pieces of his heart and get the hell out of here.

"You shouldn't have, Zachariah! I could have picked up."

At the sound of her voice, he opened his eyes and raised his head. "It's my contribution to your birthday celebration."

She moved toward the bed, her eyes aglow. "You contributed plenty by making that beautiful plaque. Thank you for devoting so much time to it. You made the day for Miranda."

"It wasn't much of a present." He managed a grin, even though smiling was the last thing he felt like doing. "If you had dropped a couple of hints a few days back, I could have helped her make something nicer."

"Yes, well. I didn't have any more warning than you. It isn't actually my birthday, you see."

Zach narrowed one eye. "Say what?"

She lifted her hands and gave a little laugh. "It isn't my birthday. I can't imagine where she got the idea—" She broke off and chuckled again. "Well, actually, I can. I thought about it all evening, and I finally concluded that she misunderstood something I said this morning."

"And what was that?"

A blush touched her cheeks. "Something silly." Her gaze moved to the window. "The dawn was so lovely this morning. When I came in from gathering wood, I felt uplifted, and I said something about feeling reborn. I remember her asking if that meant it was my birthday, and I said yes, in a sense, it was."

He understood exactly what she meant about the dawn and the sense of newness. Baptism in the first rays of morning light, a feeling that nothing before that moment mattered. Ah, yes, he understood. He had felt just that way a thousand times.

It was his turn to chuckle. "And she took it from there? Why on earth didn't you just tell her? As tired as I know you are, why the party and all?"

"I couldn't disappoint her like that, not after she'd worked all day to make me a gift. She's so small that she won't realize a whole year hasn't passed by the time the actual date rolls around."

"You're a marvel, Katie. Just take care that you don't push yourself that extra step once too often. You're only one person, and working too hard can wear anyone down."

She bent over the bed to grasp one of the trays. "As I said, it's a very nice kind of tired."

As she stacked one tray atop the other, the sweetness of her scent filled his senses, and he felt the misty warmth of her breath on his jaw. He felt like a fist had just been buried in his guts. He closed his eyes on an urge to touch her.

"Are you all right?"

Hell, no, he wasn't all right. He wasn't sure if he'd ever be all right again. "I'm fine. It's just been a long day."

He lifted his eyelashes, praying she'd move away. Instead, she touched a hand to his forehead. Annoyed, he grabbed her wrist. The contact was nearly his undoing. Only the wariness he saw in her eyes forestalled him from pulling her toward him.

Just once, he wanted to taste those tremulous lips of hers to see if they were as warm and moist and sweet as they looked. Just once, he wanted to see how her body felt pressed the full length of his. Just once, dammit.

He released his hold on her. And his heart broke a little at the nervous way she grabbed up the trays and hastened away from him. When she reached the doorway, she glanced back.

She knew. He could see it in her eyes. She knew, and the realization terrified her.

* * *

The first thing Zach noticed when he came in from out of doors was that the house smelled like Kate, with faint traces of vanilla, yeast, cinnamon, and roses. Not exactly what he'd call sensuous. Hell, no. Give him a velvety neck dabbed with lilac, and he was a happy man.

That was his problem. It had been a spell since he'd been with a woman. A long spell. As soon as he got his legs under him, he'd ride into town, buy himself a jug of sinner's swill, Kentucky bourbon if he got his preference, and take care of that little matter. Someone with big blue eyes, and big everything else. Someone who smelled like a woman instead of—he sniffed and scowled—a damned cinnamon roll in a rose garden.

With that thought to cheer him, Zach opened the sickroom door. As his gaze settled on the bed, he froze midstride. Miranda sat there holding his open pocketknife. The blade glinted wickedly in the sunshine that shot through the window.

Without thinking of the consequences, he closed the door with more force than he should have and cried,

"Mandy!"

She jumped. His heart took a leap with her. Even after the punishment he'd given the knife yesterday, it was still sharp enough to shave whiskers. He hurried across the room, grabbed the child's wrist, and prized the weapon from her tiny fingers.

Still reeling from the fright she had given him, he cried, "What possessed you to touch my things without asking?"

Miranda stared up him, her pupils dilated so that her eyes looked nearly black.

"Don't ever get into my stuff again without asking me first! Do I make myself absolutely clear, young lady?"

She gave a jerky nod. Her gaze moved to the knife, and the color washed from her face. Zach immediately saw that he had frightened her. Tossing the knife onto his pillow, he bent and gathered her into his arms.

He ran a hand over her hair, trying in the only way he knew to soothe her. She held herself rigid and shrank from his touch. With a moan of regret, he rested his cheek atop her head. "I didn't mean to scare you, honey. But you can't touch my things when I'm not here. Don't you know what can happen to little girls who play with knives?"

At the question, she started to tremble. The next instant, Zach felt something warm and wet seep across the waist of his shirt and jeans. For a moment, he couldn't think what had happened. Then realization jolted through him.

As if she suddenly realized what she had done, Miranda jerked back. He looked down at her small face. If possible, she had turned even paler. Her mouth began to work, but no sound came out. Watching her, seeing her terror, Zach knew his unthinkable suspicion the other day had been correct.
Sarah, hiding in the cupboard.
Oh, Jesus.

Feeling sick, he hugged her close and sat on the chair. Instinct guided him, and he began to rock her, slowly, gently, using his hands to ease the rigidity from her tiny body. "Mandy. Oh, Mandy, honey." His voice didn't sound like his own. "I'm not mad. Really I'm not. When I saw you with the knife, it just scared me. That's all. I yelled without meaning to."

She worked a hand between them and touched her sopping pinafore. A pitiful little whimper came up her throat.

Sensing her concern, he whispered, "You can wet on me any old time the mood strikes. We're best friends, remember? I know it was an accident. And even if it wasn't, I don't care. Really I don't. Marcus brought me other clothes. I can change."

He felt some of the tension ease from her. Pressing his face into her hair, he closed his eyes on a wave of helpless rage. Heaven help him, he could kill whoever was responsible for this. Joseph Blakely…

The name etched itself across his mind in blazing red. If only the bastard weren't already dead. What in God's name had he done to this child?

The time to get an answer to that question would come later. For now, Zach's only concern had to be for Miranda. He continued to rock her. No words came to him. What was there to say? That he was sorry? That his heart bled for her? Jesus, how pitifully inadequate words were. The only message she might comprehend would come from the way he held her. And from the silence. In that, there was a measure of peace.

He threaded his fingers through her silken curls, painfully aware of how small her head felt beneath his palm. As God was his witness, no one would ever hurt her again. Not as long as he had breath left in his body.

The seconds slipped by and mounted into minutes, and still Zach rocked her. Time became meaningless. There was just the child. He wondered what she was thinking. Or did fear such as this wipe the mind clean? Mindless terror. That was what he had seen in her eyes.

It seemed to Zach that an eternity passed before Miranda finally stopped shaking. When she reached an arm around his neck, tears stung his eyes. Trust always came dearly, but from a child like Miranda, it was priceless.

He tightened his arms around her.

"I'm sorry I yelled at you. I'll try never to do it again," he whispered raggedly.

She shinnied up his chest to hug his neck with both arms. "I won't be bad no more."

"Oh, Mandy, you weren't bad. Just curious. Someday, when you're old enough, I'll give you that knife and teach you how to use it. Just don't touch it until then. Okay? I don't want you to get cut."

"I was just lookin'."

He cupped the back of her head and pressed her little face against his shoulder. "You can look at it all you like when I'm with you. But never when I'm not. Is it a deal?"

She nodded and clung more tightly to his neck. "I love you, Mr. Zach."

The tears that had stung his eyes earlier spilled over onto his cheeks. He sniffed and glanced down. "I'd say you and I are wet through to the skin. You should probably go change your drawers."

She remained cuddled against him a while longer, then finally nodded, gave his neck a last hug, and climbed down from his lap.