Coming Up Roses (4 page)

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Zach walked down the mud-slicked slope between two rows of newly erected vine trellises. In his mind's eye, he saw not the tender little vines on this small patch of hillside, but mature vines, what grape growers called old wood. In his imagination, he envisioned acres of them.

Someday, he promised himself. Come next February, he would harvest these vines, grade them, and put them into cool sawdust storage until grafting time next spring when the vine propagation would begin all over again. It might take a number of years and backbreaking work, but one day he'd have plenty of fruit-bearing old wood and a vineyard to rival those he had seen in France during his honeymoon with Serena.

This climate would grow grapes. Even left neglected in people's yards, vines thrived here. By God, if they could survive and bear fruit when left to their own devices, he could make a success of this venture. He just knew he could.

Not that he had his eggs all in one basket. He already had several acres planted in wheat and several more in alfalfa hay. If the grapes failed or the market didn't support a winery, he'd have something to fall back on. He also had a substantial amount of money in the bank, if he needed it, proceeds from the sale of the first house he had built for Serena right after they married.

Serena. Zach brushed his knuckles along his scarred cheek. Now that he had moved from the Applegate Valley , he seldom thought of her.

At the base of the slope, Zach left the vineyard behind and lengthened his stride, heading for the house. This was his favorite time of day, the grueling work hours behind him, the evening ahead. He looked forward to a good home-cooked meal, compliments of his new housekeeper, Ching Lee, a Chinaman who had finally given up on mining as a way to make his living. After supper, Zach planned to indulge himself by reclining in his rocker near the fire with a book, Nosy snoozing at his feet. No matter that he usually found the big house ominously quiet and lonely at night. Sooner or later, he'd find himself a nice, homely woman who looked for more in a man than a perfect face.

As he stepped onto his back stoop, a distant ruckus made him pause before opening the door. He turned into the unseasonably chill wind and gazed across the yard, glad for the turned-up collar of his sheepskin jacket. A buckboard bounced and careened up the road to his place, and unless his eyes deceived him, Kate Blakely was driving it, doing none too expert a job. If she didn't slow down, she'd break her damn-fool neck.

Something was wrong. A person didn't run a horse like that unless she had good reason. He retraced his steps into the yard and headed for the road to intercept her. When Kate saw him, she stood and hauled back on the reins, bringing her swaybacked old mare to a skidding halt. The buckboard rocked crazily, giving Zach reason to suspect it was so rotten in the seams that it was held together by a prayer and precious few rivets. The mare, clearly unused to such an abusive pace, wheezed and blew, her lathered sides laboring for every breath.

"You'll kill that horse, pushing her like that," he commented as he drew up beside the wagon.

Kate just stood there, her face deathly pale, her mouth working but no sound coming forth. Zach was about to ask her what was amiss when she took him completely off guard by jumping to the ground. He snaked out an arm to catch her.

"Mir–Miranda," she said between gulps of air. "An old well. I didn't know it was there." She clutched his jacket, her gaze clinging to his. "Please, you have to help me. I haven't the strength to get her out by myself. I was afraid if I tried, we might both be trapped."

For a second, Zach felt as though his heart stopped pumping. A loud pounding began in his temples. He didn't have to ask who Miranda was. Kate had the look of a mother terrified for her child. A picture flashed through his mind of her little girl's pale face and doelike eyes. An old well. Oh, Jesus.

"Is she conscious?" Zach asked.

Kate's face twisted. She swallowed and made a visible effort to calm down. "I—I don't think so. I called down to her, and she didn't answer."

Zach had to pry her fingers from his jacket. "I'm going to get my horse and a rope. You wait here for me, okay?"

Kate gave a jerky nod and reached to grasp the wagon for support. "Hurry, Mr. McGovern, please, hurry."

* * *

Zach had never been much for praying, but during the seemingly endless horseback ride over to the Blakely place, he sent up a plea to the Almighty with nearly every breath. Even if he had never seen Miranda, the frantic clinging of Kate's arms around his waist and the rigidness of her body pressed to his back would have made him afraid for her child's safety. Only six months ago, this woman had lost her husband in a tragic drowning. It might be more than she could take to lose her daughter.

When they finally reached the well, Miranda didn't reply when Zach called down to her. He took a penny from his pocket and let it fall, turning his ear toward the opening to listen for a splash when it hit bottom.

"It's dry, I think," he said.

Zach wasn't sure whether it was good news or bad. Miranda could drown if there was water, but without it, the fall could have broken her neck. By Kate's expression, he guessed he needn't elaborate. She was as pale as a freshly whitewashed picket fence. He had to admire her pluck. Most mothers would be hysterical by now.

After tying the rope to Dander's saddle and asking Kate to hold his bridle, Zach lowered himself into the dark shaft, acutely conscious of the silence. The dankness of the well closed in, the mustiness so thick he found it hard to breathe.

Though the light from above provided feeble illumination at best, his eyes soon adjusted, and he spotted Miranda's pale gray coat several feet before he reached her. About halfway to the bottom of the shaft, she lay huddled on an outcropping of stone, knees drawn to her chest, head tucked. Even in the dimness, he could see how badly she trembled. She was definitely conscious, so why hadn't she responded when he and Kate called down to her?

With a quick glance, Zach gauged the distance from the surface of the well to the ledge. She hadn't fallen far.

Enough to bruise her, surely, possibly even far enough to break an arm or leg. But her rigid posture didn't indicate that.

Zach groped for a foothold on the dank earthen wall to steady himself and assess the situation. From his vantage point, the ledge looked sturdy enough to bear Miranda's weight, but he wasn't any too sure it would hold his. That meant he'd have to pluck the child off the outcropping with one arm while he somehow held himself suspended from the rope with his other.

Tipping his head back, he yelled. "I see her, Kate! And as near as I can tell, she's all right."

The instant Zach's voice boomed, a buzzing sound started up a few feet below him and slightly off to the left. He froze and peered into the dimness, scarcely hearing Kate's reply. Another buzzing noise began somewhere below his feet. Then it seemed as if the sounds began to come from all directions.

Zach's first instinct was to shinny up the rope as if the devil was on his ass. He had one phobia, and that was of snakes. Even a harmless garter snake could make his blood run cold. To hell with playing hero. But then Miranda squeaked, a tiny, terrified sound, and he snapped back to his senses.

Zach drew his boot from the wall and hung there on the rope for a moment, so paralyzed with fear that he couldn't move. Only a few feet below him were rattlers, a whole goddamned den from the sound of them, and to reach Miranda he had to lower himself into their midst.

Gripping the rope with his feet, he flexed his hands. Easy does it, one inch at a time. Sweat popped out on his face. It became more difficult to breathe. The muscles in his arms and legs started to quiver as he began the descent.

Don't think. Block out the sounds. The kid is all that matters. At last, Zach drew level with the ledge.

"Miranda, honey," he whispered.

The sound of his voice set the snakes to buzzing again. Zach expected them to strike at any second. No wonder Miranda hadn't answered her mother.

"Miranda, honey," he whispered again.

Though it was a strain to hang there on the rope, Zach knew he didn't dare make any sudden moves to set the rattlers off. He also had to consider Miranda's possible reaction if he made a grab for her before he explained what he intended to do. She might try to elude him and fall from the ledge. In a ragged whisper, he said, "I'm Mr.

McGovern, the man you saw last week. It was my dog that tore up your ma's flower bed. Do you remember me, honey?"

An ominous rattling sound started up again to his left. Then another, and another. He fought back a wave of numbing, mindless panic. One wrong move, and he was a dead man. His skin shriveled, and he stopped breathing to peer into the darkness. After a moment, he made out the dim shape of a rattler coiled on a jutting lip of stone.

The snake was a giant. Six feet long or better, and as thick as a man's wrist.

With the shaking fingers of one hand, Zach slowly unbuttoned his coat. "Miranda, I'm going to grab you—real fast—and put you under my coat where you'll be safe. You understand? When I do, you grab onto my neck with all your might and wrap your legs around my waist. They can't bite you through the sheepskin."

She gave another terrified squeak. Zach knew exactly how she felt, but unless he acted, and quickly, she'd get bitten for sure. Probably more than once.

"I know you're scared," he whispered. "Just trust me, okay? I won't let them get you."

Zach prayed that was a promise he could keep. Slowly, ever so slowly, he angled a leg onto the ledge to help support his dangling weight. When he moved, something hit his thigh. It felt as if a fist had slammed into him, but when he looked down, all his worst nightmares became reality. A rattler had bit him, and the goddamned thing had its fangs snagged in the denim of his jeans. A crawling, thought-robbing hysteria swamped Zach, and he nearly turned loose of the rope.

"Son of a bitch!" Freeing one hand, he grabbed the huge snake, jerked it loose, and threw it away with all his strength. The pain in his leg spread like flames licking a spill of kerosene, down to his calf, then up to his hip.

"Christ Almighty! Jesus Christ Almighty…"

Zach's first instinct was to clutch his burning thigh, but there wasn't time for that. Instead he jerked his coat open, grabbed Miranda, and pulled her against his chest. Shaking violently, she clung to his neck.

"They're gonna git me. They're gonna git me."

Zach unclenched his teeth. "No … I won't let them. It's okay, honey." He drew his jacket closed around her.

"See? They can't bite through all that sheepskin. Wrap your legs around me. Up high, so they're covered by the coat."

Obviously too terrified to respond, Miranda just hung there and made mewling noises. The strain of his position began to tell on Zach's back and arms, but he didn't dare put more of his weight on the ledge. If the rock gave way, the fall might kill Miranda. If not, the snakes in the bottom of the well would.

"Wrap your legs around me," he repeated. "I won't let them hurt you. I promise."

With a whimper, Miranda finally obeyed. Zach didn't have to tell her to hang on. Once he got her to move, she latched onto him like a baby opossum. The feel of her tiny body plastered against him had a strangely calming effect. His mind froze on one thought; he was all that stood between this child and death.

With numb fingers, Zach rebuttoned the coat around her. "Duck your head, honey, and make sure you keep your legs up around my waist, as high as you can get them."

"Sc-Scared. I'm scared."

Zach felt sweat trickling along his jaw. "There's nothing to be afraid of. I've got you. Keep under my coat, and they won't be able to bite you."

Zach wished the same held true for him. Unfortunately, a great deal of his body was exposed. Once he felt certain Miranda was completely covered by the sheepskin, he gripped the rope with both hands. Now that his eyes were more accustomed to the dimness, he could see several snakes above him, curled into deadly coils on staggered outcroppings of rock. No telling how he had come past them without being bitten.

Zach eyed the sphere of light above the snakes and considered staying where he was until they calmed back down. He had the ledge to support his weight partially. If he waited it out until they grew calm, maybe, just maybe, they'd let him go past again without striking at him.

He might survive one snakebite.

The burning pain in his thigh scotched the idea of staying where he was. The bigger the rattler, the more venom.

The one that bit him had been huge. He had ten, maybe fifteen minutes left before the poison took hold, if he was lucky. If he waited for the snakes to settle down, he might still have the strength to haul himself up the rope. But what about Miranda?

There were no choices. None that he would allow himself to consider, at any rate. He had lived a fair number of years. Miranda's life had just begun. Snakes be damned, he had to make that climb.