Chapter 12
R ight after breakfast the next morning, Zach rose from bed and got completely dressed. Pulling on his boots left him feeling weak, but he was determined. No two ways about it, he had to get his strength back and hightail it out of here.
It wasn't healthy to lie about, bored nearly to tears, watching a woman and child, yearning to call them his own.
Time to go, time to get his life back on track. Once he could return to work, he'd feel better. No more foolish dreaming. As if he had a chance in hell, anyway. Not with a beauty like Kate. No maybe to it, she could have her pick of the unmarried men for a hundred square miles.
When Zach stepped out on the porch, he wasn't sure if it was the wavy flooring or him, but he felt dizzy. He leaned a shoulder against the porch post, tempted to go back to bed. But desperation drove him. He'd take it easy and just mosey along. To the barn and back would be enough for today. Each morning, he'd push himself to go just a bit farther.
Damn. How far was the barn, anyway? Halfway past the rose garden, he had to stop for a rest. The perfume of the blossoms filled his nostrils. Needing the support, he rested a hand on the fence, which was so wobbly he wasn't sure if it was holding him up or the other way around. The place was falling down around Kate's ears. No fault of hers, that. He had never known a woman who worked harder or more ceaselessly.
Judging by the delicious smells wafting to him on the breeze, he guessed she was inside baking. Vanilla and cinnamon, yeast and melted butter. Touching a fingertip to a rose petal, he smiled at his memories. The first time he had seen Kate—the wonderful way she smelled—the way he had kept comparing her to food. It seemed a lifetime ago.
She still smelled delicious. Good enough to eat. His smile turned sour, and he turned from the fence to finish his walk. It felt good to be outdoors. He filled his lungs with the fresh air, loving the taste of it on his tongue. This was where he belonged.
The stalls in the barn needed to be mucked. He sniffed and shook his head. Kate would get to it, bless her heart.
He reached the barn and leaned his back against the weathered wood. The morning sun bathed his face, and he lifted his chin to enjoy the golden warmth. It made him feel alive, really alive, for the first time in weeks. The smell of the earth, of the animals, of the green grass. Everything that he was came from the land. Now he'd get back to it. He'd be okay.
* * *
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 ski
n. 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.
* * *
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 sp
illed 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."