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 there 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.
I give you my word. I'll never say a single cussword in her presence
. Because he peppered his speech with so many profanities all the time, Kate had long since forgotten his making that promise. But now that she thought about it, she realized that it was a vow he had never broken. Swear though he did at all other times, she couldn't recollect his ever having said anything he shouldn't in front of her daughter.
Trust. It didn't come easily to Kate. But it was now or never. Mr. Cantrell was right. Miranda's disobedience had nearly caused her death, and only an irresponsible parent would let the incident slip by without punishing her.
What remained to be seen was how Zachariah would go about it. Kate hugged her waist, determined not to interfere unless she must.
Zachariah withdrew one arm from around the child to fish in his pocket. Without counting the change he palmed, he slapped it into Mr. Cantrell's hand. "Credit me with the extra," he barked.
With that, he strode purposefully from the barn, his footsteps aimed for the house. Kate gathered up her skirt to follow him and then stood her ground. It was the hardest thing she had ever done.
Mr. Cantrell chuckled and shook his head. "That's one little miss whose gonna have herself a mighty tender backside."
Kate managed a painful swallow.
"My Timmy and me went 'round and 'round last week," Cantrell continued. "Got out my shotgun without askin'
and near blew his foot off. When I got done with him, he durned near didn't have any hide left."
Kate couldn't reply. She watched as the iceman sauntered toward his wagon. Still hugging her waist, she leaned a shoulder against the barn door and squeezed her eyes closed. She wondered what was happening inside the house, and a hundred awful possibilities flitted through her mind. But she remained where she was, listening to the rattle of Cantrell's wagon as it lurched along the rutted drive.
As the sounds faded, she listened for others, namely Miranda's terrified shrieks. But there was only the whisper of the summer breeze. A peacefulness settled over Kate. Zachariah wasn't Joseph, and she couldn't live the remainder of her life trapped in bad memories. There was no need for her to rush to Miranda's defense, not any more.
With a determined sigh, Kate turned and went back inside the barn to finish forking the straw into the stalls. She had a feeling this was going to be a long wait, and it would pass more quickly if she stayed busy.
Not more than five minutes passed before a long shadow fell across Kate. Without turning to look, she knew Zachariah was standing in the barn doorway.
"What's this?" he asked.
"I just thought I'd finish up for you."
She forked more straw and swallowed the questions that tried to surge up her throat. Her aim was off, and a bunch of straw fell short of the stall.
After a moment's silence, he said, "I don't want you out here doing my work."
"It was my work for a long while. And I don't mind."
"I do, so put down that pitchfork and come here."
Kate did as he asked. When she came to stand before him, he arched a questioning eyebrow at her. "Aren't you going to ask what I did to her?"
An awful, quivery sensation attacked Kate's stomach. "No. I'm sure you did what you thought was best."
He took her face in his calloused palms and tipped her head back. "Thank you," he whispered.
It wasn't necessary for him to clarify that. When he folded his strong arms around her, Kate was more than ready to step into them. And as she did, she found her own small patch of heaven. Once she had wished she could melt into this man and cease to exist. Now all she wanted was to savor the glorious feeling of being alive. To hear the steady thud of his heart beating. To feel the heat of him curled around her. To have his big hands running over her, so light and gentle that her skin became sensitized to capture every elusive caress.
"Oh, Zachariah," she whispered shakily.
"She's all right," he assured her. "I have her sitting with her nose in a corner. And I've told her she can't go over to my place for a week. I figure a week is plenty enough time for her to ruminate on the perils of not minding what I say."
Kate nodded because, for the life of her, she couldn't speak.
"You could have come in the house. I didn't expect you to stay out here, worried sick."
She shook her head and managed to squeak, "There wasn't a need."
Zach closed his eyes on that.
There wasn't a need.
It wasn't a long, eloquent proclamation, but it meant the world to him. He knew what it had cost her to remain out here in the barn. It was a precious gift, her trust. He'd have to spend the rest of his life living up to it, but oh, what a sweet task it would be.
"I love you, Katie."
"I'm beginning to believe you truly do," was her whispered response.
* * *
A few minutes later when Kate entered the kitchen, Miranda twisted on the tripod to throw her a gloomy look.
Kate concealed a smile.
"What's this?" Kate asked. "A pretty little girl on my milk pail stool? And such a long face! What are you doing with your nose in the corner?"
"I'm ruminatin'," Miranda replied with a sniff.
"Oh, I see. And what are you ruminating about?"
Miranda wrinkled her nose. "About mindin' what my pa says."
Kate stepped to the sink and poured water off a pan of eggs she had just hard-boiled. "That sounds like wisdom to me."
"Only I didn't not mind," Miranda came back. "Papa Zach said I couldn't play up there, but he didn't say I couldn't hide ahind the hay."
Kate paused in cracking an eggshell. "That sounds like a case of splitting hairs to me, Miranda Elspeth Blakely.
You knew very well what he meant, and you might have been seriously hurt."
"McGovern," she corrected. "My name ain't Blakely no more."
"Isn't, not ain't. And if you're so ready to take his name, I reckon you'd best take his orders. That includes getting your nose back in that corner until he gives you leave to move it."
Miranda gave a dejected sigh and did as she was told. "I didn't think he'd up and start bein' mean when I 'dopted him."
Kate grinned and plopped a peeled egg in the waiting bowl of water. "Just be glad it was him that got hold of you and not me. I'd 've been sorely tempted to warm the seat of your bloomers."
"I'm gonna mind what he says from now on, for sure." Miranda rubbed the end of her nose. "So can I git down?
I've ruminated plenty."
"It's not for me to say."
"You promised it'd be just you and me forever. You said we wasn't never gonna git another pa. And you promised nobody'd never be mean to me again."
"So I did. But you magic wished for him to be your pa, and you got what you wished for. As for his being mean to you, it looks to me like you fared better than you should have." Kate cracked another egg. "You'd best thank your lucky stars."
"My nose ain't so lucky."
Kate couldn't help but giggle when she turned to look. "Lands! It's as red as a button! I don't think he meant for you to push it plumb through the wall."
Pointing to a spot, Miranda said, "He told me to glue it right there and not move it till he comed back."
"Then you'd better do it."
"He ain't hurryin', and my nose is tuckered."
"Isn't, not ain't. He'll come in due time. Until then, mind what he told you."
"You isn't gonna tattle that I moved, are you?"
"Aren't," Kate corrected, "and I will if you don't get your tuckered little nose back into that corner."
Kate went to gather potatoes from the bin in the pantry. When she returned to the kitchen, Miranda once again had her nose pressed to the wall. Shortly thereafter, Zachariah came in.
* * *
Toward dusk, Kate heard a horse approaching the house. Thinking it was probably Zachariah returning from his place, she continued with her meal preparations until the thud of a man's fist against the front door resounded through the house. Wiping her hands on her apron, Kate went to investigate and found Ryan Blakely standing on her porch.
Initially, the sight of him sent Kate's heart into a skitter, as it always had, but then she gathered her composure.
She had nothing to fear from the likes of him anymore. No matter what trouble he might cause, he would never get his hands on Miranda. That knowledge made her feel gloriously free.
"Hello, Ryan."
"Is it true?" he demanded.
Kate didn't need that clarified. "I'm surprised it took so long for you to hear. We've been married nigh onto two weeks."
He swept off his hat and shrugged his shoulders to resettle the seams of his suit jacket. "You bitch."
Kate tightened her hand on the door handle. "I don't have to listen to this, Ryan. If you've got something to say, get it said, but keep your name calling to yourself."
"Is it true you let him adopt Miranda? Is it?"
Kate braced herself. "Yes, it's true."
Before she realized what he meant to do, he grabbed her by the hair and jerked her out onto the porch. "I'll kill you. So help me God, I'll strangle the breath right out of you! My brother's child! How could you give her to another man?"
Kate's scalp felt on fire. Tears blinding her, she groped frantically for Ryan's wrist to break his hold. "Stop it, Ryan. Have you lost your mind entirely?"
He gave her hair a vicious jerk. "You're the one who's crazy if you think I'll take this lying down! You'll pay. I swear to God, you'll pay. I'll take you to court. I'll get custody of her, see if I don't. And when I do, you'll never set eyes on her again."
Kate was about to reply when a dangerously silken voice said, "Take your filthy hands off my wife, Blakely."
Ryan stiffened and turned. "You!"
With a violent shove, he threw Kate away from him. She slammed against the wall of the house, barking an elbow as she caught herself from sprawling. Settling her back against the wood, she watched as Zachariah swung down off his horse. An avenging angel in blue chambray and denim, his hazel eyes blazing. Never had she been so glad to see anyone.
"That's right, me," he said calmly as he strode toward the porch. "What did you do? Watch for me to leave?
Understand something, you yellow-hearted bastard. If you came here looking for trouble, I guaran-damn-tee you've found it."
"You're not so tough!"
Zachariah stomped up the steps. "Tougher than a woman half your size, I'll warrant. I won't say you can't kick my ass, but you'd best pack a lunch if you mean to try."
Tossing aside his hat, Ryan braced his legs and doubled his fists. "I won't go hitting my head on a post this time."
Zachariah kept coming. "I hope not."
Ryan put up his guard and executed a graceful boxing step. Zachariah planted his hands on his hips and paused to watch. Giving a low whistle, he said, "Damn! That's some mighty fine movement you've got there. Prettiest waltz step I ever saw."
"You'll think waltz about the time you're a mudhole I'm stomping dry. You caught me off guard twice. Not this time." He feinted with one hand. "I fought in the Seattle logging camps. Ring competition. And believe me, no clod buster like you is gonna whip me. You wouldn't make a pimple on a real man's ass. Come on, big boy. Or is your yellow starting to show?"
Zachariah grinned and swept off his hat. Handing it to Kate, he said, "Ring competition? I'm flat outclassed. My pa never taught me how to kick shit fancy." With a sideways glance, he murmured, "Go in the house, Katie girl. I don't want you in the middle of this."
Kate tried to move, but her limbs refused to function.
"You just don't want your little whore to see you get whipped," Ryan said with a laugh.
Zachariah's grin faded, and a dangerous glitter came into his hazel eyes. "Blakely, it's time you learned some manners clod buster style."
So quickly that Kate didn't see him start to move, Zachariah punctuated that proclamation by planting a fist squarely in Ryan's mouth, the force of which sent the other man reeling backward into the porch rail. The rotten wood creaked and then gave with an ear-shattering pop. With a startled look on his face, Ryan swung his arms in a desperate attempt to keep his feet. Then he dropped off the porch like a rock, landing on his back in a cloud of dust.
Zachariah followed his opponent's backward scramble, never breaking his stride. When he reached the broken railing, he leaped to the ground, grabbed Ryan's lapels, and hauled him to his feet. "I don't take kindly to you calling my wife a whore."
The instant the other man had his balance, Zachariah let fly with another punch. Ryan's head snapped back, and he staggered drunkenly. Zachariah stalked after him to bury a fist in his middle, which bent the man double.
"Don't touch her and don't call her foul names. Is that clear, you miserable sack of offal?"
Ryan hugged his belly and moaned.
Zachariah grabbed him by the hair. "Feel good? You like getting jerked around by your hair?"
"I'll bring the law down on your heads!" Ryan cried.
"Good idea. Come back here without the sheriff as your escort, and next time, I'll kill you." As if for good measure, Zachariah gave him a lightning-quick jab to the nose and then threw him away as though the touch of him was contaminating. "Stay away from my wife and child. Come within a mile of this place again, and you'll answer to me."
Ryan scurried a safe distance away, then turned to shake his fist. "I won't give up my brother's child! I'll see her dead before I let you have her!"
"My child!" Zachariah reminded him. "Legal and permanent! Get anywhere near her, and I'll show you what hell is like. Now get on your horse and make tracks before I change my mind about letting you walk out of here in one piece!"
Ryan's fiery blue eyes found Kate. "I'll be back. You can't kill my brother and get away with it. I'll be back."
Those words continued to ring in Kate's head as he mounted his horse and rode away. When Zachariah returned to the porch, she fastened a worried gaze on him. "He means it. I'll never have peace. Not as long as he's got breath in his body."
He spotted Ryan's hat and kicked it viciously. "He's mostly bluster." Planting his hands on his hips, he gave her a careful once-over. "Did he hurt you?"
She shook her head. "No." With a tremulous smile, she rubbed her scalp. "Just parted me from a little of my hair.
And you? Did he do you any damage with all those fancy punches he threw?"
His gaze sharpened on hers, then his mouth quirked. "Why, Kate. I do believe you're teasing me."
"I do believe you're right. Not bad for a clod buster, Mr. McGovern, not bad at all."
His eyelashes drooped in a lazy sweep as his lips curved in a sheepish grin. "I sucker punched the bastard. Like I told him, my pa didn't teach me how to fight fancy, only how to win. One hard and fast rule was to avoid trouble if I could, but to be damned sure I threw the first punch if I couldn't. One good hit usually dampens a man's enthusiasm and rattles his head enough to make him easy game."
Kate hugged her waist and swallowed a giggle. "I don't think you followed the rules of polite competition, Zachariah."
A lambent gleam crept into his gaze. "I'm not a polite man by nature, Katie girl. Surely you've figured that out by now."
She recalled their wedding night and felt heat rising up her neck. Her smile slowly faded, and an odd lethargy invaded her body. Remembering the glorious sensations his hands and mouth had wrought in her, she whispered,
"It remains to be seen, of course, but I'm beginning to think politeness can be vastly overrated."
"Really?" His voice held a note of mischievous amusement.
Unsettled by the sensual undertones in their exchange, she took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders.
"How did you know to come home? I've never been so glad to see anyone in all my life."
"I had a man watching the road. I'm sorry I didn't get here quicker, but I was out on the slopes."
"I'm just glad you came."
He stepped close and drew her into his arms. "I'll always be around when you need me, Katie. You can count on that."
Kate wanted nothing more than to settle into his embrace, but she was worried about Miranda. Just as she started to pull away, the child appeared in the open doorway, her big brown eyes worshipful as she fastened them on Zachariah.
"You sure taught him! Didn't you, Papa Zach?"
Kate searched her daughter's gaze for any sign of withdrawal and found none. Relief filled her. A wonderful, leaden relief that intensified the weighted feeling that had already invaded her limbs. Deep inside her, the cold knot of fear that had been her constant companion for so long began to disintegrate.
Her little girl was going to be all right. She really and truly was going to be all right.