"Oh, lots of things," he replied evasively. "Nothing for you to worry about. You've got enough of a load."
He turned to regard her. It wasn't lost on Kate that he didn't quite meet her gaze. Her heart constricted around a cold knot of pain. Whatever it was bothering him had something to do with her, but for some reason, he didn't want to share it.
"It sounded like Mandy took the news pretty well."
Kate averted her face, wishing, praying for inspiration so she could say the right things. She didn't want to lose this man. "She took it amazingly well considering how she might have reacted two months ago. You've worked miracles with her."
"I can't take the credit."
"Oh, yes. You've wrought a wondrous change in her." She returned her gaze to his face and struggled to swallow.
"You know, it's funny. In the beginning, I was so terrified that you'd break her heart. She was searching for someone bigger than life, for someone to be her hero, and I didn't figure any man could live up to that." Her voice turned thin. "I was wrong, Zachariah. So very wrong. I'm not sure what the definition of a hero is, exactly, but if ever a man was one, you are."
The lines that bracketed his mouth deepened with a bitter twist of his lips. "Thank you. That's a fine compliment."
He didn't look or sound happy about having received it. Kate fought down another wave of panic. What had she done to turn him away from her like this? "Zachariah, I know you're upset about something. Won't you please tell me what?"
"Like I said, I'm just doing a lot of thinking."
"Does it have to do with me?"
"Some. When you came out here, I was dreaming up ways to break you out of jail." He flashed her a grin that fell short of being convincing. "Not that I believe something so drastic will be necessary. I don't. But if worse comes to worst, I could run with you and Mandy to Canada ."
" Canada ?"
" France , then. Paris is gorgeous this time of year."
"You've been to Paris ?"
He returned his gaze to the sky. "A long time ago. So long ago it seems like it was in another lifetime."
Tears of relief stung Kate's eyes. A man didn't contemplate taking such desperate measures for a woman he didn't care about. "Were you truly thinking of ways to break me out of jail?"
He laughed softly, but there was no humor in the sound. "Crazy, huh? That's a problem with us heroes, you know. We're not happy unless we're rescuing our ladies fair. Everything goes to hell when we realize we aren't needed anymore."
"Not needed anymore?" she whispered. "Oh, Zachariah, how wrong you are. I'm entrusting into your care the most important thing in the world to me."
A muscle along his jaw started to twitch, which told her that he was clenching and unclenching his teeth. Then, with no warning, he pushed to his feet and stepped off the porch with one long-legged stride. "I think I'll take a walk. I need a stretch."
"May I come along?"
He flexed his arms and shook the stiffness out of his legs. "You should stay close to listen for Mandy," he said tonelessly. "I shouldn't be long. If it turns out I am, go ahead and douse the lamps. I'll stretch out downstairs someplace."
"You aren't coming up to bed?" Kate heard her voice going shrill, but she couldn't help it.
"Tonight should be for you and Mandy."
Kate made fists in the twill of her skirt, squeezing so hard her knuckles hurt. "Is that part of what you're angry about? Because I let her go to bed in our room?"
His voice thick with bridled impatience, he said, "I told you I'm not angry about anything, Kate. I just need to stretch my legs, that's all."
With that, he strode away into the shadows. For several seconds, she sat there gazing after him. Then she shot up from the step and ran after him. By the time she caught up, she was breathless. "Zachariah, please, wait! Please?"
He turned back just as she clasped his sleeve.
"Couldn't we walk near the house so I could hear Miranda?"
He broke her hold on his arm by raking a hand through his hair. Tension emanated from him. "I'm not fit company right now," he said in a harsh voice that was totally unlike him.
"We don't have to talk. I don't mind. I'd just like to be with you. This is my last night, and I don't want to be alone."
Closing his eyes, he pinched the bridge of his nose and heaved a weary sigh. "I don't think you're following me.
When I say I'm not fit company, what I really mean is—" He broke off and fixed his gaze on her. "What I really mean is that you shouldn't be around me."
Kate peered up at his dark face, trying to read his expression. "Why shouldn't I be around you?"
"Because I'm not myself right now," he replied raggedly. "If you don't get away from me, I might do something we'll both regret."
"Something we'll regret?" she repeated.
"Yes." He bit out the word.
"Like what?"
"Just take my say for it and cut a wide circle around me for the rest of the night. Please, Kate? I don't quite trust myself to be near you. Not tonight."
"But why?" she asked in genuine bewilderment.
He cursed beneath his breath. "Because I might hurt you, that's why. Do I have to draw you a picture?"
"You, hurt me? You, Zachariah?"
"Yes, me! That's what I said, isn't it?" A dangerous glint came into his eyes, and he swung an arm toward the house. "Go sit on the porch. Go inside and read. Go to bed. Whatever you like, okay? But get the hell away from me!"
His voice snaked around her like a whiplash. Kate had seen Zachariah angry, but never like this, his face rigid with repressed rage, his body tensed as if to do her violence. Instinctively, she retreated a step.
"There's a smart girl. Get away from me while you still can."
The words snapped her back to her senses. Though he loomed over her and looked furious enough to bite through saddle leather, he was Zachariah, a man she had come to trust. She had no idea what was eating at him, but she intended to find out.
"I'm not afraid of you," she informed him.
He planted his hands on his hips and gave a harsh laugh. "You've picked a helluva fine time to decide that."
Feeling diminished by his angry posture, she drew up her shoulders and raised her chin. "I apologize if my timing is bad, but that's the truth of it. I could never be afraid of you."
"When did this revelation strike you. Out of the blue at breakfast? It sure as hell is news to me. I'm telling you, be afraid."
Kate could only stare at him. Stalemate. After doing his best to intimidate her with his glare for the space of several heartbeats, he threw up his hands.
"You know, sometimes I wonder if you've got the brains God gave a gnat." He measured off a scant inch between thumb and forefinger. "I'm about that close to raping your sweet little ass. Is that plain enough for you?"
The words took Kate so aback she blinked. "Why on earth would you consider doing that?"
"Why would I—?" His voice cracked, and he gaped at her with an expression of sheer incredulity on his face.
Then, hands back on his hips, he leaned forward to press his face close to hers. "I want you!" he fairly shouted at her. "Is that a good enough reason?"
It took nearly all Kate's courage to stand her ground. He was a large man. Body tensed and poised as if to spring, he struck an intimidating figure. At a glance, she could see the untapped power that roped his body. She couldn't even contemplate what might transpire if he turned that strength against her.
Anyone with good sense probably would get away from him. She guessed maybe he was right, and she didn't have brains enough to know what was good for her. Crazy, so crazy. She was a grown woman who knew from bitter experience that real life was grim and seldom fair, that the strong reigned, and that the weak survived as best they could. She was very likely a fool ever to have allowed this man to convince her otherwise. But he had.
And now, if she couldn't believe in him, she knew she would never be able to trust in anyone or anything again.
"If you want me," she whispered shakily, "there's certainly no need to contemplate forcing your attentions on me.
I'm your wife and yours to take. I won't deny you your marital rights."
"Take, there's the key word," he shot back. "Forget the rest because it's parlor talk. Marital rights. Forceful attention? I'm not talking about a goddamned waltz, for Christ's sake!"
Kate hugged her middle, determined to stand fast. "Perhaps you should enlighten me, then. What are you talking about?"
He spun and took a pace away from her. When he wheeled to face her again, she could see that he was trembling.
In a husky voice that reflected that, he said, "I'm talking about choices, honey. Namely yours, and me taking them away from you."
Kate circled that. "Choices?"
"Your right to annul our marriage once all this is over. The right to walk away from me a free woman."
He planted his hands on his hips again, his stance rigid and threatening. Kate had the awful feeling he was keeping those powerful hands at his waist to stop himself from reaching for her. She recalled the night he had grabbed her and lifted her onto the bed. Effortlessly, as though she weighed no more than Miranda. If he came toward her, she didn't have a prayer of outrunning those long, powerfully muscled legs of his, and they both knew it. Yet he stood there warning her away, thumbs hooked over his belt. If he were truly bent on doing her harm, what held him back? Perhaps he didn't know, but Kate felt she did.
"Why would I want to seek an annulment, Zachariah?"
"Why in hell wouldn't you? You won't need me anymore once this is all settled. No more fear of discovery.
Nothing hanging over your head that Ryan can use against you. If he comes around causing trouble, you can just sic the law on him. Why keep me around?"
A suspicious sheen had come into his eyes. Kate guessed it was tears, and the realization hit her like a blow.
That's the trouble with us heroes, don't you know? Everything goes to hell when we realize we aren't needed
anymore.
"Oh, Zachariah."
He swore beneath his breath and averted his gaze. She could see that he was humiliated by the show of tears. And no small wonder. This was a rough and rugged man who lived by the sweat of his brow and the raw power of his muscle. To be brought to tears in front of a woman? She could almost taste his shame, and to know she had inflicted it upon him was almost more than she could bear.
A muscle along his square jaw twitched spasmodically. After a moment, he exhaled a quavery breath and squeezed his eyes closed. "I don't know why I ever roped myself into a situation like this," he whispered raggedly. "I knew from the start I didn't stand a chance with you. And now to be faced with the choice of keeping you or letting you go? I've got a real dark side to my nature, Kate. A side I never knew I had—a side that only cares about me and what I want."
Sensing that he would never get beyond what was troubling him until he purged himself of it, Kate bit down hard on her lower lip to keep from interrupting him.
He took his time, gazing off into the darkness as though the mysteries of the universe were inscribed there. "It's just as well," he finally said. "I know I'd never be happy married to you, not if I'm honest with myself. Every time my back was turned, I'd he afraid some handsome bachelor was giving you the eye. And stuck with a prize like me, who could blame you for looking back?"
Kate's mind stumbled on that. She went back over what he'd said, knowing it would all make sense if she could clear her head enough to focus on it. "What do you mean, a prize like you?"
He shot her a murderous glare. "Don't play games with me. What is it? You're afraid I'll back out on my promise to take care of Mandy?" An accusing silence fell between them. Then he said, "Is that why you followed me out here? Why you're standing there like the sacrificial lamb? To stay on my good side, no matter what? Well, forget it. Using your child as leverage against you would be as bad as raping you."
"Could you back up and clarify what we're discussing here? You've totally lost me."
"Lost you?" he rasped. "For God's sake, don't play dumb with me. You've got eyes in your head. To pretend you've never noticed is an insult to my intelligence."
"Noticed what?"
"My face!"
Kate stared up at him. Slowly understanding dawned.
I know I'm not much to look at
. She could remember him saying that to her the first time he broached the subject of marriage, but she had been so wrapped up in her own concerns that she hadn't registered what he meant. And the habit he had of brushing his knuckles along his cheek? Not just a habit, she realized now, but a gesture of self-consciousness and shame.
"Are you talking about your scars?" she asked incredulously.
His gaze still sharp as a blade, he glared at her. "Of course, my scars. What else about my face is objectionable?"
"Nothing," she replied tightly. "Absolutely nothing. And neither are the scars. They're scarcely noticeable."