Coming Up Roses (19 page)
"And he gave you to me. McGovern's the one you've got your eye on, though. You can bring him to heel with what's between your legs. Pleasures of the flesh. That's all you care about, all he cares about. You want him so badly, you can't stand it."
"No. Nothing has happened between us. Nothing."
He shoved hard against her, driving the breath from her lungs. Before she realized what he meant to do, he grabbed for her skirt. "Let's take a look-see, shall we? Then let's hear you tell me you don't want him."
Trying to hold him off, Kate jammed her arm against his throat, then twisted to one side to evade his clawing hand. "Stop it! Don't, Ryan, please!"
She felt his fingers seize hold of the drawstring waist of her bloomers. Panic gripped her. She almost swung at him with the shovel. Then an image of Miranda's little face flashed in her mind. She swallowed a sob, let the handle of the digging implement slip from her fingers, and forced her body to go limp. If she fought Ryan, it would only enrage him. She couldn't risk that. Nothing mattered but Miranda. Nothing. Not even this.
"Joseph told me," he said with a grunt, struggling to unfasten the drawstring. "How you tried to tempt him, night and day, no matter what you were doing. One time even while he was reading to you from the Bible. A Jezebel, that's what you are, doomed to burn unless a God-fearing man disciplines you. Those times when you tried to lure him into sin, who had you been thinking about Kate? Some other man? God knows it wasn't Joseph. Because you despised him!"
Kate averted her face and tried to stifle the sounds coming up her throat with her fist. Her legs weak, she slid down the wall and fell sideways. Ryan came down on top of her, his elbow wedging her thighs apart, his hand tearing at her underwear. He was going to touch her. Because of Miranda, she could do nothing to stop him.
She closed her eyes. The pressure of her fist against her mouth made her teeth cut into her lip. Images slashed across her mind, and another sob welled within her, cutting, tearing its way up from her belly as if she were vomiting ground glass.
She felt his clammy fingertips on the inside of her thigh. She couldn't bear it. Oh, God, she couldn't bear it. In that instant, she forgot everything and cried out in protest. Curling her fingers, she clawed wildly at the air, found her mark, and dug her nails into his face.
Then, as if he'd been plucked off her by a giant hand, he wasn't on top of her anymore. Kate blinked and rolled to her knees. She saw four booted feet, two pairs of legs. Someone else had entered the barn. The sickening sound of a fist connecting with flesh over bone resounded in her ears.
Using the rails of the stall, she pulled herself upright. A tall, broad-shouldered man was scuffling with Ryan.
Kate stared. Then relief made her feel weak. She hooked an arm over the rail to hold herself erect. Zachariah. He had come, just as he promised. And she was safe.
Her relief was short-lived.
Fists hitting bone
. She blinked to bring her eyes into focus. Zachariah was tearing into Ryan like a wild man. Kate staggered toward them.
"Zachariah! Stop it!" She pressed her hands over her ears to block out the sounds. It didn't help. "Stop it! Please!"
The two men had fallen backward across the aisle and into the opposite stall. Zachariah sandwiched Ryan into a corner, grasping his shirt with one hand while he pummeled his face with the other. Kate ran up behind him and grabbed his arm.
"Please, please… Stop it before you kill him!"
With a roar of rage, Ryan shoved out from the corner. Zachariah stumbled backward, knocking Kate into the stall rails. He turned to look at her, and while his gaze was averted, Ryan took advantage, ramming a fist against his temple. Zachariah toppled and hit the dirt with a
whoosh
of breath. Ryan leaped on top of him and grabbed for his throat.
Horrified, Kate struggled to right herself. Zachariah's face went red. Then purple. He clutched at Ryan's wrists.
She could see he didn't have the strength to shove him off. She screamed and ran toward them.
"Ryan! Ryan, look what you're doing!"
She grabbed her brother-in-law's arm. As she pulled to break his grip, he turned an enraged face toward her.
Before she realized what be meant to do, he released his hold on Zachariah's throat and dealt her a stunning blow to the side of her head. Everything went black. The earth slammed into her.
Zachariah bellowed, "You miserable son of a bitch!"
Kate heard a dull thud. Ryan grunted. The sounds of boots scrambling for purchase filled her head. Heavy breathing. The straining of muscular bodies, manifested by low moans in male throats.
Slowly her vision cleared. Ensnared in a strange feeling of separateness, she watched, still unable to make her body move. Zachariah had regained his feet. Weak, yes. Staggering, yes. But magnificent in his anger. He dove at Ryan, burying his head in the other man's middle. Ryan's lungs expelled his breath in a whining rush as he fell backward. His head cracked audibly against a support post, and he slid limply to the ground, a stunned expression on his face, his eyes oddly blank.
Zachariah circled him, the quivering muscles in his long legs bunching under the denim of his jeans, his boots scuffing the dirt as though he hadn't the strength to lift his feet.
"Get up, you slimy bastard. I'll teach you to hit a woman."
Ryan didn't stir. Zachariah planted a foot on his rump.
"Get up, I said. I'm not finished with you yet."
When Ryan still didn't respond, Zachariah swore and grabbed the back of the unconscious man's jacket. "Offal to throw on the dung heap," he said with a grunt, and began dragging Ryan toward the doors.
Kate locked her elbows and pushed dizzily to her knees. Through the open barn entrance, she watched as Zachariah pulled Ryan along behind him toward the buckskin horse. Once there, he let the unconscious man drop to the ground and executed a drunken sidestep to stay on his feet. Kate pressed her wrist to the side of her head, wincing at the pain, willing herself to stand.
Zachariah braced his hands on his knees and leaned forward, drawing in shuddering gulps of breath. After resting a moment, he bent and grabbed Ryan by his collar and the seat of his britches. With one mighty heave that clearly took all his remaining strength, he tossed the man across his saddle and then slapped the horse's rump.
Startled, the buckskin sprang forward into a gallop, nearly tossing his limp burden.
Zachariah braced his hands on his knees again. Kate wanted to go to him, but couldn't. Instead, she huddled there in the dirt and bowed her head.
This wasn't real. None of it. It couldn't be real. A bad dream. Yes, that was it. A horrible dream that had no end.
Seven months—seven long and endless months of insanity.
A warm, heavy hand settled on her shoulder. A little at a time, she raised her eyes. Large boots, faded denim, blue chambray. Zachariah, Miranda's hero. When he knelt on one knee, she allowed him to draw her against him, yearning to be absorbed by his hardness and heat. No more Kate. She'd just melt into his strength and not exist anymore. It would all be over. All of it. And she'd never feel afraid again.
"Katie…"
His voice flowed over her like ladled butter.
Katie
. Her father had called her that. A name for a child. Someone little and helpless and loved. His arms came around her. Even atremble with weakness, they felt like she imagined heaven must feel. Velvet over steel. And so safe. She wanted to remain there, pressed against him forever.
She buried her face against his shoulder, found the limp stay of his collar, burrowed past it to the hot hollow of his neck. Ah, yes. She breathed in the smell of him, sweat and leather, grass and dust, faint traces of some lemony soap he must use for shaving. Zachariah. Miranda's hero. Surely it couldn't hurt if she borrowed him for just a few seconds.
"Did he hurt you?"
Kate couldn't reply.
Hurt
. Such an ambiguous word. By what measure did one gauge pain? Physically, she was all right, but inside, she felt lacerated. Those horrible moments when she had lain there beneath Ryan, not fighting. In all the endless months since Joseph's death, for strength she had clung to her pride, and now she had lost even that. Zachariah had seen her lying there, allowing Ryan to grope under her skirt.
Did shame qualify as hurt? Oh, yes. A hurt of the worst kind. Because the reality was that she couldn't melt into Zachariah and cease to exist. Because eventually she would have to lift her head and look him in the eye.
A finer
lady I've never met
. What did he think of her now? How could she explain? Even if she told him everything, he would never understand.
Kate wished she could die. But even that was denied her. Because she couldn't leave Miranda…
"I'm fine," she managed to say.
Away from him.
She could do it. Just by putting the heels of her hands against his shoulders and pushing. Away from him, and back to being Kate. Kate, who wasn't a child. Kate, the mother. Kate, who was strong because she had no choice.
He didn't resist when she drew away. His hands slid from her back to her arms. Large hands. Bigger than Joseph's. His palms and the splay of his long fingers stretched from her elbows nearly to her shoulders. Hands that had been fashioned to take, yet so gentle. Hands that a woman wished would cup her cheeks. Wide, leathery thumbs that had been fashioned to brush away tears. Tears she couldn't cry.
She forced herself to lift her gaze to his. And felt naked. The questions were there in his eyes. She looked at him as long as she could bear it. For the space of a heartbeat.
"Katie," he moaned. "Honey, let me help you. What is it that he's holding over your head?"
"My child," she whispered.
It wasn't enough. She had known it wouldn't be. He didn't understand, would never understand. It was her burden to bear alone. Keeping her gaze averted from his, she raised her chin. Even those stripped of pride could pretend.
What he thought didn't matter. Nothing mattered but Miranda.
She had to remember that. For an instant, there in the barn, she had forgotten and started to fight Ryan. That had been her mistake. Fighting him, forsaking her daughter. And for what? To keep her flesh inviolate? What of Miranda's flesh? Kate cherished every precious inch. And she would do what she had to. The devil take Zachariah McGovern and his opinion of her.
To his credit, he didn't voice an accusation, but it lay heavy in the air, a silent indictment.
Why?
After pushing to her feet, Kate turned her back on him and stumbled toward the house. She heard him coming up behind her. His hand clamped around her arm, bringing her around to face him.
"Talk to me, for God's sake," he said hoarsely.
"There's nothing to say." She couldn't meet his gaze again. It hurt too much, and she already felt raw. Instead, she stared at a button on his shirt. Stared at it until her eyes burned. "I asked you not to come back here. You should have listened. You've only made a bad situation worse."
She heard his breath catch. "What? The bastard was trying to rape you! If I hadn't come—"
"I would have survived," she interrupted. "Go home, Zachariah. You've no idea what you've done. If he wasn't out for blood before, he will be now."
He tightened his grip on her arm. "That's insane, Kate. Where I come from, no man worth his salt stands by while a woman's attacked."
"Then go back where you came from."
She tried to wrench free. Her strength was no match for his, and he held her fast. Kate could feel the anger emanating from him. In the face of it, she felt dwarfed, yet oddly unafraid.
A wind had come up, and it tossed his dark hair. His face above hers was drawn with anger, burnished, and lined with white, the usually unnoticeable scars on his jaw now a pulsating crimson, his full lips pulled back over straight white teeth. The blue expanse of his shirt eclipsed the barn behind him.
He looked angry enough to shake her, and she had no doubt he could snap her neck if he gave in to the urge.
With a trembling hand, she tried to pry his fingers from her arm.
"I have to find my daughter. Please, let me go."
For a moment, she thought he'd maintain his grip. Then he reluctantly released her. Set free at last, she whirled and ran toward the house.
* * *
If this wasn't a hell of a pass, Zach didn't know what was. He stood in the open doorway of the barn and gazed out across the valley. His body felt like a piece of chewed jerky. A cool wind puffed against his jaw, drying the sheen of sweat that filmed his skin. He plucked weakly at his shirt where it stuck to his chest.
In his mind, he relived everything that had transpired in the last thirty minutes. Seeing Blakely on the road.
Riding here, hell-bent for election, to help Kate if she needed it.
Jesus H. Christ! He'd never forget the rage that had rushed through him when he walked in and saw that miserable bastard on top of her. Or the look on her face. Dear God, she had lain there under him as though she had no choice, her expression a blend of defeat, resignation, and revulsion. Why?
He wasn't sure which had taken the worse beating, her pride or his body. He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. Damn it, win or lose, he'd done the right thing by stepping in. At least he'd stopped the son of a bitch. Kate was out of her blooming mind. Either that, or scared to death. But of what?
Zach was too exhausted to search for an answer. He gazed numbly at the rolling hills that rose from the green sweeps of grassland. Beyond them, layer upon layer of forested mountains reached into the infinity of a gray sky.
He studied the black clouds that hovered to the north. It looked like one hell of a storm was brewing. That suited him fine. In his present mood, the blacker the clouds, the better.
And wasn't that just like Oregon , sunny one hour, pouring buckets the next? Pneumonia weather, his ma had always called it, steamy hot then turning cold.
Above the gusting wind, Zach heard something. For an instant, he thought it sounded like a litter of kittens mewing, but when he listened more closely, the hair of his nape prickled. Miranda. Damn it to hell. How much had she seen or overheard?
Following his ears, he circled the barn and found the child huddled behind a barrel near the pigpen. Nosy sat beside her whining. She had her arms wrapped around her knees, her dark head buried in her lap. As she rocked to and fro, she shook horribly. Zach crouched in front of her.
"Hey, half-pint?"
Without looking up, she continued to rock and make those awful sounds, half moan, half wail, deep within her narrow chest. He settled a hand on her curls.
"Mandy?" When she still didn't respond, Zach pried her chin up to look in her eyes. It was as if she didn't see him, as though she heard nothing. The wind cutting through his shirt seemed to turn colder. "Mandy…"
Suddenly, as though launched from the ascending end of a teeterboard, she threw herself into his arms and clung to his neck. "Mr. Zach!" she sobbed. "Oh, Mr. Zach."
He enfolded her in his embrace, fighting back a flood of tears himself. Dear God, how he loved this child.
"My Uncle Ryan comed again!"
"I know, pumpkin. But he's gone now."
"Only 'cause you came," she whispered in a thin little voice. "Oh, Mr. Zach, I'm so glad you comed back. Don't leave no more. Please don't leave me no more."
Ignoring the mud that oozed out from under the rails of the pigpen, he sat with her on his lap, aching because he knew he had to do just that. This moment they had together couldn't last. Pressing his face to her hair, he breathed deeply and committed the scent of her to memory.
Why had he let himself come to care so much? About her or her mother? In the beginning, he had never imagined it hurting like this. And that wasn't the half of it. What of the child?
"Don't leave me no more," she repeated. "Please don't leave."
The plea tore at him. "I can't stay, sweetheart. I wish I could."
She squeezed his neck so fiercely that he had difficulty breathing. "But he'll come back! He'll come back and git me! Please don't let him. Please."
Zach felt as though a knife was twisting in his guts. Thunder rumbled in the distance, and he felt her flinch.
"Honey, if I see him out on the road, I'll come over. That's a promise. You won't be alone if be comes again."
She shrank closer to him. "But what if you don't see him? He'll hurt me and my ma! She ain't big enough to make him stop."
Zach tightened his arms around her and swallowed to get his voice. "I won't let him hurt you or your ma. I promise."
Even if he had to station a man near the road twenty-four hours a day as a lookout, that was a promise Zach would keep. In an attempt to soothe Miranda, he expressed that intention. "So you see? There's nothing to worry about. You'll be just as safe as if I was here."
The frantic clutching of her arms relaxed. "For sure?"
"For sure."
She burrowed against him, her sharp elbows and knees digging in as she positioned herself more comfortably.
When she finally grew still, Zach moved one of her knees to a less vulnerable spot on his lap and rested his chin on her head. Lightning flared above them. He narrowed an eye at the tumultuous sky. One hell of a storm was coming, that was for certain. He could smell the rain in the air.
"Miranda!"
Kate's voice sounded faint, and frantic. Zach stiffened. "Your ma's looking for you, half-pint."
"I don't want her to find us. She'll make you leave."
Zach heaved a weary sigh. "She's worried though. Listen."
Kate's voice rang out again. Miranda turned to catch the sound. Zach brushed his jaw against her cheek. After a moment, she stirred and raised trusting eyes to his.
"You'll watch the road?"
Zach extended his hand to her. After regarding it for several seconds, she finally crossed his palm with her small fingers. As they shook on it, she whispered, "Now it's on official."
With that, she scrambled from his lap. As she gained her feet, thunder shook the skies again. She paled and glanced up.
"I'll watch until you and your ma get safely in the house."
Her eyes clung to his. Then she nodded. Her mother's voice drifted to them on the wind again. Zach angled a leg under himself and stood. Miranda gave him a little wave and ran toward the house. With a heavy heart, he walked out from behind the barn. He saw Kate running to meet her child, heard her cry of relief and then her scolding tone as two of them hurried toward the front steps.
Once on the porch, Miranda turned to look back. Even from a distance, Zach felt the impact of her eyes. Kate pivoted and cupped a hand to her brow. He saw her body go rigid as she followed her daughter's gaze and spotted him.
Farewells had never been easy for Zach. This one came particularly hard. The two most important people in his world, and he was turning his back on them. He raised a hand to wave. Then he directed his steps toward his horse.
It was the longest walk of his life.
