"Say what?" he croaked. Squinting at the shaft of sunlight on the window, he surmised it was morning since it had been dark outside the last time he looked. "What time is it?" He tried to see the clock. "Whose birthday?"
She held up handfuls of twisted paper, her eyes glistening with what he suspected were unshed tears. Mouth atremble, chin quivering, she repeated, "My ma's."
"Your ma's?" Zach ran a hand roughly over his face, blinked again, and stifled a yawn.
"I wanna make her a paper rose, but I forget how."
In Zach's estimation, unshed tears were nothing to mess around with. He sat up a little, finger combed his sleep-tousled hair, and shook his head to clear it. "A paper rose?"
She heaped the twisted paper on his bed. "Can you fix it?"
Zach stared down at the mess. "Honey, I'm not much of a hand at making flowers."
Her mouth drew into a tremulous pout.
"I can sure try, though," he quickly amended. After all, how hard could it be to make a flower from paper?
Ten minutes later, Zach had the answer to that question. Damned hard. He held up his attempt at a rose, which was pretty pitiful looking even in his books, and upon seeing it, Miranda promptly let out a caterwaul to wake the dead. It certainly brought Zach wide awake, at any rate. Then she burst into tears.
He tossed aside the paper and drew her onto his lap, wincing at the press of her weight against his sore thighs.
"Hey, now. It's nothing to cry over."
Her sobs gained force. "I wanna give her somethin' nice."
"You will. We'll think of something."
After enfolding her in his arms, he propped his chin on her head. Her silken hair smelled of Pear's soap and little girl sweetness, a scent he wasn't at all sure could be defined. Since meeting Miranda, he only knew it existed.
Perhaps innocence had an essence all of its own.
"Honey, please don't cry. I said we'll think of something."
"But I don't got a present to give her!" she cried. "She'll come back from the barn 'specting somethin', and I don't gots nothin'."
"We'll just have to surprise her. We'll make her wait all day, thinking we both forgot, and then we'll give her something tonight. Those kinds of presents are the most fun, anyhow, because you don't think you're going to get anything."
"But what?"
Without a cup of coffee to clear his head, Zach wasn't very inventive. "You could pick her some real roses. A great big beautiful bouquet. She'd love that."
"But she made them roses, not me! I wanna give her somethin' I did. Somethin' purdy that she can keep. She don't got nothing that's purdy, Mr. Zach. Not a single thing."
He had noticed that, yes. The only beautiful things in this house were Kate and Miranda. "Maybe you could pick her some wild flowers. That'd be something you did, and she'd be real surprised. When they start to wilt, she can press them in her Bible so she can keep them a long time."
"Alls we got is danderlions."
He smiled in spite of himself. "Dandelions are pretty."
"They're weeds. Ma jerks 'em up ever' time she sees one."
So much for that idea. Zach searched his mind. Suddenly he recalled a gift for his mother that his father had helped him make years ago. "I've got it. Let's carve her a plaque."
That clearly stirred Miranda's interest. "What's a plaque?"
Zach wondered if she had any idea how weak in the middle he felt when she regarded him through puddles of tears. A man didn't stand a chance. "It's kind of like a picture. Made out of wood. Ladies hang them on their walls. We could carve her a rose in the center and darken the etching with charcoal. It'd be something pretty that she could keep forever."
Her swimming eyes brightened with pleasure. Feeling relieved, Zach lifted a corner of the bedsheet to dry her cheeks.
"Okay, let's do it."
He chuckled. "Can I have my coffee and breakfast first? It wouldn't be much of a surprise if your ma came in to feed me and caught us making her a present."
"Okay," she agreed reluctantly. "You can eat first."
* * *
Immediately after breakfast, Zach sent Miranda to the barn for a suitable piece of wood. Since she had never seen a plaque, suitable turned out to be the operative word. She made four trips before she returned with a flat board that held any promise. Since Zach was afraid she might cut herself with his pocketknife, he had to do the carving while Miranda did "the most important part" by holding one end of the wood.
When Kate came in from doing chores, a mad scramble ensued to hide the newspaper full of wood shavings and the half-finished plaque. Zach ended up with the shavings dumped in the bed, which was uncomfortable, to say the least.
After lunch, he shooed Miranda from his room long enough to don his jeans. Then the two of them cleaned out his bed. Once that was done, they set to work again. By late afternoon, the carving part of the process was complete, and all that remained was to darken the etching with charcoal. Zach had looked forward to this stage all day, for the coloring was something Miranda could do by herself.
"How about getting me some charcoal?" he asked.
She went perfectly still. "Charcoal?"
"Yeah. You know, a chunk of the black stuff that's left over after a fire. There should be some in the fireplace grate."
At the suggestion, Miranda turned absolutely white. There was no mistaking that look in her eyes. He shifted his gaze to the scars on her hand. At last he knew how she must have gotten burned. She wasn't the first child to have played with fire and suffered catastrophic consequences.
Though still horribly weak and shaky on his feet, he swung off the bed and stood. "Now that I think on it, there's no reason why I can't go and get it myself," he said lightly. "Point me in the right direction."
"The closest fireplace is in the room by the kitchen," she said thinly. "There's another one in the parlor, but you'd have to walk longer."
"And where is the kitchen?"
Zach expected her to lead the way, but she remained on the bed, face still pale. He didn't have much strength, but if she grew this upset just thinking about the fireplace, he had no choice but to explore until he found it. The house wasn't that large, and he knew the kitchen had to be on the first floor.
"Sit tight," he said, grabbing the footboard of the bed for support as he moved toward the door. "I'll be right back." A few faltering steps across the floor and he amended that. "Well, maybe not right back. But don't give up on me."
Several minutes later, he returned to the bedroom, charcoal in hand, feeling as exhausted as if he had run a five-mile race. When he reached the bed, he collapsed. Further work on Kate's plaque had to wait until he had caught his breath and rested.
Despite the delay, the gift was finished by the time Kate came in from doing the gardening and evening chores. A work of art, it definitely wasn't. Without any way to sand its surface, the wood was still rough, despite all Zach's attempts to smooth it with his knife blade. But Miranda was ecstatic over it. Between the two of them, they concocted a plan to surprise Kate with her present when she came in to serve Zach his supper.
Their careful plans went off without a hitch—until Kate leaned over to set Zach's supper tray on his lap. Miranda chose that moment to pop out from under the bed, yelling "Surprise!" a little more loudly than they had rehearsed. The shout startled Kate so badly that she nearly dumped Zach's meal all over him.
"Oh, my!" she cried, pressing a hand over her heart. "What is this?"
Miranda beamed up at her and shoved the plaque in her hands. "Your birthday present. I made it for you."
Kate's eyes went wide as she examined the patterned edge Zach had carved. Then she ran shaky fingertips over the rose, looking more impressed than the artwork warranted. He silently applauded her for giving a fine performance.
"Oh, Miranda," she whispered, "how lovely."
"Mr. Zach helped. But only a little bit."
Kate's mouth curved up at one co
rner in a smile that he suspected she was trying to squelch. "It's—oh, sweetness, words can't describe it. You made this for me? All by yourself, with only a little help? I can't believe it."
As she spoke, Kate's eyes filled with tears, and she sank to her knees to embrace her daughter. "I've never received anything so lovely. Most times everyone plumb forgets my birthday!"
"Not me," Miranda chirped. "I'll always give you a present on your birthday, Ma. Just you watch."
"I know. How lucky I am to have such a thoughtful little girl!" As if she suddenly realized she had tears on her cheeks, Kate swiped with her sleeve and fluttered her eyelashes. "I seem to have something in my eye. A bit of wood chip, maybe."
Miranda threw Zach a secretive I-told-you-so look. Then she used her sleeve to help her mother mop up. Zach fixed his gaze on his supper plate. Happy tears. He camouflaged a grin by filling his mouth with salmon.
"This calls for a celebration," Kate announced shakily. "After our supper, what say we have a birthday party?"
In her excitement, Miranda jumped up and down. "Can we have it in here, so Mr. Zach can have fun with us?"
Kate pushed to her feet, still holding the plaque in one hand. "Of course. It wouldn't be fair to exclude him after he helped you to make me such a lovely gift."
The sincerity in Kate's voice brought Zach's head up. She was turning the plaque in her hands, testing its surface and once again tracing the design with her fingertips. He studied her face, searching for any sign of artifice. All he found was an unspoiled sweetness. That silly etching of a rose, humble and imperfect as it was, meant the world to her; it truly did.
Zach looked away again, this time not to save her feelings but to hide his own.
* * *
Shortly after supper, Zach smelled cookies baking. A few minutes after that, Kate and Miranda came to his room, each bearing a tray, the child's filled with freshly baked sweets, Kate's with three mugs and a pot of hot cocoa.
"It's time for our party!" Miranda informed him in an excited voice. "Are you ready?"
Aside from eating, Zach wasn't too sure what they might do to celebrate. He hoped the child wouldn't be disappointed. He needn't have worried. Kate was nothing if not inventive. She told stories. They sang songs.
Then they capped off the evening by playing charades. In all his life, Zach had never laughed so much or so hard.
When the hour grew late, Kate gathered Miranda onto her lap and ended the festivities with another story, which she told in a low voice that made Miranda start to nod off.
Thinking the child was asleep, Kate let her voice trail off. Miranda immediately jerked awake. "Then what happened?"
"I'm sorry, sweetness. Your eyes were closed, and I thought you were snoozing."
Miranda snuggled back down. "My eyes goes to sleep before my ears does."
Kate resumed the story. Zach thought she looked ready to nod off herself. She'd been going full tilt since before dawn, doing work that would exhaust a man. Most mothers would have accepted the plaque, said thank you, and gone to bed.
But not Kate. Her child was clearly the most important thing in her life, and no sacrifice was too great if it would make Miranda happy. Such love, so very much love.
The lamp on the bedside table threw out a warm glow that created a nimbus of gold around her and the child.
Watching Kate's face and the emotions that played upon it, Zach found himself wishing she'd look at him that way. Just once.
Though he knew he had overstayed his welcome, he didn't want to leave. The thought made him feel desolate.
Yet the day was bound to come soon, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.
From beyond the open window, the sounds of the summer night drifted to him, a dreamy backdrop for the gentle cadence of Kate's voice. The harmony of crickets and frogs floated on a soft breeze that rustled through the trees and over the tall grasses. So peaceful, just the three of them like this. It felt so right, so absolutely right. If time had substance, Zach would have grabbed this particular handful and stuffed it under his pillow. But, alas, the ticking of the clock didn't falter, and the precious moments swept by, forever lost to him.
After she finished the story, Kate smoothed Miranda's hair and whispered, "I'd best get her tucked in." She lifted luminous eyes to his. "I'll come back down to clear up the mess."
He couldn't help but note the shadows that lined her cheekbones. "Leave it till morning. You look plumb tuckered out."
"It's a very wonderful kind of tired," she said with a smile. "All women should be so blessed."
Blessed? She slaved every waking moment of every day, yet still had trouble making ends meet. Because she refused to take money, Zach had commissioned Marcus to bring over food—flour, sugar, potatoes, smoked and dried meat, anything that would keep and in far greater quantities than Zach could ever consume. But that wasn't enough. She needed a man to look after her. Most farm widows set out lickety-split to find a new husband, a period of mourning be hanged. Survival, that was what it boiled down to. Surely she realized that. Yet never once had she indicated that her thoughts were running along that line.
If they had been, he was the perfect candidate, scars or no. He loved her child. His property bordered hers. He was well-set financially, and nobody could say he didn't have the muscle for hard work. He could give her everything a woman could want.
At the thought, his throat tightened. He wanted to give her so much. Did she realize that? Was that why she seemed so unsettled every time their gazes locked, because she sensed what he was thinking?
She pushed to her feet, cradling Miranda in her arms as though she held a precious treasure. "If I leave the cleanup till morning, it'll throw me off stride the whole day. As tempting as it is, I reckon I'd better do it tonight."
"I wish I could help."
"Nonsense. It won't take me more than a few minutes." She turned toward the door. "I'll be right back."
While she was gone, Zach got out of bed and started cleaning up. Each step was an effort, and before long, his hands started to quiver. Even so, he managed to gather the cups and put the plate of cookies back on the tray.
Afterward, he lay on the bed in a pool of sweat, resenting his weakness, yet acutely aware that it was his only excuse for remaining here.
Excuses. He had been making excuses for days, trying to put off the inevitable. Deep down, he knew his time here already should have come to an end. With the help of Marcus and Ching Lee, he could manage to get along over at his place now.
He closed his eyes, hating to make the decision yet knowing he had to. This woman and child didn't belong to him. They never would. It was time to pick up the pieces of his heart and get the hell out of here.
"You shouldn't have, Zachariah! I could have picked up."
At the sound of her voice, he opened his eyes and raised his head. "It's my contribution to your birthday celebration."
She moved toward the bed, her eyes aglow. "You contributed plenty by making that beautiful plaque. Thank you for devoting so much time to it. You made the day for Miranda."
"It wasn't much of a present." He managed a grin, even though smiling was the last thing he felt like doing. "If you had dropped a couple of hints a few days back, I could have helped her make something nicer."
"Yes, well. I didn't have any more warning than you. It isn't actually my birthday, you see."
Zach narrowed one eye. "Say what?"
She lifted her hands and gave a little laugh. "It isn't my birthday. I can't imagine where she got the idea—" She broke off and chuckled again. "Well, actually, I can. I thought about it all evening, and I finally concluded that she misunderstood something I said this morning."
"And what was that?"
A blush touched her cheeks. "Something silly." Her gaze moved to the window. "The dawn was so lovely this morning. When I came in from gathering wood, I felt uplifted, and I said something about feeling reborn. I remember h
er asking if that meant it was my birthday, and I said yes, in a sense, it was."
He understood exactly what she meant about the dawn and the sense of newness. Baptism in the first rays of morning light, a feeling that nothing before that moment mattered. Ah, yes, he understood. He had felt just that way a thousand times.
It was his turn to chuckle. "And she took it from there? Why on earth didn't you just tell her? As tired as I know you are, why the party and all?"
"I couldn't disappoint her like that, not after she'd worked all day to make me a gift. She's so small that she won't realize a whole year hasn't passed by the time the actual date rolls around."
"You're a marvel, Katie. Just take care that you don't push yourself that extra step once too often. You're only one person, and working too hard can wear anyone down."
She bent over the bed to grasp one of the trays. "As I said, it's a very nice kind of tired."
As she stacked one tray atop the other, the sweetness of her scent filled his senses, and he felt the misty warmth of her breath on his jaw. He felt like a fist had just been buried in his guts. He closed his eyes on an urge to touch her.
"Are you all right?"
Hell, no, he wasn't all right. He wasn't sure if he'd ever be all right again. "I'm fine. It's just been a long day."
He lifted his eyelashes, praying she'd move away. Instead, she touched a hand to his forehead. Annoyed, he grabbed her wrist. The contact was nearly his undoing. Only the wariness he saw in her eyes forestalled him from pulling her toward him.
Just once, he wanted to taste those tremulous lips of hers to see if they were as warm and moist and sweet as they looked. Just once, he wanted to see how her body felt pressed the full length of his. Just once, dammit.
He released his hold on her. And his heart broke a little at the nervous way she grabbed up the trays and hastened away from him. When she reached the doorway, she glanced back.
She knew. He could see it in her eyes. She knew, and the realization terrified her.