"Just keep your shirt on, Dander. I won't be but a minute."
Zach took off his hat, wiped his brow with his sleeve, and squinted into the feeble sunlight. He hoped to spot his dog, Nosy, who was half collie, half Australian shepherd, and all ornery. Damned dog, anyway. He ought to let him run, that's what. It'd serve Nosy right if a neighboring farmer shot his no-account ass off.
Even as he thought it, Zach knew he couldn't head home and leave the dog to whatever fate might befall him. For all his pranks, Nosy was a sweet old mutt. The problem was that he killed chickens. Not maliciously, never that.
It was more a case of overzealous chase and pounce, during which the chickens lost enthusiasm for the game. But Zach didn't reckon an angry farmer would care what Nosy's intentions were. The end result, no matter how you looked at it, was dead chickens, and that was a shooting offense in farming country.
Zach sighed as he took the measure of the neighboring spreads that dotted the hills along the North Umpqua River . Spotting Nosy in the thick line of oak and fir trees along the stream was hopeless, and at this distance, the odds of his being able to tell a dog from a sheep in the fields weren't much better.
If he were Nosy, which direction would he head? Going on the assumption that Nosy had probably followed his infamous nose straight into the first peck of trouble he happened upon, Zach supposed he ought to check at the closest farms first. He lowered himself back onto the saddle.
Wasn't that a fine kettle of fish? Ever since coming here nigh unto three months ago, he'd been planning to drop by and introduce himself to his nearest neighbor, the widow Kathryn Blakely. Talk in town had it that she was about as pretty as could be and badly in need of a husband since her first had got himself drowned in the river.
Not a strong-natured woman, according to the gossip, and given to nervous spells, but so beautiful that no man in his right mind would give a tinker's damn once he looked at her.
Zach doubted Kathryn Blakely was as comely as rumor claimed. Well-meaning folks had a way of exaggerating a widow woman's attributes when an available bachelor was within earshot. Times were just that hard. But Zach didn't value a woman's looks overmuch, anyway. Being a widower and lonely, not to mention none too pretty himself, he considered anything on the uphill side of ugly a good prospect. He had hoped to scrub up and put on his Sunday best before moseying over to meet her, though. Nosy's escape from his pen had scotched that.
Using his fingers as a comb, Zach tried to smooth the front of his hair, not bothering with the back since that would be covered by his hat. Then he did a half-assed job of wiping his face with his sleeve. God only knew what he must look like after working behind the plow all day. Damned no-account dog, anyway.
As he drew near the Blakely farm, the sound of a dog's excited barking, interspersed by high-pitched shrieks, told Zach he had found Nosy long before he could actually see him. Judging by the noise, he also guessed that the mutt's nose had once again led him straight into trouble.
As Zach rode up the rutted drive to the weathered, two-story white house, he could finally see what all the commotion was about. Nosy had discovered a new pastime, digging holes. From the looks of things, the dog found it far more entertaining than chicken chasing, and Zach could see why. Nosy had a found a woman instead of a chicken to play with him.
Adding to the overall ruckus was a little girl, no bigger than a mite, who was dancing about, waving her spindly arms and screaming. It didn't appear to Zach that the child's shrieks were likely to make the dog leave off anytime soon. And Kathryn Blakely's swings with her broom weren't exactly what could be termed powerful dissuaders.
Instead of clobbering the mutt, as he so richly deserved, she drew the broom up short every time she swung. A stranger to blows of any kind, Nosy seemed to think this new game of swing and duck was all for fun.
With all the noise and confusion, Zach's slow approach went unnoticed. He drew his horse to a stop several yards shy of the flower bed, which cut about a ten-foot swath along the fence, extending out into the yard some six feet.
Just having come from his own place, where the work was piled knee high to a tall Indian, he couldn't help but notice that the Blakely farm was in equally sad shape. It wasn't just that the house needed painting. The front porch was buckled and sinking at one end, the fence that bordered the rose garden leaned and swayed in the brisk breeze, and the barn looked as though a sneeze would blow it over.
Zach returned his attention to the well-tended rose garden, which struck a strange contrast to the ramshackle condition of everything surrounding it. It was none of his concern, but to his way of thinking, a widow's time might be better spent on something other than flowers. Trying to survive out here without a man, she'd find herself rose rich and food poor come winter if she didn't get her priorities straight.
As he refocused on Kathryn Blakely, Zach's serious thoughts gave way to amazement. While he had been looking elsewhere, she had somehow managed to get her coronet of braid tangled in the thorns of a rosebush that climbed the trellis behind her.
Zach took in the damage and wondered why she persisted in darting after Nosy. True, the dog had dug some considerable holes, but none had unearthed the rosebushes or were so close they were likely to harm the roots.
The dog probably wouldn't do any irreparable damage in the time it might take for her to untangle herself.
There was just no figuring women. At least Zach had never had a knack for it. She obviously held the dirt around her roses in mighty high regard, and whether or not that made sense to him was beside the point. Damned dog. So much for his chances of getting off on the right foot with Kathryn Blakely.
And wasn't that a shame? Rumor hadn't lied. Even in a threadbare, somber black dress and smudged white apron, she was just about the prettiest little gal Zach had ever clapped eyes on. Her sable hair was as shiny as hot fudge before it lost its gloss. Even narrowed in anger, her eyes were the biggest thing about her face and the softest brown he had ever seen.
A man of lofty stature with considerable bulk, Zach had always fancied taller women with more substantial builds, but Kathryn Blakely was proof that small didn't necessarily equate to less. Though delicate of frame, she was well proportioned and pleasantly rounded in all the right places.
Nosy barked and executed some more fancy footwork to avoid another swing of the broom. Set off-balance, Kathryn Blakely did a sidestep and was brought to a reeling stop by the rose branch that was still tangled in her hair. Zach winced and decided he'd better bring this to a stop before the fool woman hurt herself.
The instant Zach shifted in the saddle to dismount, Nosy spotted him and promptly ceased his mischief. With a whine of greeting, the dog dropped to his haunches, tongue lolling, his expression angelic.
Kathryn Blakely, still anchored, twisted to look up, her large brown eyes filled with surprise. A blush of what Zach guessed to be embarrassment dotted the flawless ivory of her cheeks. The little girl threw a frightened glance over her shoulder, gasped, and then skedaddled toward the barn like a pebble launched from a bean flip.
Kathryn Blakely gazed after her fleeing daughter with unmistakable longing in her expression, but held her ground. Not, Zach was sure, because courage bolstered her but because the rose branch would snatch her bald-headed if she did otherwise.
The combined reactions of mother and child, not to mention Nosy's, made Zach feel none too welcome. "It looks like my dog has stirred up a peck of trouble." He finished dismounting and looped Dander's reins around the saddle horn. "I'm so sorry about this. He got out of his pen when I wasn't lookin' and took off."
All things considered, Zach thought his opening was as good as any and neighborly. Kathryn Blakely didn't seem to share the sentiment. Still bent sideways, she held the broom as if she intended to thump him a good one if he got too close.
Zach shuffled his boots and then remembered his manners enough to take off his hat. He no sooner did than he recalled the sti
r his hair was probably in and clapped the hat back on, backward and cockeyed. He gave it a jerk to put it right and cleared his throat, which made Kathryn Blakely start.
Zach couldn't figure out what her problem was. He knew he wasn't very pretty to look at, but he had never scared anybody speechless. For the second time in less than ten minutes, he found himself trying to look at things from someone else's perspective, first from Nosy's, and now from Kathryn Blakely's. And damned if it hadn't been easier to think like a dog.
He guessed she must be uneasy because her farm was isolated and he was a stranger. A large stranger, by her measuring stick. She wasn't much bigger than a minute, and he stood a head taller and a good measure broader than most men.
"I'm Zachariah McGovern, your new neighbor," he tried.
She brought the broom up a tad higher. So much for polite introductions. Zach glanced around, not quite sure why. A mutual acquaintance wasn't likely to appear out of thin air to introduce them properly.
He jabbed a thumb toward his place. "That's my spread over yonder."
She didn't look in the direction he pointed.
"I've been meaning to mosey over before this, but the work has kept me too busy." He eyed her tangled hair. "If you'll set that broom down, I'll get you loose from there." Her knuckles whitened as she tightened her grip.
Zach decided that he'd live through it if she tried to lop his head off. Slowly so as not to frighten her, he moved in. "You're in a fine fix. Let me see what I can do to get you untangled, hm?"
She jerked when he settled his hands on her hair. The splay of his long fingers could easily encompass her head, which gave him a better idea of how she must be feeling. She and the child were alone out here, and in these parts, a wise woman probably greeted strangers with a well-primed shotgun.
She smelled like vanilla and cinnamon, not exactly an intoxicating perfume, but mighty appealing to Zach, who thought of apple pie covered with dollops of fresh whipped cream. Good enough to eat, that was how she smelled. And her hair felt as soft as corn silk. He hated to jerk on it for fear it might tear, not to mention sting her scalp. He grasped her narrow shoulders to turn her slightly and felt the tension in her body. Coiled to run. He had a good mind to leave her tethered. Odds were a hundred to one that he'd never get another chance to get acquainted with her.
Something hit the back of Zach's legs. He glanced over his shoulder to discover that Nosy, out from under his master's evil eye, had resumed his excavations and was sending dirt flying. "Leave off, Nosy!" Zach roared.
At the sound, Kathryn Blakely tried to leap away, only to he brought up short by the rose branch. Zach saw involuntary tears spring to her eyes and felt bad about startling her into hurting herself.
"Mrs. Blakely, if you don't relax, you'll be balder than a peeled turnip by the time I get you loose."
"It's a little difficult to relax when my hair is being pulled out by the roots and my garden is being destroyed."
Zach liked the sound of her voice, even in anger. It put him in mind of warm honey on buttered biscuits.
Realizing that this was at least the third time in as many minutes that he had drawn a comparison between her and food, he had cause to wonder if he was hungry. "I'll save your hair if you'll hold still, and I'll repair the damage to your rose garden."
"If you'll just untangle me, I can tend the roses myself, thank you."
Even with her neck in a crimp, she managed a stubborn lift of her chin. Zach bit back a smile. "That wouldn't be neighborly of me. My dog did the damage. It's only right that I fix it." As he spoke, he set his jaw and gave her braid a sharp tug. "There."
Free of the thorns and him, she sidled away, one hand clamped to her smarting head, the other still gripping the broom. Zach eyed the wispy dark curls that had escaped the strictures of her braid and decided she'd be even prettier with her hair loose and soft around her shoulders. Not that she needed much help with her looks.
"Thank you for getting me untangled," she finally said.
She didn't look too grateful. Fact was, Zach suspected her fondest wish was to have him out of her sight. Now that she could stand straight and run if the mood struck, she didn't look quite so frightened. She gave his dusty jeans and chambray work shirt a careful study, then lifted her gaze to his face. After a long moment, she seemed to relax a little, and he guessed that she must have decided he was telling the truth about who he was.
"Is your hoe in the barn?" he asked.
Zach couldn't tell if she was staring at the scars on his cheek, but he felt self-conscious anyway and tugged the brim of his hat farther down.
A muscle at the corner of her mouth twitched, and her chin came up again. "As I said, I'll tend to the damage."
Zach sighed. "Mrs. Blakely—Kathryn, may I call you Kathryn? I'd like to make amends. I feel bad enough as it is. It won't take me ten minutes to fill these holes—"
"Kate."
"Beg pardon?"
"Kate," she repeated. "I go by Kate."
She didn't look like a Kate. The name Kate conjured pictures in Zach's mind of a sturdy woman with broad shoulders and a strong back. Probably because Kate Bracken, the only Kate he had ever known, had stood five foot nine and wore a size ten man's boot. Katie, maybe. Yes, Katie suited her better.
"Look, Mr.…"
"McGovern."
She licked her bottom lip. "Mr. McGovern … as much as I appreciate how you must feel"—she swept a hand toward Nosy—"about the damage your dog has done and all, it really isn't necessary for you to fill in the holes."
She cast a nervous glance at the ground. "Truly, it isn't. In fact, I'd prefer not. My daughter isn't accustomed to strangers, and I—"
A gust of wind broke over the roof of the house and came whistling across the yard to lift her black skirt. Zach got a glimpse of black high-top shoes and white muslin bloomers before she could gather the cotton twill of her skirt close to her slender legs. As the wind eddied around her, she looked toward the house and sniffed. Then a horrified expression crossed her face.
Tossing aside the broom, she dashed for the porch, crying, "My crullers! Oh, lands, I totally forgot them!"
Wondering what in the hell crullers were, Zach watched her fly into the house and disappear. The distinct smell of scorched lard drifted to him. He shot a glare at Nosy. "Damned dog."
Nosy whined and lay down, resting his head on his dirty paws.
Zach picked up the broom and leaned it against the fence. Now that Kathryn Blakely had taken the scent of vanilla and cinnamon away with her, he could smell the light perfume of the blood red roses. With a wry smile, he touched a fingertip to a delicate, silken petal and then glanced at the house. Most fragile and beautiful things had to sprout a few thorns in self-defense, he supposed.
With a shrug, he turned toward the barn, hoping to find a hoe. In short order, he did so and returned to the rose garden, his intention to right the wrong Nosy had done. Before he had executed more than three strokes with the hoe blade, Kathryn Blakely came flying from the house, for all the world as if he were molesting her person.
"I said I'd take care of it," she cried.
Grabbing the hoe, she tried to wrest it from him.
"Kate, I'd like—"
"I really don't care what you'd like! What I'd like is to fry up my grandma's cruller recipe in peace, and that's exactly what I intend to do. So, please, take your dog and go home."
Feeling absurd, he let her have the hoe. He'd be damned if he'd stand there fighting her for it. "No hard feelings?"
He knew that was a stupid question. The woman looked angry enough to chew nails and spit out screws. "I'd hate to think Nosy's antics got us off on the wrong foot."
"No hard feelings, I assure you," she replied shakily. "Not toward you or your dog. Just take him home and make certain he doesn't escape his pen again."
Zach had never known anyone to get into such a stir over a little disturbed dirt. He stood there for
a moment, gazing down at her. Standing so close, he took the measure of her height next to his shoulder and realized she missed the mark by a good half head. He doubted she'd tip the scales at much over a hundred pounds. He hated to leave her to do extra work that had been caused by his dog, but didn't see as how he had much choice.
He turned toward his horse, then paused to glance back at her. "Maybe one Sunday you and your daughter would enjoy coming for tea." Tea? Where in hell had that come from? He didn't own a teacup and wasn't any too sure he could readily buy one in Roseburg , the only close town.
"Thank you for the invitation, but I'm not much for socializing, I'm afraid. This farm keeps me as busy as yours does you."
At least she was polite when she turned a fellow down. Zach tipped his hat to her. "A pleasure meeting you."
"Likewise." She wiped her hands on her apron and scanned the churned earth around her.
Zach swung up on his horse and whistled for Nosy. As he rode along the road adjacent to the barn, a flash of movement caught his attention, and he turned to see the little girl peering out at him from around the corner of the building. He reined in to smile at her, noting that her fragile features, sable hair, and huge brown eyes made her unmistakably Kate Blakely's daughter.
"Hello," he called.
At the sound of his voice, the little girl gave a startled leap and fled. Zach gazed after her, unsettled by the stark terror he had seen flash across her face. The Blakely females were the most skittish he had ever run across, and that was a fact.
As he rode home, Zach found himself troubled by the memory of the child's frightened expression. Coming up with no explanation, Zach set the problem on a back shelf in his mind. Some people were just odd. Besides, it wasn't his concern. Even though he was her closest neighbor, he doubted he would be seeing much of Kate Blakely. Probably not hide nor hair, if she had her way, which she would. Zach was nothing if not a gentleman.
"Damned dog," he muttered.