Coming Up Roses Read Free

the warming shelf. "If he has, I reckon we'll just throw them back. Don't be a goose, Miranda. There's nothing to be afraid of."
    Miranda slid off her elevated perch. "You ain't seen how big and mean lookin' he is."
    "And you have? Don't tell me you've wandered over there?"
    Before Miranda could answer, something struck the house again and distracted Kate. With the child following in her wake, she went to investigate, feeling a tad uneasy in spite of herself. It was bad enough that their new neighbor, Zachariah McGovern, was probably a drinking man, let alone big and mean. She had troubles enough running this farm without adding an inebriated, cantankerous, and oversized neighbor to the list.
    Kate was totally unprepared for the sight that greeted her when she opened the front door. A large yellow-and-white dog was digging gigantic holes in her rose garden along the fence, the damp, well-turned earth flying in wide arcs behind him. Miranda caught her breath and gave a dismayed squeak.
    "Consternation!" Kate ran across the stoop and down the steps. "Shoo! Bad dog!" The dog, seemingly oblivious to her cries, never paused in his excavations. Kate snapped her apron at him. "Shoo, I said! Confound it, look what you've done. Go home. Go on, git!"
    Throwing up a thin little arm to shield her face from the flying dirt, Miranda followed Kate into the yard. "Make him stop, Ma. Hurry and make him stop before he digs it all up!"
    Kate was trying, but the dog didn't seem particularly intimidated. Her pulse skittery with building anger, she raced back into the house for her broom. She'd show that ill-mannered mongrel what for, and next time he'd think twice about digging holes at the Blakely place.
     

Chapter 2
     
    T he leather of the saddle squeaked as Zach McGovern stood in the stirrups. His sorrel gelding snorted and tossed his head in protest at the uncomfortable shift of his rider's weight.
    "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