Chapter 8.

Katherine sat in her car for ten minutes before she felt calm enough to drive. Coming here had been a big mistake, and she wouldn't repeat it. She'd drive straight back to the hotel and return Maggie's car before she did anything more foolish.

With that resolve, she started the engine and pulled out of the parking lot. Her pa.s.sion cooled as she drove down the quiet winding road that surrounded Stanton Farms. She had to admit it was beautiful here with the sun shining through the trees, the pastures green for grazing, the gentle hills promising new wonders beyond each rise.

Katherine slowed the car as a riot of color invaded her vision. Off to the right, toward the top of one hill, she saw a bevy of wildflowers, reds and yellows and purples, bright and flamboyant against the green bushes and thick, sweeping trees. It was so beautiful she couldn't stop herself from hitting the brake. Before she knew it, she was out of the car and climbing the hill.

She had no idea if she was trespa.s.sing, but there was no one around to ask for permission. The canopy of trees prevented any view of what was beyond. When she reached the top of the hill, Katherine expected to see more white fences, more pastures, but instead she saw the entire valley spread out before her, like squares on a patchwork quilt-her quilt.

An odd tingle ran down her spine, accompanied by the tantalizing scent of lavender. Katherine turned her head as the scent grew stronger with the breeze. There was a path off to the right that wove through a forest of trees. As she moved along the path, a wrought-iron gate appeared before her, wildflowers weaving their stems around the metal bars.

Feeling a little like Alice chasing the white rabbit, Katherine stepped closer. She pushed the gate open and walked into an unexpected bower of flowers. Irises, lavender, lily of the valley, roses, camellias, the list went on and on and on. She couldn't believe the sight in front of her, a spectrum of color blooming wildly among the weeds and overgrowth. A cobblestone path wound its way around the flower beds, leading to a cement bench set in the center next to an old dried-out water fountain with-what else?-a horse atop the spout.

Katherine walked over to the bench and sat down, feeling the cool cement beneath her hands. The air was heavy and still, filled with perfume. The garden had obviously been designed, yet neglected. She couldn't imagine who had gone to such trouble, only to let the garden descend into madness.

She leaned over, catching sight of a small lavender plant almost buried beneath the weeds. Another moment and she was on her hands and knees, pulling the weeds away, digging her fingers into the dirt, feeling the pleasure in unveiling the tiny flower. When she was done, she sat back on her heels and contemplated the tiny plant in front of her. Now that the flower had been unearthed, the lavender scent wafted toward her, sensual, mysterious, caressing...

The hairs on the back of her neck began to tingle. She suddenly felt like someone was watching her. Before she could move, a woman's voice came out of the shadows.

"Margaret?"

Katherine whirled around to find herself facing a tiny, slender woman with silky white hair and bright blue eyes. Her fair skin was almost translucent, tiny little wrinkles on her face and weather spots on her hands belying her age. Late sixties or seventies, Katherine thought, but she must have been a strikingly beautiful woman in her youth.

"You're not Margaret." She put a hand to her heart. "For a moment there..."

Katherine scrambled to her feet, wiping her hands on the legs of her jeans.

"When I saw you kneeling on the ground," the woman said haltingly, "I had the strangest feeling that I knew you. I thought you were someone else. Someone very special." She shook her head as if wondering where that thought had come from.

Katherine wasn't sure what to say. "I'm sorry if I'm trespa.s.sing. I saw the flowers from the road, and I couldn't resist. I never imagined I'd find a secret garden."

The older woman smiled sadly. "A secret garden. That's what Margaret used to call it. My daughter. She practically lived in this garden." The woman stopped, a startled expression flitting through her eyes. "I'm sorry. I didn't introduce myself. I'm Claire Stanton."

Stanton? The owner of Stanton Farms? Katherine obviously hadn't strayed as far away from Zach as she'd hoped. "I'm Katherine Whitfield." Katherine offered her hand to Claire for a brief squeeze.

"It's nice to meet you," Claire said.

"And you. Your land is beautiful. Especially this garden. I shouldn't have come in without asking. I hope you'll forgive me."

"It doesn't matter. No one comes here anymore." Claire looked around the garden. "I haven't been here in years. I used to try to keep it up-for Margaret's sake. But my arthritis got so bad, I couldn't weed anymore. Now I wish I'd hired someone to do it for me. I guess a part of me always hoped she'd come back to take care of it herself."

"I'm sure you could turn it into the beautiful garden it once was. The flowers are still blooming despite the odds. That's something."

Claire smiled at her. "I saw you weeding. You couldn't resist?"

Katherine smiled back. "It's a weakness. I have a hard time walking by a weed without pulling it."

"My daughter was the same way. She loved flowers far more than she loved horses." Claire ended her sentence with a sigh. "And this is horse country, you know. Not much else matters."

"So I've been told."

Claire sat down on the bench and patted the seat next to her. "Sit down, Miss Whitfield. There's no need to run off so soon. Tell me how you came to find our secret garden."

Katherine sat down next to Claire, turning slightly so she could look into her warm, friendly, motherly eyes. "I came to see Zach Tyler."

"You know Zach?"

"Well, I wouldn't say I know him exactly. We've met a few times."

"You're the beautiful blonde who ran him off the road." A gleam of curiosity lit up her eyes and her smile. "I should have guessed right away."

"Did Zach tell you about me?" Katherine asked, somewhat surprised and touched by his description of her.

"No, I think it was Leeanne or Mary Jo or maybe Sharon. I can't recall. We were all at the quilting."

"The quilting?"

"Wednesday night. Oh, it's a long story, dear, but suffice it to say, news travels fast in Paradise."

"I can see that."

Claire patted her on the leg. "I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable with my gossip."

"You didn't. What is a quilting exactly?" Katherine couldn't help the shiver of antic.i.p.ation that ran down her spine. This woman knew about quilts. She might even know about her quilt.

"A quilting is when we get together to work on a quilt. It's a big tradition in Paradise. In a sense, every girl begins her quilt from the day she is born, when her mother's friends provide the border squares. But from then on, the girl is responsible for adding squares as she grows up. She'll often use pieces of material from special dresses, first day of kindergarten, first birthday dress, prom dress, all those special kinds of things. We think of them as memory quilts, sc.r.a.pbooks made out of fabric. I still have the one I made for myself over the years. When I look at, I can see my entire life."

Katherine felt her heart flutter. Was her mother's true life depicted on the quilt? Was everything else Katherine had been told a lie? "What would the border normally be?" Katherine asked.

"Well, around here, we usually do a flower or plant, roses, starburst, ivy, whatever that family is partial to. We also do a wedding quilt when one of our girls gets married. The last few weeks we've been working on a quilt we're going to auction off at one of the Derby fund-raisers beginning next week."

"I didn't know women still worked on quilts," Katherine said, realizing once again how different this world was from the one she'd left.

"Oh, heavens, yes. It's a tradition, and traditions are very important here in the valley. Maybe we're a little backwards. Maybe that's what drives some people away."

She looked sad again, making Katherine hesitate in her questions.

"Will you be here for the Derby?" Claire asked, changing the subject.

"I think so," Katherine said. "I've heard so much about it. I'd like to stay and see it."

"Oh, you should. Zach's horse has a very good chance of winning, you know."

"So he told me," Katherine said dryly.

Claire laughed again, a beautiful melodious sound that reminded Katherine of the way her mother used to laugh. "I've never met a horse owner yet who didn't think his horse could win the Derby. Horse people tend to be dreamers, you know."

"Garden people, too,"

"Yes, I think Margaret dreamed here many a time. I thought it would make me feel better to come here, but the garden is so wild, and the flowers look so sad. I think they miss Margaret, too." Claire shook her head. "Don't mind me. I'm an old woman with a lot of nonsense running through my head."

"Your daughter doesn't live here anymore?"

"She died some years ago," Claire replied, her eyes moist with unshed tears.

"I'm sorry."

"So am I. Sometimes I go to the cemetery to visit her, but I never feel like she's really there. Here in the garden, I can almost hear her laugh. I can almost smell her scent. Margaret used to come here every day," Claire continued. "She had names for all of her flowers. At first the garden was her sanctuary, then it became her hideout." Claire turned to Katherine with pain in her eyes. "Did you do that to your mother? Did you tune her out, turn your back on her?"

Claire's question tore at Katherine's heart, at the protective shield she'd put up years ago. In fact, she couldn't remember the last time someone had asked her about her mother. She was surprised at how much it still hurt.

"My mother died when I was a child," Katherine said slowly. "I didn't have a chance to rebel."

"Oh, dear. I've said the wrong thing."

"It's an old wound."

Claire got to her feet. "You sound like you've come to terms. I wish I could do that. All I want is peace, and the older I get, the harder it is to find. I just wish that I could have five more minutes with Margaret."

"I know. I wish the same thing." Katherine looked into Claire's compa.s.sionate eyes. "I want to tell my mother that I loved her, that she was the greatest mom in the world." Katherine took in a deep breath and let it out. "I don't know where that all came from. She's been gone fifteen years, but sometimes it feels like yesterday."

"It came from your heart," Claire said softly. "Mothers and daughters share a special bond."

"I never knew how special until it wasn't there anymore. You know, I'm twenty-seven, and when something good or bad happens in my life, I still wonder what my mom would think. I've lived more of my life without her than with her, but it still matters."

"It's been more than twenty years since I saw Margaret, but sometimes I hear a song, and I can see her dancing around the living room. It's the little things, isn't it?"

"The little things," Katherine whispered, Claire's words stirring her emotions into further turmoil.

"We're quite a pair, aren't we?"

Katherine stood up, realizing the shadows in the garden had grown longer. The sun would be down soon, and she still had to find her way back to town to return Maggie's car. "Thank you for sharing the garden with me."

Claire walked over to the gate and opened it. "If you have an urge to weed, you're welcome to stop by any time."

"Really?" Katherine felt an unexpected energy soar through her soul. To take this wild garden and turn it into something beautiful would be a daunting but exciting task.

"Feel free. I'd love to see the garden the way it used to be. Not that you have to feel any pressure to do so. In fact, I should offer to pay you."

Katherine held up a hand. "Absolutely not. And thank you for the offer. I'd love to take on this garden."

"Good. Let me know if you need anything. In fact, we have plenty of gardening tools in a shed at the back of our house. If I'm not home when you come by, feel free to ask Zach. He knows where everything is."

And Zach would be the last person who would want to help her find gardening tools so she could dig herself even deeper into the community.

"I'm sure Zach would love to see you again," Claire said with a gleam in her eyes. "He's a good man."

"I'm not looking for a man-well, at least not one of that age."

Claire raised an eyebrow, and Katherine wished she could take back her last sentence.

"Whatever do you mean, dear?"

"Well..." Katherine hesitated, not sure how much she should tell. But since her visit to the bank, it was probably all over town anyway. "I think my real father lived in Paradise a long time ago, and I'm hoping to find him. I don't have much to go on, just the initial J."

Claire's smile faded. "Your real father? That's a difficult question to be asking of folks."

"I know, but it's important to me to find him. It's like the last missing piece of a puzzle, and I can't see the whole picture without it."

"Then my dear, I wish you luck. Good-bye."

Claire walked out of the garden and over to the horse she had tethered by the tree. She vaulted into the saddle as gracefully as a young girl, pulled the reins up, and waved to Katherine as she turned the horse and went down the other side of the hill.

Katherine stared after her for a long time, wondering why Claire had ended the conversation so abruptly. In fact, her eyes had gone from warm and friendly to ice-cold. Did Claire know something? Or was she simply uncomfortable with the idea that one of her friends or neighbors might be Katherine's real father?

"I'm not trying to hurt anyone," she called out helplessly, but her words came back on the wind.

Zach opened the door to his one-bedroom cottage and winced at the blast of heat. The afternoon sunshine had blazed through his windows for hours, and even though the sun had finally gone down, the warmth remained. He hurried to open a few windows, pleased that the early evening breeze began to cool things down.

The house was small, but it was all Zach needed. Best of all, it had come with the job, so he didn't have to spend money on rent. Not that he couldn't have afforded a much larger house. His salary as farm manager was more than adequate for his needs, but he spent every extra cent on Rogue. The horse was his investment in the future, and in the meantime, he had a roof over his head and running water. It was more than he had had at other times in his life.

Zach made his way into the kitchenette and pulled a beer out of the loud, ailing refrigerator. He popped the cap, then drank deeply, until it was almost gone.

Better, he thought. Marginally better.

It wasn't just the weather that was making him hot, it was Katherine. He never should have kissed her. He could still taste her on his lips, feel her body in his hands. He'd expected her to protest, to resist, not to kiss him back as if she were starving and he was her next meal. She never did what she was supposed to do.

He'd simply gone too long without a woman, he told himself for the tenth time that day. If he had any sense, he'd drive into Louisville and find some beautiful stranger to spend a few hours with and take his mind off Katherine. She was the perfect troublemaker, an innocent smile and a reckless naivete. He was not going to fall into her trap.

Katherine had wedding, marriage, and babies written all over her face. That kind of life was not for him. He'd had a brief lapse in judgment when he'd let Crystal talk him into believing in a future, but he wouldn't let that happen again.

Zach finished the beer in one long swallow and tossed the bottle into the trash. He needed a cold shower, time to get his head together, to remind himself that he had a mission to follow, and it had nothing to do with Katherine Whitfield, or her incredible blue eyes, or her seductive lips. He had a farm to run and a horse to get to the Derby. A hard knock came at the door, sending a rush of blood through his veins. If Katherine had been foolish enough to come back, she wouldn't be leaving any time soon.

Zach flung open the door, prepared to tell her a few home truths, then his jaw dropped open. The person standing on his step was not Katherine. It was a man, tall and square, dark brown hair, cunning blue eyes, a gentleman and a thief, a sinner and a saint, depending on his mood. It was the last person Zach expected to see, the last person he wanted to see-Jackson Tyler, his father.

"Aren't you going to invite me in, son?" Jackson asked, with a smile that had conned many a sucker into saying yes.

Zach's hands clenched into fists. He wanted to say no. He wanted to slam the door in his face. But the man was his father. His blood.

"You said you weren't coming back," Zach reminded him, unwilling to budge just yet.