a father as you will a mother.”
“That’s ridiculous. You’ll make a fine father. Why would—”
“I thought you just said you would try harder?” Zach interrupted.
Lou dabbed at her nose again. “Yes, I did. I’m sorry. Go on. Why don’t you think you’ll be any good at it?”
“Because I’m me.”
“I’m sorry, but that makes no sense. Of course you’re you. Who else would you be?”
Zach gazed out over the lake. “Until I met you, I was what some would call reckless. I have a temper, and time and again it got me into trouble. Time and again I spilled blood. The irony, as my pa would call it, didn’t escape me.”
“The irony?”
“I always hated being called a breed. People look down their noses at breeds. They think breeds are violent and vicious, and I despised them for that. But then one day it hit me. I had become the very thing I despised them for thinking I was. If that isn’t ironic, I don’t know what is.”
“What does that have to do with our baby?”
“It got so bad, I have a reputation for being a killer. I was arrested by the army and put on trial, remember? It’s a wonder I’m standing here now, talking to you. I might have been hanged.”
“I was there. I know all about your past. You’ve kept no secrets from me,” Lou said. “But that was then. This is now. You’ve changed, Zach. You’re not the same person you once were.”
“People never change. They act in new ways, but the old part of them is still buried deep inside.” Zach sighed. “I act mature now, yes, but I still have a temper. I just control it better.”
“Then you have changed, and for the better.”
“Will you please listen?” Zach was growing exasperated. He took several deep breaths to calm himself, then went on. “People
“Why wouldn’t it?” Lou was struggling to grasp what he was getting at, and worried she was upsetting him even more.
“Because I’ll still be me. I’ll still be the man who doesn’t abide insults. I’ll still be the man who wants to smash the face of anyone who looks down their nose at him. I’ll still be the same Zach King who got into trouble all those times and was nearly hanged.”
Comprehension dawned, and Lou almost laughed. “Oh, you glorious fool, you.”
“Excuse me? Did you just call me a fool?”
“You were arrested for killing a man who was selling guns to the Indians and trying to stir up a war, and you were acquitted. So let’s not hear any more about that. As for your temper, you hardly ever lose it anymore, so you can change, no matter what you think. No, what’s bothering you is that our child will be a half-breed, and you don’t want it to go through the hell you did.”
“There’s that, too.”
“But don’t you see? No child of ours will suffer as you did because we won’t let it. I know you. You’ll protect our son or daughter as fiercely as a mother bear protects her cubs.”
Zach managed a wry grin. “So now I’m a fool and a female?”
“But you do want this baby, don’t you?”
“More than anything in the world.”
Louisa flooded with emotion. “I love you, Zach King.”
“And I love you, broken ears.”
She flew into his arms, and for a long while they just stood there, saying nothing because there was no need.
Chapter Five
Shakespeare McNair whistled as he rode. The sun was shining in a bright blue sky, birds were singing in the trees, and the lake was a picturesque playground for mallards, geese, mergansers, and other water fowl. All was right with the world, and he liked his world that way.
Shakespeare rode slowly. His white mare, like he, was getting on in years. He had thought about getting another horse and letting her while away her days in the corral, but she was like him in another regard—she liked to get out and around, and became downright ornery if she was cooped up too long. In that respect, she also reminded him of a certain Flathead lady he knew. He chuckled at the thought.
Shakespeare passed Nate and Winona’s cabin and rose in the stirrups to stare intently at the dwelling of their elder offspring and daughter-in-law. All appeared tranquil. Smoke curled from the chimney. The chickens were pecking. He gathered that everything was all right. He hoped so. He dearly adored both Zach and Lou, and regarded them as family. The boy had been calling him uncle since he could toddle.
Shakespeare drew rein a dozen feet out. “Hail the cabin!” he hollered. “Are you decent in there?”
The door opened, framing Lou. She had on a dress and an apron, and her hands were on her hips. “What else would we be at this time of day? That is not all women think about, unlike some men I could mention.”
“Now, now,” Shakespeare said. “He can’t help it. At his age, most males are randy as goats.”
“I was talking about you.”
“Me?” Shakespeare declared in mock indignation. “Why, I’m scandalized. I’ll have you know, young lady, that at my age women are not the beall and end-all. Waking up in the morning is.”
“That’s not what Blue Water Woman told me.”
“How’s that?”
“We were at Winona’s not long ago and your darling wife happened to mention that she can’t hardly get her housework done for you pawing her all the time.”
Shakespeare’s indignation was no longer mock. “She said that? The wench! Her kisses are Judas’s own children. There’s no more faith in her than in a stewed prune.”
Laughing, Lou came outside. She squinted against the glare of the sun and ran her hands down her apron. “A man your age, I should think you would be flattered.”
“A man my—!” Shakespeare put a hand to his chest as if stricken. “What have I done, child, that you prick me so? Am I remiss in my bathing? ‘Love talks with better knowledge, and knowledge with dearer love,’ ” he quoted.
“Now, now. Don’t get all pouty. Your wife loves you as dearly as she loves anything and would never say something that would hurt your feelings.”
“Too late for that,” Shakespeare huffed. “ ‘You cannot make gross sins look clear.’ ” He lowered his hand. “But we’ll drop it for now. I’ll take this up with her when I get back.”
“Don’t you dare. She’ll ask how you found out.”
“I’ll lie.”
“She’s too smart for that. Sometimes I think she’s the smartest person in our valley. She’ll figure out that since only Winona and I knew, and Winona is gone, it had to be me.”
“And what of me, child?” Shakespeare asked. “Have I no brain? Aren’t I as intelligent as my wife?”
“Oh, I am sure you are,” Lou hastily assured him. “But smart is not the same thing as intelligent.”
“Since when? That’s like saying a scrambled egg isn’t the same thing as an egg cooked with the yolk staring at you. They are both eggs.”
To Lou the distinction was obvious. “Intelligent is when you have a really good brain. Smart is when you know how to use it.”
“Dear Lord. Now I’m twice stricken.” Shakespeare drew his knife and held it out to her, hilt first. “Here. Stab true and put an end to my misery.”
“Oh, please. You’re smart, too. Now quit acting silly and climb down. I’m baking a cake.”
