From New York Times bestselling author Catherine Anderson comes the emotionally gripping story of a woman who must overcome her painful past before she can accept a good man’s love.... 1890, Oregon . Recently widowed Kate Blakely is struggling to make ends meet on her small farm while trying to heal from the scars of her late husband’s cruelty. When her handsome, brawny neighbor, Zachariah McGovern, almost dies while saving her four-year-old daughter from a near fatal accident, Kate is deeply wary of the man she brings into her home to nurse back to health. Gradually Kate realizes that underneath Zach’s rough exterior is a gentle, loving soul who is fiercely protective of her and her daughter. But as much as Zach longs for Kate’s love, she knows she can’t open her heart without revealing her darkest secret—a shocking truth that, if discovered, could destroy them both. Praise for Coming Up Roses Catherine Anderson loves dogs, cats, horses, cows, chickens, and nearly every other critter on earth.  Her most guilty pleasure when she isn't writing is to chat with her followers on Facebook.  Her fan page is one of the most happening places on the net, with a daily place for you to post and share pics up front and center.  Ever visited a fan page, and all you can do is reply to an author's chosen feature of the day?  Well, Catherine believes in community, and she wants her readers to not only have fun, but also to become lifelong friends.  And she always, ALWAYS replies, unless something catastrophic occurs.  She doesn't want her fan page to be all about her and her books!  Heaps of tried and true recipes!  Funny jokes.  Hilarious quotes.  It's a happening place with fairly frequent contests as well.  Please come and join in at facebook.com/catherineandersonbooks Catherine Anderson  is the author of more than thirty  New York Times  bestselling and award-winning historical and contemporary romances including the Harrigan Family series, the Coulter Family series, the Comanche series, and the Mystic Creek series. She lives in the pristine woodlands of Central Oregon. Chapter 1 Oregon, 1890 Compliments of an overcast sky, a shaft of anemic afternoon sunshine came through the window of the otherwise cheerless kitchen. Even on fair-weather days, the unpainted plank walls, floor, and ceiling made the room seem bleak. Leaning sideways to avoid getting smoke in her eyes, Kate Blakely shoved another chunk of laurel into the fire and settled the range lid back into place. Strings of pitch ignited, sizzling and snapping inside the belly of the stove. The merry crackling had always brightened Kate’s mood, and, despite everything, she still loved the sound. As she walked back across the kitchen, Kate craned her neck to look out the window at the old willow in the yard. The tree’s dense canopy of trailing branches swayed in the light breeze, an indication that it would probably be dark before the storm blew in. From the looks of the clouds hovering over the mountains, they would bring thunder and lightning, too, unless the wind picked up. A real sky ripper. The thought made the back of Kate’s throat prickle. She forced the tension from her shoulders. There was nothing to do but put a bright face on it and pretend the darkening sky didn’t worry her. Her little girl, Miranda, became agitated enough during thunderstorms without Kate adding spice to the stew. Darned weather, anyway. Southwestern Oregon always got a lot of rain, but this year beat all. Here it was mid-June already. She glanced at the lantern that hung from a ceiling beam above her. During the storm tonight, she would have to light the lamps to keep Miranda calm, and that would deplete their weekly ration of fuel. If she expected to save enough from her egg and milk money to make Miranda some school dresses and buy paint for the kitchen, she couldn’t use a lamp every time the mood struck. With a sigh, Kate picked up the dog-eared journal and carried it to the trickle of feeble sunlight over the sink. As she circled the slop bucket, used to collect food scraps for the hogs, the swirl of her black cotton twill skirt disturbed a fly. The insect, sluggish from the unseasonably chill weather, buzzed around her head and then swooped down to land on the open pages. “Confound it.” She waved the fly away and leaned into the light but still couldn’t tell how many tablespoons of rolled sugar the recipe called for. By all rights, she should know the recipe for her grandma’s crullers by heart, but her husband had never allowed her to make them. Joseph claimed sweets were as addicting and bad for the moral character as alcohol, especially for females who were feebleminded and more easily led astray than men. Since Joseph’s death, the one luxury Kate spent money on was sugar. Other children had sweets several times a week, and Kate was determined Miranda’s childhood, from here on out, was going to be as normal as she could make it. As far as Kate could tell, neither she n