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But now …
Now with this girl—this woman’s—appearance, he was catapulted back to nearly twelve years ago all over again.
He blinked back the apprehension she was sure to find in his gaze. Swerved his focus a block down the street where he spotted Beatrice Duncan beelining toward them, her short legs eating up the walkway with surprising swiftness as she aimed an overly eager, almost giddy look in his direction. He clenched his jaw at the woman’s clear intent. But it was the woman in front of him that gave him pause.
“Zachariah Drake?” Ivy worked her gaze from his head all the way down to his toes and then back again in a slow, silent and wholly discomforting perusal. “Is it you?”
He stared at her, struggling to find his voice.
“Is it really you?” The buoyant sound of her voice disconcerted him all the more.
“Yes,” he managed to force out. “It’s me.”
“What a surprise,” she breathed, swiping a muddy hand across the front of her lavender-colored skirt. Her long eyelashes whispered down over those eyes of hers like tender branches bending to kiss the fresh green of a beautiful spring landscape. “I barely recognized you. It’s been—”
“S-s-six years.” Clearing his throat, his stomach convulsed at the way he could’ve rattled off the months, the days … maybe the hours since he’d last seen her.
But he was more disgusted with the way the one syllable had suddenly become three.
The sound of his broken speech raked over his hearing like a hundred pricking barbs. Surely it was a mishap. A blunder. There was no way, after all the labor, sweat and fortitude he’d poured into overcoming his stutter that it’d descend on him again like some dark and stormy day.
No way.
“It has been, hasn’t it?” She lifted her chin in that stately way of hers. Fingered the wilting blue fringe dangling from the navy wrap that was now plastered by mud to her back.
He nodded, shoving his hands into his pockets as he hauled in a deep, deep breath, something he’d learned to do when he’d faced his stutter head-on. Dragging his hands out of his pockets, he unfurled his tight fists one finger at a time. “What are you d-d-doing here?”
What in the name of all that was true!
There it was again.
He’d defeated this thing. Hadn’t tripped up more than once over the past couple years. He could speak clearly. Wasn’t given to stumbling. Or even pausing overly long.
He was fine. Just fine.
She tipped her head slightly. Furrowed her graceful brow.
Zach held his ground, even when part of him wanted to flee from her presence and from the haunting impediment. But he’d come too far over the past six years to let her shake his confidence, even if it was quite a shock to see her again.
His boss hadn’t said a word about Ivy coming for a visit. In fact, Zach had only heard the man speak of his daughter once since he’d been working at the Harris ranch.
She lifted her hat from her head, exposing those silken auburn curls he’d stared at for hours on end when he was in school. “As you can see, I was stopping by the mercantile. That is until that bird—”
“What I mean is … why are you in B-B-B-Boulder?” His face muscles tensed.
She set a quivering hand to her neck. “I was stopping by to see if I could find someone who might be able to drive me to the ranch,” she measured out as though he had a miniscule understanding of the English language.
Her placating tone grated his nerves. In school, he’d been ridiculed. Teased without mercy. Treated as though he couldn’t read, write or add two plus two.
He hadn’t been able to speak one sentence without stumbling over the words. And all because of this beautiful woman standing in front of him now.
She glanced around as though there might be a fancy carriage waiting to do her bidding. “My visit … it’s unexpected.”
He’d rather flinch beneath that stubborn stance of hers that he’d glimpsed just moments ago than to writhe in the obvious pity seen in her gaze at this moment. He sure as shootin’ wasn’t going to allow her to strip away all the confidence he’d worked for. No matter how beautiful she was—even more stunning than she’d been six years ago. No matter how often her perfect face had sneaked into his dreams.
He thought he’d overcome the strange hold Ivy once had on him, but one look at her and his traitorous heart had begun beating a wild-stallion rhythm.
And the sight of Beatrice Duncan invading his peripheral vision didn’t help matters one bit. The woman, as benevolent as she was at times, seemed to glory in drama.
“Ivy Harris? Is that you?” Mrs. Duncan’s shrill voice pierced the noise of clattering wagons. “What in the world happened to you? You look a sight.”
Ivy glanced at him, that heart-stopping gaze of hers undermining the core of his resolve as Mrs. Duncan tramped over the last few feet and came to a sudden stop.
“Don’t tell me you knocked this poor girl off that platform there, Zachariah Drake,” she scolded, a stiff gust of wind blowing wisps of bright orange hair into the woman’s round face.
Scrambling to gain control over his slipping confidence, he drew in a deep breath as the memory of Ivy fearfully ducking for cover from a harmless bird flashed through his mind.
Ivy sighed, perching her hat on her head again. “He didn’t—”
“It was my fault,” Zach confessed, meeting Mrs. Duncan’s scorn, face-first. He gulped back his pride, knowing that the woman would pick the situation apart until Ivy would have to admit to being terrified of a harmless bird, and he just couldn’t allow that to happen.
He set his back teeth, annoyed that he somehow felt it was his responsibility to leap to her rescue. He’d learned the hard way—the long, painful, life-altering way—that following his heart like he had twelve years ago, was a very bad idea. At least where Ivy Harris was concerned.
“I had my hands full c-carrying those crates.” He nodded up at the platform, where the crates lay on their sides, the contents having spilled out like some bountiful cornucopia. “I wasn’t looking where I was g-g-going and startled—”
“It was an accident, ma’am.” Ivy sliced him an admonishing look, mortifying Zach by refusing to let him take the blame.
Beatrice Duncan slid a doubtful gaze from the front edge of the platform then down to the patch of mud created by the recent rains and constant run of horse hooves and wagon wheels. She jammed her fists on her doughy waist. “I don’t know how many times I’ve said to my Horace, ‘Horace, you need to get out there and fasten a railing to the front of this platform before some soul or another gets hurt!’“ She gave her round head a decided shake, huffing and puffing in a gratuitous show of frustration. “But that mule-headed man of mine insists that it stay like it is. Says it makes loading wagons easier.”
The corners of Ivy’s mouth tipped up the slightest bit. “The platform is just fine the way it is, Mrs. Duncan. I was—”
“Oh, never you mind the platform. You come here, girl, and give me a big ole hug.” She started for Ivy, flinging her arms wide open and then shutting them up just as suddenly, as if realizing she’d soil her go-to-meeting dress. “Oops, that won’t do at all now, will it? How about a friendly nod for now? Land sakes, you were just a girl when you up and left Boulder, but now look at you.” She slid an approving look all the way from Ivy’s toes to her head. “If a body sees past the mud, I’d say she’s turned into quite a beautiful young woman. Hasn’t she, Zach?”
He met Ivy’s stunned expression, unwilling to appear pathetic or indecisive in front of her, as he had when he was younger. “Yes,” he confirmed, struggling to drag himself over to some distantly objective viewpoint. “Yes, she has.”
“What brings you back to these parts, anyway, Ivy?” Mrs. Duncan folded her hands in front of her. “Why, I just saw your daddy the other day and he didn’t mention one thing about you journeying out here for a visit.”
“Violet sent for me.” The momentary look of bravery crossing Ivy’s face pricked Zach’s heart. “My father doesn’t know I’m coming.”
“Well, why in the world not, child?” the woman challenged. “He’d be happy to know of your visit. He’d probably roll out the red carpet for you, if he knew you were here.”
When Ivy’s focus drifted down the road where her father’s ranch stretched across the foothills, Zach had to wonder just how long she planned on staying. Three weeks? Two? Maybe one … if he was lucky?
She met the older woman’s intense stare, a certain sadness dimming her bright eyes. “As ill as he is, I didn’t want to cause him any undo worry. It wouldn’t be good for him in his condition.”
“What do you mean?” Confusion furrowed Mrs. Duncan’s ruddy brow. “What condition are you talking about?”
Had Zach not worked closely enough with Mr. Harris to notice otherwise, he would’ve echoed the woman’s query. But maybe there was even more cause for alarm than what he’d observed. Mr. Harris’s housekeeper, Violet Stoddard, had worried many a path in the kitchen floor. Was there a new path, deeper than just a little under the weather?
Distress flitted featherlight across Ivy’s fair features. She tugged her wrap together at her chest, worrying her bottom lip.
“When I saw him the other day, he looked fit as a fine-tuned instrument. Why, he dismounted his horse with almost as much vim and vigor as Zach, here,” Mrs. Duncan announced, poking Zach in the arm. “But that daddy of yours is a proud man. He’d probably prefer going to his grave without a soul knowing he was sick than to show weakness.”
Ivy’s wide gaze grew even more troubled. “Probably.”
“I suppose you didn’t want to cause him any worry with you traveling all the way out here, and it’s good of you to be concerned, mind you.” Mrs. Duncan primped the white ruffles meandering down the front of Ivy’s shirt. “But honestly … the careless way you young’uns go gallivanting all over the country, these days, us parent-folk are bound to fall face-first into an early grave.”
Zach clenched his jaw. With Ivy’s mother dying shortly before Ivy had headed east, Mrs. Duncan’s poor choice of words was downright irritating. “Ivy is exhausted, Mrs. Duncan. She probably j-j-just wants to get home and settle in. I’d better g-g-get her loaded up.”
“What in the world is wrong with you, Zachariah Drake?” the older woman demanded, pivoting to face him. “Are you tripping over your words again?” Despite the generous serving of concern coating Mrs. Duncan’s inquiry, Zach squirmed.
“It’s nothing.” He clamped his lips tightly together.
“I thought you had that thing licked,” she persisted.
“I did.”
The woman gave a halfhearted harrumph and squared her shoulders. “Well, if you’re headin’ that way, Zach, then you may as well take this poor girl home with you before she catches her death of a cold.”
“With you?” Ivy’s petite features creased as she peered at Zach. “I’m not sure I understand.”
He wasn’t about to let her opinion of him strip away his hard-earned confidence. He’d tripped all over himself one too many times for her. Never, never again would he be so weak, so vulnerable. He’d just steer clear of her. Keep busy until she went back to where she belonged.
“Why, girl, don’t you know?” Mrs. Duncan blurted, obviously way too eager to bear the untold information she’d stumbled upon. “A year ago your daddy up and promoted Zach here to—”
“Foreman,” Zach interrupted, the news taking Ivy by complete surprise.
“Foreman?” she echoed, struggling to swallow her shock. Violet hadn’t mentioned a thing in her letters.
She peered at him. Maybe she shouldn’t be so surprised. He was nothing like she remembered from school. Nothing. That Zachariah Drake had been skinny and lanky and awkward. But this Zachariah Drake was tall and powerfully built, strikingly handsome with his crystal-blue eyes and strong jawline. This Zachariah Drake was …
Her father’s foreman?
“What happened to Cliff?” she finally managed to say, her mind racing with a plethora of questions. “He’s been foreman as long as I’ve been alive.”
“Cliff passed on last year,” Mrs. Duncan commented. “Poor soul. That man was as trusted as your daddy, himself.”
“I had no idea,” Ivy breathed, clutching her handbag tight.
It wasn’t as if she’d had a close relationship with the man, but he’d always been a fixture on the ranch. Always. He was honest and solid and had years of wisdom in that silvery head of his.
Being the stubborn man of detail that her father was, he’d often driven home the fact that time-earned experience was a priceless commodity on the ranch. That there was no substitute for the strong lines on a cowboy’s face carved by years of sun and hard work.
Zach was young. Twenty-three. Twenty-four in two short weeks. From the monthly church dinners and collective birthday celebrations she fondly recalled from her childhood, she couldn’t forget how his birthday fell two days before hers.
Still, as she peered at him, all six feet, work-hardened muscle of him, she knew she would not soon forget the warm and comforting feel of his arms cradling her as he’d carried her to the boardwalk mere moments ago, either. He’d grown up. But had he grown up enough to handle the grueling responsibilities that come with running a ranch? And for that matter, when had Zach grown from the scrawny fence post of a boy she recalled from school, to this inarguably strapping man? And why did she suddenly find that so attractive?
Back in New York she’d mostly encountered men in suits, cravats and handsome boots that shined. She certainly hadn’t forgotten her ranch-style roots here in the west, but perhaps, standing at the precipice of womanhood six years ago, she’d been too young to take notice of a man who’d been chiseled by hard work, fresh air and physical labor.
A man like Zach.
All good sense had seemingly left her the moment he’d wrapped her in his strong arms, shielding her from that wayward bird—and she’d never felt that before. But just as soon as he’d taken it upon himself to pick her up and cart her like a sack of potatoes to the boardwalk as though she was a helpless newborn babe, she’d been jerked out of her silent reverie.
When their gazes had finally met she’d scrambled to hide her shock. She’d been caught completely off guard, especially by the news of his position as foreman. For six years, she’d clung to her well-ordered world as a matter of survival, and she’d flourished. Change—especially change that involved an exceedingly handsome young man who now managed her father’s greatest interest—
was not something she navigated through with much confidence. She’d expected to come home and tend to her father and his ranch.
How was she ever going to maneuver through the next few weeks?
Chapter Two
When Ivy glimpsed her father’s ranch anchoring the long and winding lane, she willed herself to relax. But her heart—it was beating right through her chest. She’d figured she’d be nervous returning home after all these years, but the trepidation that threatened to loosen her tightly wound control caught her completely off guard.
Especially after she’d discovered that her father’s health apparently wasn’t as tenuous as Violet had inferred. She didn’t think that the woman was given to telling tales, so why had the letter sounded so urgent? From the way Mrs. Duncan had reacted, it seemed that her father wasn’t heading to his grave, after all.
The thought of him suffering had nearly broken Ivy’s heart in New York. She’d rushed back to Boulder right away. But was she needed here after all?
Struggling to ward off the chill and raw emotion quivering her body, she clutched the wool blanket Zach had stubbornly insisted on wrapping around her shoulders.
While he steered the wagon down the lane, she inched her gaze over the broad expanse of well-maintained buildings and new barbed-wire fencing that hemmed in plentiful
acres of grazing land. The homestead looked good, probably better than she remembered.
Being here now and seeing the ranch, smelling the familiar scents of hay and cattle and the beginnings of fall, she could almost feel the memories struggling to escape from where she’d buried them deep inside her heart. Memories of a carefree childhood spent scampering behind her daddy as he took care of the chores, of learning to ride her first pony with him at her side, of swinging from the rope he’d looped around an enduring arm extending from one of the Ponderosa pines.
There’d been a time when she’d envisioned working alongside her father into his old age, but once her mama had taken ill, he’d changed. Her father’s adoring focus had shifted to a desperate, almost frantic search for some kind of medical help. The more time that ticked by without a cure, the more agitated he’d become. The ranch had been his only solace, and along with tending to her mama, he’d poured himself into making it the best and most respected in the region even when it seemed he could do nothing to help his wife.
Warding off the gloom of that memory, she dragged in a long breath of crisp late-September air, seasoned with the musky scent of drying foliage. She had a hard time believing that she was actually here, days away from New York, and years away from life as she’d known back east. Six years ago, she’d vowed never to return to Boulder—not after her father had sent her away with such cruel finality.
Her father had blamed her for her mama’s death—surely he’d never forgive her.
And she felt horribly responsible. Alone, she’d carried guilt’s heavy burden for the past six years, wondering if she’d ever be able to forgive herself. As desperate as she sometimes felt to climb to God’s open arms of love and acceptance, she felt stuck in a deep hole of guilt and shame.
When the wagon lurched to the side, she was jerked from her painful thoughts. She grabbed hold of the thick wood seat, steadying herself as Zach guided the team off the path to avoid a big tortoiseshell tomcat, intent on maintaining his sunny spot in the middle of the lane. Tortoiseshell cat …?
“Shakespeare?” She scrambled to peer over the side of the wagon. The big cat’s eyes squeezed shut and his ears twitched in her direction.
“That’s him,” Zach confirmed with a cluck of his tongue. “He thinks he owns the p-p-place.”
“Oh, my. He’s grown so much.” She wrenched around in her seat, tears stinging the backs of her eyes seeing how Shakespeare had grown into the noble looking tomcat he was now. “He was just an undernourished litter runt that Mama and I bottle fed. He was nowhere near this big when I left.”
After Zach eased the wagon to a stop just beyond the furry road block, he swung down from the seat and crossed to where the cat lay, content as could be. The delicate state of her heart grew even more fragile when Zach appeared a moment later, holding out the enormous cat for her.
“Shakespeare,” she cooed, pulling her arms from the blanket and hugging him close. She burrowed her face into his thick, sleek fur. “You’re absolutely enormous. What have they been feeding you?”
“An egg every d-d-day, beef fat—and Lord knows what else.” Zach pulled himself up to his seat, settled the blanket around her shoulders again then sent the wagon lurching forward. “Your father sees to Sh-Shakespeare’s feeding.”
Her father had never shown Shakespeare one bit of interest in the past. That he had obviously spoiled her kitty tugged at her heartstrings.
