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Mr. Harris reached out and grasped a thick beam as though to steady himself. “It’s not a good night for company, Zach. Tell them to come around another evening.”
A silence fell between them, and for some unexpected, hair-raising reason, Zach just knew that Ivy being here now was every bit as much providential design as it was Violet Stoddard’s.
“It’s not that easy,” he began, searching for the right words as he caught movement coming from near the center of the barn.
Mr. Harris’s jaw ticked. “Why in the world not? Who is it?”
“Father …” Ivy called, willing the tremor from her voice. She hugged Shakespeare tightly as she peered around the corner down the west-facing row of stalls.
When she spotted her father, halfway down the corridor, she had to will one shiny, booted foot in front of the other in his direction. She’d known it would be difficult returning home, but she’d had no idea just how unnerved she could be at the sight of her very own father.
Violet had tried to ease her distress minutes ago, but there was no dispelling Ivy’s apprehension. The day she’d left for the east coast six years ago had been a bitter taste of life, indeed.
He’d not so much as offered her a goodbye hug.
He turned to face her, his long legs braced in that familiar way that had always made Ivy think that he was ready to ride at any moment. His thick shoulders were every bit as broad as she remembered—and yet his dungaree coat seemed to hang bigger than usual.
Violet had hurried her through a hot bath and had laid out a fresh shirtwaist and silk taffeta skirt from one of Ivy’s valises. Though Ivy’s hair was still damp and her skin still pink from scrubbing, the woman had all but shooed her outside, as though she was a small child again, to surprise her father.
Well, he didn’t look surprised—at least not in the way that made a heart glad.
One look at the taut expression on his face and her heart sank.
She should’ve stayed put in New York where she belonged. Her mama had wanted her to spread her wings in the big city, where culture and opportunity hung like big ornate doorways into another world, and Ivy had promised she would do just that. There were so many reasons why she should’ve stayed.
But her father …
“Ivy?” He yanked his black hat from his head as she neared. Six years of life had scattered shards of silvery gray through his dark hair.
“Hello, Father,” she breathed, trailing her fingertips down the cat’s broad back, thankful to be holding something warm and soft and receptive to her love. Struggling to drag a tenuous smile to her face, she met her father’s unreadable gaze.
Haunting dark patches shadowed his brown eyes. “You’re home….”
“I was about to tell you, sir,” Zach put in as he stepped out from the shadows. Her father had always appeared larger than life, but seeing Zach standing beside him now, she realized that this new foreman was even brawnier than her father.
For a brief moment, she found herself suffering with an unexplainable yearning to have Zach wrap her in his strong arms. She gave a small sigh, shoving that stray thought away as though it threatened her very existence. Setting her focus on her father, she struggled to steady herself.
“I didn’t realize you had plans to visit.” He wore indifference like some stage mask.
“It was a last-minute decision,” she responded, carefully choosing her words as Violet had instructed.
The housekeeper had cautioned her to skirt the real reason for her visit. She’d said it would anger her father to no end if he were to find out Ivy had come all the way here because of his health.
“Everything’s all right, isn’t it?” He turned his hat in his big, work-worn and slightly trembling hands. Hands that had comforted her when she’d been sick. Steadied her when she’d learned to ride her pony. Smoothed the hair from her face as she’d buried her nose in a compelling book. Pushed her away in those last days, darkened by blame and grief.
The idea that she’d lost his trust and his love had cut her to the very core. And as much as she had tried to ignore the wounding effects of his blame, she couldn’t deny her longing to have his love once again.
She scrambled away from the memories as though they threatened to eat her alive. “Everything is fine.”
“You have enough money, don’t you?” Reaching to the side, he grasped the top rung of a stall door, his knuckles blanching white. He dragged in a long slow breath.
“Of course. You’ve been very generous.” She was saddened at the way he was trying to maintain his strong, virile image. And saddened, too, that he would think her only reason for returning would be due to a lack of funds.
Besides, she’d done well for herself, and had not so much as touched the account for over two years now.
Clearing his throat, he peered just over her shoulder. “The job is going well?”
“Yes,” she answered as Shakespeare pressed his big paws against her chest in an effort to get down. “In fact, when I return they are going to be promoting me to the assistant editor position at The Sentinel.”
He coughed, his focus falling to the hard-packed dirt floor. “Your mother would be proud.”
Ivy nearly choked on emotion. Her mama would’ve been thrilled to know how well she’d done in New York.
But her father … was he proud?
He withdrew a handkerchief from his back pocket, then wiped at the perspiration beading his upper lip. The evident way his hand trembled tugged a tear to Ivy’s eye, but she quickly blinked it away, determined to stay strong.
Setting Shakespeare down, she watched for a moment as her cat darted off after something he’d spied in that familiar, playful way of his.
Some things never changed. Like her room, where nothing—not one thing—had been moved from where she’d left it six years ago.
Violet had said that sometimes, right before she’d retire to her quarters at the backside of the house, she’d find Ivy’s father standing inside the door to Ivy’s bedroom. Seemingly unaware of Violet’s presence, he’d stay there for the longest time, his arms folded at his chest, his head bent low, and the barest whisper of a prayer wafting to her hearing.
That small bit of knowledge had nearly uncapped the well of tears and pain Ivy had hidden away.
But crying wouldn’t change a thing. It hadn’t six years ago, and it wouldn’t now. She had only to keep her head about her as she tiptoed into the depths of her past.
And somehow, she’d have to find it within herself to smooth over the rough edges with her father because the idea of returning to New York without some kind of closure was more than she could bear. He was sick. That was more than apparent. And, by the obvious way he was struggling to appear strong, Ivy would have her hands full trying to offer him comfort and care.
He grabbed for the railing. “What brings you back then?”
Her faltering courage was bolstered a little by the warm look of encouragement Zach aimed her direction. “I decided that a visit was long overdue.” Swallowing hard, she barred her heart from getting hurt as she peered at her father. “And I thought that maybe you and I could—”
“It’s a busy time of year, Ivy. I don’t know that you’ll be seeing much of me.” His jaw tensed. He shoved away from the stall and started toward her, and just when Ivy half wondered, half hoped that he’d open his arms to embrace her, he strode right past her. “Besides, I’m sure you’re going to be itching to get back east before long,” he said, his voice echoing in the barn and clear down into the jagged recesses of her soul. “Back to where you belong.”
Chapter Four
Zach stole another glance at Ivy from across the dining table. Though he couldn’t shake his frustration at the debilitating affect she had on him, his plan to avoid her had been completely discarded. For now, at least.
Despite his discomfort in her presence, something about the wounded look he’d glimpsed in Ivy’s gaze when her father had declined joining them kept his back end firmly planted in the thick pine chair. That, and the forlorn thought of Ivy sitting alone at this long trestle table, her only company being the memories contained within these four walls.
Mostly, though, a strong chord of compassion had been strummed deep in his heart when her father strode right past her out in the barn … without so much as a welcome-home embrace. That all-business, unaffected manner Mr. Harris had shown Ivy had been unsettling.
Zach had the utmost respect for the man, but he had a hard time figuring this response. He’d never known Mr. Harris to be anything other than fair. Dedicated. Loyal. Reasonable. What had transpired between him and his only daughter—his only child—to drive such a wedge between them, Zach could only imagine.
Contrary to all that he’d vowed regarding Ivy, he felt compelled to be a safeguard, of sorts. Her safeguard. Just long enough to ease the stinging effects of Mr. Harris’s rough edge.
With a gentle clank, Ivy set her knife and fork across the far edge of her fine bone china plate. She dabbed the white cloth napkin to her lips, her gaze never once straying to him.
“D-d-did you get enough to eat?” he asked, annoyed by his stutter that cropped up like some ungainly weed. With anyone else, he could talk up one side and down another without a single pause.
But with Ivy …
“Plenty.” She folded her napkin then set it next to her plate.
He peered at her nearly untouched food servings. “You barely ate enough to keep a bird—” He shot up his focus to find her beautiful eyes wide and peering at him as though he’d just tossed a feathered foe her direction.
“Really?” She locked an irritated gaze on him. “Could you think of nothing else?”
“All right then, a p-puppy alive,” he amended on an innocent wink.
When one corner of her mouth tipped ever-so-slightly, he couldn’t miss the way his heart skipped a beat.
Zach dragged in a steadying breath. He’d have to keep his head about him if he planned on being any kind of a buffer for her, especially when she seemed determined to put up a strong front.
“I don’t want to p-p-put my nose into someplace it doesn’t belong, but is there something wrong?” he braved, setting down his utensils and willing his throat muscles to relax. “B-b-because, earlier when you saw your father—”
“It’s a very long story, Zach.” She traced a single fingertip around the delicate flower pattern framing the plate, her wary gaze flitting to him momentarily. “One I’m fairly certain you won’t want to hear.”
“T-t-tell me, anyway.” He rested his forearms on the table and leaned toward her. As awkward and irritating as his stutter was, he couldn’t allow himself to be absorbed by its effects.
A silence, broken only by the gentle ticking of the hall clock, filled the room. He held her gaze, struck by the expert way she instantly cloaked any hint of vulnerability.
Perhaps it was just as well. He had no business rifling through Ivy’s past, present or future. If he knew what was best for him, he’d keep his distance.
But what was best for her?
She raised her chin a notch, her expression an unreadable mask.
“Well, if ever you want to talk …” he began, sidestepping his resolve yet again. He couldn’t seem to help himself when it came to Ivy. “I’d be glad to listen. I’m pretty good at that, you know.”
A dim smile inched across her face. “And how did you get so good?”
Leaning back, he draped an arm over an adjacent chair. “B-b-brothers who insist on communication when things get tough. Sisters-in-law who talk circles around them,” he added, keeping his words slow and steady in the hopes of limiting his stuttering. “And,” he continued, holding up his index finger, “I spent plenty of time not t-t-talking when I was younger.”
She pinned her gaze to the table. Fingered the tatted edge of her napkin. She opened her mouth as if to say something, but then stopped herself with a jarring suddenness.
He searched her expression. Did she remember—was she even aware of just how difficult things had been for him then? “Just know that the offer st-stands,” he finally said, refusing to bend to any amount of self-pity. “All right?”
“Thank you,” she breathed.
When the sound of footsteps came from the long hallway leading from Mr. Harris’s office, Zach glanced up to see Ben coming to a stop at the dining room entrance.
“Come join us.” Zach motioned his brother in.
“Hope I’m not interrupting dinner.” Ben set down his bag at the end of the long table.
“We just finished.” Standing, Zach shook his brother’s hand. “Thanks for c-c-coming out. I know how busy you’ve b-been.”
His brother’s brow crimped for a brief, questioning moment, as though caught off guard by his stutter. “I was just finishing up for the day when Hugh found me at my office.”
As the oldest Drake brother, Ben had done all he could to encourage Zach in those years when Zach’s stutter had been so bad. But Zach had refused to be mollycoddled. His brothers had never known what, exactly, had transpired to cause the impediment. So they’d never known how closely connected it was to Ivy Harris. And that every beat of his childhood heart had been spent on her.
“D-d-do you remember Ivy, Ben?” Zach motioned across the table to her.
Ben grasped the back of the chair and slid a confused gaze at her. “I do. It’s good to see you again, Ivy.”
She pivoted in her chair to face Ben, the gracious tilt of her chin commanding Zach’s attention more than he cared to admit. “And you, as well. Should I call you Doct—”
“Ben is fine.” He held up a hand. “So what brings you back to Boulder?”
Ivy swerved her gaze to her plate as though unsure of what she should say.
“Violet sssss—” The word got stuck somewhere between his head and his mouth.
“Violet sent for me,” she finished for him, the gesture grating his pride. “My father’s been sick.”
He hated when he couldn’t speak clearly. Loathed even more when others, well-meaning though they may be, completed his sentences for him.
“Well, as far as your father’s concerned, there’s nothing wrong.” He pulled a hand over the shadow of a beard darkening his face. “As far as I’m concerned, with the dark circles under his eyes, the hollowness of his cheeks and a few other symptoms I noticed, he has to be fighting some kind of sickness. But he flat out refuses to let me check him over.”
“That comes as no surprise,” she murmured with a frustrated shake of her head.
Ben crossed his arms at his chest. “I’ll say one thing for him … he’s—”
“Stubborn,” she supplied, her eyebrows arching. “He always has been.”
“A family trait,” Zach put in on a muffled cough. He gave Ivy a quick wink, half surprised and pleased that he could hold his own with her.
She pushed up from the table, her scolding focus set on him in halfhearted chastisement.
Zach bit back a grin and casually swung his gaze to his brother. “Sorry you made the trip out for n-n-nothing, Ben.”
“Oh, it’s never a waste of time.” His brother tapped the top of his bag with hands that had eased many a patient’s pain—even his own wife’s, after she’d shown up on his doorstep, half frozen and nearly drained of all hope. “After all, Violet said she’d wrap up a pie for my trouble, and it’s not every day I get to see my baby brother.”
“Baby?” Zach challenged on a sigh. Clasping his hands behind his back, he stretched, unable to miss the wide-eyed way Ivy’s attention flitted to him. “Are you sure you want to ssstick with that?”
Though there’d never been a pecking order with his brothers, they’d all teased about it as though a certain hierarchy was well-established. In truth, Ben had been the family’s saving grace after their parents had both passed away when Ben was just seventeen. He’d raised his brothers, and Zach was grateful. But that didn’t mean he’d let Ben get away with treating him like he was still a young child.
“I’d think he’d be used to the title by now.” Ben directed his words to Ivy. “But for some reason, it ruffles his feathers every time.”
She gave a restrained smile, veering her cautious gaze to Zach. “Feathers?” she mouthed.
A grin tugged at the corners of Zach’s mouth. Poor thing. She hated birds, and yet it seemed she couldn’t get away from them. She was sure never to step foot in the barn again if she knew that Zach’s pet owl, Buddy, resided in the rafters.
“So, how long are you here for, Ivy?” Ben buttoned the front of his dark brown coat.
She slid her chair into the table. “I haven’t decided yet.”
