“Zachariah Drake?”

Ivy worked her gaze from his head all the way down to his toes and then back again in a slow and silent perusal. “Is it you?”

He stared at her, struggling to find his voice.

“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. “I barely recognized you. It’s been—”

“S-s-six years.” He cleared his throat, and 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 of the labor, sweat and fortitude he’d poured into overcoming his stutter that it’d descend on him again.

No way.

Dear Reader,

I hope you have enjoyed Rocky Mountain Homecoming. Seeing my characters through to the end of a book is always gratifying, but throughout the writing of these pages, I felt particularly connected to both Zach and Ivy, and was delighted to write them to freedom.

Liberty is one of the sweetest gifts we will ever embrace. Finding freedom from deep-seated wounds that have held our hearts and minds hostage can profoundly affect our lives—it can change the course of our thoughts, our actions, our hopes and our prayers. That kind of freedom can lead us down paths we never thought possible.

A friend of mine once said that success is merely a series of diminishing failures. How very true. Zach and Ivy’s stories are woven together by their courage and tenacity to face their past and overcome. Ultimately they learn from their mistakes, and instead of allowing discouragement to make them bitter, it makes them better. This is my hope for me and for you.

Thank you for following the Drake brothers and their stories. Please watch for the next series based on the Lockhart family. I would love to hear from you. You can reach me at www.pamelanissen.com.

With love and deep appreciation,

Pamela Nissen

Rocky Mountain Homecoming

Pamela Nissen

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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For my loving son, Noel Kas Nissen

~A young man beyond his time

in wisdom and understanding~

Thanks go to my husband, Bill: for loving me

and giving me the freedom to create.

To my son, Elias: for being a whimsical source

of joy in my life. To my daughter, Mary Anna:

for overcoming and loving life. To my

critique group, Jacquie, Diane and Roxanne:

for your sincere dedication and cherished friendship.

To my wonderful friends and family:

for your profound influence in my life.

And to my dad: for carrying on where Mom left off.

It was for freedom that Christ set us free;

therefore keep standing firm and

do not be subject again to a yoke of slavery.

—Galatians 5:1

Chapter One

“Make way! Big load comin’ through,” Pete O’Leary, the local grave digger, announced as he plastered his tall lanky form against a row of mercantile shelves. “Zach, you must be half ox, with the way you’re lugging those heavy crates.”

“Ahh … they’re not all that heavy. I’ll be fine.” Adjusting his grip on the two jam-packed crates, the ranch foreman ducked under a display of bridles that had been hung like moss from a tree.

“I think Conroy here’s scairt of ya, Zach.” Pete dragged his pet ferret, its long-whiskered nose twitching, from his shoulder and held out the critter to Zach. “Feel how the little guy’s jest shakin’ up a storm.”

Pausing, Zach eyed the lanky critter, a purchase Pete had made from a traveling salesman a year ago. The cute weasel-like animal was Pete’s constant companion, except at church, which Pete had often mourned, saying that attending might do the ferret’s thieving soul some good. Zach was pretty sure that if he didn’t take the time to alleviate Conroy’s apparent fear, he’d wound Pete’s feelings.

Easing the crates to the floor, he took the ferret from Pete, chuckling at the way the animal draped over his arms like a wet cloth, peering up at him with those mischievous marble-like eyes of his. “Well, aren’t you a cute little guy,” Zach said, if for no other reason than to placate Pete. “See, I’m as harmless as a newborn pup. I wouldn’t hurt a soul.”

“I don’ know ‘bout that,” Pete contradicted. Blowing out a big breath, he stirred up tiny particles of dust on a nearby shelf that sashayed on his hot air to some other shelf. “Conroy and me … we wouldn’t want to cross you—that’s for sure.”

“I’m slow to rile,” Zach reasoned, recognizing that with the long hours of hard physical labor he worked on the Harris ranch, he’d come by his size honestly. “But when it comes to defending what’s right and looking out for loved ones, I don’t back down.” Zach wore the trait proudly.

“Yer jest like yer brothers,” Pete stated with a tight wink. “Every last one of you Drake boys is cut’a the same sturdy, God-fearin’ cloth.”

“I count myself a blessed man to have them.”

His brothers meant the world to him. He’d do anything to help them out, and they’d do the same—that is, if he let them.

Zach swallowed a generous gulp of pride as he recalled just how often his brothers had said that he needed to stop taking on the world by himself. And more than anything … that he needed to find his way to trusting God again instead of trying to be the Almighty for himself.

He was trying. He’d even felt God’s gentle tugging, but time and again, it seemed Zach was better off carving out his own path. He had too much to prove after living in his brothers’ long successful shadows. Now, he was determined to forge his own way in life. Or die trying.

The rhythmic jangling sound of a wagon rolling down the street filtered into his hearing like some patent reminder to get a move on. The way his boss, Mr. Harris, had seemed under the weather recently, Zach had stepped up his duties a notch.

“I’ve got to get going, Pete.” He returned Conroy to Pete’s arms and hefted the crates again. “See you around.”

“See ya later, Zach,” Pete said, observing Zach as though he was carrying a big old pine tree down the aisle.

Craning his neck around the bulky load, Zach headed toward the door, the bolts of colorful calico to his right. Turning, he nudged the unlatched door with his backside. When it stuck, he gave it a hard shove.

“Get off!” a female voice yelped from the mercantile platform outside.

He whipped his head around just in time to see a flourish of hands flailing, skirts ruffling and wings flapping.

“Go!” she hollered, waving her hands madly.

A barn swallow bolted from the woman’s fancy feathered hat into the crisp September air. She spun around and backpeddled, stumbling toward the edge of the four-foot boardwalk.

Dropping the crates with a clank and clatter, Zach bolted into the late afternoon sun. Snaked out a hand to grab her. Missed.

As she tumbled to the mud-slopped ground with a delicate splat, he shot off the platform, landing on his feet beside the woman. He hunkered down at her side. “Are you all right, ma’am?” He touched her shoulder.

“I’m fine. Just dandy,” she sputtered, her mouth a resolute line and barely visible from beneath her wide-brimmed, dirt-splattered hat that had been knocked askew. She struggled to lever herself from the mud’s sloppy grasp.

“Here, let me help you.” He pulled the woman up to a sitting position then retrieved her small handbag, and after wiping the mud from it onto his breeches, held it out to her. “Here’s your bag, ma’am.”

She hunkered down and whispered, “Where’s that horrible bird? Is he still here?” A heavy thread of desperation flashed through her words even as a wavy lock of rich auburn hair tumbled from beneath her hat.

“He’s gone.” Zach scanned the rooflines. “Flew the coop. At least for now, anyway.”

“You mean he’s likely to return?” she yelped. She ducked her head between her shoulders as though she was about to be swooped down on by an entire flock. “Because I’m scared to death of birds.”

He didn’t believe he knew this woman, hadn’t even gotten a good look at her with that pretentious hat draping over her face, but the fact that she was so obviously unsettled by a harmless bird struck a chord of compassion in his heart.

He settled a protective arm around her shoulder and angled a glance at the mercantile overhang where the barest makings of a nest had been wedged onto a strut. “I hate to break the news to you, but with that nest he has started up there, he’ll likely be back.”

She gave a muffled screech, and with muddy hands, shielded her hat-draped head as if she was being pelted by egg-size hailstones.

“It’s all right. Don’t be afraid.” He gently grasped her arm. “I’ll protect you if he returns.”

With the wagons clattering by and horses plodding through the streets, he almost missed the long breath she inhaled right then. But he couldn’t miss the way she stiffened, her spine growing straight and unyielding, as though she’d been jarred to her senses.

She pulled away from him and with mud-caked fingers, primped the ruffled white shirtwaist beneath her fashionable silken wrap. “I can manage just fine by myself.”

He shook his head at her show of stubbornness. Something about this woman was vaguely familiar. Her voice … with its rich lilting tone, and her slender fingers … the way they tapered to a delicate end, and then there was the almost prideful way she’d diverted his concern.

Angling his head down, he tried unsuccessfully to peek at her from beneath the mud-wilted brim. When he took in the bedraggled state of this spritely stranger, and her seemingly unconcerned attitude about her condition, he couldn’t help but be slightly amused. The hat she wore, big and looking more like a small garden of frippery than a head covering, dwarfed her petite frame.

The sound of wildly flapping wings broke through his musings. She must have heard it too, because the woman balled herself up tight as the bird braved another approach.

“Go on, bird. Shoo!” He waved off the curious winged creature with one arm and folded the other around the trembling woman. His heart skipped several beats as she burrowed against his chest, her warm breath seeping clear through his shirt.

He could’ve stayed right here with this little lady in his arms for the next hour. Maybe more. Even in spite of the noticeable way a gaggle of older women had gathered outside the hotel, their lips tight disapproving lines as they stared in his direction.

He’d never quite felt like this before. He’d never gotten close enough to know what this felt like. In years past, his annoying stutter would crop up, unbidden, chasing him away from the very idea of love. And once he’d been made foreman, he’d been too focused on doing the best job he could to spend any kind of thought on a woman.

Scooping her into his arms, he lifted her from the mud and crossed over to the walkway, giving little notice to the dark slime that now caked his arms, hands and down the front of his shirt.

But the soft gasp that came from her lips just now … he definitely couldn’t ignore that.

She scrambled to free herself from his arms, jerking him from his temporary lapse of wits. “What in the world?” she sputtered, irritation sharply framing her words.

“I said I’d protect you if he returned, and that’s what I was doing,” he defended, a little put out by her abruptness.

“Please … put me down!” she demanded, breathless.

He grinned at her endearing grasp for control, and held on. “You might want to take that thing off your head if you’re planning on protecting yourself.” He settled her feet on the boardwalk. “With all those feathers and leaves and whatnot, I’d say it’s a little too tempting for that nesting bird. He probably thinks he’s discovered a perfect fall and winter home.”

Stomping mud from her fancy buttoned boots, she tugged the brim of her hat down all the more, hiding her face nearly completely. “I’ll leave it on, thank you.”

“Suit yourself.” With unabashed curiosity, he looked on while she brushed at her skirt. With the delicate way she was going about it, she may as well have been trying to remove a smudge of innocent dust, not a thick layer of reddish-colored mud. He could hardly blame the spirited woman for being so on edge. After all, her entire backside was coated in a slimy layer of mud. She was probably mortified. Humiliated. Downright mad.

With that silent acknowledgment, he drew his neatly folded handkerchief from his back pocket and held it out like an olive branch. “Here. Take this.”

Clutching the front edge of her hat, she lifted it into place with more dignity than he’d expect, given her filthy condition.

“This might help a litt—” His words died on his tongue as she tipped up her face and met his gaze.

His breath whooshed from his lungs. He stared, wide-eyed, his vision pulsing black. White. Then splotching in an array of colors as he took in the woman standing before him.

Ivy. Grace. Harris.

He blinked hard in the hopes of producing some other image than her.

The one and only love of his childhood heart.

His boss’s daughter.

And the sole reason he’d suffered years of humiliation.

She stared at him for a long and lingering moment. Her lips parted and then fell open as wide as her sparkling eyes.

Zach’s blood thickened in his veins as he met that beautiful, memorable spring-green gaze of hers. He’d never forget it—with just one glance his knees used to grow as flimsy as a blade of grass bent by the wind—just like they did now. Nor had he forgotten the adorable way her pert little nose turned up ever-so-slightly. Or the way her full lips formed the most perfect Cupid’s bow, begging to be kissed.

He worked a swallow past the lump that had knotted his throat. Battled back that familiar, thick, tongue-tied feeling that strangled him even now. Struggled to keep all six feet of his work-hardened body from trembling.

For over a year now he’d been foreman on John Harris’s

ranch, and for the first time since childhood he’d felt secure. Confident.

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.

The cat’s loud purr and the way he stretched to touch the tip of his pink nose to hers was almost her undoing.

But she couldn’t afford to weaken. Not now. She was already over half unraveled and she hadn’t even set foot inside the house.

Sitting a little straighter in her seat, she drew her focus toward the house as she gently raked her fingers through Shakespeare’s soft fur. Although this place had been home for the first seventeen years of her life, it could never be home again.

There’d been too many changes in her life. And likely too many changes in her father’s life, as well.

Like Zach being her father’s foreman …

When Zach slowed the wagon to a halt at the edge of the yard, she snagged a look at him from the corner of her vision. The sure way he handled the reins, his hands, large and work worn and yet so very gentle, had caught her attention off and on throughout the trip. The noticeable way his arm muscles bunched beneath his shirt as he swung down from the wagon captured her focus all the more. She didn’t know if she’d ever forget the warm feel of his comforting touch.

A million questions had streamed through Ivy’s mind during the silence-saturated wagon ride home. The foremost being, when had Zach changed into the solid and confident man he was now?

While he crossed in front of the horses, her focus flitted to his manly jawline. How was it that a feature so strong and sure looking could fumble so with the English language? She recalled the agonizing way he’d struggled through school, the relentless way the teacher had chastised him for refusing to stand and recite his lessons, the harsh way he’d been laughed at by some of the schoolchildren. And, to her shame, the cowardly way she’d giggled right along with them—at times.

Diverting her focus from his steadfast gaze as he approached her side of the wagon, she struggled to tug her composure back into place. But when he carefully lifted the cat down then circled her waist with his large and calloused hands, she couldn’t seem to maintain a coherent thought. His touch, the lingering feel of his hands around her waist, gave her a heady feeling, even after he set her feet on the ground. A very real and unwanted quiver worked its way straight up her spine.

She’d seen what sickness and death had done to her parents, and had decided that loving just wasn’t worth the pain. She’d been so careful to guard her heart when it came to men, but felt that resolve already slipping from her unrelenting grip. She didn’t need anything or anyone tying her down here in Boulder. Certainly not Zach Drake.

“Here we are,” he voiced, his words coming slow. His throat visibly convulsed as though he’d just swallowed one gigantic bug.

“Home….” Gathering in a steadying breath, she took in her surroundings.

“Has it ch-changed much?” He reached over the wagon bed and grabbed two of her four valises.

She tugged the blanket tighter around her shoulders, trying to keep from trembling as she slid her gaze around the homestead. “It looks better than I remember.”

When he set the back of his hand featherlight to her cheek, she nearly startled.

“You’re cold,” he said, his voice low, his gaze direct.

“I’m quite comfortable.” She turned her head from his debilitating touch. In truth, the weighted chill of mud drying on her garments had seeped clear though to her bones and she didn’t know if she’d ever warm up, but she wasn’t about to let this man direct her steps like she had no fortitude about her.

He gently pressed a hand to the middle of her back, guiding her to the front steps as he cleared his throat. “We need to get you inside so you c-can change into something warm and d-d-dry.”

Drawing her mouth into a grim line, she forced one foot in front of the other when all she really wanted to do was to dig her heels in deep, delaying going inside until she was good and ready. And not a minute before.

Being home after so long was far more difficult than she’d ever imagined, and the control she’d embraced as her nearest and dearest friend for the past six years had exacted an outright betrayal, leaving her stranded back at the mercantile.

Regardless of Zach’s tender show of good manners, she shrugged out of his reach, hurrying across the grass-sprinkled ground. She came to an abrupt stop, glancing at the second-story windows, suspended half-open, the same delicate white curtains she remembered her mama stitching years ago, hanging inside, whispering about in the breeze as though to welcome her home.

“Is something the matter?”

For a brief second, she almost wished that Zach would pull her into his arms and ease away her fears and uncertainties.

What was she thinking?

“No. Of course there’s nothing wrong.” Ivy hugged her arms to her chest, fracturing small chunks of dried mud from her garment, just like the crusty shell that had started breaking from her heart the moment she’d arrived in Boulder. “I’m just struggling to understand what, exactly, Violet meant by her desperate language regarding my father. Quite honestly, I was under the impression that he was very ill.”

“He’s not a mmmman to show weakness, but I have caught him feeling poorly a couple of t-t-times.” His jaw visibly tensed. “Maybe Violet has been witness to more.”

Stepping up to the yawning porch that stretched in a lazy fashion at the front of the house, she tentatively padded over to the corner where the old porch swing hung.

“Your father sits there sometimes, after a long hard d-d-day.” His voice was low and laden with certain respect. “It’s a p-perfect place to see the sunset.”

Reaching from beneath the blanket, she ran her fingers over the weathered wood. Gave the swing a soft push. The familiar, faint creaking beckoned memories. She couldn’t even begin to count the times when her father would sit here and snuggle her close on crisp fall days. Like today.

“I’m surprised it’s still here, after all of these years,” she whispered, picturing her father sitting there reading to her from many a book or telling her a fascinating tale of honor, love, bravery. She’d developed a deep appreciation for literature because of him.

Zach cleared his throat, easing her from the memory. And for some very tangible reason, having him standing there, right beside her, gave her a solid sense of comfort.

“I d-d-did a little repair work on it a few months ago,” he forced out, the strained and determined way he worked to speak piercing her heart. “It’s as good as new.”

She swallowed past the emotion clogging her throat.

She’d wept a spring-flooded river of tears right on this swing when her father had announced that he was sending her to school in New York. Despite her protests and her insistence on staying, he’d stubbornly, almost angrily, ignored her request, saying that he knew what was best for her. The startling sting of that on the heels of her mama passing, and the blame he had cast Ivy’s way, had been indelibly written on her heart. No matter how much she’d prayed, it seemed the guilt only grew deeper and wider.

Pulling her hand from beneath the blanket, she willed herself to stay strong. She’d stick around for a while and make the best of the situation. When the time was right she’d return to New York, where she’d left behind friends, and the assistant editor position that was awaiting her at The Sentinel, and Neal—a gentleman she’d gone on several grand outings with.

“I’ll see you inside then g-get the rest of your things,” Zach said, easing her back to the moment. “Violet will have dinner ready shortly.”

She could do this. Surely after six years, her father would be pleased to see her.

Wouldn’t he?

The few letters he’d written over the years had been short and to the point, and after a time she’d found it easier to author the same kind of correspondence. He’d kept her bank account stuffed full, but he’d never once come to visit, nor had he suggested that she travel home for a stay.

She was very likely the last person he ever wanted to see.

At the moment, Ivy was grossly unsure of herself. She’d learned to live with her guilt, and had spent the past years abiding to every aspect of life with the tightest of reins. She’d been successful, and had flourished with strength and perseverance she didn’t even know she possessed. She couldn’t allow her fears and misgivings and guilt to override her good sense—not when she’d come so far.

“Let’s g-go inside, Ivy. Your father will want to see you.” When Zach gently grasped her arms and began directing her toward the front door, Ivy wrenched free from his touch, and from his misguided statement.

She pinned him with an admonishing glare, and from the way his brow creased in confusion, she knew she’d overreacted. But she was scared to death that if she softened to the comfort of his strong and sure presence, she’d crumble in the face of her guilt, losing the woman she’d become in order to survive.

Scared even more that, if she denied herself the comfort she yearned for, the comfort she found in his touch, she’d never make it through this homecoming.

Chapter Three

Zach had only just left Ivy in Violet’s care and stepped outside when a sharp whistle from the wide barn entrance caught his attention. “Zach!” Hugh Bagley, one of the ranch hands, yelled. “Come quick!”

Hugh didn’t worry about much, so the frantic way he was waving, his long arms flapping about like wind-whipped flags in the early evening, gave Zach pause.

Zach took the porch risers in one leap and raced out to the barn, each step a weighty reminder of the responsibility he carried on this ranch.

“What is it?” He pulled up beside the lanky man, scanning the solid structure, half expecting to find some horrible disaster awaiting him inside. “What happened?”

Hugh swiped a chambray sleeve across his mouth. “I was checking over the stalls when I found Mr. Harris down on all fours, heaving.” His thin lips grew rigid as he turned and stared down the long corridor.

Zach yanked the man that direction. “Where is he now?” The earthy scent of fresh hay and dank hard-packed ground filled his senses the moment they entered the barn.

“The last stall.” Hugh stopped midstride at the hub of the three rows of stalls, dimly lit by day’s waning light and several lanterns hung securely on rod-iron hooks. He blanched a sickly white, pointing down the row to the right. “I’m no good when it comes to others being sick, Zach. Honestly, I’ve never been able to handle that sort of thing. I’ll be down on all fours with Mr. Harris, if I stick around.”

Zach struggled to hold his frustration in check at the way Hugh was nearly gagging just talking about it. “I’ll see to him. You go and fetch Ben. Just make sure you don’t let this slip to others, do you hear?”

Zach’s stutter was all but gone—at least now that he was nowhere near Ivy. Ever since he’d dragged her from the mud a good hour ago, he’d tried to reason that his broken speech was a coincidence appearing at the very same moment he set eyes on that little lady. But the fact that he was speaking clearly now screamed otherwise.

She was the cause of his stutter.

And the sooner he shoved her tempting image from his mind and grabbed hold of his flailing confidence, the better off he’d be.

That task would be manageable, too, if not for seeing the moisture that had rimmed her eyes when she’d held Shakespeare. Or the vulnerability etched into her gaze when he’d pulled the wagon into the yard.

“You sure you want me to get your brother?” Hugh angled a questioning glance up at Zach as the low moo of cattle sounded in the distance. “The boss probably won’t want a doctor involved. He was furious that I was going after you.”

“If he’s sick, then he needs to see a doctor,” Zach reasoned. Mr. Harris had to be worse off than he’d thought if he let a ranch hand see him in that condition.

Hugh draped his arms about his chest. Nudged up his chin. “Your call, boss,” he measured out in a that’s-not-what-I’d-do-if-I-were-foreman kind of way that stuck Zach like a big prickly burr.

“That’s right.” Zach held Hugh’s challenging gaze, unwilling to look weak in front of the man—not when Hugh had played a big part in the years of struggle Zach had faced when he was young. “This is my call.”

Mr. Harris was sure to object to the matter. The ranch owner was an unyielding strength on this spread and abhorred looking weak in front of anyone. But as foreman, it was Zach’s responsibility to make sure Mr. Harris was taken care of. Zach had been humbled when the responsibility of foreman had been handed to him after only a year of employment as a hired hand. He wasn’t going to let his employer down.

“Well, I don’t want the big boss throwing any blame my way when your brother shows up carting his black bag.” Hugh arched one blond eyebrow beneath his brown wide-brimmed cowboy hat.

“Just get Ben.” Zach shrugged off his impatience, turned and ate up the rest of the corridor with long resolute strides.

Slowing, he entered the dimly lit stall to find his boss hunkered down against the wall, his arms wrapped tight around his middle. “Mr. Harris? Are you all right?”

The man angled a glance up at Zach. “Never better.”

Zach knelt down next to him, his concern heightened at the way perspiration beaded the man’s pale face. “That’s not what Hugh seemed to think. And now that I’ve seen you—”

“Hugh should learn to keep his observations to himself, and that flap of a mouth he has shut.” Mr. Harris tipped up his black Stetson, his squared jaw set in that steadfast way of his. “It’s nothing.”

“This appears to be more than just nothing,” Zach carefully challenged. To see how gaunt, tired and out-of-sorts he looked made Zach almost feel guilty for noticing.

With an irritated huff, Mr. Harris yanked his hat from his head. “I told Hugh not to make a fuss about this.”

He stuck his boss with a narrowed gaze. “By the looks of you, it was a good thing he did.”

“I’ll be fine.” When Mr. Harris slowly inched himself up the wall to standing, Zach had to resist the urge to help. Despite the favorable working relationship he shared with the man, there were just some boundaries he knew not to cross. “Like I told Hugh, this is nothing more than a bad case of stomach cramps. That’s all.”

“This isn’t the first time this has happened, though, is it?” Zach stood face-to-face with his boss, noticing the frequency with which Mr. Harris swallowed, as though fighting off another bout of nausea. “If there’s something more going on with your health than what I’ve noticed up to now—”

“There’s been nothing to notice,” Mr. Harris defended in a nonnegotiable kind of way as he stuffed his hat back on his head. “Listen … if I thought it was something to be worried about I’d be the first one to let you know. Do you think I’d keep something like that from my foreman?”

Zach contemplated, snagging Mr. Harris’s pain-pinched gaze. “I’m worried. If you’re feeling—”

“Snap off that worrying branch, Zach! It brings out the worst in me.” Fishing in his back pocket, he pulled out a wrinkled white handkerchief. “It always has.”

“Maybe you need to let someone worry over you now and then,” Zach encouraged, not at all surprised at the way the man drew his shoulders back in a stubborn show of pride.

Just like a certain young woman, cut of the same cloth.

“It’d be a good thing to have Ben come out and check you over, don’t you think?” He braced himself for a fight.

“Absolutely not. It’d be a waste of Ben’s time.” Mr. Harris jammed his hands at his hips and peered at Zach. “And just in case you already sent for him, I’ll tell you right now that he won’t be looking me over. You can have Violet send him home with a healthy dose of dessert for his trouble.”

With an uncharacteristically wobbly hand, the man drew the cloth over his forehead and neck. When he gave an abrasive cough then wiped his mouth, Zach noticed a small splotch of red.

His concern kicked up several notches. “Mr. Harris, is that blood?”

His boss glanced down at the cloth then stuffed it into his pocket. “I must’ve bit my lip.”

Zach studied the man. “Are you sure about that?”

“Yes, I’m sure,” his boss roared, taking Zach aback.

“All right.” He held up his hands as though surrendering. Silently, however, he vowed to keep a much closer eye on the man’s health—especially with Ivy being here now.

Zach’s chest tightened at the thought of her.

“I’ll decide when someone should worry.” Mr. Harris clenched his jaw. Gave the slightest wince. “Besides, Violet—as good as that woman is—is about to drive me half mad with the way she flutters about like I’m knocking on death’s door.”

“She obviously cares about you.”

“Well, Violet cares too much, then,” Mr. Harris dismissed,

as he straightened the worn suede collar of his dungaree jacket.

If his boss had a problem with Violet pampering him and fussing over him then surely he’d be mad as a snake that Ivy was back in town … and all because of his health.

“Now, tell me where things are with the stock,” his boss said, strategically shifting to another topic. “We need to make sure we put away plenty of feed and hay before winter comes nipping at our toes.”

“It’s done,” Zach assured, wondering how that monumental task had escaped the man’s keen attention. “We put the last of it away yesterday.”

“Good man.” He clapped Zach on the shoulder and stood a little straighter, his coloring still uncharacteristically pale.

“In fact, with the banner hay crop we brought in this year, we’ll have more than we’ll need.” Zach nodded up above at the sturdy loft floorboards where hundreds and hundreds of bales of dried hay had been stacked. “Unless it’s a long hard winter, that is.”

“Hopefully, we’ll be sitting just fine to help out if other ranchers run low.” Mr. Harris exited the stall and started down the long corridor in that purposeful, albeit slower, stride of his that closed a conversation.

“Mr. Harris,” Zach called, shoving his hands into his pockets as he stepped into the aisle. Zach felt it only right to tell the man about Ivy’s arrival. If there was tension in their relationship, then having some forewarning might help ease the shock.

The man turned around. “What is it, Zach?”

“I thought I better inform you … there’s someone who’ll be joining you for dinner tonight.” His heart beat a little faster just thinking about the young woman.

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.”

“Maybe you’ll get to meet my daughter, Libby, and her friend, Luke, in a couple days.” He shoved a hand into his coat pocket.

The eager smile that tipped her full lips seemed to brighten the room. “I’d love to.”

“That’s right,” Zach commented, remembering how much he’d enjoyed the last time Libby and Luke had visited. “They’re c-c-coming out this week, aren’t they?”

“Once every two weeks, that’s what you said, right?” Ben pulled a hand over his shadowed jawline.

“Absolutely,” Zach put in, nodding. “It was fun having them t-tag around with me last t-t-time.”

Ben’s low chuckle rumbled quietly in the room. “After those two begged me like a pair of unmannerly pups, I finally relented and asked Zach if he’d mind if they came out every now and then and helped around the ranch.”

Her quizzical gaze hadn’t left Zach. “That certainly is nice of him.”

He grasped the chair, trying to remain unaffected by her rapt attention as he willed his throat and mouth to relax so that his words could come out whole. “I’ll mmmmake sure to find some tasks for them to d-do.” He took a long deep breath to settle himself. “That is if they sssssstill want to come out.”

Obvious concern flashed momentarily in Ben’s gaze, but he seemed to know not to bring it up right now and for that Zach was inordinately grateful.

“Are you kidding me? They talk about their time here, nonstop.” Ben lifted his hat and raked a hand through his hair. “But you really don’t have to pay them this time.”

Zach scowled. “A good man is worth his wage. It’s a g-g-good lesson for them to learn.”

After a long pause, Ben gave his head a single nod. “All right. You drive a hard bargain. If you insist on paying them, then go ahead.”

Zach wouldn’t have it any other way. He loved his seven-year-old niece and Luke, an eleven-year-old boy Ben had taken under his wing two years ago. The boy’s mother had lived a harlot’s lifestyle. Ben’s caring influence on the boy had gone a long way in giving the child a chance. When a fire had nearly taken the boy’s life, and his mother’s, she’d made a dramatic turn for the good. She’d even worked alongside Ben and his wife, Callie, to get the Seeds of Faith Boarding House, a refuge for women in need of a fresh start, off the ground.

Ivy cleared her throat. “If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen, I am so tired I think I may fall over.”

Jerked out of his discomfort, Zach stepped around the table to stand beside her. He’d caught her in his arms once already today. He’d catch her again, if need be.

“You’ll have to come over and have dinner with my family when you’re feeling rested,” Ben remarked.

The smile she gave Ben had Zach wishing for one himself. “Thank you. I would love that,” she replied.

Ben nodded her way. “You’ll let me know if your father needs anything. Right?”

“Yes, of course.” Her eyelashes whispered down over her eyes.

“G-G-Good night, Ivy,” Zach said, keeping his voice low as he ushered her to the stairway. He would’ve walked her on up to her bedroom door just to make sure she was all right, but in no way did he wish to appear overly eager. Nor did he want to seem at all inappropriate.

“Good night, Zach,” she responded, the hint of jasmine wafting to his senses as she ascended the generous staircase.

As her footsteps faded, Zach turned to face his brother.

Ben gave a long sigh as Zach walked back into the room. “All right. Tell me what’s going on.”

“What do you mean?” Zach braced himself. Ben’s big-brother demeanor wasn’t all that comforting, seeing as how Zach was the focus.

Ben jammed a hand on his bag. “I mean with her. With you.”

Crossing to the table, Zach stacked Ivy’s plate on top of his. “She came home to see her father. That’s what. And he insisted I have dinner at the main house tonight—not that that’s uncommon. I eat here more often than not,” he added, grasping her napkin as visions of her pressing it to her lips ricocheted through his mind. He thumbed the linen fibers, half tempted to breathe in any lingering scent of her there. “I couldn’t exactly disregard a sick man’s request, could I?”

Ben gave his head a slow shake. “That’s not what I’m talking about and you know it.”

Zach swallowed hard, struggling to gather himself as he tightened his fist around Ivy’s napkin. It wasn’t Ben’s fault that Zach couldn’t seem to abandon his confidence-shattering feelings for Ivy.

When Ben rested a hand on Zach’s shoulder, his sympathetic manner had Zach squirming. “What is this with you stuttering again? I haven’t heard you stumble over your words in a very long time.”

He met his brother’s worried gaze. “I’m just fine.”

“Now you are. But just a few seconds ago, you were stuttering almost as bad as you did a long time ago.” Ben’s brow cocked in concern.

“Do you think that that fact escaped my notice?” Resisting the urge to shrug from his brother’s touch, he willed his feet to remain planted. “I am painfully aware of the fact.”

“Why now? Why all of a sudden?”

“It’s not that bad,” Zach defended, knowing, even as the words passed his lips, that it wasn’t that good, either. He might not be stuttering every sentence, but it was there, bold and sure. When Ivy was around, he seemed to have no control over his tongue, just like before. “See, I’m fine now. I haven’t stuttered for several minutes.”

“But you haven’t had a problem for a long time,” Ben argued, withdrawing his hand from Zach’s shoulder. “Why now?”

“I don’t know,” Zach threw back, inwardly cringing at the lameness of his response. He picked up the dinner plates and headed toward the swinging door leading to the kitchen.

Ben followed and grasped Zach’s arm, bringing him to a halt. Ben cleared his voice—something Zach and his brothers had defined as a this-is-serious sign. A growing sense of panic swarmed Zach’s waning confidence. He didn’t want to discuss the topic. Not now. Not ever. “Did something happen? I mean something bad?” Ben queried, dipping his head to grab Zach’s attention. “Listen, I know you’ve never really talked about what happened when you first began stuttering … and I can understand why. You were eleven. A raw age for something so traumatic.”

Any age was a raw age when it came to that. Sometimes Zach wondered if the devastating impact of that event would ever lessen. Once he’d grown tired of the effects beating him down, he’d fought back. Hard. But as much as he battled for confidence and wholeness of speech, a cavernous place in his heart still gaped wide open.

“What happened back then isn’t up for discussion.”

“The most we ever found out is that you got separated from the group of school kids you were with,” Ben continued, ignoring Zach’s declaration. “And that somehow you fell into an abandoned mine shaft. Isn’t that right?” Ben probed, obviously hoping Zach would seize the opportunity to rehash the past.

Struggling to keep his breathing even, Zach dragged in a lungful of air. He braced a hand on the doorknob as images from twelve years ago flashed through his mind.

He’d been head over heels in love with Ivy from the first grade, falling over himself to carry her books. Her lunch pail. Helping with any task, big or small, she’d allow him the privilege of doing. He’d dreamed of her more nights than not, of whisking her away from evil captors, of braving the worst of elements to carry her to safety. His whole life had hung in the balance as he’d been on the ready, waiting for any opportunity to garner her coveted attention.

She’d never shown him the slightest interest.

But when he’d tagged along with a group of kids into a cave just to be near her, and when he heard her screech in fright, he’d seized the moment. It’d been his chance to shine. To prove himself worthy of her affection. The moment he’d dreamed of.

Ivy had laughed in his face. The brilliance in her eyes sparking in the lantern’s light had grown almost brighter than the noonday sun as she’d made it clear that she didn’t need his gallant gesture.

Hugh Bagley’s riotous laughter had echoed off the cave’s dank dark walls, along with the other kids. Zach had utterly embarrassed himself. Hugh had hung back long enough to warn Zach to keep his paws off Ivy. Then he’d given Zach a rough shove, sending him stumbling backward, falling hard and long into an abandoned mine shaft.

Zach had hated confined spaces—still did. Loathed the unknown elements that hung like a mire of webs in the obsessive darkness. Still, he’d been too prideful to call for help, at first, anyway. But after Hugh and the others continued on, leaving Zach swallowed up by a darkness he’d never imagined, he’d called. Prayed. Yelled. Screamed until his voice had turned raw.

No one came.

It seemed that even God hadn’t been listening.

He’d remained trapped for two whole days, and by the time he finally found a way out—scratching and clawing at the walls until his fingers bled, the soles of his boots were worn to shreds and his words refused to come out as anything other than a stutter.

Desperate, Zach scrabbled his way back to the present, his face flaming hot. His blood boiling. And his heart somehow growing colder and harder after reliving the memory.

“I’ll say it again … this subject is not up for discussion,” he measured out.

A slow sigh escaped Ben’s mouth. “I can’t make you talk about this,” he began, his tone saturated with concern. “But know that if you don’t deal with what happened, it will continue to haunt you. It’ll affect you in ways you won’t be able to ignore. Like now. I know it’s been a deep dive taking on the role as foreman. Ask for help if you need to, because if you’re having a hard time keeping up out here, your stutter could’ve shown up as a direct result.”

“No,” he ground out, irritation now joining the other raw emotions flapping around like broken shutters in his soul. “I told you I’m fine. Things on the ranch are fine. I’ll work through this alone, just like I do with everything else. I can handle it, Ben. Just like I have everything else.”

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