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.”
Chapter Five
The next morning, Zach sat across from Mr. Harris in his office just like he’d done every single morning from the day he’d taken over as foreman.
While he waited for his boss to finish reading something, he peered at the man’s well-built, handsome desk—just another mark of Joseph’s expertise. Joseph, the second in the line of Drake brothers, had been building furniture with Aaron, the third in line, for several years now. Joseph’s legendary, satin-smooth finish didn’t suffer one bit from his lack of sight. Thoughts of his brothers’ successes filled Zach with pride—but also determination to do just as well, to work just as hard for his own success.
Mr. Harris shifted in his generous leather chair, grabbing Zach’s attention. “I need to discuss something with you, Zach.”
“I’m listening.” Zach grasped the scrolling chair arms a little tighter, unable to shake the grim feeling hanging over him. “Is everything all right?”
The forced look of concession inching across his boss’s face wouldn’t have seemed a bit out of place if he’d been held at gunpoint. He grimaced. “Violet thinks that I should be more up front with you than I have been.”
“About …”
“About my health.” The half defeated way the man’s head hung for a brief moment strummed a deep chord of compassion in Zach.
The idea that Mr. Harris would admit to this confirmed its severity. And that he’d take anyone’s advice on the matter took Zach by complete surprise. He knew that Violet cared deeply for her employer, and had a way of saying things to Mr. Harris that no one else would think to say, but still …
There’d been times over the past months when Zach had wondered if Mr. Harris and Violet cared for each other beyond a working relationship, yet had been unable to recognize the signs. It was a comfort to know that Mr. Harris had Violet to rely on, but Zach was committed to doing his part, too, to help his employer.
Mr. Harris yanked his hat from his head and slapped it on the desk. “Violet thinks that I should probably let you know—” He shifted in his seat again. Turned and peered out the window with a certain amount of longing, as though freedom stretched beyond these walls. “I’ve been feeling more poorly than I’ve been letting on. Violet’s been worried sick about me even though I’ve told her that I’m going to be just fine. But that ornery woman threatened to spill my health woes to the town if I didn’t at least let you know.”
Zach worked furiously to bat down his outright shock. Mr. Harris was a proud man, and the last thing he’d want was sympathy spooned out to him. “Boy, she means business, doesn’t she?”
“You’re telling me.” The man rested his elbows on his desk and leaned forward, steepling his fingers in front of him like he often did when he was faced with a tough situation. “It’s hard enough knowing that my health is the reason Ivy is back.”
Zach propped his right booted foot above his left knee. “You know about that?”
“I’m no fool, Zach.” He raised one dark eyebrow over an eye in that studious way that instantly brought to mind a petite, auburn-haired young woman. “I know good and well that Violet had to have penned a letter to Ivy. But just between you and me … we’ll let those two ladies think that they’re getting by with something.”
A grin tugged at one side of Zach’s mouth. “All right.”
“Good man.” Mr. Harris winked on a nod.
Zach breathed a little easier for a moment, but not for long. His boss’s health was shaky, at best. The fact that Violet had threatened him like that said as much. The woman could be almost as headstrong as her employer.
“I’m sorry about all of this, Mr. Harris.”
“Don’t be sorry.” He held up his hand. “I’ll be fine. It’s nothing more than a sour stomach now and then, maybe some cramping, too.”
Zach clasped his hands between his knees. “How long have you been sick, anyway?”
Mr. Harris pinned Zach with one of his don’t-press-too-far gazes. “A few months.”
Zach’s mouth hung open in rebellious shock. “A few months? Why didn’t you say anything?” he probed, frustrated and yet, he could hear Ben’s voice from last night, challenging Zach in a similar vein. “I could’ve done more to help out.”
Mr. Harris leaned back in his chair again. “It’s probably just a passing illness, and all of Violet’s fussing will be for nothing,” he dismissed, tapping his knuckles on the wide chair arm. “Besides, if I wasn’t able to get out on the ranch, well then, I might as well just dig my own grave right now.”
“Is there something I can do to help?”
“Just keep doing what you’re doing. You’re a good man out there, Zach.” His boss’s intense gaze bore into Zach. “A lot like I was at your age.”
Zach swallowed hard. “What about Ben? Don’t you think you should let him look you over? He could help.”
“Take no offense,” he replied on a wince. “But I learned, a long time ago, that doctors just poke and prod. They don’t know much more than their patients do.”
“But I know that Ben would be glad to—”
“Zach, I carted my wife all over creation, looking for a doctor who’d help. And what did it get me?” His knuckles grew white as he gripped the arms of the chair.
Zach had only heard bits and pieces about just how sick Mrs. Harris had been. He’d learned this much … Mr. Harris had loved his wife, but no amount of love or care could heal her. Her suffering had been long and great.
“So,” his boss continued,