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.