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
