Rocky Mountain Homecoming. Pamela Nissen
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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