Pamela Nissen - Rocky Mountain Homecoming

“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.”

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.