Her Saltwater Cowboy

Chapter 1

Chapter One

His father couldn’t be serious.

Chance Sutter ran his hand across the scruff of his face as he listened to unexpected news. Earlier this morning, he had debated whether to bother with the razor, but after a lousy night’s sleep, the scruff won out. He figured his father wouldn’t even notice him over in the barn with a day’s growth on his skin. Or in the horse stalls. Or even when he wandered into the farmhouse kitchen for a late breakfast after he’d finished his early morning chores.

And he especially hadn’t expected to run into him in the dining room, long after the ranch owner and the hands usually ate their morning meal.

Ace Sutter, Chance’s father, hated it when he and his brothers showed up at the ranch without a shave. A holdover from when they were teens, and their mother would line them up and shave every last pubescent whisker from their mugs before church.

She had been gone for years now, and his two brothers had rarely been to visit, but their father kept up the tradition.

Apparently, that’s where his father’s love of tradition ended.

“Look me in the eye, son.” Ace no longer towered over Chance, of course, but his mountainous presence was felt just the same, even as they sat at his mother’s favorite scarred-up wooden table waiting for a hearty, but simple meal. “Rafael and his bride will be moving in soon, and I want them to feel welcome.”

These were the last words he had expected to hear this morning. Even a scolding about his whiskers would have been more welcome than this.

Chance lifted his chin as Willow, their new cook, breezed through the dining room and laid plates piled high with eggs, bacon, sausage, and a perfunctory slice of orange in front of them. Willow looked unflustered by the sudden change in her new employer’s eating schedule.

On any other day, Chance would have wandered inside mid-morning, taken a plate of food for himself after the ranch hands had eaten, and gobbled it up quickly and quietly before heading back to work. Usually, the aroma made his stomach grumble in a good way, rather than lurch, as it was doing now. He avoided Willow’s eyes as she bustled right back out of the room.

After she’d gone, Chance speared his father with a look. “How long have you planned this … transition?”

Ace stared back at his son. He reached for the salt, turned the shaker over, and generously seasoned his breakfast. He took a bite and chewed it slowly, offering Chance a pensive expression, the kind that caused a dip in his brow.

Chance sat back, waiting. His father put down his fork. “You don’t worry about that. What I want from you is to make sure your cousin has all his questions answered about our operations here. He’ll be relying on you. As will Bella, his wife.”

“Me?”

“You’re the only son who’s stayed around long enough to know something about this place.”

He ignored the tinge of bitterness in his father’s tone because, honestly, what he said was only partially true. Yes, Chance’s brothers had left the state, returning for funerals—like their mother’s—and holidays, when possible. But all three of them had grown up on the ranch, knew the ins and outs, what needed doing, and when.

Only he had decided to eventually return to make his life here at Sutter Creek Ranch in the shadow of the Topatopa Mountains. He figured he would step in and resume daily duties, and, when the time was right, take on more. Then it happened. Sparky, their longtime foreman, retired.

And Chance was ready to step into those boots.

Only, instead of handing the foreman position to the man who’d ridden out every storm on this ranch, Ace had given it to someone who hadn’t stepped onto the property in years.

Chance kept his voice even. “You might’ve talked to me first.”

Ace gave a dry chuckle. “Didn’t realize I needed your permission.”

Chance ignored the dig. “If you’d asked, you would have heard I was ready to take on more. That I’ve been ready.”

Ace gave him a long, unreadable look.

“I’ve hauled fence posts, kept the inventory clean, coordinated the vet visits, trained the new hires …”

“Ran off to the beach,” Ace interjected.

Chance paused, keeping his voice level. “I’ve been here every necessary minute. Day in, day out.”

Ace took a sip of coffee from his mug. “But for how long?”

“I’m not leaving.” Chance leaned his arms on the table. “Besides, the ranch could use an audit before we go hiring anybody.”

“You let me worry about the ranch’s funds. I don’t need some fancy degree to show me what’s in black and white.”

Chance held his tongue at his father’s dig about his education, but was not about to let up. “What about the old barn roof we’ve been talking about replacing, and the cattle gates that need replacing?”

“The barn roof’ll hold for now, and Rafael can handle the gates once he’s caught up with the other changes around here.”

Chance’s jaw clicked. “The barn roof definitely won’t hold out much longer …” he muttered.

He took a breath and forced himself to sit back and absorb what he’d just learned. Finally, he said, “I’ve been right here, all along, Ace, carrying my weight—carrying the weight of three hands at times.”

Ace paused, his focus on his son. “It’s true you’ve done well. I’ve been impressed with your work, though I thought you might have left us again by now.”

“Never said I had plans to leave.”

His father’s eyes blazed. “You’ve never said you had plans to stay either.”

Quiet enveloped them for a beat. He didn’t need this. If Chance wanted to, he could swap his boots for dress shoes and go back to corporate America. Muscles in his gut clenched. “And Rafael? You’re sure he won’t leave again?”

Ace looked away. “You don’t know anything about that.”

Chance shifted, but he did not back down. “I know your fight with him years ago made our mother cry. He was like a little brother to us, and then, suddenly, he wasn’t.” His mother had called him with the story of how his teenage cousin showed up drunk and ornery in the middle of the night to have it out with his uncle. Ace had thrown the kid off the property that night, and Rafael swore he would never return. He had made good on his word. Until recently.

“That boy came back here and made his peace. Asked me for forgiveness. He’s my sister’s son.” On the word “sister,” Ace’s voice cracked, and Chance knew his father had regrets about not reaching out to his kin before her death. “It took a lot of humility for him to come here and face me again.”

“So that’s it. He and his family are moving to the ranch, and I don’t have a say in the matter.”

“You don’t need one.”

Willow peeked in through the doorway. “Would either of you like seconds?”

Ace dusted his hands in front of himself and pushed away from the table. “No, ma’am. You’ve overfed me as it is.”

Willow smiled as she walked over and whisked Ace’s empty plate from the table. “I’m glad to hear it.” She glanced at Chance’s plate and frowned. “Was something wrong with your food, Chance?”

Ace stood. “My son’s not all that pleased with the company right now.”

Chance rose to his feet. He unlocked his jaw. “Not exactly true.”

“Oh no? Then prove it by helping me ready this place for our new residents.” Ace swung a look at the cook. “And I’ll need your help as well, Willow.”

“Yes, of course, Ace. Absolutely. Anything you need.”

“The wife of our new foreman is a vegetarian, by the way.”

Chance tried not to laugh outright at the slight lift of Willow’s delicate eyebrows. “Not a problem,” she sang out as she carried both plates from the dining room and into the kitchen.

Ace turned to leave, then pivoted back. He reached over and placed a meaty hand on his son’s shoulder. “I’m trusting in you.”

Those words carried weight like gold. A million memories clipped through Chance’s head, like slides in one of those old projectors. It’s why he had come back after college and, later, a corporate accounting job took him away.

It was also the lack of hearing such sentiments that kept him and his brothers away for so long. He’d hoped to change that, to smooth things over between his father and brothers, so they could be the family they had once been. Maybe even lure them back to the ranch someday.

But how would he convince them now when their father all but gave the running of the place over to their cousin, who had broken from the family so many years ago?

Chance gave his father a sober look, but nodded once quickly, hoping to placate him. He had a horse to ride, fencing to fix, parts to order. Honestly, he’d rather be mucking out stalls than be in this stifling dining room a minute longer, turning over dark thoughts in his head.

His father turned to leave and stopped, eyeing him. “And son?”

“Yes?”

“Make sure to shave before dinnertime.”

* * *

Willow slid the last of her homemade chicken pot pies into the oven, set the timer, then stepped back. It was late afternoon, and the familiar aroma would be filling the enormous kitchen soon. Part of her couldn’t wait, while the other dreaded it because that smell carried with it memories that would never be again.

She let out a sigh and looped a stray tendril of hair over her ear. No sense brooding over the past. Or worse, divulging to anyone here that she’d made this move to be closer to her mother, something she could not have done without this job. Most of their past had been sold, and the more she learned to move forward, the better off she would be.

Thankfully, she had her mama’s recipes to keep her company through the long, hard days of running a kitchen for hungry ranchers. Hard work and honesty had been knitted into the fabric of who she was, so a thread of guilt always seemed to work its way loose whenever she found herself thinking too long about this position she had accepted.

Willow found her way to the far end of the meandering, scarred kitchen island, the one topped with wood gouged by years’ worth of meals. She poured herself a glass of lemonade from the pitcher on the island and drank it down, letting the coolness of it refresh her while waiting for dinner to cook.

She glanced around, taking it all in. By all accounts, Patsy, her predecessor, had run this place without error. The woman had been friendly by nature, yet tough when she needed to be. And her food was above reproach. Not to mention … complicated. More than once, Willow’s eyes had tired from taking in the long lists of ingredients that Patsy filled the pantry with and often rolled into her dishes as deftly as she might have pulled on a sock.

When Willow had heard about this position up here in Topa Springs, right near where she needed to be, she believed she’d been given a gift from God himself. He had made a way for her amid a trial she couldn’t fathom.

And yet, had she been completely honest when she had accepted the position as cook, knowing well that her cooking skills had been tested mainly on only her mother and herself?

A door from the outside opened, slamming against a wall, followed by the heavy sound of boots landing on freshly washed and dried tile floors. Chance marched into the room and tossed his hat onto the island. He opened the fridge with such force that the condiments on the door rattled, and he hauled out a head of lettuce, sliced cheddar, roast beef, mustard, and a gallon of milk. He spun toward the cabinets, yanked open a silverware drawer, and tossed out a butter knife, letting it bounce across the wooden surface. From an upper cabinet, he retrieved a plate and a mug, then slammed the door shut.

Willow winced at that show of hostility, hoping the intricately etched glass inlaid in that cabinet door had not just gained a fracture. She watched as he proceeded to make himself the most haphazard, asymmetrical sandwich she’d ever seen. He gobbled it down after that, still unaware that he had an audience.

It might’ve stayed that way if he hadn’t slammed down his mug after gulping back his milk in one long swig.

Willow cleared her throat.

Chance stopped cold when he spotted her sitting there, his hand still wrapped around that empty mug. Was that a milk mustache?

When she saw the fury in his dark eyes, she chose to keep that question to herself. And a small part of her had a mind to apologize for taking a break at all. The other part of her remembered her mother’s voice in her head, admonishing her to stand up for herself.

Even if, in this case, that meant staying seated.

He nodded once. “Willow.”

“Chance.”

“You been there the whole time?”

“I have.”

He pressed his lips together and nodded. Then picked up his dishes and dumped the whole mess into the sink with a clatter.

Willow reached him in a few quick steps, placing herself between Chance and the sink. She leaned her backside against the counter and crossed her arms.

He furrowed his brow, confusion in his eyes. “You mad about something?”

“I’d appreciate it if you would be more careful with the dishes.”

He appeared to shrug off her statement, a cocky half-grin rising on his face.

Willow stiffened, pulling her crossed arms more tightly around her. She sucked in a breath. “Listen, you coming in here banging drawers and throwing food around like a hungry beast less than an hour before supper is—is, well, it’s a little insulting.”

“That right?” He groaned like an angry child and ran a hand through his full head of burnished brown hair. His face still wore the scruff from this morning, only now it had turned thicker, darker. If he were going to shave it off in time for dinner, he’d better get a move on.

Unless he had decided to defy Ace’s request?

Willow bit the inside of her lip. Growing up the only daughter of a single mother had not prepared her for the insolence of men, especially directed toward each other. How had Patsy handled their sparring? By ignoring it or by chasing them out of the kitchen with a broom?

She laughed.

Chance shrank back. “What’s so funny?”

Willow shook her head. “Please. No. Just …” She was about to tell him she’d take care of his mess this time. After all, that was her job—to feed the men and care for the kitchen. But she sobered quickly. Ace had made it clear from day one of her job here that she had very large and well-worn shoes to fill.

This room is your domain, Willow, and I expect you to manage it as such.

She glanced again at Chance, licked her lips, and said, “The dishwasher’s dirty.”

“Meaning?”

She pointed toward the sink. “Meaning it’s just waitin’ for more dirty dishes. Yours.”

His eyes expanded briefly, light from the afternoon sun illuminating their indescribable color, followed by a flash of … annoyance? Then a small, closed-mouth smile spread across Chance’s face. “So you’re giving me my comeuppance.”

“I wouldn’t be as dramatic as all that.”

He leaned a hand on the counter, considering her. “You’re serious.”

“As a heart attack.”

He nodded, pressing those lips together harder still, a bob to his head as he weighed the situation. She tried not to stare at the way his mouth curved as he thought, nor think about the fact that she’d had to pull her gaze away from him more than once since moving up here. Learning and organizing filled her head—that and how she would ever find time during the week to visit her mother. No room for anything … frivolous.

“Well, then, I suppose I ought to follow orders.” He stepped close enough to her that she could smell the earth on him. He slid his gaze down her face, and her breath hitched. His voice carried low. “May I?”

Willow’s mouth went dry.

He cocked a brow. Then he smiled that crooked grin at her.

Oh. Quickly, she moved away from the sink to give him access. From the corners of her gaze, she watched as Chance dug his used dishes and silverware out of the sink, quietly opened the dishwasher door, and gently found a place for each.

Without a word, he closed the dishwasher, straightened, and trained that knee-melting gaze on her. “Anything else, ma’am?”

Was he contrite? Or trying to intimidate her? Discernment hadn’t always been one of her strong points, though she was trying to overcome it now by questioning everything.

“Yes,” she said finally, gaining steam. “Go on and shave before dinner.”

Chance threw his head back at this, the first laugh she’d seen from the man all day. “Yes, ma’am.” Then he grabbed his hat, stuck it back on his head, and marched right back out the kitchen door.