Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Days later, Willow stepped out of church, the late morning sun kissing her cheeks. Ace had made it clear that Sunday mornings were hers alone, and for that she’d been grateful.
Another reason to be grateful: a spirit renewed. The pastor’s sermon had centered her somehow, reminding Willow that she was not alone in this life, though it felt like it a lot of the time.
But Jesus had not come to earth to live and die and rise again only for his story to be shelved like so many books from the past. He was to be known and his sacrifices to be remembered for the life he continued to give all those who believed.
She hung onto that truth with everything she had and found herself lingering on her thoughts when a familiar deep voice called out to her.
“Good morning, Willow.”
Ace rambled out the side door of the old church and raised a hand in her direction.
She slowed. “Hello, Ace.”
He wiped his forehead with a hanky and stuffed it into his back pocket, drawing a slow breath. “I don’t usually use this time to talk business, but I’m glad I caught you. Our new foreman, Rafael—you met him some weeks back—will be moving up to the ranch this week. He’ll be bringing his wife, Bella, with him, and they’ll be staying in Sparky’s old place.”
Willow gasped, but quickly covered her mouth with her fingers. From what she’d been told, Sparky had helped Ace run this place for decades, and that cabin hadn’t seen an update since. She didn’t dare imagine the shape it was in.
Ace laughed heartily at her knee-jerk reaction. “Don’t you worry about that old cabin. Some of the hands will be fixing things there this week in time for the couple to arrive. Kit, being the housekeeper, will tidy it all up.”
“I-I’m sorry if I was?—“
“That obvious?” He winked. “You were, but I understand. We want it to become their own, of course, but we will be handing it over in good shape first.”
“That sounds lovely.”
“And this is where you come in, Willow. I’d like you to plan a welcome party for Rafael and Bella for this Friday evening, and I want it to be done up right.”
“Absolutely.” Her mind raced, hoping she had both the street sense and the skills to cook foods fancier than pot pies and hearty meats, though maybe those would be enough. “About how many should I plan for?”
He puckered his mouth and looked up toward the heavens. “I’d say close to sixty.”
She swallowed. Maybe if she waited long enough, if she didn’t respond, he would correct himself. Oh, hahaha, excuse my mental fart, darlin’! I meant ten people, not sixty!
Instead, Ace added, “Give or take a handful.”
“So … we’ll be … gathering …”
“In the barn. Yes. I’ll have the hands pull tables out of storage and set ‘em up. You can come up with some kind of frou-frou for them, I take it?”
Feed sixty-plus people. Put frou-frou on at least eight tables, maybe ten. Sure-sure-sure. “Of course.” She put on a smile. “I’ll see what blooms are available in the garden and create some arrangements for the tables.”
“Wonderful.” He turned to go but stopped and snapped his fingers. “Recruit Chance to help you. Don’t let him give you any guff. I want to see him doing some of the heavy lifting. Understood?
“Yes, sir.”
Ace grinned. “I will see you at suppertime. Enjoy your morning.”
A half hour later, as she sat with her feet soaking in the creek down on the south end of the ranch, she fretted. Why hadn’t she asked Ace for a menu? For suggestions? For a list of foods Patsy might have served?
Because … she was afraid. If she asked those questions, it would make it seem like she wasn’t up for this task. She glanced at her phone and wrinkled her nose. In addition to Sunday mornings being for church, she’d also decided to spend as much time outdoors as possible. It stirred up her creativity, and, for a few brief hours, helped her think about something other than her worries.
Except today. Ace’s request had all but upended her peaceful morning.
“Hello, Sarge.”
Willow jerked a look up. Chance stood nearby, his face solemn, his hat tipped down.
“Chance?”
“Got any new orders for me today?”
Ah. He was still annoyed with her for asking him to clean up after himself. She quirked a smile at him, one to match the cocky expression he wore. “As a matter of fact, I do.”
He stepped closer, his boots cracking a twig. “Let me guess. You want me to start washing my dishes in the creek.”
“No.”
“Doing the laundry out here on an old washboard.”
“Negative.”
He squatted down, his face level with hers, those kaleidoscope eyes trained on her. He gave off notes of tobacco and vanilla. “Then what is it, Miss Willow, that you’d like me to do today?”
She turned her head to focus on the creek, licking her lips to chase away her sudden dry mouth. “It’s not today that I need your help, Chance. But soon.”
“Oh?”
She glanced at him over her shoulder. “Your father has asked me to throw a large party for the new foreman and his wife. It’s … this coming Friday night.”
An edge to Chance’s jaw appeared. He stood abruptly and kicked the dust from his boots.
Willow turned all the way around now. “You okay?”
He stared at her for a beat, tipped his head, and touched his hat lightly before stepping backward. “Goodbye.”
“Wait a second. Chance? You haven’t given me your answer about Friday.”
“No.”
“No, as in, you did give me your answer? Or … Chance, are you telling me you won’t help me?”
He smiled now, that cockiness showing up out of nowhere. “Bingo.”
Willow narrowed her eyes. “That’s not actually an option.”
“Really now? You asked me a question, so the presumption is that I was being presented with a choice.”
“Your father asked me to recruit you.”
That sharp jaw appeared again, and his eyes dulled some. “Did he now?”
“Are you too busy or something?”
“Yes. That’s it.” He took another step back and half-pivoted, like he was about to leave. “Let my father know.”
“What? I can’t do that.”
“Sure you can.”
“No.” An icy panic began to rise in Willow’s veins. She’d spent the last half hour of her morning off dreaming up a menu for the party, not to mention how she would coordinate the kitchen and have it all ready to serve at one time.
She snapped a look at Chance, ready to beg, when it occurred to her. “You’re angry that your father hired your cousin, Rafael.”
Chance pursed his lips, and, in a small way, Willow recognized Ace in him. “This subject is?—"
“He didn’t tell you about it ahead of time, did he?” Willow pushed herself up from the ground. She crossed her arms, considering him. “That’s why you were upset the other day at breakfast.”
“I wasn’t upset.”
“Grumpy then.”
He sputtered out a sharp laugh. “Leave it be, Willow. This is of no concern of yours, all right?”
“Because I’m just the cook?”
“Because it’s between my father and me.”
She nodded. “As is my predicament … between your father and me, I mean.”
Chance let out a garbled groan, and Willow looked away. What was she doing confronting the boss’s son like this? Had she lost her mind? He could have her fired, and then where would she be?
She blew out a breath and glanced around at the beautiful trees that framed the creek. If only life could be as simple and picture-perfect.
Truth was, Willow needed this job, not only for the money, but for the living arrangements it provided. Part of her compensation was the coziest, sweetest little cabin she’d ever seen. Already, it had become home to her, the place she laid her head each night and slept away her stresses.
She couldn’t let anything happen to change that. That was that. Willow would have to find a way to make this party work with or without Chance’s help.
She dropped her arms to her sides and took a step back, but Chance lunged toward her. She gasped as he wrapped his arms around her waist and tugged her so close she could see tufts of spiral hair sprouting from between the buttons of his shirt.
She attempted to yank herself from his arms. “What’re you doing?”
“The creek!” He cinched her closer. If she weren’t so outraged, she might’ve noticed the scent of cedarwood and earth wafting from him, and the unabashed strength that held her close.
Once they were a good foot away from the edge of the water, he let go of her waist. “You almost fell in.”
“You mean you nearly pushed me in!”
Chance chuckled. He raised both hands like stop signs. “I saved you, darlin’.”
Willow shook him off and ran her hands down the sides of her dress, as if brushing away both dirt and dignity. She needed to recapture the peace she had felt when walking out of church this morning. For the first time in months, she had not felt so … alone.
But that was before Ace piled on a big work assignment, and Chance refused to help her, then nearly toppled her right into the cold water of that creek!
Fine. Whatever. She would do this alone. No sense trying to pull help from an unwilling participant.
But Chance’s voice interrupted her thoughts. “How many people at this … shindig?”
She picked up her bag from the ground and slung it over her shoulder, avoiding his eyes. “Forget it.”
He touched the soft part of her upper arm until she looked at him. “How many?”
Willow swallowed before answering. “Your father says he expects about sixty-ish people.” She paused. “Give or take.”
Chance let out an incredulous whistle. He shook his head slowly, then peeled a look at her beneath his hat. “Sixty- ish , he said that, did he?”
“It’s what he meant.”
Chance snapped a look upward. “Fine.”
“Fine, what?” The gold in his eyes settled on her. Stunning. That’s all she could say about that …
“I’ll help you.”
Now it was her turn to hold up her palms. She added a decisive shake of her head. Willow had made up her mind—she did not want the assistance of an ornery, unwilling helper, something that would only slow her down and drop a stifling blanket over her party planning.
“He’s testing you, you know,” Chance said.
“Excuse me?”
“My father. He’s testing you.” Chance watched her. “He likes to haze new recruits.”
“I don’t think so. Plus, I’ve been here for a couple of months already.”
He shrugged. “That’s still new to my father.”
“If he were testing me, as you say, why did he say I should get you to help me?”
He looked thoughtful for the first time since showing up here. “Because, darlin’, he’s testing me too.”
Willow tilted her head to the side, watching for some sign that Chance was about to flash that cocky grin at her again. He didn’t. “None of this makes any sense to me. Ace is a perfectly reasonable man …”
Chance raised an eyebrow.
“You don’t think so?”
“He can be reasonable, yes. But a man who has grown his ranch considerably from when he acquired it as a young man always does everything with a purpose in mind.”
“And you think his purpose is to make you upset.”
“I said he had a purpose—not that I knew what it was.”
“Well, that’s what I’d call interesting.”
He grinned. “I’d call it annoying, but whatever you say.”
Willow smiled. She crossed her arms at her chest and rocked back on her heels, looking fully into Chance’s face now. She hadn’t a clue about any of this testing nonsense, but her panic, though still present, had lessened considerably.
“Well, then, I guess we’d better put on a great party.”
He grimaced, but nodded just the same. She couldn’t tell if he cared one way or the other about the success of the party, but offered her his arm anyway and added, “At your service.”
* * *
She was in over her head.
Chance could not shake the feeling that the beautiful young cook his father had hired without even a glance at her resume was about to go down in flames. Not that she didn’t make a mean chicken pot pie. Or bacon omelet. Or any of the other mouth-watering meals he’d been served since she came here several months ago.
Oh, she could cook. But manage an event for sixty hungry bellies? Not an easy feat—that he could see. And it wasn’t fair of Ace to ask it of her, especially on such short notice.
He found Willow in the kitchen in late morning, shoulders leaning over the island, her face buried in a cookbook.
“Anything I can help you with?”
She lifted her chin, her eyes unfocused. “Help … me … with?”
Chance plopped his hat onto the counter and scooted next to her. “You know, help you pick a menu?”
“A menu?”
He frowned. “You are trying to figure out what you’ll be serving on Friday night, I presume.”
She squinted, her mouth a straight line, then recognition came over her. Her hand brushed against his arm as she stood. “You’re too late. I’ve already had all the fixins for Friday delivered.” Willow opened the door of the long walk-in pantry and showed off the bulging shelves: cans of tomatoes, flour, yeast, nuts, olives, and more sat waiting to be used. She also lifted the door of the extra freezer stored in there and displayed an abundance of meat ready for whatever she was planning.
“Wow. You got all that into your pink car?”
“My car’s not pink.” She frowned. “I like to think of it as dusty rose. Or salmon, maybe.”
“So is that salmon-colored toy street legal? Or just legally sad?”
“Mean.”
He chuckled.
“At least she runs!” Mostly. And only after Willow whispers sweet nothings to it …
He stared at her, mouth pressed closed, but a smile fighting to get out.
She screwed up her lips. “Getting back to the party, and to answer the question hanging over your head, I’m planning to put it all in the smoker on Thursday.”
“And stay up all night with it?”
“I can spray it all down late that night, you know, keep the moisture on it, and add more chips to it too. Should be fine until morning.”
She’d … surprised him. That he would admit. When he’d walked in here to find her bent over a cookbook, lines etched across her forehead, Chance had expected to see panic in her eyes. She seemed to have it all under control, though.
“So I guess I’m off the hook.”
She tilted a questioning glance at him. “Who do you think’s going to tend to the smoker while I’m dishing up the sides? By the way, how are you with a knife?”
He frowned. Was that a trick question?
She continued. “Because I’m gonna need you to slice that meat thin enough to make sure we have enough to go around and thick enough for the crowd to hold their stomachs and moan about how they ate too much.”
So maybe it wasn’t the meal planning for the impending arrival of the prince and princess that had marred Willow’s features. Whatever it was that caused stress lines to appear on her fresh-as-the-dew skin when he showed up in the kitchen, he would have to figure out.
Because, far as he could tell, it wasn’t Friday night’s extravaganza that had her fretting.
“I will be your sous chef on Friday. I’ll stay by the smoker’s side all night long if I have to.”
“And get me in trouble with Ace? Not a chance.” She pushed away from the island and fidgeted with her hands, pressing them together over and over. “No. To be sure, I’ll need your help checking on that smoker, but you have a cousin to welcome into the fold. Far be it from me to get in the middle of all that.”
Ah. So maybe the event was getting to her after all. No sense adding his feelings to the mix about the circus that he’d rather not attend. Somehow, he had to bury his thoughts while staying as emotionally uninvolved as possible.
It was going to be a long week.
Chance forced himself out of his headspace only to find her staring at him, one fist pressed into her side. “You’re not thinking of doing anything crazy, are you?”
He frowned, shrinking back. “What are you suggesting?”
“Put cayenne pepper in Rafael’s dessert … salt in his lemonade”—she was ticking off ideas on her fingers, one by one—“a whoopee cushion on his chair …”
Gently, he took her counting hand and moved it to her side. His fingers lingered on her skin, and he found himself caught between raw, sudden awareness of her and the palpable annoyance over the events of this week. “I will do what needs doing, and not a thing more.”
A flicker of concern crossed her features, plunging questions deeper into Chance’s psyche. He racked his brain for recollections, for the reasons why he did not know all that much about Willow.
Something akin to shame rolled through him. Maybe he hadn’t paid any attention to her because he was caught up in … himself. Where did she come from all of a sudden, like a pretty light on a dark mountain?
“Well,” she finally said as she gently extricated her fingers from his hand, “at least there’s that.”
He laughed, and the sound of it surprised him. “I’m glad you approve.”
She darted a look at him, anything but approval on her face. Her eyes were hard, the lines in her forehead deep.
He tilted his head, examining her more closely. “Hey. You okay, Willow?”
She blinked. Then shook her head and pushed herself fully away from the island and began to putter with silverware in the sink. “Yes, of course.” She flashed him a smile that he didn’t quite buy. “Just a lot on my mind right now.”
“Regarding the party?”
She stared at him for a beat, nodding slowly. “Yes. There are the usual meals to plan, plus, well, you know—all the rest.” She flapped one hand in the air, then another. In a rushed voice, she added, “Oh, but don’t mention anything to Ace. I’ve got it under control. No worries.”
Chance gently wrapped his hands around hers, stilling them in midair. “You’ve got this, Willow. It’s just a party for a bunch of cowboys. They’ll eat anything?—“
“My food will be delicious.”
He cracked a rueful look. “I have no doubt. But don’t stress yourself over it. We don’t want Rafael thinking life’s going to be easy here on the ranch.”
She narrowed her eyes.
“Stop that.” He looked upward briefly. “I’m not planning to sabotage the guy.”
“Your cousin.”
“Right.”
Willow pulled her hands to her sides, her mouth curled. “Thank you for the pep talk. I do appreciate it.”
Chance sucked in his lip. Something was still not okay with her, but, frankly, he didn’t care to think about Rafael and his impending arrival one more minute. He would have to bury any lingering questions about whatever was on Willow’s mind. For now.
* * *
It was Wednesday afternoon, just two days before the big event, when Willow reread the message that had popped onto her phone screen a short time ago: her mama wanted to see her.
She hated to let this opportunity go by. Mainly, because her mother rarely asked for her by name anymore. When might this happen again?
But of all weeks! How would she make the time?
Kit McGinnis, the housekeeper, bounced into the kitchen just then, carrying a basket of laundry soaps, cleaning products, and towels. She dropped the whole mess on the island, blew a puff of air upward to dislodge a stray hair, and huffed a big, fat sigh. “I’m starved.”
“Long day already?”
“The way Ace is fussin’ about, you’d think royalty was daring to enter the premises this week.”
Willow pushed away the impending detour in her schedule and pointed to a stool in front of the island. “Have a seat.”
Kit turned a hopeful grin on her. “Don’t tease me, Willow. I’m in no mood for teasin’!”
Willow flung open the door to the fridge and examined the contents inside. Something about a hungry soul needing sustenance buoyed her spirit, mainly because that was a need she could usually fulfill. Besides, it kept her mind off the myriad other things she had on her to-do list. She grabbed a plate, then pulled out lettuce, a bowl of chicken salad, and took fresh rolls from the pantry.
Kit gasped. “You’re seriously going to feed me?”
“I am. All this is fresh too. Made it myself.”
“Ooh, I can tell it’s homemade. Smells so good.”
Willow worked deliberately, slicing a roll and laying a curly red leaf on the bottom half, followed by a heaping spoonful of chicken salad. And then another. She topped it with the top half of the roll and pushed the plate in front of Kit.
Kit picked up the sandwich with gusto and took a bite. “Mm! Willow, honey, I think you’re my new best friend.”
If only. The last best friend she had left Willow behind, like all the lukewarm ones did. She was no longer looking for a bff, but she wouldn’t turn down a trustworthy offer of one either.
With only a quick nod of acknowledgement, Willow busied herself with putting away the food, followed by wiping down the counter. Her delight in feeding the housekeeper some lunch was quickly squelched by thoughts she no longer cared to linger on.
“You okay over there?” Kit held the sandwich in front of her, as if in mid-bite.
“Me?” Willow shrugged. “Yes, yes, of course.” She turned to the sink to squeeze water from the rag.
“Something’s going on. My drama detector is up.”
Willow coughed out a laugh. “Drama detector!”
Kit nodded. “It’s more reliable than a cow at milking time.”
“I seriously doubt that.”
Kit frowned and looked upward, as if thinking. “Well, fine,” she finally said. “But it’s better than one of the cowhands at milking time.”
Willow laughed and lowered her voice. “That I can see.”
“I learned that one the hard way!” Kit said the words laced with laughter, but Willow had heard the gossip about how her romance gone bad with a ranch hand or someone led her straight into the arms of Eli, one of the hands who had been here the longest.
“Earth to Willow.”
Willow met her gaze.
“You gonna spill it?”
The short answer: no. It would be all kinds of wonderful to have a friend to confide in, the kind she once had, before the events that turned her family’s life upside down. She had to get the focus off her.
“Can I ask a question?” Willow said.
“Anything.”
“I heard a rumor you once dated one of the hands, well, before Eli, I mean.”
Kit raised one eyebrow and tilted her head, still chewing.
Willow’s mouth went slack. What was she doing poking her head into someone else’s business? So not like her! She’d only done it so she wouldn’t have to answer any questions about herself …
Kit swallowed a bite. “You know it was Chance, right?”
Willow’s eyes snapped open wide.
Kit laughed.
“Honey, that was in high school.” She batted the air with a hand. “Water under the bridge.
“I-I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have been so nosy!” Willow turned away at the rush of heat in her face. She wiped her hands on a towel, letting them linger.
“Something tells me my high school love life isn’t what’s on your mind right now, cook.”
Another text popped up on her phone then, but Willow slid it away from her view. She spun around and pasted on a smile. “I just have a lot to do this week. My mind’s muddled with details for the party Ace is throwing.”
“Let me help you.”
Willow waved a hand at her. “Oh, you’ve got plenty to do, I’m sure! I’ll—I’ll be fine.”
“Willow? I’m offering to help, so you should take me up on that. I may be a little older than you, young ‘un, but I’m not a fake.”
She had not expected Kit to be so direct. Since they’d met, she’d been funny and a little sarcastic, but their relationship had not crossed the line into any kind of enduring friendship. And Willow had been perfectly okay with that.
Kit dragged herself away from the counter. She looked longingly at the empty plate in front of her, then snapped a look at Willow. “I’m here when you need me.”
Willow managed a small smile, though she kept the guard around her heart intact. “Thank you so much.. I appreciate it, and, well …”
“Yes?”
She shook her head. “Never mind. Was a crazy thought anyhow.”
Kit stared at her, as if trying to figure out if she should say more. Eventually, she grabbed her basket and slid it off the counter. “Like I said, I’m here if you need me. Thanks for lunch!”
After she had gone, Willow stood silently for a good, long minute. She’d almost asked a favor of someone she barely knew, and the relief that flooded through her told her she’d made the right decision to change her mind.
What if … she’d asked Kit to keep an eye on the kitchen for a time, and Ace questioned her about it? Or what if it annoyed Chance?
What if … she’d asked Kit for help only to have to divulge why?
Absolutely not. Opening herself up for one question would lead to another, then another still. Thankfully, she had placed a tourniquet on the flood of questions before they even started.
Her phone buzzed. Probably one about her mother again. She snapped a look at the clock. If she left now, she could arrive back at the ranch in enough time to make the stew she was planning for supper.
She slid a tense look at her phone, but it wasn’t a text at all. Instead, a voicemail appeared. Not surprising. Cellphone reception was an issue up here on this mountain, and she had missed a call more than once.
Hello, Ms. Mercer. This is Jack Landson. I’m calling to set up a time to check in with your mother, and I would like you to be there. Please call me at your earliest convenience. I would like to meet with her sometime next week. Goodbye.
Great. Exactly what she needed now. Sometimes it seemed as if the authorities had nothing better to do than make life rougher. Willow had long proved that her mother was no longer capable of chaos—really, she wasn’t behind all that she’d been accused of—and that visits from someone like Mr. Landson would do more harm than good.
But her word wasn’t enough. It was never enough.
Reluctantly, Willow stepped outside, far from the building. She crossed the driveway, then walked up around her small cabin, casting a sour glance at her tiny car. Chance was right—it did sort of look like a clown car. Oh, he didn’t say so, but he didn’t have to. With a sigh, she kept walking. She needed to make a phone call and to do so out of earshot of anyone on the ranch.