Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Well. Chance had helped her all right, but the start of a grin she’d seen on his face earlier in the week when she’d forced that flower-patterned apron on him had turned to a flat line the minute Rafael and his sweet wife, Bella, showed up.
Oh, and that dog! What had Seabiscuit, Bella’s cute Pomeranian-mix pup, ever done to Chance?
He wasn’t mean or anything, but he did ignore the poor little thing who nose bumped the cowboy’s boot. The dog didn’t give up, though. Bumped him again for good measure, then let out a bark that said, Play with me! Somehow, Seabiscuit sensed he was going to have to work extra hard to get that grumpy ol’ cowboy on board with his presence here at the ranch.
As far as Willow was concerned, the precious animal could clean up her kitchen floors any time he liked. She loved dogs but hadn’t been able to have one in her life for years. Not with all the uprooting that had taken place.
“You’ve outdone yourself, cook!” Bella appeared in the kitchen, her face flushed, her smile bright. Seabiscuit peeked out from the carrier slung around her shoulder. “The barn looks and smells amazing. I am overwhelmed by all of it. Truly.”
Willow tossed a damp towel over her shoulder and smoothed a hand across her forehead where a bead of perspiration threatened. “Bella Sutter, scoot! You’re a guest of honor tonight.”
Bella laughed. “I’m content to leave that honor to my husband, but thank you.”
Willow leaned toward the pup and chucked him under the chin. I suppose you could stay to help me mop the floors later, friend.”
“Ahh, he would love that, but what can I do to help now?”
“No-nothing. Really.” Willow straightened. Her voice broke, and she swallowed back a sudden lump in her throat. What in the world?
The truth was, she was tired—both mentally and physically. She’d done her best not to show how overwhelmed she’d been with not only handling the normal kitchen duties, but planning this party as well. With all Chance’s stomping around here this week, you’d have thought Miranda Priestly from The Devil Wears Prada was moving in instead of the sweetest woman she had likely ever met.
“Oh boy, I didn’t mean to upset you.”
Willow shook her head tightly. The last thing she needed right now was to tip anyone off to her family problems. It hadn’t helped that Landson had called again. She had followed her mother up into these mountains overlooking the sea for logistical reasons, but the strain of keeping up her responsibilities--all while keeping her family life private—had become a mountain all its own.
The word “secretive” came to mind, but since when did family troubles require airing publicly like so many do on social media? She had carefully scrubbed her accounts years ago and only kept one alive, under her initials, to keep an eye on her uncle.
Unfortunately, he hadn’t been too active lately, which was a good thing. Or maybe he was just trying to be on his best behavior and not draw any attention to himself.
Sigh.
An all-too-familiar commotion from the mudroom broke the friendly banter. Chance’s voice preceded him into the long and narrow kitchen. “You have got to be kidding!”
“Something wrong?” Willow asked to be polite, not because she cared all that much to hear any bad news.
Chance’s handsome mug was less than when wearing that scowl on it. He opened his mouth, but it froze there as his eyes settled on Bella’s presence in the kitchen. His expression morphed in a way that Willow was beginning to recognize—from spitting mad to a flash of sarcasm to, finally, get ahold of yourself, man.
“Bella,” he said, doffing his hat, his voice polite.
“Hey, Chance.” She bounced Seabiscuit in that sling like a newborn. Probably nervous. And why wouldn’t she be? Chance barreled into the place with fire lighting him up, only to turn the flame down when he’d been caught by an outsider.
Guess that made Willow an insider.
“What’s got you in a snit?”
He slid a look at her. “Rain.”
Willow gasped. “It’s not supposed to be here until tomorrow!”
“Yeah, well, tell that to the weather app.” He tapped his phone, the lines at the corners of his eyes pulled tight. “Clouds rolling in, and that old barn’s roof has been needing replacing for years.”
Willow nodded, and now it all made sense. She’d heard Ace and Chance arguing about that very thing soon after she’d arrived here, but never learned if they had made a decision whether to repair it anytime soon.
She swallowed. “It’s the reason it’s been empty for so long, isn’t it?”
Chance nodded, his jaw taut.
“Look—the clouds are already blowing away.” Bella pointed out the window over the sink. “It’s all going to be okay. Don’t you worry, Chance.”
He strode toward the window, muttering “Let me see that …” under his breath.
All three sets of eyes focused on the dance of clouds against a shadowy blue sky. The threat of rain hovered, but as Bella said, the clouds flitted away as quickly as they had come.
Willow clapped her hands, then brushed her fingers in the air toward them both. “Shoo. The both—I mean, all three of you.” She gave Seabiscuit a quick pet. “We can’t worry about what the weather’s thinking about right now. I’ve got to get the rest of the food out. Chance? Please send the boys in for the trays, okay?”
“I’ll just stay here and?—”
She shook her head and took a step toward him, walking Chance backward. Bold of her, but with so much on her shoulders, she didn’t care. Second time she’d nearly overstepped with her boldness this week. Gave her pause because she needed this job.
But she also needed peace and focus in the kitchen. She continued, “You’ve done enough for now. Go on.” She handed him a fat pitcher of lemonade, her specialty. “Send the boys back, and maybe later you can help us tear it all down.”
“But …”
Chance must’ve recognized the flash in her eyes that told him it was no use. She wasn’t going to budge. It wasn’t that she couldn’t use the help. She could. But today was important to Ace. She’d seen it in the way he contemplated the pasture, the barn, and the cabins, and looked longingly at the horse paddocks. So much pride.
And, honestly, Ace looked tired to her lately, likely weary over battles with his son. So, decision made. No more drama in the kitchen. Not tonight. Not on her watch.
Tonight would be perfect.
* * *
She’d done it.
The aroma of smoked brisket, warm cornbread, and yeasty rolls curled through the old barn, inviting guests into the cozy, lit space like a comforting embrace. Smokeless tea lights flickered on every tabletop, their golden glow glinting off Mason jars filled with fresh-cut lupine, daisies, and asparagus fern. A soft hum of music played in the background, while laughter echoed off the rafters.
Chance had to admit—though he’d never say it out loud—the place looked better than it had in years. Alive, almost. Like it had a soul again.
He leaned against a support beam near the barn door, arms folded, and cast a halfhearted glance over the crowd. Most folks were gathered near the long food tables, swapping ranch stories and slathering butter onto hot slabs of cornbread. Rafael stood near the doublewide entrance, shaking hands and grinning like he’d never left this place behind. Bella stood poised beside him, perky, smiling, and gracious. Together, they looked comfortable. Settled.
Like they belonged.
A sudden clench to his jaw caught Chance off guard. A knot twisted in his gut as he watched Rafael’s gaze sweep across the ranch, taking it all in. Like he owned the place.
A warm breeze drifted in, carrying with it a distant rumble from somewhere far across the mountain range. It began as a low pulse, maybe just a truck downshifting on the road beyond the ridge. Depending on the wind’s direction, sounds like those could whimper … or roar.
Willow’s voice broke into his thoughts. “You look ready to punch someone.”
Chance blinked. She stood beside him, eyebrows raised, a quirk to her lips. Hair piled loosely on her head, and a few strands curling around her face. Her eyes drooped, soft circles forming beneath them. She was tired, no doubt about that, but … beautiful.
He looked away, his voice flat. “I’m being friendly.”
“Maybe open your hand before you cut off your circulation.” He turned his face, and she nodded to his balled-up fist.
Chance blew out a sharp breath and ran a hand down his cheek, a beard starting to fill in now. “I’m fine.”
She paused, watching him. “You sure?”
“I. Am.”
Willow gave him a look that said she didn’t quite believe his retort, then gestured with her chin toward the tables. “Well, that wall doesn’t need you to hold it up.” Her tone had softened some. “Go mingle. Grab some lemonade before Ace sees you scowling in the corner like a spooked steer.”
Chance huffed a laugh. “And if I don’t?”
“Then you’ll break ol’ Ace’s heart.” She smirked, turning to flag down one of the ranch hands.
A hand passed by with a tray of rolls. Chance snagged one, and Willow’s eyes narrowed playfully.
She stopped the tray with a touch. “Hang on. These look like they were thrown together by a couple of blindfolded raccoons.” With deft hands, she rearranged the rolls into a symmetrical pattern. “I leave for one second, and the kitchen falls apart.”
Chance chuckled under his breath. “Sounds like job security.”
Willow glared at him. The corner of her mouth twitched, and she nodded toward the middle of the barn. “Go get yourself something to drink, cowboy.”
He pushed away from the wall, muttering as he went. “Anything you say, darlin’.” Out of her earshot, he whispered, “Wouldn’t want to disappoint the family.”
“You sayin’ something, son.” Ace had entered the barn. Chance became vaguely aware of his father’s diminishing height.
He cleared his throat. “Was just telling Willow this place looks better than it has in years.”
Ace waited a beat, then flicked his gaze through the expansive place. He nodded. “I would have to agree with you there.”
“Can I get you a drink?”
“Nothing for me now. I’ll wait here to greet some of our guests.”
Chance nodded his acknowledgment, then he strode toward the flower-laden refreshment table. Another low rumble stirred through the floorboards. Barely noticeable. But it was there.
* * *
In hindsight, Chance shouldn’t have drunk that lemonade.
Not that it was Willow’s fault. Eli must’ve spiked it when she wasn’t looking—he’d seen it, even smirked when it happened. He could’ve warned someone. Could’ve picked something else. But he hadn’t. Maybe part of him wanted a reason to feel off-kilter.
Now, he was paying for it.
The barn felt stifling, the lights too bright. Laughter bounced off the walls with a hollow clang. Boots clomped to the music, oblivious to the bitterness pooling under his tongue. Would this night never end?
Willow moved like a wind current through the crowd, checking platters, exchanging pleasantries, keeping everything humming along. But when Willow’s eyes found his, the look she gave him was anything but friendly.
She marched across the worn wooden floors, brow furrowed, eyes laser sharp. If she were a bobcat, he’d be waving his arms like a beast to deflect the attack.
“You’ve had enough,” she said under her breath, leaning over him. Her presence teased his senses. He pulled himself upright, not because he cared to mingle, but to take in more of her.
“I—” Chance started, but the words felt thick, heavy in his throat.
“You’re gonna make a mess of things,” she hissed.
Again.
He hadn’t heard the word, but he felt it. The disappointment in her tone wrapped around him tighter than a noose. He heard it in his mind, coming from Ace too.
“I’m not drunk,” he murmured. “Just … off.”
Willow tilted her head, watching him with those deep, dark eyes that missed nothing. “Your color is bad,” she whispered. “You’re sweating. And the floor—Chance, do you feel that?”
He blinked hard. The floor did feel all wrong, like it was shifting under him. But not because of the lemonade. Something deeper. A hum. A pressure shift.
“I think …” he began, but then staggered slightly as a tremor vibrated through the barn’s structure.
A crash behind him drew startled cries. A tray hit the floor, shattering glass and splashing lemonade across his boots. A few guests stumbled, grabbing for balance.
“What in the—” someone shouted.
“Chance!” Willow reached out as he braced himself on the edge of a table. The barn walls groaned with an eerie creak, timbers flexing with the force of wind—or something.
It wasn’t the drink. It wasn’t a dizzy spell.
An earthquake, and what sounded like a storm, had come. All rolled into one.
He looked at Willow again, and for a split second, that wasn’t pity he saw in her eyes—but fear. Real fear.
* * *
The earth’s tremor passed in under ten seconds, but the stillness it left behind cast the barn in an eerie hush. High-pitched voices punctuated the air.
Was that an earthquake?
That was a big one!
Wonder where it was centered?
Whoa! Are those lights swingin’?
The questions were customary. Californians didn’t panic after earthquakes—usually. Instead, a flurry of questions and internet searches usually followed a shaker. And aftershocks.
Chance listened for one of those, the hammering in his chest slowing some when it didn’t come. His eyes scanned the crowd that he suddenly felt responsible for. Lights flickered, while others stayed solidly lit.
Willow touched his arm. “You okay?”
Chance gave a short nod, jaw tight. “Wasn’t the lemonade.”
They shared a look. Though the jolt didn’t seem to have caused any damage, some of the guests, especially the older ones, walked stiffly, as if on edge.
Another low rumble rolled through the place, but this one was different. It came from overhead, rushing through the vaulted barn with a howl and a whistle.
Wind.
And, then, rain.
Lots and lots of rain.
No way.
Chance pushed the barn door open to the cacophony of rainwater coming down in sheets.
“Man!” Eli joined him. “That’s a gully washer, all right.”
A massive gust drove the rain sideways, slicing through the open doorway like a waterfall showerhead on full speed. The sudden flush of water and wind soaked the entryway, causing guests to leap backward for shelter.
Chance pushed the door partway closed again and stepped back, considering. Then came a single drip.
He looked up. The roof groaned. The leak widened, creating a pattern that zigged and zagged its way toward unsuspecting guests.
Willow leaped toward a tray of cornbread, gasping as water drops began to fall.
Chance raised both hands in disbelief. “Fantastic.”
Outside, the rain continued to hammer the gravel and dirt beyond the doors, an unwelcome sight to guests watching it fall, their cars a long, muddy hike away.
As they stood there under what might have otherwise been a cozy, rainy day, a flash of lightning lit the treetops. An aggressive gust blew in another sheet of rain, accompanied by thunder. Guests groaned, and murmurs of disbelief crowd-surfed through the barn.
Chance shoved the door fully closed. He spun around, addressing everyone, his arms open wide, “All right, everyone. It’s time to move. The main house is warm—and open to everyone.”
He sent a pointed glance at Willow, who nodded her agreement. “I’ve got scones and lemon bars inside!”
Chance responded with a nod. This old roof wasn’t going to hold if the wind kicked up. He had to get them inside. Willow knew that too.
“Hear that, everyone? Scones and lemon bars!”
He caught Rafael’s eyes. “Lead the front group.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll get the coffee on once I’m inside.”
He nodded, then to Eli, he said, “You’ll help me.”
“You got it.”
Chance clapped his hands, ignoring the fat droplet of water that landed on the brim of his hat before falling onto his hand. “Amazing! Our plan is set. You all go inside quickly and get dry and warm. Eli and I will help anyone who needs assistance. Let’s all stay safe—no running in high-heeled boots!”
That sent laughter through the barn.
Chance shoved the door open fully again, and Rafael waved guests through.
Quickly, Chance assigned Eli a group, then he took the other. He snagged a couple of hands to help, making sure someone was on either side of Miss Helen, who hadn’t missed a Sutter Creek gathering in thirty years.
Ace appeared, shoulders hunched against the spray, just as Chance brought up the rear. Water saturated the old man’s face, and Chance grabbed a towel from a nearby table and pressed it into his father’s hands.
Ace took in Willow, who guided several to safety. He swung his chin back to Chance again and gave him a single, sharp nod.
Chance nodded back.
Rain poured across their path as they made their way to the grand portico with columns flanking the entry to the main house. Once everyone had made it inside, Chance spun around.
Willow’s eyes searched his face.
“Go on. Get inside,” he said.
She sidestepped him. “You going back?”
“Have to. The barn needs battening down.”
“I’m going with you.”
He shook his head, but she stopped him with a touch on his arm. “Scones and lemon bars are laid out. Kit and Bella are serving them up.”
His eyes searched her face. She wanted to go back out into that mess?
She squeezed his arm tighter, and he rolled a look to the heavens. “Fine,” he said with a quick shake of his head. “C’mon.” Then he took her hand and they sprinted back to the barn.
Together, they discarded empty plates and cups, stacking them up in gray, rubber bins. They dragged tarps over tables they hoped to salvage once the storm was over, and gathered up belongings, such as sweaters and scarves that guests had left behind.
“Here.” He tossed her someone’s phone.
She glanced at the screen. “By the screen saver with Rafael’s face on it, I’m guessing Bella left this behind.”
Chance rolled his eyes. “Maybe he has a picture of himself on that phone.”
“Please.”
He chuckled. “Don’t ‘please’ me.”
She chided him with a look that would have made Patsy proud. So much so that he snapped his gaze away under the heat of it. The rain had not let up. He cleared his throat. “We need to go.”
She nodded, and followed him outside, keeping her head bowed. As wind whistled through gaps in the walls, they pushed the barn door closed, with Chance adding a brace for good measure.
He turned to Willow. Saturated, loam-colored strands of hair framed her face. Smudges of mascara rested beneath her eyes. He leaned toward her. “Ready?”
She shrugged, her smile back now. “As I’ll ever be!”
They spilled into the main house, wet clothes plastered to their skin, and smelling of wood smoke and fresh air, earth and pine. If guests minded—or noticed—they didn’t let on.
Rafael was ladling reheated chili into bowls, while Eli handed out mugs of hot coffee. About a dozen guests had gathered around the television in the den off the primary living room, getting up-to-the-minute reports of the storm’s damage.
Willow peeled off her apron and hung it on a hook in the mudroom. Chance hovered a moment, as if about to say something, but Willow nodded toward the kitchen.
“Your cousin stepped up,” she said.
He nodded, closed-mouthed. Then, “That he did.”
Willow’s voice was a whisper now, her gaze imploring. “I understand the desire for a second chance.”
Under different circumstances, he might have dug deeper into Willow’s statement. What second chance was she seeking? Or had she sought? Yet, she’d been talking about Rafael, as if to say, he’s not the enemy. Felt like it sometimes, but then again, when he really thought about it, Rafael had lost a lot in his lifetime.
That was something Chance could relate to.
He turned back to respond, and Willow had disappeared. He made his way into the kitchen and clapped Rafael on the shoulder. “Any of that left for me?”
Rafael raised his brows, but handed him a bowl, the steam still coming off of it. “You bet.”
Chance took his meal into the living room, where he found Ace in his leather recliner, wrapped in a wool blanket and observing the guests milling about. A group of women had gathered around the fireplace where flames licked the air.
“Aren’t you hungry?” Chance asked him.
Ace did not respond at first, but his eyes never left his son.
Willow appeared, offering Ace a bowl of chili, but he waved her off. She cast a wordless gaze at Chance before delivering the bowl to a guest sitting by the fire.
“Warm enough?” Chance nodded at the blanket on Ace’s lap.
His father pursed his lips, nodding.
Chance took a bite of chili, savoring the blend of chili powder and steak. He stabbed his fork into the bowl, letting it stand there. “Well, Ace, you sure know how to throw a party.”
“If this is your way of proving you’re planning to stick around, leave the monsoon out next time,” Ace said straight-faced.
“What can I say? I’m a powerful guy.”
Willow swept back in again, this time with a mug of coffee for Chance. She handed it to him. “Hey there, Mr. Powerful. This should help warm you up.”
He raised a brow at her.
Willow blinked, like he’d caught her off-guard with a look.
Chance held her gaze. “You okay?”
She licked her lips. “Sure was a mess out there.”
“Yeah.” He cracked a grin at her. “We handled it.”
“You handled it. I was just your … lackey.”
His expression split into a grin.
Willow smiled and lowered her voice. “By the way, cowboy, if the goal was to prove you can lead, even when dinner is floating away in a flood …”
“Nailed it, didn’t I?”
She looked up at him, her eyelashes glistening, a conciliatory smile on her mouth. “You did,” she said. “You really did.”
Outside, rain pounded against glass, while inside a fire crackled in the hearth, cared-for guests chattered in low voices, and a bustling kitchen kept the party going. For his part, Ace snoozed in his chair, oblivious to the adrenaline rush still surging through his insides.
And then … the reality of what had occurred tonight hit Chance like a blow torch. The unplanned-for storm. Faulty infrastructure. Chaos. And now, everyone lounging around like this was normal. Like this night ended the way it was meant to.
If that were so, why did he suddenly feel the threat of suffocation?
Willow turned before heading to the kitchen, and once again, their gazes met. She leaned toward him, as if to ask him something, but he turned away and strode out of the room without a word.