Chapter 5
Chapter Five
At dawn the next morning, Willow slipped out of her cottage and into “Lucille.” She rolled by the main house, which showed no sign of stirring. But, just in case, she’d set the timer on the coffee pot and placed a basket of rolls and scones on the island.
The kitchen could wait an hour or so, giving her an opportunity to think. And breathe. The cleanup, the meeting with her mother’s parole officer, well, there would be plenty to face when she returned.
She wound her way down the hill, past walnut and oak trees, their long limbs stretching across the road. The town still slumbered as she rolled by, until down the winding hill, the view gave way to open ocean.
Minutes later, she pulled into a spot at the curb and watched as day broke from the east, casting a golden glow across the water.
She let out a sigh. Despite the stress of her mother’s situation—and condition—and the absolute anarchy from last night’s storm, her lungs relaxed. The sound of the sea filled her mind, replacing the quiet and steadiness of the mountains.
Despite the worries, how fortunate was she? To live this close to the sea, but be able to fall asleep listening to mountain birds and the sway of trees outside her small cottage.
The contrast had not escaped her. While the mountains provided quiet and steadiness, the sea rolled and danced. The salt air cleansed the air around her, and the rushing sound of the waves?
Healing.
Until that first breath of briny oxygen had hit her lungs, Willow had not realized just how wound up she had been. Tension melted out of her. The intense week of preparation she’d just endured, followed by last night’s sudden earthquake and storm … she shook her head. Was it all just a dream?
And yet, somehow, all the pieces and loose ends, the detour from careful execution to a mad scramble, had all come together. Adrenaline had a way of making the mind forget that all you want to do is crawl into bed and swaddle in the covers.
She sank into deep sand on a natural dune just above the shoreline. A wave rolled onto wet sand. Last night, guests had hunkered down in the great room, eating, mingling, and some dozing. Eli entertained with his jokes. Rafael and Bella, who could’ve escaped to their cabin, didn’t. Instead, Bella chatted with guests with little Seabiscuit peeking out of her front pouch, while Rafael stoked the fire, making sure the place was as inviting as it was warm.
And Chance.
She bit back a smile, remembering how he stepped up. Steady, sure, undeterred … and, oh, he smelled so good through all of it. Like smoke and vanilla and hard work. No complaints, just his presence—and his gaze.
Theirs had collided more than once. Was it the frenzy of night that had caused the ripple running through her whenever they’d caught eyes?
The tiny smile on her face dimmed with the turn of her thoughts. If it weren’t for his sudden change of mood at the end of the evening, she might have thought … well, she wondered what had been on his mind before then.
She hugged her knees to her chest, watching that golden glow from behind her spread across the water. Waves crested, rolled, then quietly stretched their way toward her. In the distance, a lone surfer paddled further out where the waves began their rise. It took him a few tries, but eventually he caught something rideable, carving a clean line toward the shore.
She straightened, squinting for a better view. He was out there without a wetsuit, and she shivered. He moved with strength, precision, and never wavered until the break. He turned back around, paddled out, then turned abruptly when another wave rose.
She watched him catch it without hesitation, then ride it in. And she knew. He dropped the board on the sand, retrieved a towel, and rubbed it through his dark hair.
Their eyes met. No scowl on Chance’s face today, but instead a sort of peace that caused a tumble in her heart. His surprise spread easily to a grin, and he dipped his head in her direction, as if wearing an imaginary hat.
Can’t get the cowboy out of the surfer …
He hooked the towel around his neck and held the ends of it like weights. Thoughts she wasn’t ready for invaded her mind, a need to understand what drove him. She pushed them aside as he approached.
“Hey.”
“Hey, yourself.”
“This your usual spot?” His voice was soft, earnest. “Don’t think I’ve ever seen you here before.”
Usual spot? She hadn’t had one of those in years. She smiled. “I do come here occasionally, but honestly, I don’t have much time. Wish I did.”
He looked out to sea before swinging his chin back her way. “Here”—he reached a hand down to her—“let me help you up.”
His hand was warm and strong, and if she thought about it too much, she might realize he held on for a beat longer than necessary.
They stood shoulder to shoulder, watching the waves curl toward the shore. Finally, she said, “You took off last night.” She didn’t mention that, just before he left, his eyes had turned dark, as if a new storm brewed behind them.
He didn’t move. “You expected me to stick around?“
Yes. No. Sort of. It wasn’t that she thought he had to stick around; he’d surely done plenty to make sure they were all safe and provided for last night. But … it was the abruptness in his departure that she couldn’t shake.
“I, well …”
“If it makes you feel better, I escorted people to their cars after the rain stopped. Checked on the mess of guys passed out in the great room after midnight. Put out the fire.” A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Did I miss anything?”
“Nope.” She swallowed, ignoring his sarcasm. “I don’t suppose they’re all still asleep.”
“Like they’ve been flattened by a tornado.”
“Oh!” She turned around. “I should probably get back?—”
Chance stopped her, his hand lightly on her shoulder. “They’ll survive. Probably raiding the leftovers as we speak.”
“So, you got up early and had to tiptoe around them all?”
He was quiet for a moment. “Would’ve if I’d ever gone to bed in the first place.”
She gasped. “Chance!” She searched his face. “Tell me you didn’t stay up all night.”
His stony expression told her that he had, indeed, not laid his gorgeous head on his pillow last night. If he’d been out in the barn, resetting everything, it probably looked better than it had at the start of the party.
Willow leaned to the side, taking in Chance’s faraway expression. “You okay?” she asked softly.
Chance didn’t answer right away. “Just thinking,” he said finally.
“Dangerous habit.”
“I agree with you there.”
Neither spoke for a long while, but she had questions. Nothing about it felt awkward, and if she were honest, Willow wished she could stay all day.
“You ever get the feeling that you’re trying to fill every gap,” he murmured, finally, “but it’s never enough?”
Willow’s breath caught. Of all the things he could’ve said … “I think I feel that way every day.”
He turned to look at her then, vulnerability in his eyes. “I’m up before dawn most mornings. I know every line of the ranch’s irrigation map, the fenceposts that lean when the wind shifts from the north, which hay bales are best for which horses. I’m the guy folks come to when something’s broken, or busted, or in need of fixing, but still?—”
“You’re not the foreman,” she finished for him.
Chance’s mouth was grim. “Don’t care about that.”
“But?”
“Rafael shows up, and Ace throws him a welcome party and hands him a title. I’ve been here for years. And somehow, I’m still just … here.”
“You want to know your place.”
“Didn’t say that.” His voice turned gruff.
“You didn’t have to.”
A silence stretched between them. The sun pushed a little higher from the east, painting the edges of the sea in gold. Somewhere in the distance a gull called out once, then again.
“I’m not just a hand. I’m not the boss. I’m not the new blood or the old guard. I’m just one of the sons who left.” Chance kept his gaze out to sea. “And has never been forgiven for it.”
Willow stood still, feeling the heat radiating from him. Her voice was quiet, steady, though she didn’t know what to fully make of what he’d just confessed. “Maybe they don’t know what to call you because you don’t know either.”
He turned his head slowly toward her, droplets of water cascading down his forehead. For a moment, neither of them moved.
“You trying to say something, Willow?”
She shrugged, though her throat tightened. “I’m just saying maybe what matters isn’t what they call you. It’s what you answer to.”
He watched her, as if weighing her words against some unspoken ache.
Then, slowly, he stepped around to stand in front of her. His bare toes bumped hers, and when he stopped, he stood so close she could see a faint bruise forming beneath his jaw where he must’ve caught an elbow or the corner of a metal tray in the rush to escape last night’s storm.
“You know what I’d like to be called?” His voice turned low and rough like gravel.
Willow’s heart pounded. “What?”
He leveled his gaze on her, but made no move forward. He didn’t touch her, but the tension between them made her think, for just an instant, that he wanted to.
“Trusted.”
The word landed like a soft knock on a heavy wooden door. Willow searched his face. Not because she didn’t believe him, but because she did—and it undid something inside her.
She wanted to reach for his hand, to let her fingertips say what her voice couldn’t. But she knew her place. He was the boss’s son, and though she might give him grief in her kitchen, tell him not to keep slamming her fridge door, she was not about to cross the unmistakable, invisible line between them.
Instead, she said something she felt down deep. “You already are, Chance. I know it.”
He ran a hand across his chin, but he didn’t step back.
Neither did she.
The silence between them landed differently now, like the moment right before dawn breaks over a foggy hill, when you’re not sure if the sun is coming, but you think it could.
A salty breeze stirred the air between them, warmer than when she had arrived. The burdens she’d brought with her this morning seemed lighter too.
* * *
The glass doors of the Topa Mountain Care Home needed cleaning. Always her first thought each time she pushed her way into the lobby of the small facility.
Her second thought was whether that fact presented a foreboding about her mother’s care. Would they ignore her the way they always seemed to ignore that front door’s glass?
The sharp burn of antiseptic that hit her sinuses as she stepped inside was, in some way, a relief. Cleanliness being next to godliness wasn’t actually in the Bible, but as Willow scrubbed the Sutter kitchen each day, she thought it ought to be.
The care home was tucked along a leafy stretch of road just four miles from the ranch. When she’d found this job, so close to her mother’s residence, she took it as a sign from the Almighty himself that everything was under his control.
Inside the building, she instinctively reached inside her puffy jacket pocket. The envelope was still there—inside, a progress report, notes from her mother’s last wellness check, and a folded copy of the parole schedule. Everything Mr. Landson would ask about.
Her fingers brushed against the soft cotton lining of her pocket, and—for just a moment—she wished she could leave it all here. Just be the cook at Sutter Creek Ranch. Just plan meals and fill plates and learn Chance’s quirks without worrying that one wrong move would unravel everything.
But that wasn’t her life. It hadn’t been for a long time.
The staff member in the lobby greeted her with a nod. They knew her by now. She handed the woman a plate of molasses cookies. She smiled and hugged them to her.
“Mr. Landson’s in the family room,” the woman said, gesturing toward the east wing while still holding onto the plate. “He said to send you straight back.”
Willow smiled politely, keeping her head low as she made her way down the corridor. She passed a nurse adjusting a resident’s blanket, the soft murmur of television coming from a partially open door, and finally reached the room with the wide windows overlooking the garden.
Jack Landson sat at a square table near the glass, his iPad open. He looked up when she entered, offered a conciliatory smile, and motioned for her to sit.
“Appreciate you coming, Ms. Mercer.”
Willow slid into the chair opposite him, laying her handbag on her lap. “Of course.”
Landson studied her for a moment, then turned and began to scroll through his notes. “Your mother’s doing well, overall. No incidents logged in the last six weeks. Her medication’s on track and therapy sessions consistent.”
Willow nodded, exhaling quietly. “She seems calmer lately.”
“Stability helps,” he said. “So does a predictable environment. I'm glad you agreed to move her here. How has your transition been?”
“Straightforward. I think we both like it here.”
He nodded.
“It’s just …”
One brow rose. “Yes?”
She leaned forward. “My mother has always hated feeling, you know, confined.”
He removed his glasses and laid them on the table. “Being here is a condition of her parole, Willow. And you’ve made it clear that you want to keep her close. That’s working, for now. But we do have to review her status every quarter.”
Willow leaned forward, hands clasped in her lap. “Is something wrong?”
Landson tapped the pen against his notepad. “Not wrong, no. But her name came up in a routine audit. A note from six years ago mentions your uncle. There was a warning to avoid contact.”
Willow’s breathing hitched.
Landson glanced up. “Are you aware of any recent attempts by him to reach out?”
“No,” she said quickly. “No, he hasn’t contacted her.”
“You sure?”
“I would know.” Her voice was firm now. “He doesn’t know where she is. And I’ve made certain he never will.”
There was a pause. Landson watched her as if she were testifying on the witness stand.
“I assume you’d notify us immediately if something changed?”
Where was this all coming from? She glanced out the window, her mouth going slack. Everything had been carefully planned. Her mother’s care, her move to be closer to her. The truth was, Willow had been counting down the days until her mother could be fully released from scrutiny.
Yet, what she would do at that point was anyone’s guess.
One thing she had not counted on, nor planned for, was the re-entry of her uncle—her mother’s brother—back into their lives. Not after all he’d done.
“Willow?”
She turned abruptly away from the window. “I would notify you. Certainly. But my uncle is not part of our lives anymore. I’d never allow it.”
Landson tapped something into his iPad. “Excellent. Following protocol here. When families are involved in the original offense, the parole board becomes quite inquisitive.”
Family. A foreign word to her, at least in the standard sense. She’d always wondered what those big families were like, the ones with many children, a big home, and lots of chatter around the dinner table.
Of course, those could fall apart and be a place of sadness too. She saw that in the Sutter family. Ace and Chance at odds, two sons who rarely visit, and the years lost to bitterness where Rafael was concerned.
Willow kept her face still, unreadable.
“How’s your job?” he asked after a beat.
She blinked. “At the ranch?”
“Yes. I gather it’s pretty demanding.”
“It is,” she said. “But it’s honest work that I’m grateful to have found.”
“And it keeps you close.”
“Yes, right.” She’d said that already.
He gave her a long look, eyes peering over the top of black reading glasses. She thought he had something more to say, then abruptly shut the cover of his iPad and sat back. “Just don’t let any red flags come up, all right? Stay the course, and we’ll plan another check-in soon.”
Willow nodded and stood. “Thank you.”
As she turned to leave, Landson spoke again, his tone less official now. “I sense you’re carrying a lot on your shoulders, Ms. Mercer.”
She paused in the doorway. “I can handle it.”
“Maybe.” He studied her face. “But you’re still young. Learn from the past, but don’t let it dictate your future.” He pressed his mouth together briefly. “From someone who knows.”
She offered him a brief smile, a dip of her head, and a wave before stepping back into the hall. Five long strides and a right turn, and she was at her mother’s room.
Her heart tightened in her chest, grief of this moment palpable. Chance popped into her mind just then. She’d watched him struggle to say what was on his mind this morning, to almost spit it out, then retract it again.
Maybe … it was grief.
She’d learned grief sprouted as a result of all kinds of loss—even dreams.
Despite her concerns, she’d managed to restart her life and maintain her mother’s care without too much disruption. She just hoped no one on the ranch would learn that her mother was on parole. How would Ace react to her having a convicted felon in her immediate family?
No, her position at the ranch was more than a job—it had become her lifeline. And, maybe, more to the point, it was starting to feel an awful lot like a home. The kind of home she had never known.
Willow hadn’t planned on that twist in her life, but now? She would not allow anything to jeopardize all she had gained.
Not even Chance Sutter and the way he looked at her at times, almost like he could see through her walls. Theirs was a new friendship, an alliance at times, like last night, as they worked to move the guests to safety. She hoped they’d continue to bond, rather than spar in the kitchen.
But sharing her secrets? No. That would be risking far too much.
Willow drew in a deep breath, laid her hand on the door of her mother’s room, and paused. Then she said a silent prayer to the God who hears and pushed it open.
* * *
Chance leaned his frame against the open doorway, hat pulled down snug and low, arms crossed. From beneath his brim, he surveyed the pale shimmer of sunlight stretching across the pasture that he’d long known, first as a kid coating his bare feet with mud, and, later, as a young man, learning to ride his horse across the land.
Fingerprints of the storm lay everywhere—muddy boot tracks, soaked hay, dampened linens still hanging over the side fences. Even the old, ragged posts that held up the barn had yet to dry clear through.
He pushed off the wall with his boot. Maybe he’d change a thing or two about that storm, but when the air smelled like it had just been laundered by spring, he couldn’t help but appreciate what was left behind. He walked around back, reliving memories of growing up here, where late-night shenanigans with his brothers were tradition.
After his little stop at the beach this morning, he’d come back, stuck his boots back on, and had been working ever since. He and some of the hands finished hauling away trash from last night’s adventure. Rafael threw out a Good Mornin’ in passing, but otherwise, he’d been AWOL.
Fine with him.
Chance hauled a barrel full of feed around to the other side of the barn, and as he did, his gaze drifted to the small cottage where Willow lived. He could tell she’d come back to the kitchen briefly after their encounter at the beach this morning, but she had disappeared soon after tidying up after the guests had finally rousted, downed coffee, and left in a hurry.
She had not offered him an explanation of her whereabouts, and his father had made it clear he had no jurisdiction over the main house staff. Though he told himself it was none of his business, a knot formed in Chance’s gut as he tried to guess where she might’ve gone.
Could’ve been a doctor’s appointment she was headed to.
Or maybe … breakfast with a boyfriend at one of those fancy little places in downtown Topa Springs.
His stomach clenched, and he scowled. None of my business.
He plunked the barrel into a patch of weeds, rays from the overhead sun dusting him on the chin. Puddles that mirrored the sky were mostly dry now, and a slight breeze stirred up broken daisies, scattering them across the grounds.
His ears perked. Tires crunched along hard earth. Willow pulled up to her cabin in that sorry car of hers, and slowly stepped out, her shoulders slumping forward. On her way up the path, she stopped, and shading her eyes, turned toward the barn.
He swallowed involuntarily. She was … lovely. Graceful. He tried to look away, and when he could not, he found himself noting the way her gaze skimmed the ranch, as if assessing the damage left behind by the storm.
That’s it. Keep it business. All business.
She stopped moving when their eyes met.
Chance doffed his hat. “Hey,” he offered. It had been the second time he’d greeted her that way today. He might be getting used to it.
She reacted with a slow smile, turned fully, and took steps toward him. “Didn’t see you there at first.”
“I’ve been keeping an eye out for you.”
This seemed to startle her, and one eyebrow rose. “You have?”
He shrugged. Way to play it casual. “You disappeared after the beach.”
“Oh. Well, I had an appointment.” She cinched her purse over her shoulder, holding it close to her body. Almost protectively. “Don’t worry. Ace knew I wouldn’t be here.”
Reflexively, Chance’s jaw clenched.
Willow shrugged, a smile appearing on her face, though it looked forced. “It’s a standing appointment. Not a big deal.”
“If you say so.”
Her eyes clouded over, as if holding back another kind of storm. Maybe he should’ve minded his own business. Remorse at his flippancy twisted in his gut. He reached forward, his hand landing on her forearm.
“You okay?”
She nodded yes, but her eyes continued to hold something darker.
He didn’t push. But he didn’t walk away either.
“Sure?” he asked softly.
She exhaled, a shudder flowing from her. “I went to visit my mom. She’s in a care facility nearby.”
He blinked.
“I’ve never really mentioned it to anybody, so please?—”
Chance straightened, chagrined at his nosiness. Clearly, this was a private matter. “It’s your business. I’m sorry she’s not well, but it’s not my place to pry. You don’t have to tell me a thing more, you know.”
She didn’t move, didn’t attempt to get away. Instead, Willow contemplated him, shadowy questions playing across her face. Quiet stretched between them, the afternoon raining down light. In the distance, a hawk called out, faint and melancholy.
“She’s been there a while,” Willow said, finally. “They think she has dementia. That part’s, um, pretty new.”
Chance shifted, a memory blazing through his mind. “That’s rough.”
Willow lowered her gaze. She drew circles in the hard dirt with the toe of her sneaker. There was resignation in her voice. “Life wasn’t easy for her even before she got sick, but now”—She shook her head—“sometimes it feels rather impossible.”
“Does she recognize you?”
“You know, yes, she usually does. Not always my name, but she trusts me.”
“That’s something.”
“Right now, it’s everything.”
The weariness in her voice sounded familiar. It went deeper than fatigue. It was the kind that came from watching someone you love slip away one day at a time.
Like the kind he had avoided. He bit the inside of his cheek and attempted to brush away lingering guilt.
“It’s okay.” Willow turned her gaze to the pasture, where fresh green shoots of grass had begun their stretch upward. She made the move so abruptly that it almost felt like she’d done it on purpose.
Maybe she didn’t like talking about the hard things. Like mothers who were sick.
He trained his eyes on that pasture, too, rather than let them land on her face, where his gaze would likely stay. “After my mom died,” he finally said, “I used to come out here.” He pointed. “Right out to that fence line. I'd sit there over on that top rail, waiting.”
She kept quiet a beat, then softly asked, “What were you waiting for, Chance?”
“I was waiting for her voice to come back to me.”
Willow turned, surprised.
“She could be so loud.” He laughed when he said it, though it still hurt. Sang while she worked. Always humming. I didn’t take it too well when her sickness took a turn. Took off for school, believing if I weren’t here to see all the pain, then it never happened.”
“We all do that sometimes. Avoid the hard things.”
“Yeah, well, I said I would come back home, but”—he shrugged—“she passed before I ever did.”
His voice dropped. “I think that’s why I get so twisted up around Ace. Then again, he forgave Rafael like it cost him nothing. Like that kind of grace was easy. But when I left—when Mom got sick—he didn’t say a word. Not ‘go chase your dreams.’ Not ‘stay.’ Just silence.”
“And you’ve been carrying that silence like a verdict ever since.”
I abandoned her when she needed me.” When Ace needed him.
Willow’s face softened. “You never meant to leave her behind or make her feel abandoned. I bet if you told all this to Ace, he would say the same thing.”
“Selfishness isn’t usually planned.” He pressed a hand against the throb in his neck, guilt rising like tidewater. “I failed her. Ace knows it. I know it.”
“Chance …”
“That sound in your voice sounds an awful lot like pity.” He shrugged. “Listen, I’ve made my peace with myself.”
“Have you?”
He nodded decisively. “Yes. My memory of my mother makes me, well, it makes me want to do better with this life I’ve been given.”
She watched him quietly, her eyes unwavering. He no longer cared to have the attention on him and what he should or should not have done in his past. Right now, he cared much more about the sadness filling her eyes.
“Tell me about your Mom,” he said. “Is she safe where she is? Do you have any qualms about her staying there?”
She hesitated to answer him, her eyes darting off toward the distance. Then she returned his gaze and nodded. “Sorry I disappeared there. It’s just, well, yes, the staff is good to her. She even has a garden view, which I like.”
“I’m sure that helps.”
“It does.” She waved her hand in a sweeping motion. “Something about God’s glory all around does the heart good.”
He caught himself smiling until her expression faltered like a one-two punch to his gut. Something was coiled up tight beneath the surface. He’d noticed it in her cadence when she exited her car, and now again, as she mustered up a smile only to let it fade away with her words.
“You’re not alone, you know,” he blurted. “Even if it feels like it sometimes.” He immediately regretted his words. Wasn’t his place to comment on something so … personal.
Was it?
Willow looked away, blinking fast. “Sometimes I forget what that even means.”
Instinctively, Chance reached out, his fingers brushing her elbow, before he pulled them back. “I mean it.” His resolve to be honest, to be in the moment more often, was growing.
She said nothing, but the creases in her forehead relaxed some. So did her shoulders. A rush of a breeze sent a rustle through the trees.
Willow lifted her chin, a suspicious smile curling her lips. She shaded her eyes with her hand. “Why are you being so kind to me all of a sudden, cowboy?”
A woosh of a sigh escaped him.
He tried to think of something light-hearted to volley back to her, but instead, all he could think of was the truth. “Because I know what it’s like to lose something slowly. Wouldn’t wish it on anyone.”
Her eyes glistened now. “Yeah.” She turned her gaze toward the small cabin she called home, the same one Patsy did while in residence at the ranch.
Quietly, he asked, “Can I walk you back?”
“You may.”
They began to walk in unhurried steps toward the cabin, his mind turning over what he had said to her about losing something slowly. Chance slid a glance at her, her face unreadable.
“Something on your mind?” he asked.
“Yeah.”
He chuckled. “Wanna tell me what it is?”
“It’s that, well, I didn’t expect you,” she said.
“Expect me to … what?”
She slowed her steps, and turned a wide-eyed expression on him. “To listen.”
Chance let that settle between them. Light danced across her face exposing her in a new way.
“Ouch.”
Tears sprang to her eyes. “It was supposed to be a compliment. I-I’m sorry it didn’t come out that way.”
His arm found her shoulders, and he shushed her gently. “And I was attempting to tease you. I’m the one who’s sorry.”
Willow lifted her gaze to his, relief flooding her face. The dullness in her eyes began to ebb away, until light began to dawn in them. “I think I’ll go inside and rest before it’s time to make supper,” she said, without any bitterness.
Reluctantly, he pulled his hand from her shoulder and nodded after her as she slipped inside, a tiny smile of acknowledgment on her face.
She’d given him a glimpse. A glimpse of herself that he hadn’t known that he needed. And, in this moment, it was enough.