Chapter 6
Chapter Six
The next morning, Willow leaned against the farmhouse sink, whipping a whisk around in a metal bowl. She hummed softly, the song something her mother used to sing. No doubt spending time with her mom yesterday had unearthed more memories.
A clean breeze poured in through the window, carrying a hint of moisture with it, though she’d not heard of any rain coming. She glanced outside to find nothing but blue sky and sporadic white clouds.
She set the bowl on the counter and breathed in the herby scent of lemon sage planted beneath the window.
Rising at dawn had allowed her to move through the satisfying motions of meal prep—breakfast, lunch, and supper too—without the pressure of rushing. Not to mention the clomping of boots through her freshly mopped kitchen.
For once, she wasn’t anxious at the thought of having her kitchen infiltrated by hungry ranch hands covered in the day’s soil. (Though she’d still point them straight toward the washroom sink before they’d get even one bite to eat from her!)
That quake-and-storm combo that had attempted to upend her hard work the other night must have swept away more than just linens and table settings —it had shifted something in her too.
Or maybe it was something else. Her drive to the beach? Chance’s heartfelt confession? Or maybe … the gentleness in his voice when he spoke about his mother and assured her she wasn’t alone.
His kindness was unexpected. And it meant the world to her.
The soft padding of rubber sandals across the vast tile floors brought her mind to the present.
“Mmm … blueberry cobbler?” Bella’s sunny voice lit up the room. “And is that ‘Great is Thy Faithfulness’ I hear?”
Willow smiled. “Good nose—and ears too!” She tapped the metal bowl on the counter. “Made some fresh whipped cream to top off the cobbler when it’s ready.”
“Church and dessert! Is there anything better?
“Not in my mind.”
Bella dumped a bundle of fresh arugula, curly kale, and golden beets with the dirt still clinging to their roots onto the counter. “This harvest is from our place down the hill. There wasn’t a lot left when we moved out, but I brought the leftover to the cabin. Thought you might like some too.”
Willow wiped her hands on her apron, the one that said An apron is just a cape on backwards , and crossed the kitchen. “Fantastic. I can add it to some quinoa and maybe make a warm salad tonight.” She reached for the veggies. “Thank you so much.”
“No, thank you . You’re really an angel,” Bella said, perching on a stool at the counter. “My sisters eat pretty healthy, but, I don’t know, sometimes they think I eat too many vegetables.”
“As if that were even possible!”
“Right?” Bella laughed.
“Well,” Willow said, plopping the greens into an old-style metal colander, “I like food that makes people feel nourished. Don’t tell the guys, but I chop up veggies and hide them in their burgers.”
“Mum’s the word.” Bella laughed again. “You’re so good at this.”
“At what?”
Bella leaned her head to the side. “All of this. I enjoy cooking, but managing a kitchen is an art. You do it really, really well.”
Willow felt the compliment come in for a soft landing, and she was taken aback. Other than Kit, who popped in occasionally but otherwise made herself scarce, she wasn’t used to hanging around other women at the ranch. If life were different, if she weren’t so tied to work and looking after her mother’s affairs, Bella was the type of person she could laugh with over coffee or join on a long walk through town.
Bella surveyed the kitchen, eyes lingering on the open shelves stacked with colorful plates of varying sizes, and the wide, wooden counter, scrubbed clean but scarred from use. “It’s gritty here. Real and homey. Does that make sense?”
“Yeah, I think it does.” She leaned long arms onto the counter, her hands clasped together. “Patsy said that the place should feel like someone’s mama cooks here, and I’ve done my best to follow her lead.”
Bella smiled, continuing to take in the entire breadth of the room. Her gaze drifted to a corner cupboard, its glass cabinet filled to nearly overflowing. “What’s in there?”
“That’s where Ace’s wife, Mae, kept kitchen notes. Some cookbooks too. Patsy said she used to refer to them sometimes, but, honestly, I haven’t had the nerve to dig through it all. I brought my own with me when I moved, mostly recipes my mother made.”
Bella slid off the stool. She stood in front of the cabinet where the handwritten recipes were stored, many on yellowed envelopes and index cards. She turned back toward Willow. “Do you mind?”
“Be my guest.”
Bella opened the old cabinet gently, almost reverently. Willow stepped up beside her.
“So many …” Bella said.
“Yeah …”
Bella quirked a smile at Willow. “Wanna take the top shelf while I sort through the bottom?”
Willow shrugged. “Why not?” She put aside her agenda for the time being and began digging through the creaky vintage cabinet. She plucked a cookbook from the shelf, and several loose pages, hardened from spills, slipped out. Her hand landed on a small, leather-bound notebook that looked more personal than the store-bought recipe books on the shelf.
“This looks interesting,” Willow said, opening it up. The crackle of pages stiff from lack of use filled the quiet kitchen.
Bella looked over her shoulder. “What’s that tab say? Olive … oil.”
The pages were filled with tidy cursive, the way her mother still wrote today. Inside were pages of notes and doodles of tree branches. “Seems like she was interested in cooking with olive oil more, maybe?
Bella pointed to the corner of one page. “Someday … from our very own grove.” She paused. “Oh. I think she wanted to grow the olives!”
Willow sucked in a breath. “Wow, look at these notes about … about varietals that could grow in these coastal mountains. Oh, and these are some pressing techniques.”
“How sweet. She had plans,” Bella said, her voice a whisper. “Can you imagine the ranch being a place to grow olives? Sutter EVOO!”
“I’m not so sure what she meant here. Maybe … wait!” Willow looked up. “The tree stand out beyond your cabin, Bella. I think—I think those might be olive trees. No one has ever said, though.”
They both paused, quietly thinking.
“Maybe they’re just dormant,” Bella said. “I could ask Rafael about them. Not sure if he’d know.”
“In the meantime, I’ll see what the internet can tell me.” Willow sighed. “I’m super interested in finding out the possibilities with those trees.”
“Gosh, it would be fun to find out if they’re still viable.”
Willow nodded. “Agreed.” She ran the pads of her fingers over a page of notes. “Feels like something rather special, I’d say. I feel, I don’t know, protective of her plans somehow.”
“Reverent.” Bella paused. “You know, some people use oil for anointing, like, for healing. The Bible says it was used for consecrating priests and such.”
“Hmm, yes. I recall that too. It’s a symbol of joy and blessings.” Willow tilted a look at Bella. “Maybe that’s what drew Mae toward wanting to grow it.”
Willow sighed. “Would be so nice to revive her dream, wouldn’t it?
Bella slid a look at her. “You think Ace would let us try?”
“Well, he’s really a softie once you push past his gruff exterior.” Willow caught eyes with Bella. “You didn’t hear me say that.”
“No, I did not.”
“Chance gets his gruffness from his father, I think.” She paused. “That’s something else you didn’t hear.”
Bella laughed lightly, then turned earnest. “Funny you would say all that—not that I heard you or anything. But, seriously , I overheard Chance and Rafael out in the barn earlier. Sounded a little tense.”
Willow shut her eyes, swallowing back any kind of response. She laid the notebook on the counter.
“It wasn’t like they were in a full argument or anything,” Bella added quickly. “But, I don’t know, there was something testy about it, like when two strong-willed people are on a road trip and each one is sure that their route is the absolutely best one to take.”
Willow bit her lip. The oven timer let out a ding , offering her a chance to regroup her thoughts. She put on two mitts and opened the oven door, the sweet aroma of warm blueberries filling the room.
“Oh, gosh, you’re not saying anything,” Bella said. “Guess I overstepped. It’s just, I know we’re new around here, but Rafael’s trying, I know he is. We don’t want to cause any trou?—”
“You’re doing no such thing.” Willow set the cobbler onto the counter next to the notebook. Slowly, she took off the oven mitts. “They’ll work it out. Don’t worry.”
“Do you think Chance would rather we not be here? I’ve asked my husband, but all he does is shrug.”
Willow felt the heaviness of Bella’s question in her chest. She was beginning to learn that Chance had struggles that he clearly hadn’t wrestled into submission yet. He hadn’t said anything to her about Bella, but she’d noted the tension whenever Rafael was around.
Her mind scuttered back to that conversation she’d accidentally heard part of at breakfast one morning. Ace had just announced that Rafael would be taking Sparky’s spot as foreman. She had not been privy to the entire conversation, but she’d sensed that the father-son conversation was less than pleasant.
She didn’t want to mention anything that might betray Chance, but she’d let him know already, in her own way, that she hoped he’d give Rafael a chance to prove himself.
Finally, she said, “What I know is that it’s been a long time since that cabin has looked so loved. Sparky was, frankly, a dude who took his boots off there and that’s about it!” She laughed. “But you … you’ve refurbished the garden already and filled the place with the pitter-patter of sweet little paws. What in the world is not to love about all that?”
“Right?” Bella put her hands to her heart, her expression grateful. Just when Willow thought she was off the hook, she added, “So you’re saying he’s not hostile, just … prickly?”
Willow let out a half-laugh. “Um, I’d say cautious. Yes, that’s a good word that won’t get me into any trouble.”
“Ha!”
“Shush!” Willow leaned forward, her voice a whisper. Her eyes snapped toward the gooey dessert. “Wanna try it?”
“What sort of question is that?”
Willow clucked a laugh, grabbed some plates, and dished up two scoops of the luscious dessert, topping it off with homemade whipped cream.
“Mmm.” Bella savored a bite. “So decadent, but honestly, pretty healthy, if you ask me.”
“That’s what I was going for—decadent and healthy.”
“Getting back to Chance,” Bella said.
Willow gave her a must we look.
“Why don’t we give him a little project to help us with, you know, something to channel all that extra energy into.”
Willow caught the spark in her voice. “The olive trees?”
“We could go over to that barn and present a united front. Just an idea. We could bat our eyes and?—”
“Oh, no-no-no, I’m not batting anything.” Willow pushed away from the counter. “I’m just the help around here.”
“Sure, you are.”
“Stop it. Anyway, you want to interrupt two hard-working cowboys and pitch them a dream from a decades-old notebook?”
“Yes,” Bella said without hesitation. “And you’re going to help me.”
Willow scoffed. She looked out the window, where shoots of green rustled in the breeze as far as her eyes could see. Spending more time out there sounded awfully inviting.
She turned back toward Bella. “Fine.” She picked up the notebook and at the last second, grabbed a basket of scones she’d made earlier for the hands. “Let’s go plead our case.”
They stepped into the sunlit yard, the sky clearer now. Together, they made their way toward the paddocks, not far from where the olive trees stood in full view, not sure what they’d find—or how their idea would be received.
* * *
Chance cinched the strap on a saddle, tugged it once more for good measure, and stood. The gelding, calm with a coat of brown splashed with milky white flicked an ear but didn’t move.
Rafael borrowed this very horse last year when he was wooing Bella, or so he heard. His cousin had come up here to make his peace with Ace and ended up borrowing two horses to take his love for a ride on the beach.
Unless … maybe that had not been his intention all along. Maybe he wanted something even back then, and making peace with Ace was an afterthought.
“Hmph.” Chance rolled a look across the paddock, where Rafael was working with a hand to check latches on the feed bins and gates. He shook his head, a frown growing on his face. The clipboard tucked under Rafael’s arm—and the worn-down pencil behind his ear—was a sight.
Honestly, though, as a former accountant who had his own old school ways, Chance didn’t really hate it. Wanted to—but didn’t.
He wiped away his frown, replacing it with the most blasé look he could muster.
Truth was, Rafael had been trying. Every movement was measured. Over-the-top efficient. Chance knew he should appreciate the man’s efforts, but he fought it. He scowled at his pigheadedness, but didn’t do a thing to bury the thoughts that kept poking up through the soil of his mind.
It wasn’t that he had a thing against efficiency. It’s just … his teeth were on edge watching Rafael step into his new role and life at the ranch. Jealous? Maybe. Probably not.
Felt more like he was upside down. Disoriented. Too many changes had come to the ranch, and yet nothing had changed at all. Still up early with crows, consuming a heaping hot breakfast after the morning chores, and ending the day with the spectacular “pink” moment that flashed against the Topatopa bluffs at dusk, a memorable way to settle everyone down for the evening.
Speaking of changes, Chance had noticed another one just this morning. That frown slipped back onto his face as he sauntered back across the paddock. He cleared his throat.
Rafael tipped a look up.
Chance crossed his arms in front of him. “That a new rotation you’re testing?”
The sun caught the edge of Rafael’s jaw. He looked out toward the horizon. “Don’t know yet. Adjusted the feed timing for some of ‘em, giving that a try. Ace wants the colts calmer during training. Less bite.”
Chance nodded slowly. “Didn’t know he mentioned that.”
“Over at the house this morning—he said it then.” The words came from Rafael smoothly.
With a brief nod, Chance flicked a glance toward the main house. “Makes sense.”
Rafael tapped the brim of his hat backward. “I’ll loop you in next time.” He paused. “Didn’t mean to leave you out.”
Chance cringed. First, Ace, now this kid considered him an afterthought to the ranch’s plans.
He dug the heel of his boot in the dirt. Or maybe Rafael meant that response as an olive branch. A person didn’t do that unless they thought they had offended someone.
“Appreciate you looping me in,” he said, his tone flat.
Rafael didn’t say a thing. That was almost worse.
He’d barely taken four long steps before a pair of familiar voices reached his ears, one of them, especially, landed like a soothing balm. Willow and Bella wandered to the paddock and leaned over the sides, their arms dangling.
“Hey, boys.” A familiar notebook hung from Willow’s fingers over the rails. He couldn’t remember where he’d seen it before, but knew he had.
“Come have some scones,” Bella called. “You need your strength!”
Chance rolled his eyes, but dutifully approached, wiping his hands on his jeans.
“Are we interrupting anything?” Willow called out.
“Not at all.” Rafael joined them at the rail. “We were just about finished.”
Chance said nothing, but allowed his gaze to rest on Willow, her lips curved in a half-smile that tugged at him somewhere beneath his ribs. The glow in her cheeks did something too.
“We were promised snacks.”
Bella laughed. “Of course!” She handed them each a scone wrapped in a napkin. “We come bearing carbs—Willow made ‘em.”
Willow lifted the notebook. “And some questions, if you don’t mind.”
“Ah, so there’s a catch,” Rafael teased.
Chance’s curiosity was piqued and Willow continued, watching him. “So, you know the old corner cabinet in the kitchen? We, um, found something … of your mother’s.”
Chance leaned in, one brow lifted. “Oh?”
“I hope it’s okay.” She opened the notebook and thumbed over to a specific page, then held it out for him to see. “There are recipes inside, but what caught our attention are these notes Mae wrote about growing olives.”
Rafael’s brows rose. “Is there something in there about that old grove?” He jerked his chin in the direction of the stand of trees, though they could barely be seen from the paddock.
Chance thought hard. He reached for the notebook. “May I?”
Willow handed it to him. He began turning the pages, running his forefinger down the faded handwriting. A faint smile played on his face, and he could hardly contain it. “I remember her talking about all this …”
Willow curled a look up at him, her lashes framing dark eyes. “Do you think those trees could be coaxed back to health?” She was standing so close he could draw in the scent of berries and lavender from her.
Bella was watching him closely.
Chance closed the notebook. Vaguely, he remembered that his mother would keep it—or one like it—open on the kitchen island, jotting ideas into it whenever the wind blew one in.
That same glimmer that his mother’s eyes held—hope, mischief, purpose—emanated from their eyes too. He hated to be the one to break hard news.
“The trees are standing, but they’re in rough shape. Ace hasn’t had the heart to yank them out.”
Willow tilted her head, shielding her eyes with her hand. “She wrote about the grove like it was something beautiful. Like she had a plan.”
“She did,” Chance said softly. “Mom used to walk the rows every spring since they were saplings. Said the trees talked—if you listened long enough.”
Bella smiled, but it faded quickly. “It’s been a while since anyone walked them, hasn’t it?”
Rafael rubbed the back of his neck. “Ace mentioned her vision once. Said he couldn’t keep it going without her.”
“And now?” Willow asked, gently.
“I’m game to look into it.” Rafael lifted a look at Chance. “But it’d take effort. Some money too. Soil testing. Clearing. Irrigation checks. Things like that.”
“We’re not saying today,” Bella said quickly. “Just, well, something that Willow and I could research together?”
Chance glanced toward the pasture, where mist still curled off the low hills. His mother’s grove sat just ahead of that rise.
“You think they’d flourish again?” Willow asked.
“Maybe.” Chance met and held her gaze. “If someone gave them some TLC.”
Silence settled again, like dust after a long ride. He didn’t need to say any more. He couldn’t stop them from shining a spotlight on his mother’s old plans, even if he tried.
Rafael must have sensed it too. He slapped the rail and stepped back, gesturing toward the horses.
“Well,” he said, “if you two are dreaming up olive oil empires, I suppose we better keep the livestock in line. Can’t have a stampede ruining your first harvest.”
Bella laughed. “No, you cannot!” She handed the basket to Willow.
Rafael leaned toward his bride. “Small dreams first.” He winked. “The bigger ones’ll come.”
As they wandered off, Willow bumped Chance’s shoulder lightly with hers. “Is this really okay with you? To, at least, check them out? Would be amazing if they were viable. Just think of what we could do—and what food I could make for you all!”
“Don’t mind the asking.”
She turned an inquisitive gaze on him. “But?”
He lifted his chin, squinting into the noonday sun. “Sometimes I mind the remembering.”
Willow sighed, a small nod of agreement. “That’s fair.”
After a beat of quiet, Chance glanced at the basket. “I don’t suppose you could spare another one of those.” His mouth was already watering at the thought of the sugar-dusted bread.
Willow handed him a scone, arching a brow as he took it.
“Wait,” he said, holding it up for inspection. “You made this one, right?”
“Is that a problem?”
“Only if it’s hiding another raw center. I’m still in recovery.”
She rolled her eyes, but a smile tugged at her lips.
He took a bite anyway, chewed, then gave her a solemn look. “Worth the risk.”
Willow shook her head, laughing now, and the sound of it settled deep in his chest—warm, familiar, like something he hadn’t realized he’d missed until it came back. He watched her a few seconds longer, laughter still lighting her eyes.
Yeah.
He was in trouble, all right.
* * *
Willow sat cross-legged on a woven blanket just outside Bella’s garden fence, an iPad open and balanced on her lap, the notes app already filled with snippets of her findings.
They’d just returned from wandering between rows of olive trees, touching the bark and silvery leaves, and taking photos with their phones. Many of the trees showed signs of new growth, though not all had.
Seabiscuit yawned. Bella lay next to her pup, elbows propped, flipping through the pages of an old botanical reference book she had found in a shop downtown.
“Says we should have no trouble getting them to produce again.” Willow tapped her screen and held it out for Bella to see. “Olive trees like these thrive in full sun and well-drained soil. It’s probably why they’re all still standing.”
“So amazing.”
“Most of these appear to be Arbequina,” Willow said, “which are pretty typical in the warmer parts of California.”
Bella rolled onto her side and pointed at a sketch in her book. “Some of the trees look like these with their smaller leaves. I read that they are very hardy and could survive a frost.
“Yes, those are Koroneiki trees,” Willow said. “Someone must’ve brought a planting over from Greece.”
“Greece!”
Willow laughed. “Hate to break it to you, but most of the olive trees out here were brought from places like Greece, Italy, and Spain. Someone even brought cuttings from France.”
“Wow.” Bella rolled over onto her back, shading her eyes as she looked toward the sky. Seabiscuit padded over to inspect. After giving Bella an indignant sniff, he plopped back down and went to sleep.
“Here, I think I’ve identified this last one.” Willow tapped to flip a page of her iPad. “Arbosana. It's slower to mature but produces sweeter olives. I think Mae chose these on purpose.”
“Because they complement each other so well.”
“Exactly.”
Bella whistled low. “How did we ever get so lucky, Willy?”
“I’ve been called a lot of things, but Willy’s a new one.” She gave Bella a pointed look.
“I like it.”
“Okay—Belly.”
Bella curled her lip. “Fine! I’ll come up with another nickname for you.”
Willow laughed. “You do that. Now, from what I can tell, these trees have been dormant a long, long time.”
“Except for those two in the middle that have some olives on them right now.”
“Right. Anyway, Patsy never even mentioned anything about them to me.”
“Sounds like no one really knew what to do with them once Mae was gone.” She gave a sad little sigh. “They were forgotten.”
“But still rooted,” Willow said. She could relate to that, in some ways. Life as she once knew it felt long gone. Still, she had a sense of grounding, a deep hope that, despite the gum and pins that held her situation together, it could all work out. Her mother would be safe in her new home, her disease would slow, and her uncle would continue to stay far, far away.
“Hel-lo?”
She snapped her chin toward Bella, whose eyes were closed against the honey-yellow warmth of the sun. “I haven’t gone anywhere.”
Bella turned over and propped herself up on her forearms. “If you need to get back to the kitchen, I can help you.”
“I have a little more time but thank you for the offer.” They had been sitting out here for the better part of an hour. Rafael had offered lawn chairs, but they had opted to sink into the grass and watch the bees buzz around Bella’s burgeoning garden.
Between them, a half-empty basket of biscuits lay next to a drained pitcher of iced tea. Willow glanced out to the grove of trees again, seeing them far differently than before. Now when she looked toward the olive grove sloped gently up a hill, the trees dusty with age and stillness, she noticed something brand new.
She saw life.
Willow stared at them now, trying to envision Mae’s dream. “They’re just waiting for someone to love them.”
“Sounds like poetry,” Bella said. “Or maybe a Sutter Creek Ranch metaphor.”
“Want some bread with that cheesiness?”
Bella giggled.
Willow laughed too, but the metaphor stuck with her. Her own mother had waited for that very thing. She’d made decisions in the name of love, only to have everything she had worked so hard for taken away from her.
And, by extension, it had all been taken away from Willow too.
More than the trees needed tending here—Ace and Chance needed to mend the rift between them. Oh, on the outside, their relationship looked solid, but she’d seen them spar over meals, noticed the tension and dark glances. Theirs was a family that had grown wild at the edges, and if they weren’t careful, their fragile foundation might very well become uprooted.
It didn’t have to be that way.
Maybe what they needed was some understanding—and trust. Maybe even the revival of an old dream.
“Do you think Ace will be on board with this?” Bella asked, interrupting Willow’s thoughts.
“I feel like he would be. Of course, someone has to tell him about it first.”
“Do you think Chance will do that?”
Willow nodded. He hadn’t explicitly said so, but this was his mother’s dream. She knew in her heart that meant something to him. “I do. I really do. He … he loved his mother so much.”
Bella twisted a look at her as if waiting for something more.
“I just mean there’s this incredible softness about him whenever he talks about his mother.”
“Rafael says she was a sweet lady.”
“Oh, that’s right.” Willow nodded. “Sometimes I forget that she was Rafael’s aunt.”
“Yes. That’s part of the problem between the boys.”
“Is that what we’re calling them now?”
“Better than brats.”
Willow tipped her chin toward the overhead sun and laughed. She fell back onto the blanket, weightless and free. Cares didn’t exist, neither did stress or worry. Instead, she simply enjoyed the act of being.
“Or you’d prefer to call them that,” Bella said. “I guess I’ll allow it.”
This made Willow laugh more.
They lay in the grass for a while, the air pungent with fresh hay and sun-infused wood. Bella sat straight up. “I think we need a plan.”
“Agreed,” Willow said, lazily. “I’ve got to go make supper, but it would be so nice to be pouring our very own oil into our pots and pans. Still …
“Still?”
Willow sighed. “It’s going to take a lot, I think.”
“Maybe an irrigation specialist first.”
“Yes, and a team for the orchard. Though I think some of the hands might take it on.”
“Maybe Ace’ll be more open to it if we write up a business plan.”
“Business plan? I was just thinking of having Sutter Creek oil around for dipping crusty bread into.”
“Oh … so good! But … I used to work in a library and helped all kinds of people draw up plans. Maybe it’ll help us pitch it to Ace.”
“Correction. It’ll help Chance pitch it.” Willow pulled herself up, tucking her legs beneath her. “I think you’re right, though. We should start by researching what we have here, like we’re doing now. Then maybe some soil testing, as Rafael mentioned.”
“I could sketch out a restoration timeline, since you’re so busy.”
“You wouldn’t mind?”
“Not at all! These baby steps will help everyone get on board. And I’ll feel like I belong around here.”
Willow quirked a look at her. “Why don’t you feel like you belong?”
“Don’t take offense. I didn’t mean anything by it.”
“But something is making you feel that way. Can I help?”
“Well, for one thing, Rafael and I are still newlyweds. We’ve not yet had much chance to build a home together, and, though I know he’s trying real hard to make everyone happy”—she shrugged—“I can tell that some parts are heavy on him.”
“You mean not having your privacy?”
Bella blushed and shrugged again. “Partially that, yes. But also, he and Ace only made their peace last year.”
“Oh, and maybe it didn’t stick?”
“No, it did. It did. They’re on good terms, but I don’t think Chance is really on board yet, kinda like I mentioned earlier.” She grew silent a moment. “It’s not lost on me that this ranch could have been Rafael’s, and he knows that.”
“What do you mean? I don’t understand.”
“Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything.” She shifted and began petting Seabiscuit.
“Bella?”
Bella exhaled. “The ranch once belonged to Rafael’s father, many, many years ago. It’s my understanding that Ace took it over to, a, help the family out.”
Lightbulbs began going off in Willow’s mind. This tension between Chance and Rafael obviously ran much deeper than she could have ever suspected. So many questions came to mind.
Bella put a hand firmly on Willow’s arm. “Promise me you won’t say anything. I’ve already said too much!”
“Of course, but it’s common knowledge, I’d think. It’s probably some history that I should know about, if nothing else but to tamp it down when it rears its head.” She paused. “Guess I hadn’t been paying close enough attention.”
“All I’m saying is I want to feel part of this family, and this land, without becoming a nuisance or stirring up bad blood. Does that make sense?”
Willow gave her a reassuring smile. “You could never be a nuisance. Just put that out of your head right now.” She forced herself to stand, realizing the time. “I guess I’d better get back because the meatballs aren’t going to form themselves. See you at supper?”
“You’re not getting rid of me that easily.” Bella stood, then scooped up Seabiscuit into her arms. “I’ll head over with you so I can talk your ear off some more about those olive trees.”
As they walked back, Bella did most of the talking—about recipes for olive oil infusions, about keeping the grove’s revival quiet, and also about what the ranch would look like after breathing life into an old dream.
But Willow’s mind kept rolling back to what Bella had let slip about the ranch—that Rafael’s father somehow lost the land that his son now works.