Chapter 7
Willow returned to the kitchen, her arms and mind full. She dumped the basket, iPad, and a small jar of soil she and Bella had collected from the grove onto the counter.
Meatballs were waiting to be shaped and baked, so she looped an apron over her head, and tied it around her waist. Skin flushed from the sun, she turned on the faucet and soaped up her hands. As the warm water sluiced over her fingers, she hummed “How Great Thou Art” again, grateful to put her focus on anything but lingering questions.
As she removed ten pounds of grassfed goodness from the fridge, her phone rang. Willow bit her lip. She’d dallied long enough. If she were going to get food in the oven, she had to hurry.
She dried her hands on the front of her apron. Maybe a message from Bella with a sudden idea, or perhaps a call about the dinner rotation.
Instead, Topa Mountain Care Home showed up on the screen.
Her heart dropped. Quickly, she answered.
“Ms. Mercer?”
“Yes?”
“This is Jeannie over at your mother’s care home.”
Willow tightened her grip on the phone and rolled a look up toward the vaulted ceiling.
“Ooh, it’s been a day!” Jeannie said.
Willow slid a cryptic look over her shoulder, making sure she was alone. “Is my mother okay?”
“Ruthie’s stable now, but, boy, what a disturbance we had today. Your poor mama was shouting and very confused. It took some time to bring her out of all of that.” She lowered her voice conspiratorially. “Dr. Grace says it was an emotional trigger that caused it.”
Willow pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead. “What happened?”
“Well, see, a man came by asking for her?—”
“What man?”
“Said he was family. If you ask me, the two of them do look kind of similar. Anyway, he said he needed to check on her well-being, but my baloney radar went up. His eyes were shifty, you know?”
Willow closed her eyes. “Tall? Mid-fifties? Rough voice?”
“Yep. Like a washing machine full of pebbles.”
“Please tell me you didn’t admit him …”
“Well, I was on a break, and one of the other nurses let him in.”
“What?!”
“But, but I knew he was not on the approved contact list for your dear mama, and I whisked him right out of there. It sure put him in a snit!”
Willow leaned back against the kitchen counter and hung her head. No, no, no, no! Uncle Ray. How did he find them? And why did he want to, after everything?
The woman’s voice turned serious. “Our policy is clear, hon. You’re the only authorized family member. We’ve filed a report with her parole office, and there’s a note in your mother’s chart, but she was just so upset, you know?” Jeannie sighed loudly, as if she was just as upset about this as her mother must have been. “Dr. Grace called the episode your mother had a memory loop.”
“I’m not sure what that is.”
“Well, she just kept repeating something about the money, not having the money, not keeping the money, and wouldn’t let anyone touch her.”
Willow’s legs went weak. “Oh.”
“She’s calm now,” the nurse continued, her voice softening, “but the doctor recommends a family visit soon. Can you get here within the next few days?”
“Absolutely.” She nodded, still holding her forehead in her hands. “I’ll come first thing in the morning.”
There was a pause. “Now comes the legal stuff.” The woman sighed, the sound of turning pages coming through the phone. She began, as if reading from a script: “You are the patient’s legal contact and caregiver. We are contracted to stand in your place for a specified time. If we are presented with ongoing risks we will have to?—”
“I’ll handle it,” Willow interrupted. “That was my mother’s brother, and he knows he shouldn’t be there. Thank you for not allowing him to stay a minute longer in her room. I-I’m so grateful to you, Jeannie.”
“You are so welcome, hon.” She lowered her voice. “Are you safe?”
Willow’s throat tightened. “Me? Yes, he-he doesn’t know where I live.” Hopefully . “Thank you for calling.”
Willow ended the call, her fingers starting to tremble. Her uncle wasn’t dangerous, just one very big nuisance. A nuisance who could upend all that she had built.
She set her phone on the counter, the hope she’d felt earlier beginning to ebb away. It wasn’t fair.
And yet, why was she surprised? Yes, she had worked hard to keep their location secret—even using a pseudonym for her mother—but how easy was it to hide these days with the internet following everyone around like a coyote after its prey?
Willow leaned against the handle of the fridge, pressing her forehead into the cool stainless steel door. Everything had been carefully planned—her job, her mother’s care, her past. Like the baby egg-carrying exercise she’d endured in Home Ec class, their new life had been carefully protected.
Now the eggshell was cracking, and she was about to get a big fat “F” on her nonexistent report card.
She barely heard the boots scraping across the tile but straightened when she recognized their cadence.
Chance entered the kitchen, his gait strong, shirt damp in places, and with far less aggression than in the past. He was either only marginally hungry or minding his manners.
“Could use a jug of your ice-cold lemon …” He stopped when he saw her. “What’s got you ?”
Willow ran the back of her hand across her eyes. “I’m, uh, just tired.”
“That’s not tired on your face. It’s bad news. Something about the olive trees?”
She shook her head. “No, they’re beautiful. I hope Ace and you are open to”—she wiggled her hand in the air— “to seeing their potential again.”
He moved toward her, slower now. “Then what happened?”
She bit her lip. Her mother was this close to being freed from parole. Willow could not let anything—anyone—stand in the way of her freedom. She would not have it.
The quiet between them stretched. Chance eyed her but waited for her to gather her thoughts.
“You ever try so hard to keep things together,” Willow said finally, her voice barely above a whisper, “but the underpinnings of all you’ve done start to come loose?”
Chance watched her, brows drawing together, eyes darkening.
She swallowed and cast a look through the window. Wasn’t as sunny now. “My uncle showed up at my mother’s care facility. He’s trouble. Not sure how he found her.”
Chance’s brows knit together more forcefully now. “Did he cause a ruckus?”
“Yeah. Triggered some kind of episode.”
He stepped closer, concern on his face. She sensed he wanted to touch her, probably just to console her, but he resisted. Oh, how she could lean into that touch right now …
She pulled back slightly, allowing more space between them.
“What did he want?”
“Money.” She shrugged. “What else?”
“Is your mother wealthy?”
“She has nothing.” Her voice broke. “Just her basics.”
His jaw flexed, something stirring. “Did he threaten your mother? Or the people there?”
“I don’t think so, but he’s bad for her.” And us. He’s bad for us. “My mother’s memory is compromised, but somewhere in the fog she knows him and she’s afraid. The nurse who called said it was obvious that he caused her to get upset.”
Chance moved toward her. He rubbed her shoulder gently. “I’m sorry, Willow. What can I do to help?”
She stared down at her hands, sorely wishing she could fold herself into his embrace instead of just standing there with his touch on her upper arm. “No one can help.” She lifted her gaze, hoping he didn’t see her terror. “I, um, I might have to leave. Just for a little while, in case he shows up again.”
“Leave the ranch?”
She blew out a breath. “It’s a … mess. They might not allow her to stay, but it’s, well, it’s complicated.”
Chance’s gaze searched her face. “Why do I get the feeling there’s something you’re not telling me?”
His tone, both curious and slightly suspicious, brought a lump to her throat. She didn’t want to leave here, not now. Not ever. But she’d simply told Ace she needed this job to be closer to her mother, not the circumstances that brought her mother to this care home far from Los Angeles, where she once lived.
If she told Chance the truth, what would he think of her mother? Of … her?
“Willow?”
The steadiness of his voice, the deep thrum of it, unlocked a piece of what she had buried down deep. But what if she told him the truth and Chance threw her out?
“You can tell me, you know.”
Why was she keeping this such a secret anyway? Surely, everyone’s family had skeletons rattling around in their closets. She suspected the Sutters might even have a few.
She wasn’t sure when she’d decided to blurt it out, exactly. It might have been the way he coaxed her with his steady gaze, or the way he leaned in ever so slightly, giving her a heady whiff of both earth and smoke.
Whatever the reason, Willow found herself saying, “My mother was convicted of mortgage fraud.”
Chance blinked.
She shifted, a headache dart stabbing at her. “My father passed, and I had no idea how little they saved.” She paused, willing away the pain in her head. “My uncle told her about a business venture that could save us all—he was broke too.”
Chance nodded for her to continue, but did she want to?
She blew out a breath. “He, uh, bought a bunch of rundown properties, got them really cheap, but then he faked the appraisals and took out large mortgages against them.”
Chance’s brows dipped.
“My mom was a retired schoolteacher who had taken a part time job for a lender. She got them to fund the loans, even though she questioned her brother’s ethics.”
He whistled.
“I know.” Willow shook her head. “I’ve gone round and round about this for years, replaying everything.”
“Were you …?”
“Involved?” She shook her head. “No. It’s just …” She wanted to pull back everything she’d divulged about their situation, but it was too late. Their shame had been exposed.
“It’s just what?”
She needled her lip. “The thing is, when Mom seemed to have more to her name than usual, I asked her about it. She told me she’d inherited money from an aunt I’d never even heard of. It was easier to just let myself believe her.”
“Sounds like you’re being much too hard on yourself.”
“Trust me, I’m not. I didn’t ask questions because I didn’t want the answers.”
Chance said nothing.
“The truth came out and my uncle got a hand slap.”
“But your mother worked for a lender, so she took the fall.”
“Yes, she lost everything, and the judge didn’t show any leniency. Sentenced her to years in prison for her part in all of it. The only reason for her sentence being reduced now is her illness.”
“So the care facility is a kind of halfway house?”
“Something like that.” Willow blew out a breath. “My uncle tried to milk whatever he could from the fallout. And when she got sick, he tried to guilt his way back into her life. But I wouldn’t let him.”
Chance watched her, a certain concern in his expression—and perhaps, a touch of suspicion too.
“I was trying to survive.”
He nodded.
Willow’s eyes stung, but she held his gaze. “Thing is, I never told your father the whole truth about why I took this job, only that my mother was ill and living nearby.”
“He doesn’t know?”
She shook her head, remembering the little speech that Ace had given her about how carefully he chose his staff, that, once hired, they were representatives of the ranch family. That Sutter Creek Ranch meant something in these mountains. He’d spoke about it all with such pride. She lowered her gaze to the counter, shaking it back and forth slowly. “I didn’t mention to him that she was on parole, that she’d been incarcerated.”
Chance was so quiet she could barely hear him breathe. If only he’d say something, so she’d know what he was thinking. She caught his eyes. “I was just so terrified that my uncle would find us again, but it’s no excuse.”
“Willow—”
“I figured if I worked hard, stayed on task, did the best job that I could, well, that maybe I could keep that part of my life separate. But life doesn’t ever really stay buried, does it?”
“No,” Chance said quietly. “It doesn’t.”
The sun was dropping, shadows making their way in through the window.
Finally, Willow moved. She began wiping the island, needing to keep her hands busy. “I’m very sorry that I dragged your family into all this, Chance. I understand if it’s all too much.”
All he did was nod. Again.
She paused and lifted a question in her gaze. “I should talk to Ace,” she said, searching Chance’s face for some sign of … what? Sympathy? “Maybe not tonight, but by tomorrow for sure.”
There it was again, that nod. He did it once, then just stood there, contemplating her, until he quietly said, “I wish you would’ve said something.”
Heat rushed into her cheeks, regret over what she could lose crushing her. Not saying something could be just as bad as saying too much. The sin of omission. Tears prickled her eyes. A sniffle escaped her.
And all Chance did was stand there.
Willow dropped the rag she was using to mindlessly wipe down the clean counter. When it was clear that he’d gone mute, had nothing more to add other than to stand there with a disappointed expression on his face, she looked away.
She lifted her gaze again, resigned to her reality, only to watch the café doors flutter shut. And Chance was nowhere in sight.
* * *
By the time Chance entered the horse barn, the sky had deepened and a cool breeze had crept in from the west, likely sent by the sea itself. The air hung thick with animals and hay, dust and sweat.
He should’ve felt lighter. When he’d waltzed into the kitchen to down a glass of Willow’s lemonade, he knew in his heart that he’d shown up there for something altogether different than what he encountered.
Simply, to spend time with her.
It all changed in an instant when she shared her secrets with him. It had cost her something, and in some ways, it had cost him too. His heart thudded dully, quieted only by the crunch of gravel beneath his boots.
The barn door creaked softly in the wind. The horses rustled in their stalls, tails swishing, the woosh of hooves shifting in the straw as a lone figure tossed grains into bins.
Rats. He thought he’d be alone with his thoughts here.
Instead, Rafael was bent forward, working away, too focused and efficient to bother looking up at him. Every day that man surprised him.
A colt nickered and Chance paused, allowing his hand to rest on the animal’s forelock and down his nose as it sputtered in reply.
Chance paused there, considering Rafael, his work ethic on display. He hadn’t expected this from the kid who showed up years ago drunk, who made his mother cry.
A part of him had hoped to find a crack in his otherwise measured, calm demeanor. Maybe even poke the bear some himself.
Otherwise, he would have to expect that Rafael simply had slid right back into place here at the ranch, while he … still couldn’t seem to find his footing.
He lifted his chin. “You ever quit?”
Rafael didn’t react. Kept working, though he did tilt a look at him briefly. “Not until I’m done.”
Chance huffed out a chuckle. “You’re never really done though, right?”
“Wouldn’t say that.”
A quiet beat passed between them.
“This a new thing with you?” Chance asked. “Rafael Sutter—Mr. Calm, Cool, and Collected?”
A brief grin flickered on Rafael’s face. “You always walk in with a chip on your shoulder?” he asked, scooping another shovelful of feed into the bin. “Or do you put it on all special for me?”
Chance eyed him. “Depends on the day.”
Rafael tossed the last scoop in and set the bucket aside. He straightened, leaning on the shovel handle. “So what kind of day are we having now?”
Chance reached the stall gate across from Rafael. Jaw tight, he leaned against it. Somewhere near the back of the barn, one of the younger colts let out a sputter, as if to say lights out, boys. It’s time for shut eye.
Finally, Chance spoke. “The strong work you’ve been doing has not gone unnoticed.”
Rafael’s brow lifted. “Thanks.”
“Didn’t expect to hear that?”
“Not from you.”
Chance pursed his lips and nodded. “Fair enough.”
“So …?”
Chance continued, “That rotation chart you came up with—the hands are responding well.”
Rafael narrowed his eyes. “You been keeping tabs on me?”
“Been watching. Yes.”
Rafael studied him a moment. “Say what you came to say.”
“I’ve been working my tail off ever since I returned to the ranch.” He looked around, taking in the pale golden light dripping from the cross beams. “Just figured I’d expand my hours more when Sparky left.”
Rafael nodded slowly. “I get that.”
“It’s not like I need a title around here for vanity or anything,” Chance added. “It’s just … Ace hiring you came as a surprise.”
“I’m learning that life is sometimes about timing, not who shows up the most.”
The truth of that stung Chance more than he wanted to admit. He swallowed. “You probably don’t know this, but I left when Mom got sick. Told myself I had to finish my degree.”
He kicked his toe against a stall door. “She said she wanted me to go,” he continued, “but I figured out the truth: I just couldn’t stand to watch her fade.”
Rafael nodded, understanding. “And maybe it wouldn’t hurt so much if you weren’t there in the end.”
“Yeah.”
“And?”
Chance stuck his tongue into his cheek. “Hurt like hell.”
Rafael leaned his back against a post, eliciting a deep sigh. “Regrets are worthless, you know.”
Chance didn’t look up. “I regret it every day.”
A hush settled over the barn.
“I miss your mom too.” Rafael said.
Chance closed his eyes. “From what I hear, you stayed with your mom until the end.”
“That was a different kind of hard, brother. The kind that makes you lose your temper and then hate yourself for it.” Rafael grimaced. “But it gave me time to say things I hadn’t said before.”
Chance met his gaze. “You did the hard thing. You stayed.”
Rafael shook his head. “Stop. You loved your mom, Chance. No question about it. Sometimes grief makes us run.” Grey eyes speared him. “But if we’re lucky, it brings us back again.”
“Like you came back here.”
“Well, I can’t say that I planned any grand reunion when I showed up here last year to ask a favor.”
Chance raised an eyebrow. “To borrow the horses?”
“Yep.”
“Hmm. Like you, I’ve been trying to pick up where I left off ever since returning.”
“Maybe you were never supposed to,” Rafael said. “Maybe you were always meant to start fresh.”
Chance thought about all the times he’d butted heads with Ace since coming back to the ranch, how he’d wanted to digitize the books and the budget and automate milking and feeding.
His father would have none of it.
“You think I wanted this job?” Rafael said, interrupting his thoughts. “I came back expecting nothing. I wanted to apologize to Ace, maybe see if there was still a place for me somewhere nearby. Instead, he handed me this job and said, ‘Get to work.’”
Chance glanced up.
“I didn’t ask for his trust,” Rafael added. “But I’m trying to earn it.”
Didn’t ask for trust. Trying to earn it.
The words tumbled around in his gut, hitting closer to his heart than he cared to admit.
You know what I’d like to be called? he’d said to her. Trusted.
He’d hoped that he had demonstrated to Ace that he could be trusted. Surely, he had. But had he showed that to Willow too?
Wordlessly, Rafael turned back to his work, and the silence between them stretched again. Maybe the reason Rafael was working so hard all the time was he was still paying his penance for time lost.
Chance inhaled. He took a step backward. “I suppose this ranch has enough dirt for both of us.”
Rafael flicked his hat back to catch eyes with his cousin once again. “And enough fence to mend too.”
Chance laughed under his breath. “There’s some truth right there.”
Rafael stepped away from the stall, giving Chance a firm nod as he passed. “See you at supper?”
“Sure thing.”
Chance kept moving, glancing up at the barn’s rafters and the way dust danced on fading light. He hadn’t realized how much he needed to pry open his hands and let someone else in to this exhausting, exasperating … magical place.
And for someone to say there was space for him too.
“Hey, Chance.” Kit was walking by in the twilight as he exited, a bag of linens hitched over her shoulder.
He dipped his head. “Kit.”
She stopped. “That Willow’s pretty special, isn’t she?”
He crossed his arms and leaned his frame against the wall of the barn. “Makes a mean supper, if that’s what you’re hinting at.”
She rolled her eyes and adjusted the bag hanging from her shoulder. “Okay, fine. If that’s how you want to be.”
“How do I want to be, exactly?”
“Shew, Chance.” She began to walk backwards toward the cabin where she and Eli lived. “I’ve known you since we were kids, and I don’t mind sayin’ it—you need someone to soften those edges. Pretty sure you’ve found her.”
“Night, Kit.”
She snapped a winsome smile at him. “’Night, yourself, Chance.”
He turned toward the barn doors where the light from the house flickered gently in the distance. Willow would be serving up supper soon to hungry hands and his (sometimes) ornery father. She’d acknowledge him when he strolled in, hanging his hat on a hook, and act like nothing had ever cracked in the shell she had created around herself.
But he’d know.
Maybe, he wasn’t the only one carrying more than he let on.
He took a step toward the main house, then stopped. There were things to say, but not tonight. Tonight, he had some hashing out to do. With a quick pivot, Chance headed away from the house, hunger far from his mind.