Chapter 8
Keep moving. Don’t look up. You’ll be fine.
A day had passed, and Willow had done what she’d been hired to do: cook, cook, and cook some more. She kept her eyes trained on the plate in front of her, then the next plate, and the next, and the next.
As usual this time of evening, the ranch house buzzed with the low thrum of boots, clinking silverware, and the steady high-pitched scrape of wooden chairs against worn floors.
Supper had begun and Willow fussed over the buffet and the ranch hands, spooning heaping scoops of mashed potatoes and ladling warm, savory gravy on top. Eli held court at one end of the table, telling a tall tale followed by an eruption of laughter.
She hadn’t seen Chance in more than a day. In past months, she might not have noticed, but now?
His absence stung.
Sleep had eluded her last night, her mind replaying snippets from the past few weeks: frolicking in the old olive grove, her surprise of seeing Chance emerge from the sea, that time his strong arms kept her from falling into the creek bed outside of church, and, of course, the morning she’d caught him making a mess in her kitchen.
Oh, how that devilish grin of his faded as he dug his dirty dishes out of the sink and dutifully added them to the dishwasher …
She released a breath in an attempt to clear her mind. With an empty platter in hand, Willow ducked into the kitchen to retrieve more herbed chicken. She was back there only a minute or two when she noticed a shift in energy, a change in the din from chaotic to controlled.
No doubt, Chance had arrived.
She pushed through the café doors and allowed her gaze to find him moving through the small crowd. Her stomach gave a nervous tug. He nodded to Rafael, who had only arrived a few minutes before, then paused to say something that made Eli chuckle. She snapped her sights back to the buffet table, keeping herself occupied with refilling bowls and shuffling dishes.
No sense dredging back up the awkwardness of the other night, and yet she wondered …
Was he still thinking about what she’d said? Or worse—about what she had hidden from him? And Ace?
Willow surveyed the picked-over buffet table, then smoothed a shaky hand down the front of her apron.
“Any more gravy, Miss Willow?” one of the younger hands called out.
She nodded. “Yes, of course.” She slipped back into the kitchen to fetch the gravy, grateful for a quick break. When she returned, Chance had claimed a spot at the end of the table facing her. His gaze met hers, but she looked away.
That queasy feeling from earlier, the one in the very pit of her stomach, raised her anxiety again.
She refilled the gravy tureen, served the last plate, and stepped back into the kitchen with absolutely no appetite of her own. She’d already filled and run the dishwasher earlier, so the soft hiss of it kept her company. Wiping her hands again on her apron, she waited for the buzz from the dining room to erupt and clear out.
With her foot tapping nervously beneath her, she tried not to think of what haunted her from the other night. It wasn’t the omission of information itself. Honestly, she hadn’t thought it was anyone’s business to know her family’s situation.
But now what bothered her most was realizing her selfishness. She began putting away unused pans and dishes. How would it look to outsiders that Ace Sutter was employing a woman whose family had disgraced itself so?
Remorse twisted inside of her, followed by the very real possibility that her time at the ranch was fading away. The thought of losing her home, and her new family, made her want to crumble into a bucket of tears right here in this kitchen, but she would not have it! Willow set a platter down onto the counter with a clatter. She inhaled deeply. Since when had she let emotion get to her like this?
The door swung open, and she turned with a start.
“Hey.” Chance stepped inside.
She straightened, putting on the most unemotional expression she could. “Need something?”
“Yes.”
She waited.
“Your time.”
She licked her lips, giving him a perfunctory nod. “The guys’ll be done soon, so I only have a minute.”
He took a step toward her. “That’s a start.”
“If you’re here to say I should talk to Ace before he hears from someone else?—”
He was standing inches from her now. “I’m not.”
She rolled a look upward. “I understand that our family’s … predicament could bring shame to the ranch.”
He was quiet for a second, his gaze watchful, gentle crow’s feet stretching out from the corners of his eyes. If he moved any closer he’d have to give her a ring. “Stop that.”
He’d hooked her with a gaze, but she looked away, her breathing turning erratic. The rise of tears started but she tamped them down. With a measured voice she said, “I don’t know what else you’d have me do, Chance.”
“I’d have you look at me.”
Something tender in his voice drew her. With stoicism, she allowed her gaze to match his.
Chance ran a hand through his hair, his eyes never straying from hers. “Aw, Willow.”
She swallowed. “You don’t have to say anything, you know.”
“Hear me out.” His eyes softened. “I’ve been thinking about what you told me the other night. What hit me in the gut wasn’t that your family has trauma—that’s as old as time.”
She held her breath.
“It’s that you wouldn’t trust me with your truth.”
She let it out, remembering him saying something at the beach … something about wanting to be trusted.
He continued. “It wasn’t my business, of course, but you thought I would react?—”
“Exactly the way you did?”
“No. You thought I’d have had you thrown out of here.” He shook his head, quirking a questioning look at her. “What kind of monster do you think I am? That my father is?”
She raised her hands like stop signs. “That’s not … I don’t think that of either of you.”
He placed his palms gently against hers, curling his fingers over hers. “My father’s a big boy. You don’t have to tell him everything, unless you want to. And I hope that you do, because I know him—he’ll want to do whatever he can to help.”
“Oh …”
He squeezed her hands lightly before letting go. “And I do too.”
Willow’s breath hitched.
His voice was sure. “What’s happened with your mother, and your uncle”—he hung his head briefly, rocking it side to side—“that’s a heavy load. No sense adding guilt to it too.”
“I should have told Ace when I was being interviewed.”
“So we could help you.”
“I-I couldn’t imagine that.”
“Why not?”
“I …” Tears flooded her eyes. The kind that came when relief began to show itself. “I’ve felt so alone, Chance. Every day I have to make decisions between my job here, which I love, and my mother’s care—and her future.”
“That’s a lot for one person to bear.”
She swallowed back her tears. He was being kind, but this was her problem—not his. She’d handle it.
“Let me drive you over to see your mom,” he said. “I can take you tomorrow.”
She shook her head. “Really. No. That’s not necessary, it’s only a short drive.”
“I want to share some of the burden.” He hooked a thumb toward the outside. “We can take ol’ Lucille if you’d like.”
She let out a bright laugh, surprising herself. “I’d rather not.”
He blew out an exaggerated breath. “Was hoping you’d say that. My truck it is.”
Willow studied him for a long moment. Inwardly, she smiled. The voices from the dining room were growing distant now, and she wasn’t sure if it was because every morsel had disappeared or because this moment had eclipsed everything else.
“I don’t know what to say other than … thank you.”
“That’s more than enough.” Chance nodded. He turned to go, but paused. “You’re not the only one who’s tried to bury the past.”
Willow tilted her head. “I’m sorry I didn’t trust you, Chance.”
He held her gaze for a long beat. “You do now?”
Willow nodded. She did. With everything.
The lines around his eyes softened, and he dipped his chin slightly. “Then we’re square.”
Willow stood motionless, her palms still warm from his touch, and listened to the echo of his boots retreating from the kitchen.
* * *
Four days had flown by.
The visit to her mother’s care home had been delayed twice—once when another storm rolled in without bothering to announce itself first. It washed out the main road and toppled a power line that took two days to fix. Then again when Brandy McKenna from the neighboring ranch called in a frazzled panic.
Her branding crew had lost two hands to the flu and another to a thrown shoulder. Weather had stymied their schedule already this year, so they found themselves short on both help and time.
The Sutter Creek crew pitched in, which meant Willow cooked for an extra ten cowboys, creating side dishes from leftover cornbread and meat. While grabbing oil for drizzling and coating pans, her mind wandered to the dream of turning that old orchard into something new again. She also sent up a prayer or two for divine intervention to calm the frenetic pace of those hours.
But calm had come. At ten a.m., Chance pulled up in his truck. She had already cooked, served, and cleaned up, and slammed out a batch of molasses cookies for the staff at the care home. Despite all that, she knew that the real word was yet to come—a visit with her mother to smooth things over with the care home.
She’d been praying a lot lately, and today was no exception.
As Chance pulled onto the main road, rays of sunshine stretched across the top of the Topatopa ridges. In its way, that sun was attempting to coax her out of trepidation. She didn’t mind it.
On her lap sat a manila envelope with a photo of her Uncle Ray inside. She had already emailed the image to the care home, but hoped to squelch any future visits from him by giving them a photo they could post for all the staff to see.
“You warm enough?” Chance tapped the heating vent, which blew soft and low.
She nodded, voice small. “I am. Thank you.”
He let her be.
The silence between them was easier than it had ever been. But he saw the way her fingers picked at the corner of the folder, and the tension-filled way she held her jaw. Eventually, she sighed.
“I hate this.”
“I know.”
“Going to visit my mother should be a pleasure, something to look forward to.”
“Been praying that for you,” Chance said.
She peeled a look over at him. “You have?”
“I doubt that coward’ll show his face again, but if he does, I’ll be ready for him.”
She cast another glance at this knight sitting next to her, flesh and blood who cared. Wasn’t too used to that.
“They show up once,” he continued, “stir things up, then vanish before they can be held accountable. Not this time.”
She wrinkled her nose, thinking.
“She just can’t get evicted. I’ve got to keep that from happening.”
“You show them you’re doing everything you can to keep them informed, that you’ve notified the authorities too.”
She swallowed. “Hope it’s enough.”
He reached over, his hand rough, warm, gently wrapping around hers. “You’re not alone in this anymore, remember?”
She relaxed against the headrest of his truck, a sigh escaping her. “I-I remember.”
* * *
In the parking lot of the care home, Willow pushed aside her initial reluctance at coming here, realizing how very much she wanted to see her mother.
Unfortunately, she’d allowed her worries about her uncle to put a cloud over her plans. That and the lingering concern over another triggering episode.
Chance parked and turned off the engine. “Can I come in with you?”
In her heart, she knew he’d rather stay and watch for anyone suspicious. “No, but thank you. I’ll try not to be too long.”
He shook his head. “Stay as long as you’d like. I can handle phone calls from here … or whatever else might come up.”
She nodded, clutching the manila envelope until it creased in her grasp. Willow scooped up the basket of cookies from the seat, and hopped down from the truck before Chance could come around and open the door for her. She was on a mission to make sure that her mother knew she was safe—and to assure the care home knew she meant business when it came to her uncle.
Willow climbed the small rise of steps to the front door and stopped. She turned back toward Chance, and tossed him a wave. If her uncle dared to show up, Chance would be ready.
* * *
At the front desk, Jeannie greeted her. She wore red glasses and hair pinned in a swirl, the kind that’s designed to appears messy but actually looks amazing.
“Hello there,” Jeannie said, her smile animated. “I remember those cookies—molasses, right?”
Willow handed her the basket. “You got it.”
“Bribes are always welcome,” the nurse teased. Her expression grew more serious. “So glad you’re here.”
“How has she been?”
“Great! Gosh, you wouldn’t ever know about the episodes if I hadn’t seen them for myself.”
That’s what she’d heard from the doctor when she called a couple of days ago, but hoped the report had remained the same. Her shoulders lowered, a slight sense of calm rolling through her.
Willow handed over the manila folder. “Before I go see her, I wanted to make sure you had a picture of my uncle to post.”
Jeannie’s smile faded, but her kindness didn’t. “Of course, hon. Let me buzz Margie from admin. She’s already in this morning.”
Minutes later, Willow sat across from Margie, a supervisor with kind eyes and a nubby fleece cardigan that had a tiny, stitched bumblebee at the shoulder. Margie viewed the photo.
“That’s him, alright,” Margie said, voice soft. “Thank you for providing the photo and emailing the other one.”
“He’s—he’s harmless, as harmless goes.”
“Meaning?”
“He’s not violent. Just … lazy.”
Margie offered a small smile. “Can I be honest with you?”
“Of course.”
“Don’t let that guy fool you. He is anything but lazy.” She tapped the envelope on her desk like a deck of cards. “It always amazes me when people spend so much time trying to figure out more ways to defraud others. Imagine what they could do with all that energy if they were to put it to positive use.”
“Had not thought of it that way.”
“Listen, my dear, you did everything right. Some people just want to upend others’ lives for the sport of it, but we’re in your corner here.” She kept her expression kind. “I can’t promise that your mother’s parole officer won’t make a change?—”
Willow gasped.
Margie leaned forward. “You’re doing your very best for your mother. We will be sure to tell him that.”
“And if she has another … episode?”
Margie sighed. “The outbursts are something else entirely. Hopefully, those are gone for good now that we know to keep her brother away from her.”
Willow pressed the issue. “But if it were to happen again?”
“You’re doing the best thing for your mother.” Margie’s formerly bright expression had dulled some, the creases near her eyes deepening. “We’ll cross that bridge if we ever come to it.”
Silence landed between them. Willow stood to leave. “I understand.”
Margie’s warm smile was back. She flicked a nod toward the door. “Go on now. She’s waiting for you.”
* * *
Willow found her mother seated in the chair by the garden window, humming a hymn she couldn’t recall the name of, and wrapped in a fluffy sweater. Sunlight from the east-facing window poured across her face, illuminating her smile.
“Hey, Mama.”
Her mother looked up. “You’re early.”
“Nope. Right on time. And I brought you a treat.” Willow held up a cookie she’d pulled from the basket. “Made it for you this morning.”
Her mother reached for it with a surprising amount of focus. “This is good, but why don’t you make the ones with cinnamon on them anymore?”
“Snickerdoodles?”
“Snicker what?”
Willow laughed. “You don’t like those.”
“Don’t like what?”
“Snickerdoodles. That’s why I don’t make them anymore for you.”
“Oh.” She took a bite of the cookie and chewed it slowly. Then, “You should make the ones with cinnamon on them then.”
Willow lightly snorted. “Okay, you got it.”
“I remember something about you,” her mother said.
“What’s that?”
“You used to eat those yellow noodles every day. Even during the summertime.”
“Who doesn’t love a bowl of mac ’n’ cheese?”
“I don’t think dogs do.”
Willow chuckled. “Pretty sure they do.”
Her mother thought about that.
“Well, Mom, you’ll be happy to know that I have a much more sophisticated palate now.”
Her mother leaned forward conspiratorially. “Are you sure?”
“I am. I even made okra last week!” She didn’t mention that she had to throw the rest of it away after the hands ignored the dish. Even Brandy at the neighboring ranch raised her brows at the offer of leftovers. (She took them to be neighborly, though.)
Her mother wrinkled her nose. “I wouldn’t eat that.”
Willow laughed again. Get in line, mama. “Tell me about your favorite meal here? What does the chef make?”
She clapped her hands together and listed off several menu items consisting of old-fashioned comfort foods like roast chicken, buttered beans, mashed potatoes and gravy.
“Sounds like you have really good food here. I make all of that for the ranch hands too.”
“You do?”
“Yes, and they gobble it up too.”
“Oh.” Her mother was beaming. “I want to go there sometime.”
“To the ranch?”
“Yes. Maybe I could stay overnight.”
Willow swallowed back the lump forming in her throat. One place she could never take her mother would be the ranch. Another fun fact she had yet to face: When her mother was released from parole, she’d need to find another place for her to live.
The catch-22 kept her up at nights. She longed for her mother to be free from the constant scrutiny of her parole officer, and yet … she’d yet to save enough for her to live as well as she was now.
The soft whiffle of her mother’s snoring gave her some relief from talking more about the future. For the next twenty minutes, Willow sat in a nearby chair, holding her hand as she drifted in and out of sleep. In her moments of wakefulness, her mother’s mind appeared sharp, showing little sign of the confusion that had brought her here, nor the trouble brought on by her brother.
It was both hopeful and perplexing. With no sign of waking, Willow stood. Then she bent forward, kissed her mother on her forehead, and whispered a promise to return soon.
* * *
Chance hopped out of the truck and came around to open the door for her. “Everything go okay?”
She nodded. “They’ve all seen his picture, and the authorities have been notified.” She climbed inside the cabin and waited for Chance to join her. “Mom surprised me. She was in pretty good shape today, even a little chatty.”
“Glad to hear it.”
Willow gave a half-smile, trying not to think about the new thought her mother had left her with, not to mention Margie’s cryptic warning.
Chance put the truck in reverse, drove past a dusty old sedan parked near the edge of the lot, then eased them back onto the road.
“By the way,” he said, “I saw no sign of the guy.”
“I’m so glad.”
“Anything else happen?”
Willow shrugged slowly. “I mean, just the usual. They told me she’s doing well, but if there are more outbursts like the other day …”
“They think there’s a risk of that?”
“There’s always a risk, I guess. But they were kind about it. Said she might not be able to stay.” Willow turned to him with fresh resolve. “But I will figure it out. Not worried.”
Chance eyed her cautiously. “Should I be?”
“Nope.”
“Hmm.”
“Relax, cowboy. I’ve made it this far.”
His expression turned grim. “I didn’t mean to doubt you, Willow. It’s just, well, I’m trying to tell you I care.”
She licked her lips and quickly turned her gaze back toward the window, watching the blur of trees pass them by.
Her voice fell to a whisper. “Thank you.”
After a beat, he broke the silence. “So, you see, I can help with all kinds of things: stubborn hands, broken fences … fierce women.”
Willow barked out a laugh, grateful for the sudden change of mood. “Is that right?”
“I’m a man of many talents.”
She snorted. “Oh, brother.”
He laughed, one brow lifted. “I’m in your corner, Willow. Snort and all.”
This time, her laughter dissolved into giggles that went on and on and on.
* * *
The call came at dawn.
Willow had just started slicing potatoes when Kit burst into the kitchen, breathless and pale, phone still clutched in her hand like it might burn right through her skin.
“It’s Ace,” she gasped. “They’ve taken him to the hospital. Chest pain. EMTs just left with him.”
Willow froze, knife suspended mid-slice. “I haven’t heard … what do you mean … did they come here?” She put the knife down, her mind racing.
Kit shook her head. “He was out in the paddock with the guys?—”
“He never goes out there.”
“I know! But he wanted to see what Rafael was up to, and Eli said they were all up there just talkin’ about a couple of massive birds that went by when Ace got ill.”
“Oh no.”
“He’s still breathin’ and talkin’, in case you were wonderin’.”
“Good. Great. I’m so glad.”
Kit’s chin cranked up and down. “Chance went with him. I don’t know what we’re supposed to do.”
Willow grabbed the towel from her shoulder and wiped her hands. Her pulse began to gallop.
Okay." She steadied herself with a deep breath. "We do what Ace would want. We keep things moving."
Kit stared at her, eyes round. “We?”
“Yes.” Willow crossed the kitchen and opened the refrigerator, scanning the shelves. “I have a feeling there’s going to be a lot of people popping by for an update, and don’t get me started about the men—they can be some of the most nervous eaters you’ve ever seen.”
“Really?”
“Really.” Willow’s arms were full of dishes of leftovers. She pushed the fridge door shut with her bum. “No way I’m running out of food. We don’t want everyone eating powdered donuts and cold beans like this is some kind of summer camp.”
“You okay, Willow?” Kit stared at her, head tilted.
“Truthfully, no.” She was worried about Ace. About Chance. About holding things together while the doctors did their work.
And so she would cook and clean, rinse, and repeat. It’s all she had to offer.
The morning passed in a blur of kitchen noise and shouted updates. As predicted, every time she turned around, someone needed something—more food, more direction, more reassurance. She kept moving, kept doing, anchored by duty (and honestly, a little flour dust too).
By midmorning, the bunkhouse porch was full of ranch hands, milling like confused cattle, hats pulled low and shoulders tight. Rafael had left early that morning for Santa Maria, where he’d be looking at some refurbished pumps and irrigation equipment for the olive grove.
Willow carried a tray of sausage and scrambled eggs across the yard. Who cared that it was midday, and she’d had to break into her backup egg supply?
These men were hungry!
She slowed on approach, surprised to hear Chance’s voice. She squinted, as if it would help her hearing.
“You two, check that south fence,” he was saying. “Don’t wait till it gives out again.”
“Yes, sir,” Joey, the younger one, called back.
“Eli, those water lines near the east meadow—we still leakin’?”
Eli hollered out an affirmative.
Chance nodded once. “Thought so. Patch ‘em up before lunch.”
Willow slowed her steps, watching as men listened, nodded, moved. Chance neither raised his voice or barked orders, but with every directive, the hands scattered.
A dry laugh rolled out of him when he reached several hands who’d yet to receive an assignment. “Also, just so we’re clear,” he was saying, “if we lose another yearling, I’m canceling poker night and banning beef jerky rations for a month.”
Scattered chuckles lifted from the group as they dispersed. She caught a hint of a smile on his face, which brought her a semblance of reassurance.
Willow reached the porch and laid the tray of food on an empty table. Their eyes met when Chance turned to grab a bottle of water off the porch rail.
“Can I offer you some lemonade instead?”
He nodded, and she poured him a tall glass, handing it to him. “How’s our Ace?”
Chance took a long sip. “Stable. They’re keepin’ him a few days, runnin’ tests.”
Willow let out a slow breath. “Thank the Lord.”
He nodded, eyes meeting hers over the rim of the glass. For a brief second, she thought she saw something flicker there—worry, maybe. But, if so, he blinked it away fast.
“You’ve done good,” she said softly. “Today.”
“Don’t go ruining my reputation.”
She let the moment sit between them before stepping back. Three of the men were still waiting for a word from him to move into action.
In the chaos, Chance had taken hold of the reins, and the ranch was listening.
* * *
That afternoon, with nothing to do but wait, Willow and Bella headed out toward the olive grove with boxes of garden supplies—and snacks, of course. The sun was baking the ground beneath them, and the air swam with the faint hum of bees and tractors working overtime.
“I’m so happy to have the garden as part of our new home,” Bella said, making conversation. “Rafael says we might even get an early herb crop.”
Willow adjusted her grip on the box. “If anyone can coax basil out of late spring soil, it’s you.”
They walked on, reaching the grove of olive trees that already showed signs of care, their shimmering leaves shining more and browning less. Willow set her box down beside a half-cleared patch of earth and plunked down beside it.
She opened the flaps and froze. “What. Is. That?” She tamed the shake in her voice.
Bella followed her gaze to a black-feathered bird, the size of a small dog, perched on a low branch, its beady eyes trained on them. It had a big, red head that shone like fire in the bright sun.
“That’s no turkey,” Willow whispered.
Bella strained to see it. “Are you sure? It looks kind of—feathery.”
“It—it’s some kind of buzzard.” Slowly, she started to rise.
The bird took that moment to let out a long hiss, like steam letting loose from a factory. The ugly, rattling sound filled the air as the bird stretched its wings out like a building, silent threat.
Bella let out a squeal.
Willow grabbed her arm. “Don’t move!”
“I’m not moving!”
“Don’t flap! They sense flapping!”
The bird tilted its head and let out another hiss. Bella let loose a yelp, and Willow—despite herself—screamed right along with her.
“Oh my gosh,” Bella cried. “This is like Snow White ! You remember that scene? The buzzards circling after the witch falls off the cliff?”
Willow’s stomach turned. “Yes! I used to fast-forward that part every time!”
“Me too! They’re gross! Why are they always around death?”
“Because they eat dead things , Bella!”
Another hiss. Another scream.
And then?—
Footsteps. Fast ones. Pounding like hooves on dry earth.
“Willow? Bella?”
Chance crashed through the trees, skidding to a stop in a cloud of dust. His shirt stuck to him, his eyes wild.
“What happened?”
Willow pointed skyward. “Buzzard!”
Bella flailed an arm. “It hissed at us!”
Chance’s face registered … something. Maybe relief. Maybe exasperation. He dragged a hand down his face and looked up.
“Oh. That’s just Gary.”
Willow blinked. “ Excuse me ?”
“He hangs out in the grove. Shows up when the weather’s warm.”
“You named it?”
“Well, yeah. He’s a turkey vulture, and he’s harmless.”
Bella shook her head. “He hissed. At us.”
“He does that.” Chance stepped toward the tree and clapped his hands. “Go on, Gary. Get.”
The vulture blinked, shifted, and launched itself into the air with a gust of wings that stirred dust and leaves alike. It soared once overhead, then glided out of sight.
Willow let out a breath and bent to steady herself on her knees.
“You okay?” Chance asked.
She stood and swatted at her pants. “Yes. I mean—no. That was horrifying.”
Chance looked between the two of them, hands on his hips. “I swear, this is the second time today I’ve had to sprint across the ranch like my hair was on fire. You ladies trying to give me a heart attack now too?”
“We thought we were being hunted!” Bella said, brushing off her shirt.
“You were standing under a bird,” he said. “A bird that eats roadkill. You are not roadkill.”
Willow gave him a flat look. “Still. He hissed.”
Chance cracked a grin, then wiped it away. “Next time just holler ‘Bird!’ I thought someone fell off a roof.”
“Well, we’re very sorry for disrupting your cardio routine,” Willow said, voice dry.
He huffed. “No apology needed. I suppose I should be expecting it daily now, now that you entrepreneurs will be spending your days out here in the wilds.”
“Maybe if your bird wasn’t a straight-up villain from a Disney movie …”
He tipped his head. “You mean Gary ?”
“Stop saying his name like we’re supposed to be friends!”
Back at the house, after the boxes were dropped and Bella disappeared toward her cabin, Willow sat on the porch steps, sipping lemonade and rubbing the back of her neck. Chance joined her a few minutes later, the sun dipping low over the barn roofs.
“I’m going to have nightmares,” she muttered, cradling her glass. “Buzzards and cliffs and Disney witches.”
“You’ll be fine,” he said. “I hear Gary’s not one to hold a grudge.”
Willow laughed in spite of herself. “Seriously though, thank you.”
“For what? Evicting the neighborhood bird?”
“For running,” she said quietly. “For showing up.”
He didn’t say anything right away. Just leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees.
Willow watched the light shift across the yard, painting the gravel into a burnished end-of-day bronze. The morning had started with confusion and fear, but somehow, everything had held steady.
Ace showed improvement. The barn still stood. The hands still worked. And Chance Sutter had stepped up and proved—without a word of bragging—that he could carry the weight.
“You did good today,” she said again, softer this time.
He glanced sideways at her. “You too. Even with all the hollerin’.”
She shrugged. “It’s a gift.”
They sat there a while longer, sipping lemonade and letting the hush of dusk settle over the ranch.
Tomorrow could bring harder news. Or better. No one could say for sure.
But, for now, the fences held, the grove still stood, and there was strength enough—between them—to face whatever came next.