Chapter 10
Willow walked the line between two older trees, adjusting the tubing she’d snaked out from the test irrigation setup that Rafael had picked up for them. A couple of ranch hands had made sure the water source was sure and open for her, but she’d asked them to leave the coiled-up tubing for her to lay out as she had planned. Every drop that reached the roots was a quiet act of restoration.
She crouched near one of the stronger saplings, testing the dampness of the soil with her fingers. Rich and dark, it held water. She smiled inwardly. A small win.
A crunch of ground pricked her ears. “Willow?”
Just the scrape of that old, familiar voice made her stomach churn. Her body stiffened, and her lungs constricted. She reached for a breath, rising slowly, dirt clinging to her hands. Her heart began to race.
The sun was behind him, making his face difficult to read at first, but that gnarled smile was unmistakable.
“Uncle Ray.”
He wore crisp jeans, a tucked-in shirt that hadn’t seen a day of labor, and a belt buckle that gleamed. One hand tossed a baseball lazily into the other, the thump of leather on skin, taunting. His expression flickered between a well-practiced smile and the calculating glint of someone who’d shown up with an agenda.
“Didn’t mean to spook you. Just thought I’d drop in.” He glanced around. “Couldn’t reach you by phone.”
“You mean I hung up on you.”
“Not very polite of you, niece.”
“You shouldn’t be here,” Willow said, her voice tight. “This is private property.”
“Oh, come on now.” He took a step forward, spreading his arms. “It’s not like I came to cause trouble. Just wanted to talk. Catch up.” Thump, thump, thump.
She stepped back instinctively, glancing toward the barn far in the distance. No one was in sight. “We don’t have anything to talk about.”
“Sure we do.” His voice dipped, oily again. “I’ll make it simple. You’ve got options, Willow. A little help from you could go a long way for me. And really, what’s a few thousand bucks between family?”
She felt the panic begin to rise in her chest, hot and sudden. “No.”
“I’m not trying to be difficult.” His eyes flicked over the grove. “It’s a nice setup you’ve got here. Would be a shame if someone came snooping around.”
Her voice rose. “You need to go, Uncle. Now!”
Gravel crunched. Boots approached. They weren’t alone.
“Willow?”
Chance’s voice.
Ray turned.
Willow could barely breathe. Chance walked up from behind her uncle, his eyes narrow and untrusting.
“How can I help you?” He didn’t sound like he wanted to help Ray at all.
Willow opened her mouth, but her uncle spoke first.
“I’m Willow’s uncle. Just dropped by to say hello and to pick something up.” He swung a look at her. “Isn’t that right, dear niece?”
Chance stepped between them, his stance firm, shoulders squared, eyes hard. “You’re not welcome here,” Chance said.
Ray raised his brows. “Easy now. No need to make a scene.”
“You already did,” Chance replied, voice like steel. “You come onto this land, uninvited, and start threatening her?”
Ray shrank back. He looked briefly at Willow for help. “I didn’t threaten anyone.”
Chance didn’t budge. “You have one option: Leave and never return. Understand?”
Ray’s smirk faltered. “What’re you gonna do about it?”
Chance had moved so that his body completely shielded Willow’s. He stayed firm, unflinching.
“First thing I’m gonna do is call my friend, Sheriff Olay.” He shifted slightly. “He already has your name and description. Gave him your photo myself.”
Ray’s expression faltered.
“Then I’m going to stick around and watch as he cuffs you for trespassing.” Chance took a step forward, leaning toward her uncle. “I’ll be pressing charges by the way.”
“But I’m not done talking to her …”
“You’re more than done.” Chance’s voice went flat. “You’ve worn out your welcome—and my patience.”
Ray hesitated, his hand gripping that baseball so tightly his knuckles turned white. He sent a withering stare toward Willow before turning and marching back toward the main road. Only when he was gone did Chance exhale slowly and turn toward Willow.
His eyes brushed over her face, concern tugging at the corners of his eyes. “You okay?”
She nodded, barely.
Chance’s jaw worked, his forehead pulled. “You want to tell me what that was about?”
Willow crossed her arms and blew out a breath. She couldn’t meet Chance’s gaze. “He’s been trying to get money from me. Blackmail, basically.”
Chance’s eyebrows lifted. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I couldn’t,” she said quickly. “I was embarrassed. I didn’t want anyone to know—especially not you.”
“Why?”
She swallowed hard. “Because … there’s one part of this whole mess I haven’t told you. Something my uncle knows about.”
Something in Chance’s gaze flickered.
“I used some of the tainted money to buy my car. Of course, I didn’t know it was tainted when I borrowed it …”
Chance blinked. “Wait. You mean …?” The edge in his voice lifted slightly in disbelief. “You bought Lucille with?—?”
“With money my mom gave me,” Willow said, her voice breaking. “I didn’t know it was from … that money. Not at first. I should have asked questions, but I didn’t. It felt like a gift. Like she was proud of me. I just wanted to believe it was clean.”
Chance stared at her, stunned.
“I didn’t mean to deceive anyone,” she said. “I swear. I would’ve never taken that money if I’d known where it came from. By the time I found out, the car was bought and paid for. I also used a little bit to pay for school. When everything came out, when Mom got arrested and my uncle disappeared, I didn’t have anything left.”
She paused, waiting for a reply.
Chance shook his head once, muttering under his breath, “Lucille.”
She might have smiled at the reference if his expression hadn’t turned so … cold.
He turned away suddenly, running a hand down his face before letting out a frustrated breath. “I need a minute.”
“Chance—”
But he was already walking away, back through the trees, his figure growing smaller as he moved toward the pasture.
Willow stood still for a long time, heart thudding painfully. Her arms crossed tightly against her chest.
She had wanted to protect this new life from all the bad news from the past. But now that the whole truth was out, and he hadn’t taken it well, all she could do was watch him walk away.
* * *
TWO DAYS LATER
The kitchen never stopped.
Not for grief.
Not for guilt.
It had been forty-eight hours since they lost Ace. Forty-eight hours filled with shock, then phone calls, then neighbors dropping by with casseroles—Willow was grateful for the extra freezer in the mudroom—and nonstop chatter mixed with moments of utter silence.
Through it all, Willow kept moving. It was her job, yes, but it proved her survival too. The rhythm of the ranch kitchen had always been steady—dawn light, coffee brewing, bacon sizzling, mouths fed. Over the past day, though, Willow found herself anchored to that cadence like she was hanging onto a lifeline in a rising tide.
Hours after the news spread like fire through the ranch, Willow spotted Chance standing near his truck by the main house, head bowed, the muscles in his back and shoulders tense.
She scurried over and pulled him into a hug. “I’m so sorry, Chance.”
He responded by wrapping his arms around her waist and burying his face in the crook of her neck, his embrace tight, almost desperate. But he didn’t say a word, and she didn’t push.
She told herself that his silence was a sign of grief. Of course, it was grief.
That still small part of her, the voice that ran outside of hers offering up counterpoints to her inner pep talks, worried about the damage she’d done to their relationship. She’d wounded him by not being completely upfront about her uncle’s blackmail—and what he had on her.
And beneath the storm of silence that hung between them, she wondered if the wound she’d inflicted still stung.
So, she turned on the jets, working longer and harder. She would not let one mouth go unfed, door be unanswered, or dish stay unwashed. Running the kitchen kept her from spiraling from questions without answers.
Late afternoon sun spilled through the windows now, and for one hot second, Willow allowed herself to take in the view. It was her favorite kind of day yet felt unfair without Ace in it.
A stock pot simmered on the back burner, the aroma of chicken, celery, onion, and herbs wafting through the kitchen. Two loaves of bread cooled on a rack, and another pair browned in the oven. If ever there was a time for comfort food, this was it.
Willow moved between counters, wiping them down whether they needed it or not. She folded the same towels three times, her body running on repetition, habit, and the need to keep doing something. Anything helpful.
Eli clomped inside the kitchen, and Willow winced, picturing caked mud all over her swept floor. “Smells good, chef,” he said, his voice upbeat like he was trying extra hard today. “This place smells suspiciously better than my mom’s kitchen ever did.”
“That’s because your mom doesn’t add thyme to her chicken stock.” Kit bustled in behind him, carrying a covered pie dish. “By the way, I’m telling her.”
Eli grabbed his heart dramatically.
Willow leaned her head to one side. “You brought pie?” She didn’t mention that she’d already made two, plus three batches of cookies.
“Ace’s favorite—rhubarb pie,” Kit said, her faint smile flattened now. “Sorry, but I had to keep my hands busy last night, otherwise I’d have been cryin’ too much.”
“Oh, I understand.” Willow offered her a sympathetic smile. Kit had been around the longest, since she’d dated Chance in high school. How she must’ve loved Ace …
Truth was, they were all in the throes of emotion right now. She took the pie and gave Kit a one-armed hug. “Thank you. It smells delish.”
Kit sniffed the air and looked around. “Wow … I think you need to sit yourself down, Willow. You’ve been cooking and cleaning like it’s your full-time job.”
“It is her full-time job,” Eli pointed out. He lifted the soup stock lid, but Kit slapped his hand.
“Don’t even think about it. That’s for supper.” She swung a look at Willow. “Isn’t that right?”
Eli gave his wife a quick peck on the cheek, then sent a sheepish look Willow’s way. The hands usually didn’t end up in the kitchen like this, even the older ones like Eli, but there had been a relaxation of the rules over the past couple of days, everyone knit together over the sudden, monumental change.
“Stock’s not ready yet, but you are welcome to take a sandwich from the fridge, Eli. There are plenty—in fact, take two.”
“Don’t have to tell me again,” Eli said, opening the fridge wide. He walked away with a sandwich in each hand. “Thank you, ma’am.”
Kit shook her curls and rolled her eyes.
Willow glanced to where Rafael had just entered, arms full of supply inventory. “He still giving you trouble?” Kit asked, jerking a thumb at Eli.
“He’s being Eli,” Rafael said, smiling as he set down the clipboard. He gave Willow a quick nod. “It’s all looking good out there. We’re staying ahead because you’re keeping us fed.”
“I just want to make sure Chance has what he needs,” Willow said, adjusting a dish towel with precision. “He’s got enough on his plate.”
“You mean besides grief and paperwork and two dozen people asking questions he’s not ready to answer?” Bella asked, stepping through the back door with an apron of her own slung casually over one shoulder.
Willow didn’t respond. She didn’t need to.
Bella stepped up beside her at the counter and lowered her voice. “He knows what you’re doing, you know.”
“I’m just helping.”
“You’re hiding,” Bella said gently. “Feeding everyone like you’re trying to earn your place. But you already have one.”
Willow forced a smile. “Busy hands. Quiet mind.”
“Sometimes a quiet heart matters more.”
Willow focused on slicing tomatoes for the sandwich tray. “He won’t really talk to me.”
“That’s not true,” Bella said. “He talks. You both do. You’re just not saying what matters.”
Willow exhaled. “I want to. I do. But every time I look at him, I see that moment in the grove. The way he walked away. I can’t tell if the silence now is grief or if he’s still?—”
“Wounded,” Bella finished.
Willow nodded.
Bella touched her arm. “Don’t be Martha right now.”
Willow blinked at her.
“You’re trying to serve and work your way through the ache. But maybe what’s needed is what Mary chose. Sitting with the grief. Choosing presence. Even if it’s uncomfortable.”
Willow looked over to where Chance had been earlier in the day, at the dining table with Rafael and the ranch hands. He was gone now.
A door creaked down the hall.
Rafael walked past with the clipboard tucked under his arm. “Chance stepped out,” he said when he saw her glance around. “Didn’t say where.”
Bella followed her gaze. “Think he went up to the ridge?”
Willow shook her head slowly. “No. I think I know where he went.”
She didn’t wait for more questions. She grabbed her keys, peeled off her apron, and slipped out the back door before she could change her mind.
Outside, “Lucille” gleamed in the afternoon light, as if proud of who she was, despite her misbegotten origins. Willow slid behind the wheel and turned the key, the engine rumbling to life with a sputter and a cough.
* * *
“Come on, girl,” she murmured, coaxing the tiny box of a car to life.
The road stretched out in front of her, winding west through the ranch gate, past the rows of olive trees that had come to symbolize her second chance—and her greatest mistake.
She didn’t know what she’d say when she found him.
Didn’t know if she’d cry or apologize or just sit beside him and let the ocean do the talking.
But she knew one thing for sure.
She wasn’t going to let him carry this grief alone. Not anymore.
She pressed her foot to the gas, and Lucille sped toward the beach.
Toward him.
Toward whatever came next.
* * *
The beach was nearly empty.
Low tide left a long mirror of damp sand between the shore and the slow-rolling waves. Overhead, gulls called to one another like sentinels. The sun had begun its descent to the horizon, and though it was still early, the sky showed promise of a spectacular show to come.
Willow pulled Lucille into the same turnout they’d parked in days ago—the same windswept edge where Bella had declared her love story, and where Chance had kissed her like he meant forever.
Her boots crunched softly on the ground as she made her way down the sloped trail. Salty air landed on her tongue, and she licked her lips, the memory of him not far away.
When she reached the sand, she slipped out of her boots, digging toes in deep. When she straightened, she spotted him.
Chance stood at the water’s edge, back to her, arms folded as he stared out at the surf. He hadn’t changed out of his work shirt—rolled-up sleeves, jeans still clinging to his hips—and yet he looked like he belonged.
Willow hesitated. Her chest ached for his unimaginable loss.
She didn’t know how to bridge the space between them. Not after what she’d hidden. Not after he’d walked away only to lose his father hours later.
But she took a breath and stepped forward anyway.
He didn’t turn when she approached, but his voice resonated low and steady. “Figured you’d come.”
She stopped beside him, close enough to feel the heat from his body. “I wasn’t sure I should.”
Silence. Then, “You should.”
More quiet passed between them, waves rushing forward and retreating again.
“I’m sorry. About everything. About not telling you sooner. About trying to carry it alone.”
Chance finally turned to look at her. His eyes, blue gray like a storm held just beneath the surface, met hers.
“I hate that my secret hurt you,” Willow went on, her throat tightening. “I didn’t know how to tell you about my uncle’s demands. I felt so ashamed. About the car, the money … what it meant. I didn’t want to bring that mess into your world.”
“You didn’t bring in a mess,” Chance said softly. “You brought yourself.”
She blinked.
“And I want all of you,” he continued. “Not just the good parts. Not just the pretty story.”
He closed the space between them, his voice gentler than the waves. “What happened with your family, with Lucille—that doesn’t change a thing for me.”
Willow shook her head slightly. “How can it not?”
“Because I love you,” Chance said, firm and certain. “No matter what.”
Her breath caught.
“But if we’re gonna do this—really do this—you’ve gotta trust me. With everything.” His eyes searched hers. “Even the parts that scare you. Even the things you’d rather bury. That’s the only way this works.”
Willow looked down, her voice small. “I’m not used to that. People haven’t always stuck around when they learned the full story.”
“I’m not people,” he said.
She looked up again, and he reached for her hand, gentle, but sure.
“I know grief,” he said. “I know guilt. I know what it’s like to carry something around so long it feels like part of you.”
He paused, then added, “But I also know what it means to lay it down. To let someone else help carry it.”
Willow blinked fast, a tear slipping free despite her best efforts.
“I was trying so hard to protect this life I’ve built,” she whispered. “To protect you . And, in the process, I hurt the one person I was trying to keep.”
Chance brushed the tear away with his thumb. “I don’t need protecting, Willow. I need honesty. I need you. ”
She leaned into his hand, unable to pull away. “I don’t want to lose you,” she whispered.
“Then don’t.”
He tugged her forward until she was against his chest, his arms wrapped around her. Her hands slipped around his waist, holding on, no thought of letting go.
The tide brushed ever closer, and the sun slipped lower, streaking the water in gold. Neither of them spoke—there was no need. The words had already done their work.
Eventually, Chance leaned back just enough to catch her eyes. “One question, though.”
Willow arched a brow. “Only one?”
He gave a slow grin. “Why exactly did you decide to spend hush money on the world’s ugliest car?”
Willow laughed, the sound catching in her throat. “Hey now— you named her Lucille, remember?”
“I did,” he admitted. “Seemed only right for a salmon-colored shoebox with the attitude of a rodeo bull.”
“She’s reliable,” Willow said, chin lifting.
“She’s a cautionary tale,” he shot back. “But I’ll give her this—she got you here.”
Their eyes met again, and lightness settled over them. They held hands, the ocean whispering behind them, the tension that once held them tight now unraveled into something steadier. Truer.
“Come back with me,” Chance said after a while, voice deep.
“I never left.”
He nodded once, like he believed her now. Then he glanced up the hill to where his truck sat waiting. For a beat, he didn’t move.
“Don’t feel like being alone just yet,” he said.
“Then don’t be.”
He quirked a smile at her. “You want me to ride up the hill in that rickety car of yours?”
“I dare you. One of the guys can get your car later.”
“Fine.” He stretched an arm around her. “I’ll ride shotgun. But I swear, if that car makes another sound like a dying cow, I’m walking.”
Willow smiled, wide and unguarded for the first time in a long, long while. “Deal.”
* * *
“Something’s different.” Bella peered at Willow with inquisitive eyes. “You’re glowing.”
“So anyway,” Willow was saying, holding up a fresh jar of Topa Gold in the sunlight, “I think this is our best batch yet. It’s a good thing we took a closer look at those trees over in the eastern corner. Still had some good juice on them.”
Bella squinted down the hill. “And why were Joey and Luke driving Chance’s truck into the compound yesterday? I saw them real early. He never lets anyone drive his truck.”
Willow set a second jar of oil into the basket. “Pretty sure this is good enough to be tossed onto pasta with some fresh garlic. Maybe add some grated parm on top too.”
Bella poked a fist into her side. “What aren’t you telling me?”
Willow sent a sly smile Bella’s way.
“Oh my gosh, you and Chance … you’re finally a couple!” She turned her chin and pointed a finger. “Tell me I’m right.”
“For heaven’s sake, can’t a girl have any secrets from you?” Willow tsked.
“No, they cannot!” Bella threw her arms around Willow. “I’m so happy for you two. It was so obvious how perfect you were for each other.”
Willow laughed, squeezed her back, and let the news wash over her for the millionth time. Chance loved her. She loved him back. Everything was good for a change.
Well, almost everything …
Willow swung a look across the grove where Chance and Rafael worked together to move a fence line marking a new boundary for grazing. She pushed fearful thoughts from her mind, and focused on the good.
Gratefulness washed over her at witnessing Chance and Rafael’s partnership, especially after the tension of the foreman’s first couple of weeks on the ranch.
In the days since Ace’s passing, Chance had taken up the mantle his father left behind. He’d taken on extraordinary responsibilities with grace, grit, and even some moments of humor.
Like continuing the ribbing about poor old Lucille. He moaned and groaned the whole way home from the beach, like he’d bruised every part of that handsome body of his along the ride.
As if.
Even the ranch hands got in on it and started teasing her about her poor car:
Does that thing run on gas or broken promises?
That car’s the reason the chickens won’t cross the road.
And the one that had Bella giggling for five minutes straight: It’s so optimistic … like it thinks it’s really a car!
She was laughing in spite of herself when Chance looked up from his work, tipped his hat back and sent a grin her way.
Willow smiled back, gave Bella a quick hug, then made her way toward Chance, the basket bumping against her hip.
“Hey.”
“Hey, yourself.”
He took off his hat and kissed her tenderly.
Rafael snickered.
Chance cut a look at the foreman. “Don’t you have some cow patties to round up?”
Rafael chuckled. He dusted his hands off, saying, “I know when I’m not wanted.”
“No offense,” Willow said.
Rafael smiled. “None taken.” He clapped Chance on the shoulder. “I’m going to walk the southern ridge before supper. Holler if you need anything.”
Chance nodded. “Tell Bella to save us some of those lemon bars.”
Rafael gave a mock salute and disappeared between the rows.
Willow put the basket on the ground. “You’ve settled in nicely to all this.” She paused, placing her hands near his shoulders. “How are you really doing?”
Chance’s expression softened. “Still feels strange sometimes. Walking into that office and knowing Ace isn’t there. Making decisions without even a nod from him.”
“He knew you could handle it. That’s why he did what he did.”
Chance wrapped his arms tighter about her waist, and buried his face in her hair, sighing. “Hope so.”
She pulled back slightly, looking into his eyes. “Nuh-uh. Not hope so, know so.”
“Ace was right about you.”
“Right? About what?”
He grinned. “You’re good for me. He said as much.”
Willow pouted and put one hand on her heart. “He said that? That’s so sweet, but I-I haven’t done much.”
“Are you kidding me? You’ve done everything.” His voice was quiet now, steady. “You’ve held the kitchen, this house, this whole place together while I found my footing—even before Dad’s passing. And you did it while carrying your own grief. Your own story.”
She looked away for a moment, blinking back the sudden warmth in her eyes.
He reached for her hand. “I’ve been thinking.”
“Oh, now, haven’t I told you that’s dangerous?” She echoed the same words she’d said on the beach.
Chance grinned, his gaze growing serious.
“I was kidding, you know.”
“The thing is, I’m not.” His brows shifted, like he had a secret. He pulled something from his pocket and held it inside his palm.
Willow frowned.
He opened his palm. There lay a ring—simple, elegant, set with a pale green sapphire that shimmered and sparkled like silvery leaves from one of her beloved olive trees.
Willow froze, her breath catching somewhere in her chest.
“Let’s not waste another minute,” Chance said. “Marry me?”
She gasped.
“I want a life with you, Willow. Not someday. Not down the line. Now. Here. At this place we’re working to hold onto. In this grove, where everything started.”
Willow’s voice came out in a whisper. “Are you sure?”
“Never been more sure of anything,” he said, holding the ring up for her to take. “Say yes, and we’ll build something that lasts. Something rooted and real.”
Willow looked at the ring, then at him, her heart both melting and roaring in her chest. The smile on her face could not have been wider. She held out her ring finger. He gave her a questioning look, and she nodded.
She may have even squealed a little as he slid the exquisite ring onto her finger.
Chance let out a long, slow breath, as if he’d been holding it until she said yes. He pulled her into his arms, smiling like the sun had just risen again.
Willow laughed and buried her face against his chest, nothing but love … and trust … for this man.
For a long while, they stood in the meadow, listening to wind rustle the grasses around them and whip through the nearby grove of olives.
After a time, Chance pulled back and peered down at here. “There’s something else.”
Willow leaned her head to the side, waiting.
“I’ve been thinking about your mom.”
Willow’s smile faltered. “Yes.” She sighed.
“Listen to me.” He held her gaze. “You said she’ll be fully released soon, right? That she’ll need care, supervision, stability.”
She nodded quickly, a tinge of sadness eclipsing her happiness. Of course, she wanted her mother to be released—her sentence had been so harsh. But she’d yet to figure out where the best place for her would be.
He continued. “I know she’s made mistakes. We all have. But I also know what it feels like to carry something too heavy on your own.”
Willow blinked,
“Bring her here. To the ranch.”
Her hand flew to her mouth, dawn opening up in her mind. “Chance, I can’t ask that of you.”
“You’re not asking. I’m offering. She can move into your cottage, and you’ll move in with me.” A small smile lit his face. “We’ll get her some care, Hopefully, this place can help heal more than just us.”
Tears flowed, slipping down her cheeks. How much more joy could she take? Willow could barely find the words. “Y-you amaze me.”
He kissed her forehead, then her cheek, then whispered against her temple. “I love you, Willow.”
“Love you back, cowboy.”
Then they swayed together beneath the cool wind, growing more intertwined with each passing moment.