Page 13 of Her Saltwater Cowboy

A smile played on Chance’s face, but he tamped it down. “You said so yourself that you wanted to offer them a warm welcome.”

Ace tipped his head toward his son. “The rug’s a nice touch, though.” After a brief silence, laughter bubbled up from him, followed by a cough, then a larger barrage of laughter.

Chance grinned. “I thought so.”

Ace shook his head. “It’s a good thing ol’ Patsy isn’t here anymore. Can’t imagine what she’d say about throwing veggie burgers on the grill.”

“Might have been worth it just to see her face.”

“That it would.”

“One thing’s for sure”—Chance crossed his arms, still grinning—“never thought I’d hear the word veggie come out of your mouth.”

Ace’s grin widened. “Oh, come on now. In addition to flowers, your mama had a beautiful vegetable garden. I miss all that fresh stuff she made me eat.”

Chance laughed. “There’s something all three of her sons could agree on.”

Ace pivoted, his expression serious again. “Need your expertise about something.”

The abrupt change of subject was nothing new when it came to Ace. Chance’s father could make merry in one moment and pound his fist on the table in the next. He wasn’t a particularly volatile man, just someone who had always been rather difficult to read.

Something else Chance’s brothers would back him up on.

“First, though, there’s much planning still to do this week. You are helping Willow with the party for Friday evening, I take it?”

Chance’s jaw tightened. “I am.”

“Good.” Ace kept his eyes trained on him for a few seconds, as if assessing his reaction. Then, “Stop by my office later this afternoon. I’d like you to review something in our books.”

Chance straightened. He cleared his throat, about to reply. But Ace doffed his hat, silencing him, then turned to go. “I will see you later.”

For once, Chance had no words. His father had always encouraged him to study numbers, to become educated about running a business from the financial end.

But after obtaining his degree, Chance had been nearly shunned for finding work far away from the ranch. Many times, after ordering supplies with the utmost care, he had offered to shepherd the ranch’s finances, only to be rebuffed:Stay in your lane, son. Stay in your lane.

Finally, Chance had stopped asking.

After leaving numbers behind and returning home to reutilize the skills he’d learned as a kid—maintaining machinery, choosing the best milk-fed hay, building fences for the horses, etc.—it had made sense for Chance to immerse himself in his new life here.

Which is why the sudden hiring of his cousin to replace Sparky stunned him. Still so many questions in his mind. Why Rafael? Why not offer it to him first? Or maybe lure one of his brothers back?

Of course, the money wouldn’t be an amount any of them had become used to. How could it? Still, there was sentimental value attached to the position. Chance had felt that from the moment he’d removed his dress shoes and tie, and replaced them with boots and one of his well-worn work shirts.

That was worth something.

Chance stepped outside, the midday sun’s heat landing on him. His father’s apparent change of heart was quickly replaced by a lingering thought: Willow.

He glanced toward the clearing again, wondering if she had found an answer to whatever dilemma had shaken her—and if there was anything he could do to help.

He would have to wait for an answer, though, because Willow was nowhere in sight.

* * *

Later that afternoon, Chance stepped inside the sunlit kitchen expecting to see dinner prep in full swing. Patsy always started around three o’clock, and a person had better have a good reason for showing up in her domain from that time until the meal was hot and served.

He wasn’t in the mood for following orders, though. Not after showing up in Ace’s office only to be asked to decipher a receipt for cattle cubes, rather than offer any significant advice on the ranch’s direction.

His jaw flexed. Instead of the spice of chili or hint of smoky beef in the air, his senses ballooned with the aroma of … yeast.

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