Page 30 of Her Saltwater Cowboy

Willow lifted her gaze to his, relief flooding her face. The dullness in her eyes began to ebb away, until light began to dawn in them. “I think I’ll go inside and rest before it’s time to make supper,” she said, without any bitterness.

Reluctantly, he pulled his hand from her shoulder and nodded after her as she slipped inside, a tiny smile of acknowledgment on her face.

She’d given him a glimpse. A glimpse of herself that he hadn’t known that he needed. And, in this moment, it was enough.

ChapterSix

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 saidAn 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, thankyou. 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 ofthis.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?”

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