Page 34 of Her Saltwater Cowboy

“Ah, so there’s a catch,” Rafael teased.

Chance’s curiosity was piqued and Willow continued, watching him. “So, you know the old corner cabinet in the kitchen? We, um, found something … of your mother’s.”

Chance leaned in, one brow lifted. “Oh?”

“I hope it’s okay.” She opened the notebook and thumbed over to a specific page, then held it out for him to see. “There are recipes inside, but what caught our attention are these notes Mae wrote about growing olives.”

Rafael’s brows rose. “Is there something in there about that old grove?” He jerked his chin in the direction of the stand of trees, though they could barely be seen from the paddock.

Chance thought hard. He reached for the notebook. “May I?”

Willow handed it to him. He began turning the pages, running his forefinger down the faded handwriting. A faint smile played on his face, and he could hardly contain it. “I remember her talking about all this …”

Willow curled a look up at him, her lashes framing dark eyes. “Do you think those trees could be coaxed back to health?” She was standing so close he could draw in the scent of berries and lavender from her.

Bella was watching him closely.

Chance closed the notebook. Vaguely, he remembered that his mother would keep it—or one like it—open on the kitchen island, jotting ideas into it whenever the wind blew one in.

That same glimmer that his mother’s eyes held—hope, mischief, purpose—emanated from their eyes too. He hated to be the one to break hard news.

“The trees are standing, but they’re in rough shape. Ace hasn’t had the heart to yank them out.”

Willow tilted her head, shielding her eyes with her hand. “She wrote about the grove like it was something beautiful. Like she had a plan.”

“She did,” Chance said softly. “Mom used to walk the rows every spring since they were saplings. Said the trees talked—if you listened long enough.”

Bella smiled, but it faded quickly. “It’s been a while since anyone walked them, hasn’t it?”

Rafael rubbed the back of his neck. “Ace mentioned her vision once. Said he couldn’t keep it going without her.”

“And now?” Willow asked, gently.

“I’m game to look into it.” Rafael lifted a look at Chance. “But it’d take effort. Some money too. Soil testing. Clearing. Irrigation checks. Things like that.”

“We’re not saying today,” Bella said quickly. “Just, well, something that Willow and I could research together?”

Chance glanced toward the pasture, where mist still curled off the low hills. His mother’s grove sat just ahead of that rise.

“You think they’d flourish again?” Willow asked.

“Maybe.” Chance met and held her gaze. “If someone gave them some TLC.”

Silence settled again, like dust after a long ride. He didn’t need to say any more. He couldn’t stop them from shining a spotlight on his mother’s old plans, even if he tried.

Rafael must have sensed it too. He slapped the rail and stepped back, gesturing toward the horses.

“Well,” he said, “if you two are dreaming up olive oil empires, I suppose we better keep the livestock in line. Can’t have a stampede ruining your first harvest.”

Bella laughed. “No, you cannot!” She handed the basket to Willow.

Rafael leaned toward his bride. “Small dreams first.” He winked. “The bigger ones’ll come.”

As they wandered off, Willow bumped Chance’s shoulder lightly with hers. “Is this really okay with you? To, at least, check them out? Would be amazing if they were viable. Just think of what we could do—and what food I could make for you all!”

“Don’t mind the asking.”

She turned an inquisitive gaze on him. “But?”

---