Page 39 of Her Saltwater Cowboy

“Well, I was on a break, and one of the other nurses let him in.”

“What?!”

“But, but I knew he was not on the approved contact list for your dear mama, and I whisked him right out of there. It sure put him in a snit!”

Willow leaned back against the kitchen counter and hung her head.No, no, no, no!Uncle Ray. How did he find them? And why did he want to, after everything?

The woman’s voice turned serious. “Our policy is clear, hon. You’re the only authorized family member. We’ve filed a report with her parole office, and there’s a note in your mother’s chart, but she was just so upset, you know?” Jeannie sighed loudly, as if she was just as upset about this as her mother must have been. “Dr. Grace called the episode your mother had a memory loop.”

“I’m not sure what that is.”

“Well, she just kept repeating something about the money, not having the money, not keeping the money, and wouldn’t let anyone touch her.”

Willow’s legs went weak. “Oh.”

“She’s calm now,” the nurse continued, her voice softening, “but the doctor recommends a family visit soon. Can you get here within the next few days?”

“Absolutely.” She nodded, still holding her forehead in her hands. “I’ll come first thing in the morning.”

There was a pause. “Now comes the legal stuff.” The woman sighed, the sound of turning pages coming through the phone. She began, as if reading from a script: “You are the patient’s legal contact and caregiver. We are contracted to stand in your place for a specified time. If we are presented with ongoing risks we will have to?—”

“I’ll handle it,” Willow interrupted. “That was my mother’s brother, and he knows he shouldn’t be there. Thank you for not allowing him to stay a minute longer in her room. I-I’m so grateful to you, Jeannie.”

“You are so welcome, hon.” She lowered her voice. “Are you safe?”

Willow’s throat tightened. “Me? Yes, he-he doesn’t know where I live.”Hopefully. “Thank you for calling.”

Willow ended the call, her fingers starting to tremble. Her uncle wasn’t dangerous, just one very big nuisance. A nuisance who could upend all that she had built.

She set her phone on the counter, the hope she’d felt earlier beginning to ebb away. It wasn’t fair.

And yet, why was she surprised? Yes, she had worked hard to keep their location secret—even using a pseudonym for her mother—but how easy was it to hide these days with the internet following everyone around like a coyote after its prey?

Willow leaned against the handle of the fridge, pressing her forehead into the cool stainless steel door. Everything had been carefully planned—her job, her mother’s care, her past. Like the baby egg-carrying exercise she’d endured in Home Ec class, their new life had been carefully protected.

Now the eggshell was cracking, and she was about to get a big fat “F” on her nonexistent report card.

She barely heard the boots scraping across the tile but straightened when she recognized their cadence.

Chance entered the kitchen, his gait strong, shirt damp in places, and with far less aggression than in the past. He was either only marginally hungry or minding his manners.

“Could use a jug of your ice-cold lemon …” He stopped when he saw her. “What’s gotyou?”

Willow ran the back of her hand across her eyes. “I’m, uh, just tired.”

“That’s not tired on your face. It’s bad news. Something about the olive trees?”

She shook her head. “No, they’re beautiful. I hope Ace and you are open to”—she wiggled her hand in the air— “to seeing their potential again.”

He moved toward her, slower now. “Then what happened?”

She bit her lip. Her mother wasthis closeto being freed from parole. Willow could not let anything—anyone—stand in the way of her freedom. She would not have it.

The quiet between them stretched. Chance eyed her but waited for her to gather her thoughts.

“You ever try so hard to keep things together,” Willow said finally, her voice barely above a whisper, “but the underpinnings of all you’ve done start to come loose?”

Chance watched her, brows drawing together, eyes darkening.

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