Page 68 of Her Saltwater Cowboy

“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.”

“Itisher 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 notsayingwhat 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.

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