Page 70 of Her Saltwater Cowboy

Silence. Then, “You should.”

More quiet passed between them, waves rushing forward and retreating again.

“I’m sorry. About everything. About not telling you sooner. About trying to carry it alone.”

Chance finally turned to look at her. His eyes, blue gray like a storm held just beneath the surface, met hers.

“I hate that my secret hurt you,” Willow went on, her throat tightening. “I didn’t know how to tell you about my uncle’s demands. I felt so ashamed. About the car, the money … what it meant. I didn’t want to bring that mess into your world.”

“You didn’t bring in a mess,” Chance said softly. “You brought yourself.”

She blinked.

“And I wantallof you,” he continued. “Not just the good parts. Not just the pretty story.”

He closed the space between them, his voice gentler than the waves. “What happened with your family, with Lucille—that doesn’t change a thing for me.”

Willow shook her head slightly. “How can it not?”

“Because I love you,” Chance said, firm and certain. “No matter what.”

Her breath caught.

“But if we’re gonna do this—really do this—you’ve gotta trust me. With everything.” His eyes searched hers. “Even the parts that scare you. Even the things you’d rather bury. That’s the only way this works.”

Willow looked down, her voice small. “I’m not used to that. People haven’t always stuck around when they learned the full story.”

“I’m not people,” he said.

She looked up again, and he reached for her hand, gentle, but sure.

“I know grief,” he said. “I know guilt. I know what it’s like to carry something around so long it feels like part of you.”

He paused, then added, “But I also know what it means to lay it down. To let someone else help carry it.”

Willow blinked fast, a tear slipping free despite her best efforts.

“I was trying so hard to protect this life I’ve built,” she whispered. “To protectyou. And, in the process, I hurt the one person I was trying to keep.”

Chance brushed the tear away with his thumb. “I don’t need protecting, Willow. I need honesty. I needyou.”

She leaned into his hand, unable to pull away. “I don’t want to lose you,” she whispered.

“Then don’t.”

He tugged her forward until she was against his chest, his arms wrapped around her. Her hands slipped around his waist, holding on, no thought of letting go.

The tide brushed ever closer, and the sun slipped lower, streaking the water in gold. Neither of them spoke—there was no need. The words had already done their work.

Eventually, Chance leaned back just enough to catch her eyes. “One question, though.”

Willow arched a brow. “Only one?”

He gave a slow grin. “Why exactly did you decide to spend hush money on the world’s ugliest car?”

Willow laughed, the sound catching in her throat. “Hey now—younamed her Lucille, remember?”

“I did,” he admitted. “Seemed only right for a salmon-colored shoebox with the attitude of a rodeo bull.”

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