Page 12 of Her Saltwater Cowboy

ChapterThree

The job had fallen to him. Chance stood in Sparky’s old cabin and contemplated whether to leave the deer head on the wall and the bear skin rug in front of the fireplace.

He grinned. Wouldn’t Rafael’s sweet non-meat-eating wife love that?

Other than those two items, the cabin had been stripped bare by Eli and his men. Another ranch hand, one with plumbing skills, had replaced the toilet and sink in the bathroom and the rickety faucet in the kitchen. Otherwise, the place was in good shape. Hearty. Ready for many lives to fill its walls.

He took another glance around the place, including a look at the fireplace decor that any other foreman would love, and walked out to the small, fenced yard. Chance crossed his arms, sighing. From what he heard, Bella liked to garden, and here she would have a plot to tend.

Chance traversed the area, looking for gopher holes or other problems the couple might encounter. He kicked his boot at the sprinkler head shooting up from the earth, and it collapsed downward, as it should’ve when turned off. Chance scowled and considered his options. He could leave it that way for Rafael to fix. That was choice number one for him.

But his conscience always seemed to be on alert these days, redirecting his actions away from his thoughts.

He squatted down and unscrewed the cover of the sprinkler head. As suspected, the housing was filled with debris and dirt, which he loosened and cleared away with his fingertips.

“Good enough.” He muttered the words as he replaced the cover and watched it slip into position as it was made to do.

Chance might have hopped onto his four-wheeler then and sped away if a voice hadn’t caught his attention. He pulled the tip of his hat down, shading his eyes further, and stared into a small wooded area beyond the cabin, near where a grove of old olive trees sputtered along, alive despite the years of neglect.

Willow.

She was pacing, her phone to her ear, shoulders tense as she moved about. Not many realized that the wind that blew through that stand of trees often carried sound with it. Sparky liked to share the gossip he sometimes heard, and the guys never tired of hearing it around the campfire after a long day.

But listening in on a personal conversation wasn’t his style. People deserve their privacy. He, too, coveted his own. Still, he had trouble tearing his eyes away from Willow, a certain sadness tugging at him at the way she paced, her chin tilted downward.

“See something you like?”

“What in the …!” Chance spun around, his right hand clenched, ready to pounce. Ace stood behind him, round eyes penetrating beneath the wide brim of his hat.

Busted.

“Sent you over here to make sure the cabin’s in ship shape for Rafael and Bella—and their pipsqueak of a dog.”

“There’s an animal too?”

His father wasn’t deterred. “But it looks like you’ve become distracted by some … one.”

“Not at all.” Chance threw a nod to the cabin. “Just finished checking the hands’ work in there.”

“And?”

“It’s ready. And so is the garden plot. Hopefully, the mutt won’t dig it up.” Chance pointed toward the sprinkler. “I fixed?—”

Ace stared at him for a beat, his eyes shifting ever so slightly toward the earth. “Good. Your mother loved this little garden.”

A slow smile found Chance as he nodded. “I remember. Mom loved all the small gardens around here.”

“That she did.” Ace quieted a moment, as if remembering. His eyes surveyed the land, the cabin, the grove of olive trees, and back to the small garden. “She always planted something special for incoming residents—rosemary bush here, some sunflower seeds there, whatever struck her fancy, depending on the time of year.”

Chance nodded again. He remembered that, though he might not have had his father not pointed it out.

“So.” His father broke the silence. “I’m here to see the place myself. Stick around, why don’t you.”

Chance stayed put, despite his desire to hop on that four-wheeler and head out to the pasture. He had animals to check on. And some thinking to do.

Instead, he found himself joining his father to wander into the spruced-up cabin, its wooden floors recently swept, its windowsills dusted, the faint scent of burnt smoke in the place. Ace stopped. He lifted his chin, his gaze laser-like on the deer peering back at him, dead as a doornail.

“Left it up there to welcome them, I suppose.”

---