Page 41 of Her Saltwater Cowboy

He whistled.

“I know.” Willow shook her head. “I’ve gone round and round about this for years, replaying everything.”

“Were you …?”

“Involved?” She shook her head. “No. It’s just …” She wanted to pull back everything she’d divulged about their situation, but it was too late. Their shame had been exposed.

“It’s just what?”

She needled her lip. “The thing is, when Mom seemed to have more to her name than usual, I asked her about it. She told me she’d inherited money from an aunt I’d never even heard of. It was easier to just let myself believe her.”

“Sounds like you’re being much too hard on yourself.”

“Trust me, I’m not. I didn’t ask questions because I didn’t want the answers.”

Chance said nothing.

“The truth came out and my uncle got a hand slap.”

“But your mother worked for a lender, so she took the fall.”

“Yes, she lost everything, and the judge didn’t show any leniency. Sentenced her toyearsin prison for her part in all of it. The only reason for her sentence being reduced now is her illness.”

“So the care facility is a kind of halfway house?”

“Something like that.” Willow blew out a breath. “My uncle tried to milk whatever he could from the fallout. And when she got sick, he tried to guilt his way back into her life. But I wouldn’t let him.”

Chance watched her, a certain concern in his expression—and perhaps, a touch of suspicion too.

“I was trying to survive.”

He nodded.

Willow’s eyes stung, but she held his gaze. “Thing is, I never told your father the whole truth about why I took this job, only that my mother was ill and living nearby.”

“He doesn’t know?”

She shook her head, remembering the little speech that Ace had given her about how carefully he chose his staff, that, once hired, they were representatives of the ranch family. That Sutter Creek Ranch meant something in these mountains. He’d spoke about it all with such pride. She lowered her gaze to the counter, shaking it back and forth slowly. “I didn’t mention to him that she was on parole, that she’d been incarcerated.”

Chance was so quiet she could barely hear him breathe. If only he’d say something, so she’d know what he was thinking. She caught his eyes. “I was just so terrified that my uncle would find us again, but it’s no excuse.”

“Willow—”

“I figured if I worked hard, stayed on task, did the best job that I could, well, that maybe I could keep that part of my life separate. But life doesn’t ever really stay buried, does it?”

“No,” Chance said quietly. “It doesn’t.”

The sun was dropping, shadows making their way in through the window.

Finally, Willow moved. She began wiping the island, needing to keep her hands busy. “I’m very sorry that I dragged your family into all this, Chance. I understand if it’s all too much.”

All he did was nod. Again.

She paused and lifted a question in her gaze. “I should talk to Ace,” she said, searching Chance’s face for some sign of … what? Sympathy? “Maybe not tonight, but by tomorrow for sure.”

There it was again, that nod. He did it once, then just stood there, contemplating her, until he quietly said, “I wish you would’ve said something.”

Heat rushed into her cheeks, regret over what she could lose crushing her. Not saying something could be just as bad as saying too much. The sin of omission. Tears prickled her eyes. A sniffle escaped her.

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