Page 44 of Her Saltwater Cowboy

His father would have none of it.

“You think I wanted this job?” Rafael said, interrupting his thoughts. “I came back expecting nothing. I wanted to apologize to Ace, maybe see if there was still a place for me somewhere nearby. Instead, he handed me this job and said, ‘Get to work.’”

Chance glanced up.

“I didn’t ask for his trust,” Rafael added. “But I’m trying to earn it.”

Didn’t ask for trust. Trying to earn it.

The words tumbled around in his gut, hitting closer to his heart than he cared to admit.

You know what I’d like to be called?he’d said to her.Trusted.

He’d hoped that he had demonstrated to Ace that he could be trusted. Surely, he had. But had he showed that to Willow too?

Wordlessly, Rafael turned back to his work, and the silence between them stretched again. Maybe the reason Rafael was working so hard all the time was he was still paying his penance for time lost.

Chance inhaled. He took a step backward. “I suppose this ranch has enough dirt for both of us.”

Rafael flicked his hat back to catch eyes with his cousin once again. “And enough fence to mend too.”

Chance laughed under his breath. “There’s some truth right there.”

Rafael stepped away from the stall, giving Chance a firm nod as he passed. “See you at supper?”

“Sure thing.”

Chance kept moving, glancing up at the barn’s rafters and the way dust danced on fading light. He hadn’t realized how much he needed to pry open his hands and let someone else in to this exhausting, exasperating … magical place.

And for someone to say there was space for him too.

“Hey, Chance.” Kit was walking by in the twilight as he exited, a bag of linens hitched over her shoulder.

He dipped his head. “Kit.”

She stopped. “That Willow’s pretty special, isn’t she?”

He crossed his arms and leaned his frame against the wall of the barn. “Makes a mean supper, if that’s what you’re hinting at.”

She rolled her eyes and adjusted the bag hanging from her shoulder. “Okay, fine. If that’s how you want to be.”

“How do I want to be, exactly?”

“Shew, Chance.” She began to walk backwards toward the cabin where she and Eli lived. “I’ve known you since we were kids, and I don’t mind sayin’ it—you need someone to soften those edges. Pretty sure you’ve found her.”

“Night, Kit.”

She snapped a winsome smile at him. “’Night, yourself, Chance.”

He turned toward the barn doors where the light from the house flickered gently in the distance. Willow would be serving up supper soon to hungry hands and his (sometimes) ornery father. She’d acknowledge him when he strolled in, hanging his hat on a hook, and act like nothing had ever cracked in the shell she had created around herself.

But he’d know.

Maybe, he wasn’t the only one carrying more than he let on.

He took a step toward the main house, then stopped. There were things to say, but not tonight. Tonight, he had some hashing out to do. With a quick pivot, Chance headed away from the house, hunger far from his mind.

Chapter 8

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