Page 52 of Her Saltwater Cowboy

“Yes.” Willow crossed the kitchen and opened the refrigerator, scanning the shelves. “I have a feeling there’s going to be a lot of people popping by for an update, and don’t get me started about the men—they can be some of the most nervous eaters you’ve ever seen.”

“Really?”

“Really.” Willow’s arms were full of dishes of leftovers. She pushed the fridge door shut with her bum. “No way I’m running out of food. We don’t want everyone eating powdered donuts and cold beans like this is some kind of summer camp.”

“You okay, Willow?” Kit stared at her, head tilted.

“Truthfully, no.” She was worried about Ace. About Chance. About holding things together while the doctors did their work.

And so she would cook and clean, rinse, and repeat. It’s all she had to offer.

The morning passed in a blur of kitchen noise and shouted updates. As predicted, every time she turned around, someone needed something—more food, more direction, more reassurance. She kept moving, kept doing, anchored by duty (and honestly, a little flour dust too).

By midmorning, the bunkhouse porch was full of ranch hands, milling like confused cattle, hats pulled low and shoulders tight. Rafael had left early that morning for Santa Maria, where he’d be looking at some refurbished pumps and irrigation equipment for the olive grove.

Willow carried a tray of sausage and scrambled eggs across the yard. Who cared that it was midday, and she’d had to break into her backup egg supply?

These men were hungry!

She slowed on approach, surprised to hear Chance’s voice. She squinted, as if it would help her hearing.

“You two, check that south fence,” he was saying. “Don’t wait till it gives out again.”

“Yes, sir,” Joey, the younger one, called back.

“Eli, those water lines near the east meadow—we still leakin’?”

Eli hollered out an affirmative.

Chance nodded once. “Thought so. Patch ‘em up before lunch.”

Willow slowed her steps, watching as men listened, nodded, moved. Chance neither raised his voice or barked orders, but with every directive, the hands scattered.

A dry laugh rolled out of him when he reached several hands who’d yet to receive an assignment. “Also, just so we’re clear,” he was saying, “if we lose another yearling, I’m canceling poker night and banning beef jerky rations for a month.”

Scattered chuckles lifted from the group as they dispersed. She caught a hint of a smile on his face, which brought her a semblance of reassurance.

Willow reached the porch and laid the tray of food on an empty table. Their eyes met when Chance turned to grab a bottle of water off the porch rail.

“Can I offer you some lemonade instead?”

He nodded, and she poured him a tall glass, handing it to him. “How’s our Ace?”

Chance took a long sip. “Stable. They’re keepin’ him a few days, runnin’ tests.”

Willow let out a slow breath. “Thank the Lord.”

He nodded, eyes meeting hers over the rim of the glass. For a brief second, she thought she saw something flicker there—worry, maybe. But, if so, he blinked it away fast.

“You’ve done good,” she said softly. “Today.”

“Don’t go ruining my reputation.”

She let the moment sit between them before stepping back. Three of the men were still waiting for a word from him to move into action.

In the chaos, Chance had taken hold of the reins, and the ranch was listening.

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