Page 61 of Her Saltwater Cowboy

They kicked off their boots at the edge of a piece of driftwood, then walked barefoot along the surf. The cool water pooled around them, tickling their ankles as they strolled, the sand pillow soft beneath their feet.

Peaceful was an understatement.

For a long while, they didn’t speak. Just walked. Sometimes close enough that their hands brushed, sometimes apart. The wind picked up. A gull screeched overhead. Farther down the beach, the outline of a few surfers bobbed in the water, waiting for one last good wave.

Chance stopped suddenly, looked at the water, then at her. “You mind?”

She followed his gaze and laughed. “Seriously?”

“Never leave home without my board,” he said with a shrug. “Truck’s got everything.”

Willow gestured grandly. “By all means, go commune with the sea.”

“Watch closely,” he said, jogging back toward the parking lot. “I make it look easy.”

A few minutes later, he was paddling into the surf, the setting sun painting his silhouette in glitter. Willow sat on a stretch of dry sand, arms wrapped around her knees, watching as he rode one short, messy wave and wiped out spectacularly. He emerged grinning, hair plastered to his forehead, laughing as if the ocean had told him a joke only he could hear.

He was wild and grounded all at once. The kind of man who could rebuild an ancient olive press in the morning and dance with the tide by dusk.

And make space for her too. She didn’t deserve him.

Willow lay back in the sand, her eyes tracing streaks of color in the deepening sky. She imagined a few stars blinking back to her, patiently waiting for their light to shine when the time came.

Her phone buzzed beside her.

Chance came up the path just as she checked it, still dripping seawater, his shirt pulled on halfway, surfboard under one arm. “Told you I’d wipe out.”

“I’m impressed. Not necessarily with your form, but your bravery.”

He grinned, then frowned when he saw the expression on her face. “Everything alright?”

She tucked the phone away before he could see the screen. “Yes. Nothing urgent.”

He studied her for a beat but didn’t pry. “Ready to head back?”

Though she hated the idea of leaving this moment behind, she nodded anyway. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

They had just reached the highway that would take them back to the ranch when Chance’s phone rang, the jarring sound sharp against the hum of the road.

He checked the screen, sighed, and answered. “Ace.” Pause. His brow furrowed. “Now?” Another pause. “All right. I’ll be there in twenty. Thirty tops.”

He ended the call and cast a glance at her. “Sorry. He wants to see me tonight.”

Willow felt her chest tighten. “Is everything okay?”

“No idea,” he said. “The last time he wanted a meeting, it was nothing, really. This could be anything. He doesn’t always give context—just orders.”

She nodded, her mind already spinning. The weight she was carrying had lifted for a while—forgotten, even. But reality had followed her to the coast.

Chance reached for her hand briefly, giving it a quick squeeze before pulling away. “Thanks for coming with me.”

Willow watched the coastline shrink in the rearview mirror. “Thankyou.”

She took another peek of her phone. Every minute with him was borrowed light. Even if she didn’t deserve it.

* * *

Chance dropped Willow off at her tiny cottage and watched her walk inside. He’d become used to sitting beside her with her hair smelling of salt and ocean, and though he hadn’t gone looking for any real attachment in his life, it had found him.

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