Page 69 of Her Saltwater Cowboy

“You’re trying to serve and work your way through the ache. But maybe what’s needed is what Mary chose. Sitting with the grief. Choosing presence. Even if it’s uncomfortable.”

Willow looked over to where Chance had been earlier in the day, at the dining table with Rafael and the ranch hands. He was gone now.

A door creaked down the hall.

Rafael walked past with the clipboard tucked under his arm. “Chance stepped out,” he said when he saw her glance around. “Didn’t say where.”

Bella followed her gaze. “Think he went up to the ridge?”

Willow shook her head slowly. “No. I think I know where he went.”

She didn’t wait for more questions. She grabbed her keys, peeled off her apron, and slipped out the back door before she could change her mind.

Outside, “Lucille” gleamed in the afternoon light, as if proud of who she was, despite her misbegotten origins. Willow slid behind the wheel and turned the key, the engine rumbling to life with a sputter and a cough.

* * *

“Come on, girl,” she murmured, coaxing the tiny box of a car to life.

The road stretched out in front of her, winding west through the ranch gate, past the rows of olive trees that had come to symbolize her second chance—and her greatest mistake.

She didn’t know what she’d say when she found him.

Didn’t know if she’d cry or apologize or just sit beside him and let the ocean do the talking.

But she knew one thing for sure.

She wasn’t going to let him carry this grief alone. Not anymore.

She pressed her foot to the gas, and Lucille sped toward the beach.

Toward him.

Toward whatever came next.

* * *

The beach was nearly empty.

Low tide left a long mirror of damp sand between the shore and the slow-rolling waves. Overhead, gulls called to one another like sentinels. The sun had begun its descent to the horizon, and though it was still early, the sky showed promise of a spectacular show to come.

Willow pulled Lucille into the same turnout they’d parked in days ago—the same windswept edge where Bella had declared her love story, and where Chance had kissed her like he meant forever.

Her boots crunched softly on the ground as she made her way down the sloped trail. Salty air landed on her tongue, and she licked her lips, the memory of him not far away.

When she reached the sand, she slipped out of her boots, digging toes in deep. When she straightened, she spotted him.

Chance stood at the water’s edge, back to her, arms folded as he stared out at the surf. He hadn’t changed out of his work shirt—rolled-up sleeves, jeans still clinging to his hips—and yet he looked like he belonged.

Willow hesitated. Her chest ached for his unimaginable loss.

She didn’t know how to bridge the space between them. Not after what she’d hidden. Not after he’d walked away only to lose his father hours later.

But she took a breath and stepped forward anyway.

He didn’t turn when she approached, but his voice resonated low and steady. “Figured you’d come.”

She stopped beside him, close enough to feel the heat from his body. “I wasn’t sure I should.”

---