Page 9 of Her Saltwater Cowboy

She continued. “Because I’m gonna need you to slice that meat thin enough to make sure we have enough to go around and thick enough for the crowd to hold their stomachs and moan about how they ate too much.”

So maybe it wasn’t the meal planning for the impending arrival of the prince and princess that had marred Willow’s features. Whatever it was that caused stress lines to appear on her fresh-as-the-dew skin when he showed up in the kitchen, he would have to figure out.

Because, far as he could tell, it wasn’t Friday night’s extravaganza that had her fretting.

“I will be your sous chef on Friday. I’ll stay by the smoker’s side all night long if I have to.”

“And get me in trouble with Ace? Not a chance.” She pushed away from the island and fidgeted with her hands, pressing them together over and over. “No. To be sure, I’ll need your help checking on that smoker, but you have a cousin to welcome into the fold. Far be it from me to get in the middle of all that.”

Ah. So maybe the event was getting to her after all. No sense adding his feelings to the mix about the circus that he’d rather not attend. Somehow, he had to bury his thoughts while staying as emotionally uninvolved as possible.

It was going to be a long week.

Chance forced himself out of his headspace only to find her staring at him, one fist pressed into her side. “You’re not thinking of doing anything crazy, are you?”

He frowned, shrinking back. “What are you suggesting?”

“Put cayenne pepper in Rafael’s dessert … salt in his lemonade”—she was ticking off ideas on her fingers, one by one—“a whoopee cushion on his chair …”

Gently, he took her counting hand and moved it to her side. His fingers lingered on her skin, and he found himself caught between raw, sudden awareness of her and the palpable annoyance over the events of this week. “I will do what needs doing, and not a thing more.”

A flicker of concern crossed her features, plunging questions deeper into Chance’s psyche. He racked his brain for recollections, for the reasons why he did not know all that much about Willow.

Something akin to shame rolled through him. Maybe he hadn’t paid any attention to her because he was caught up in … himself. Where did she come from all of a sudden, like a pretty light on a dark mountain?

“Well,” she finally said as she gently extricated her fingers from his hand, “at least there’s that.”

He laughed, and the sound of it surprised him. “I’m glad you approve.”

She darted a look at him, anything but approval on her face. Her eyes were hard, the lines in her forehead deep.

He tilted his head, examining her more closely. “Hey. You okay, Willow?”

She blinked. Then shook her head and pushed herself fully away from the island and began to putter with silverware in the sink. “Yes, of course.” She flashed him a smile that he didn’t quite buy. “Just a lot on my mind right now.”

“Regarding the party?”

She stared at him for a beat, nodding slowly. “Yes. There are the usual meals to plan, plus, well, you know—all the rest.” She flapped one hand in the air, then another. In a rushed voice, she added, “Oh, but don’t mention anything to Ace. I’ve got it under control. No worries.”

Chance gently wrapped his hands around hers, stilling them in midair. “You’ve got this, Willow. It’s just a party for a bunch of cowboys. They’ll eat anything?—“

“My food will be delicious.”

He cracked a rueful look. “I have no doubt. But don’t stress yourself over it. We don’t want Rafael thinking life’s going to be easy here on the ranch.”

She narrowed her eyes.

“Stop that.” He looked upward briefly. “I’m not planning to sabotage the guy.”

“Your cousin.”

“Right.”

Willow pulled her hands to her sides, her mouth curled. “Thank you for the pep talk. I do appreciate it.”

Chance sucked in his lip. Something was still not okay with her, but, frankly, he didn’t care to think about Rafael and his impending arrival one more minute. He would have to bury any lingering questions about whatever was on Willow’s mind. For now.

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