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Counting On The Cowboy
Shannon Taylor Vannatter
Ranching’s his whole life…Until he meets one special city girlTexas Cowboy Brock McBride knows better than to fall for a city girl. She’ll leave and break your heart—just like his ex-fiancé did. But his job at Chasing Eden Dude Ranch requires working alongside Dallas wedding planner Devree Malone. And despite fierce resistance, he’s falling hard. Yet with Devree’s business back in the city, can he convince her she’s found her home…with him?


Ranching is his whole life...
until he meets one special city girl
Texas Cowboy Brock McBride knows better than to fall for a city girl. She’ll leave and break his heart—just like his ex-fiancée did. But his job at Chasing Eden Dude Ranch requires working alongside Dallas wedding planner Devree Malone. And despite fierce resistance, he’s falling hard. Yet with Devree’s business back in the city, can he convince her she’s found her home...with him?
SHANNON TAYLOR VANNATTER is a stay-at-home mom/pastor’s wife/award-winning author. She lives in a rural central Arkansas community with a population of around one hundred, if you count a few cows. Contact her at shannonvannatter.com (http://shannonvannatter.com).
Also By Shannon Taylor Vannatter (#ua8a54173-e417-5fd1-b0aa-04a767ff2f0d)
Texas Cowboys
Reuniting with the Cowboy
Winning Over the Cowboy
A Texas Holiday Reunion
Counting on the Cowboy
Rodeo Ashes
Rodeo Regrets
Rodeo Queen
Rodeo Song
Rodeo Family
Rodeo Reunion
Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Counting on the Cowboy
Shannon Taylor Vannatter


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ISBN: 978-1-474-08247-1
COUNTING ON THE COWBOY
© 2018 Shannon Taylor Vannatter
Published in Great Britain 2018
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
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www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
“Sorry, I didn’t know you were out here.”
“I didn’t mean to be.”
“I love sitting on the porch swing at night.”
He scooted to the end, patted the slats beside him. “Feel free.”
She hesitated a moment, but headed his way in the end.
“I don’t know why I like it out here.” She shuddered. “There’re probably snakes lurking. Or bats. Or bears, for that matter. But I love the night sounds. You don’t get that in the city.”
“I imagine not.”
“And the stars are so bright here. So many of them.”
He scanned the horizon, ashamed he often took the stars for granted. “So why do you stay there?”
“It’s where I belong. It’s nice to visit the country but I could never live here. I’d be bored to tears.”
With all his worries over his friends and her reminder that she was a city girl through and through, why did he feel so pulled toward Devree? Despite the warm night, a chill settled in deep. He had absolutely nothing in common with her. He better tread carefully.
Dear Reader (#ua8a54173-e417-5fd1-b0aa-04a767ff2f0d),
I once considered myself a city girl. When my parents moved me from a suburb of Atlanta to rural Arkansas, I thought my life was over. Until I met a transplanted Texan who made me realize country life wasn’t so bad. Thirty-eight years later, I wouldn’t want to live anywhere else.
I put a lot of me in Devree. She doesn’t like to get dirty, has no appreciation for most farm animals and isn’t the outdoorsy type. But the quiet, simple life slowly grows on her.
Polar opposites from two different worlds always fascinate me. Enter Brock with his broken heart thanks to a city girl—he’s determined to avoid falling for Devree from the beginning.
But slowly, they see past their initial assumptions about each other and begin to realize they have more in common than they ever would have thought. Until finally their defenses slip away, as God mends their hearts.
This book wraps up my Texas Cowboys series. That always makes me sad as I’ll miss living and breathing their stories. I hope you love each couple as much as I do.
Blessings,
Shannon Taylor Vannatter
And be ye kind one to another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, even as God
for Christ’s sake hath forgiven you.
—Ephesians 4:32
To my parents.
I hate getting dirty, refuse to grow a vegetable
garden and will never own farm animals, but
I’m thankful y’all made a country girl out of me.
Even though Logan says I’m too city.
Contents
Cover (#u80496b16-adaf-55dc-8609-bf81cf0054e0)
Back Cover Text (#u87465194-e45e-58fd-8cb5-42e3c81256cd)
About the Author (#u47fbd0eb-4ca3-5815-9c44-b542a514d9ba)
Booklist (#uf22d911c-b7d5-5609-a8ae-baf957d03802)
Title Page (#u48f950ed-a81e-5d88-9d46-c987514e3d76)
Copyright (#u8d964a99-2cbc-5f7c-971b-55e327798c40)
Introduction (#udcecdcb2-37d1-57db-99c7-54bff695afa6)
Dear Reader (#uab663cf6-6bc8-59b9-8e5a-d6c7c3824beb)
Bible Verse (#uec745626-4c6a-5534-be3d-aa7920bc68ef)
Dedication (#ubfe9775b-80cb-526d-80fe-cb16019021ab)
Chapter One (#u03425bf6-fd56-55ed-ae41-be7a7d9ba459)
Chapter Two (#uf6fe421f-a5d6-570e-894b-a91f41707837)
Chapter Three (#u0791f354-7d71-5340-a985-67bb52cafdcf)
Chapter Four (#u1f8ede5e-4b61-5e61-b771-a683a8d47d6d)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#ua8a54173-e417-5fd1-b0aa-04a767ff2f0d)
Help! There’s a goat on the roof!
Devree Malone typed the frantic text to her brother-in-law while edging the engaged couple she was showing around the ranch closer to the chapel.
If the goat would just keep quiet up there, maybe the soon-to-be newlyweds wouldn’t notice and she wouldn’t lose this gig. At least it was still April, as the cooler not-quite-seventy degree temperature meant the farm animal odors were at a minimum.
A dark truck turned into the drive and a cowboy climbed out: Stetson, Wranglers, boots. Maybe a ranch hand? His gaze went to the goat, then met hers as a smirk settled on his lips. One so charming she almost forgot about the goat.
Almost. Do something, cute cowboy. Hopefully, her mental plea would span the thirty or so feet between them. She guided the couple inside the chapel and tried to concentrate on the bride’s excited chatter.
“Imagine burgundy roses on the lattice arbor with tulle trailing down the sides.” If only she could have gone ahead and decorated. But the wedding was still two weeks away. “We’ll put big poufy bows on the end of each pew.”
For now, she needed to wow them with what she could. She flipped the switch, setting off a sea of twinkle lights woven among the exposed rafters above.
“Oh.” The enchanted bride leaned her head against her groom’s shoulder.
Why put so much into the wedding when the marriage would probably be history in less than a year? In her eight years of wedding planning, just under half her couples had divorced. And then there was the ceremony that got canceled when Devree discovered her boyfriend of six months was the groom-to-be.
Just stomach this last wedding.
A month in Bandera serving as the event planner at the Chasing Eden Dude Ranch would provide Devree the chance to help her brother-in-law. It would help make sure his very pregnant wife stayed on bed rest and brought Devree a healthy niece or nephew into the world.
If she nailed this nuptial, maybe the bride’s wealthy father, Phillip Brighton would hire her to plan his Brighton Electronics company retreat. And she just might be able to leave her I do planning behind.
Something caught her eye out the window. The cowboy, feed bucket in hand, walking backward toward the barn. The goat clambered from the top of the pavilion, across the storage shed, onto the old storm shelter and then down to the ground.
Her gaze bounced back to the couple. Still enthralled with the twinkle lights.
“Instead of walking off to the side for the unity sand ceremony, what do you think about having a couple of groomsmen move it here in the middle of the aisle?” Devree positioned herself where she thought it should go. “That way all you’d have to do is turn around.”
It would be difficult enough to maneuver the bride’s mile long train up and down the aisle once without adding the possibility of it getting tangled up in vases of sand.
“I love it.” Miranda Brighton’s eyes lit up. “That way I won’t have to fight with my dress and our families and friends will be able to see better if we’re up front and center.” She pressed her face into her groom’s shoulder. “I can’t wait to be Mrs. Joel Anderson.”
“I can’t wait to be Mr. Joel Anderson.”
The couple’s giggles mingled, ending in a sweet kiss.
Devree looked away. She used to love weddings. Almost as much as the brides and grooms she’d worked with. Until Randall.
Just one more ceremony. If the goat didn’t ruin it for her. Then, if she never got another glimpse of tulle and twinkle lights, she’d be a happy woman. And maybe, just maybe, this charming couple would make it.
“There are a few side rooms along the foyer connecting the fellowship hall in the back. Plenty of room for the wedding party to prepare for the ceremony.”
“Thank you so much for meeting with us, Devree.” Miranda never took her eyes off her groom-to-be. “I wanted Joel to see the chapel since he’s only seen pictures online.”
“I don’t care where the ceremony takes place. The married part is all that matters to me.” The requisite sappy response from Joel.
It would be nice if he kept feeling that way. But odds were—he wouldn’t.
“Okay, I’ll see you both for a consultation in a week.” Please let the goat be all lassoed and out of sight. She led the way to the exit, praying as she went. Guilt stabbed. She shouldn’t ask God for anything after ignoring Him for so long. Closing her eyes, she hesitated at the double doors, then swung them open and scanned the area. No goat. Her breath rushed out.
“Thank you.” The giddy bride hugged her and the couple held hands as they strolled to their car.
“Excuse me.” The cowboy behind her. “You work here?”
“Yes.” She turned to face him. His Stetson shadowed pale green eyes, dark hair and a cleft chin. Enough to make a girl weak in the knees. Thankfully, she wasn’t a girl anymore. She was a battle-scarred woman. “I’m the new wed—I mean—event planner.” At least she hoped to leave nuptials behind. “Thanks for getting rid of the goat.”
“I love goats.” His gaze locked on hers, as if he had all day.
“Do you work here?”
“Not yet. Don’t s’pose you’d know where I might find the owners? Do the Donovans still own this place?”
“My sister and her husband, Chase Donovan.” She checked her phone. Chase hadn’t responded to her frantic text.
“I used to be best buds with Chase.”
“Really?”
“I lived here as a kid. You and your sister from around these parts?”
“No. We’re from Aubrey. I live in Dallas, technically anyway. I’m just here for six weeks.” Why was she telling him all this? Those magnetic eyes held her prisoner, kept her running at the mouth.
“What about Chase’s little sister, Eden? She still around?”
“Um...she died three years ago.”
“No.” His shoulders drooped. “Not sweet little Eden.”
His genuine sadness got under her skin. “A few years back. Scuba diving accident. She and my sister were friends. That’s how Landry and Chase ended up together.” She shoved her hands in her back pockets. “Speaking of which, he’s leading a trail ride, but Landry’s inside. I’ll take you to her.”
“I’d appreciate that.”
She headed for the ranch house. His footfalls trailed behind her.
Despite her sister’s difficult pregnancy, the yard was still a well-kept green oasis in the middle of yellowed drought-ridden Texas Hill Country. Thanks to a nightly dousing by sprinklers Chase had set up. She hugged herself, staying in the middle of the walkway, keeping as much distance as possible from any lurking poison ivy or rattlesnakes hiding in the suspicious-looking crape myrtle bushes lining each side.
Would the cowboy disrupt Landry’s calm? She stopped, spun to face him.
He skidded to a stop.
“You’re not going to stress her out, are you?”
The corner of his mouth hitched up. “Not planning on it. Unless applying for a job does that to her.”
“She usually doesn’t hire the ranch hands. Chase does that.” She chewed on the inside of her cheek. “But he should be back soon.” She turned back toward the house. But what had he done with the goat? She halted again and swung around.
More space between them this time. He grinned, deepening the cleft in his chin and awakening dimpled cheeks. A dangerous combination. “Learned my lesson. Don’t follow too close.”
“Where is the goat?”
“Put him in that pen.” He motioned to the rail fence near the barn out back.
No goat in sight.
“Didn’t think it would hold him long.” He adjusted his hat. “Goats are notorious for getting out. Especially if they’re alone. And I didn’t see any others. Unless they all got out.”
“I don’t have a clue how many there are. I didn’t know they had any until I saw the one on the roof. Thanks again for taking care of that. If my bride had seen him, she may have freaked out and changed venues.”
“Count on me for goat wrangling.” He searched the area. “If you find him again that is.”
“I don’t have any other appointments, so we’ll let Chase worry about the goat.” She strode toward the house again. Made it all the way this time.
As she stepped onto the porch, he passed her, opened the door and held it for her. “Thanks.” Why did her cheeks warm?
His boot heels clanked behind her as she led him through the lobby into the great room.
“Landry?”
“Oh, I’m so glad you’re here.” Landry lay on the couch, the mound of her seven-and-a-half-month pregnancy obvious. “I’m so bored. Tell me all about your meeting.”
“We have company.”
Landry craned her neck until the cowboy stepped into her line of vision.
“Sorry to bother you, ma’am.”
“I’d get up, but my doctor insists I lay here like a bloated heifer.”
“This is...” Devree faltered. She didn’t even know the cowboy’s name. What if he’d made that whole story up from stuff he’d found online? What if he was some robber or escaped convict? Why hadn’t she thought of that? Constant guests at the dude ranch and the laid-back country lifestyle where everybody knew everybody had lessened her suspicious nature. Thankfully, Chase’s chef dad was in the kitchen, only a scream away.
“Brock McBride. I’m here to apply for the handyman position.”
“Oh, good. Please tell me you’re qualified.” Landry paused as she worked something on her phone. “I’m Landry Donovan, and this is my sister, Devree Malone.”
“Nice meeting you, ma’am.” He tipped his hat.
“My husband is leading a trail ride, but I just texted him and he should be back any minute.”
“You might have a goat out.” His gaze roamed the room, from the barn-wood ceiling and walls to the massive stone fireplace.
“Again?” Landry rolled her eyes.
“The crazy thing climbed up on the chapel roof. It’s a wonder my jittery bride didn’t see him, run screaming and cancel everything.”
“I found the feed bucket and it went right in the pen.” Brock took his hat off.
Landry grinned at Brock, then Devree. “Your hero.”
Her skin heated to boiling. “I said thank you.” She shot her sister a look. “But I’m not in the market for a hero.”
“Good. Because the goat was out again by the time they left.” His mouth twitched. “Besides, my cape’s at the dry cleaner, and in my experience, damsels are more trouble than they’re worth.”
“How’s my princess?” Chase entered the great room, his focus solely on Landry. Worry evident in his furrowed brow. “Are you following orders?”
“I’ve been here all day, I promise. And baby Donovan is kicking up a storm.” Landry motioned to Brock, introduced him and explained why he was here.
Chase’s frown relaxed and a wide grin took over. “Brock McBride?”
“The one and only.”
The two men hugged with lots of back clapping.
So he’d told the truth about knowing Devree’s brother-in-law.
“Guess y’all know each other.” Landry rolled onto her side.
“Brock used to live here. We grew up together. He’s Becca’s son.”
Landry’s eyes widened.
“Becca, the housekeeper?” Devree turned to Brock. But her last name wasn’t McBride.
His face went ashen.
“She’ll be so excited to see you.” Landry’s mouth curved into a smile. “Does she know you’re here?”
“Uh—maybe I should come back some other time.” Brock took a step back.
“No. Timing’s perfect.” Chase slapped him on the back again. “Let’s go to the office. Unless you want to let your mom know you’re here first.”
“No,” he replied, a hint of dread in his tone. He cleared his throat. “I should have called first. And I have another appointment. I’ll have to get back to you.”
“But you can’t leave without seeing your mom.” Chase steered him to the foyer. “She’s just upstairs cleaning the guest rooms.”
Seconds later, the great room door closed.
“What was that all about?” Devree sank into the chair facing her sister.
“I didn’t make the connection when he first introduced himself, but Becca mentioned she was married before Ron and worked here back when Chase was a kid. Chase told me he and Brock were friends until Brock’s dad died when he was young and Becca moved away.” Landry scrolled down her phone, tapped and pressed it to her ear. “Becca came back several years ago, but she and Brock have been estranged. She’s longed to reconnect with him for years. And now, he’s here. She’ll be so excited.”
“Maybe we shouldn’t get involved in their private business. Besides, I think he’s leaving.”
“He’s probably nerv— Becca. You won’t believe who’s here. Brock,” her sister said, ignoring Devree’s words of caution. “Yes, I’m sure. Chase is in the foyer talking to him as we speak.”
An audible squeal came through the phone.
“Hurry, Devree,” Landry begged. “You have to stop him. If he leaves before Becca can get to him, it’ll break her heart.”
Surely, he wouldn’t leave without seeing Becca. Always so sweet and pleasant—who could be estranged from her?
She should stay out of it. But if she did, she knew Landry would try to stop Brock from leaving. And her sister didn’t need any more stress. On top of that, the ranch badly needed a handyman.
Devree dashed toward the foyer.
* * *
“Please don’t leave without seeing your mom.” Chase stepped in front of the exit, cutting off Brock’s escape.
“It’s been a while. I should have called first,” Brock repeated through gritted teeth.
“Look, I don’t know what happened between y’all. All I know is your mom has pined for you—the entire fifteen years since she came back here.”
Fifteen years. His mom had been at the dude ranch for that long. Miss City Girl—who’d nagged Dad to move—had come back willingly and stayed? Probably the only place she could find a job, considering her habit. But if his mom was still using, would Chase keep her on? Surely not. Unless she somehow hid her addiction.
Footfalls behind him; he braced himself.
“Wait!” The wedding planner.
He’d enjoyed talking to her, despite their being from different worlds. Until Chase mentioned his mom.
“Landry called Becca. She’s on her way. You can’t just leave.”
“I’ll leave when I’m good and ready.” He spun to face her. “And I’m good and ready.”
She gasped at his outburst and something flashed in her eyes. Hurt.
“I’m sorry.” He hung his head. “I didn’t mean to snap at you. It’s just—there’s history to wade through. And I didn’t bring my muck boots.” He turned and strode for the door, intent on going through Chase if he had to.
“Brock!” The voice he dreamt about too often for peace of mind echoed down the staircase behind him and took him back in time. Ten years old, sobbing on the social worker’s shoulder, wondering when his mom would come back for him.
Never.
For the last fifteen years, she’d been here. And never lifted a finger to try to find him.
The sound of hurried footsteps descended on his ears.
Pressure built in his chest. He didn’t turn around.
“Please wait!” A small hand grabbed his arm. “Please.” Pleading, tearful. “At least look at me.”
She stepped in front of him. Much the way he remembered her. Rail thin, long brown hair. Eighteen years older. But somehow she looked better. Healthier. No telltale sunken shadows beneath her pale blue eyes. The hand on his arm was steady.
“Sure hope you’ll stick around, Brock.” Chase gave him a beseeching smile. “The job’s yours.”
“You didn’t even look at my résumé.” He focused on his friend, mainly to escape his mom’s imploring gaze. Why did he still think of her as his mom after she’d abandoned him?
“I’m familiar with your work and you’re overqualified. Your mom found an article about you building luxury cabins in a magazine a few years back.”
“I still have it.” She squeezed his arm.
Why did she think she had the right to touch him? He pulled away from her grasp, took a step back.
Her hand fell to her side. “Please stay.”
“We’ll give you some privacy.” Chase stepped away from the exit, motioned Devree to follow.
“I need to stash my wedding paraphernalia in the chapel loft.” A pinched frown drew her brows together. Her gaze clashed with his, and then she whirled away and disappeared outside. Was she embarrassed to witness their turmoil? Did she feel sorry for him? Or for his mom?
“Please, Brock, can’t we talk? You came here for a reason. Don’t back out now.”
His mom’s plea clanged in his head. He’d come for the job. But also because the eight years he’d spent at the dude ranch were the best of his life. When his dad had been alive. When his mom hadn’t been catatonic and actually cared if he ate or not. Before their move to Dallas. Before they lost their apartment and ended up moving in with his alcoholic grandfather. Before she got hooked on drugs.
He’d returned to come to terms with his past and his mom’s abandonment. To remember his dad. He’d expected to come face to face with the memories that haunted him. But not with her.
“Please come to the office with me.” Tears streamed down her cheeks.
But not as many as he’d cried over her. “I didn’t know you were here.”
“Or you wouldn’t have come.” She hiccupped a sob. “I get that. Can’t we just talk for a few minutes?”
“Do the Donovans know everything? I mean, about you.”
She sucked in a big breath, shook her head. “Granny did, but she’s been gone several years. I told everyone else your father’s family turned you against me and we haven’t spoken in years.”
“So you expect me to stay and live your lie with you?” He glanced at the door, seeking escape. “I don’t think so. Tell Chase bye for me.”
“But you can’t leave.” She blocked him off, set her hand on his arm again.
“I’m leaving now. Please get out of my way. I think I’ve had enough of memory lane.”
“I wish you’d stay. Jesus forgave me. For everything. Can’t you give me a chance?”
How dare she pull the Jesus card.
“If you stay, I’ll give you space. And if you give me some time, I’ll summon up the courage to tell the truth.”
“I’ll think about it.” If it would get her out of his way, he’d think about all she’d said. All the way to his truck. All the way back to Waco.
She stepped aside.
He practically bolted out the door, down the porch steps and across the pristine yard to the parking lot.
But Devree, with the sun setting her cinnamon hair aflame, waited by his truck. Blocking his escape.
“Could you tell Chase I’ll call him?” He willed her to step aside.
Her brilliant blue gaze locked on his. “Please don’t go.”
A heartfelt plea from a beautiful woman. Normally he couldn’t resist that. Even though it was obvious the redhead was just the type he needed to steer clear of: a city girl.
Just like his mom. And he certainly didn’t want anything to do with her. He needed to get out of Dodge. Fast.
Chapter Two (#ua8a54173-e417-5fd1-b0aa-04a767ff2f0d)
Devree’s face heated when she realized he could have taken her plea for him to stay as her own. “I mean, Chase could use you around here.”
“I’m sure he can find someone else.” Brock shifted his weight, obviously wanting her to move out of his way.
But she had to convince him to stay. For her sister’s sake. And Becca’s too. “The chapel’s completed, but they’re still in the middle of expanding the ranch. Their new house, along with honeymoon and hunting cabins are in progress. Chase is up to his eyeballs with all of it and the handyman bailed.”
“Surely there’ve been other applicants.”
“Several who would be great as ranch hands, but painfully inexperienced when it comes to fixing anything other than fences.” She drew in a long breath.
“I can’t stay here.”
“I have a wedding scheduled next month. Plus, they’ve got more weddings starting in June and wild boar hunts booked through fall with guests expecting cabins ready for their stay. Meanwhile, there are a dozen projects that need attention and a very pregnant lady who’d like to be in her new house before the baby comes. Please say you’ll take the job.”
“I can’t do this. Not with—”
“Landry had a stillbirth last spring.” Her vision blurred at the memory of the tiny casket.
His shoulders sagged. “I’m sorry. Chase didn’t say anything.”
“They don’t like to dwell on it. It’s too hard.” She blinked the moisture away. “She’s almost lost this baby twice and is still having complications. She can’t handle any more stress. Chase needs to spend more time keeping her calm. Just stay until Chase can find someone else. My niece or nephew’s life could depend on it.”
His eyes softened. “No pressure.”
“Sorry.” Devree kicked at the gravel drive. “They’re scared to death. And so am I.” She managed to get a hold on her emotions, looked back up at him. “Here’s your chance to help an old friend. With a baby’s life hanging in the balance.”
“You drive a hard bargain.” He looked skyward. “I’ll stay on one condition.”
“Which is?”
“I don’t want to talk about my mother. And I don’t want any of you pushing me toward her.”
“We owe you.” She offered her hand. His rough, calloused palm dwarfed hers.
“And only until Chase can hire someone else.”
“Come on. Let’s go tell them.” She jogged to the ranch house.
With his long stride, he stayed right with her even though he was only walking. He beat her to the porch, climbed the steps and opened the door for her.
“Do you think your mom is okay?”
His gaze went steely. “Don’t know.”
And obviously didn’t care.
“And that counts as talking about her.”
“I can’t help it if I’m worried about her.” In the last year since the dude ranch started hosting weddings, Devree had planned a handful here. Becca helped decorate and clean after each one—a real sweetheart. How could he not care about her?
“You’re still talking about her.”
“Sorry.” She stepped inside, hurried across the foyer to the great room.
Landry was right where she’d left her—laying on the couch, feet in her husband’s lap.
“Good news. Brock agreed to take the job.”
“Wonderful.” Landry’s relief whooshed out in a heavy sigh.
“Glad to hear it.” Chase’s smile went a mile wide.
“Where should I bunk?”
“Go out to the barn, ask for Troy. He’ll get you settled in a room at the bunkhouse where a lot of the hands stay.”
“Sounds like a plan. I’d like to tackle the goat problem. Exactly how many are missing?”
“Eleven. Six does—one is gestating with a kid due in the next few weeks—and five bucks. All pygmies. We’re planning a petting zoo by the time school’s out.”
Does and bucks? Weren’t those deer? Gestating with a kid due? Did that translate into pregnant goat? Devree was desperately behind on her ranch and farm animal lingo.
“They need something to occupy them so they’ll stay in the pens.”
Apparently, Brock knew a thing or two about goats. Or does and bucks and kids. Or whatever they were.
“Use whatever you need out of the lumber pile in the barn.” Chase adjusted the comforter around Landry’s feet. “I’d also appreciate it if you’d arrange for demolition of that old storm shelter on the east side of the chapel. It’s an eyesore and goat magnet. Besides, we have a basement so we don’t need it.”
“Sure. First thing in the morning.”
“And, Devree, since we have a handyman now, I need to add to your load.”
“Okay?” Hopefully, nothing dirty or stinky.
“Our event schedule is kind of dead between spring break and June. Which will leave you at loose ends. With Landry down for the count, our last handyman’s wife was supposed to handle decorating the chapel and the honeymoon cottages. I was wondering if you could help with that.”
“Um, I’m a wed—event planner. Not an interior decorator.” Especially not a rustic one. Country-themed weddings were always a challenge for her.
“Please don’t let Chase do it.” Landry groaned. “Everything will end up looking just like the hunting cabins. With dead wild boar heads on the walls.”
And cause her sister stress. “I guess I could try.”
“You’ll do great.” Landry sounded so certain. “With all your experience at decorating venues for weddings. For the chapel, just a few decor items. Keep it simple and rustic with a few crosses and burlap. And for the cabins, pick some paint colors, tile and flooring. We get all our decor items, furnishings, drapery and bedding from Resa’s store. She’ll give you good advice.”
“I’m on it.”
“Great.” Chase relaxed, ran his fingers along the bottom of Landry’s toes, eliciting a giggle out of her. “I’ll need you and Brock to focus on the chapel and Gramp’s fishing cabin to begin with.”
“Why the fishing cabin?” Devree tried not to cringe. She’d much rather work in one of the new structures instead of an old abandoned one.
“With a wedding in two weeks and the new cabins unfinished—” Landry adjusted her pillow “—it’ll be quicker to transform the fishing cabin into a honeymoon hideaway than finishing one of the others.”
“But no one’s lived in the cabin since I moved out after our wedding. Becca cleaned it—” Chase winced as he obviously realized he’d brought up a sore subject “—but it needs caulk around the plumbing and trim work.”
Right on cue, the muscle in Brock’s jaw had flexed at the mention of his mother. “I’ll check it out and tackle it in the morning.” His words came out clipped, his mind still obviously on whatever his issues were with Becca.
“It should be vacant by now.” Landry cringed. “Chase set mouse traps.”
That bit of info almost stopped Devree’s heart. She squelched a shudder. Surely, there wouldn’t be any critters. Not live ones, anyway.
“I’ll try to find where they’re getting in,” Brock promised.
“We’ll be fine,” she assured her sister and Chase. But would she? With mice? If there were rodents, there might be snakes or worse...spiders. “Don’t worry about a thing. Y’all just concentrate on baby Sprint.”
“Sprint?” Landry squinted one eye, her thinking mode.
“I figure his or her dad is Chase, so she or he is Sprint.”
Landry’s giggle mixed with Chase’s chuckle. A nice relaxed sound. Just what she wanted to hear from her sister.
She turned to see that she’d even elicited a grin out of Brock.
“No matter what y’all name the baby, that’s what I’m calling him or her.” She shot her sister a wink. “I’ve still got boxes of wedding decorations to stash in the chapel.”
“You’ll need help.” Landry smoothed her hands over the roundness of her belly.
“I’m on it.” Chase moved Landry’s feet, started to get up.
“Stay put,” Brock ordered. “I’ll help her.”
“That’s not in your job description.”
“She’s your top priority.” Brock pointed at Landry. “I’m here. Let me help.”
Chase settled Landry’s feet back in his lap. “I appreciate that.”
So, Brock could be caring—just not toward his mother. Despite the tension, it would be nice to have someone else take part of Chase’s load so he could focus on Landry. And given time, maybe Becca and Brock could work things out.
He followed her to her car where they each grabbed a stack of plastic containers and headed for the chapel.
She hadn’t anticipated working with the broad-shouldered, way too good-looking cowboy. But she couldn’t let him distract her.
Without shifting his load, he shouldered the door to the chapel open and held it for her. “Where do you want these?”
“On the back pew will be fine.”
He set down her containers. “Is that all?”
“Yes.” It would help if he stashed everything in the loft for her, but that would mean having him stick around. “Thanks. I can take it from here.”
He tipped his hat and exited. Through the side window, she saw him hurry toward the long building that housed a dozen hands and the foreman, Troy. His temporary home.
She had to concentrate on the chapel and the fishing cabin. Not the cowboy.
* * *
Barely daylight, Brock nailed the final board into place on the play station in the goat pen. A buck, barely two feet tall, nibbled his elbow. And they said cats were curious.
“Just give me a minute, little guy, and I’ll get out of your way.” He gathered his tools, slipped them in his belt and took a step back. Just as soon as he was out of the way, all five bucks climbed on the station, wrestling their way to the top. The matching structure in the doe’s pen was getting used as well. He slipped out the gate, fastened it back.
He’d never built such a thing, but he’d gotten ideas off the internet last night. Apparently, good ones. With wire fencing in place and two more wooden rails at the top, they should stay in now.
Next on the agenda, he planned to caulk the fishing cabin and make the repairs there. He needed to keep busy. Keep his mind off the pretty redhead. And his mother. On his first official day as handyman, he’d already set up a time for the demolition of the old storm cellar by the chapel.
He loaded an assortment of lumber he hadn’t used into his truck and drove over to the barn. Once the fishing cabin and Chase’s new house were complete, getting his friend moved before the baby came would be his priority.
After that, he’d focus on whatever else needed fixing. But hopefully, he wouldn’t be here long.
As he stacked the wood neatly back where he’d found it, a prickle of awareness swept over him. Someone watching. He glanced around and saw movement in the loft. A moment later, a child’s head popped up, then ducked again.
“Are you supposed to be up there alone?”
Busted, she came out of hiding, peered down at him. “My grandpa had to take guests to their room and I sort of slipped out. But I’m real careful when I climb in the loft and I can hear the bus when it gets to Cheyenne’s house. She lives next door. Once I hear it, I can run to the road. And I’m real fast.” She climbed down to reveal light brown hair and freckles. First grade maybe.
“You shouldn’t slip out on your grandpa like that. He’ll worry.”
“I’ll be back before he knows I’m gone. I’m Ruby.”
“I’m Brock.”
“I know who you are.” She plopped on a hay bale. “You’re my uncle.”
A hollow weight settled in his chest. Had his mom had another child—his sibling?
“But I’m not supposed to tell anybody. It’s me and Mama’s secret. I’m real good at keeping secrets. I figured you already knew, so I don’t gotta keep it from you.”
He swallowed hard. “So who’s your mama?”
“You haven’t met her yet. Her name’s Scarlet. My grandma’s favorite color was red. So she named Mama Scarlet and Mama named me Ruby to memorialize her.”
“Like I said, you best get back before your grandpa misses you.”
She gasped. “There’s the bus.” She waved, then bolted for the ranch house as fast as her little legs would carry her. Minutes later, he heard the bus stop at the end of the drive. It didn’t tarry long before driving past.
Scarlet? Did he have a sister? But red had never been his mom’s favorite color. At least when he’d lived with her anyway. Maybe the child was confused? Or playing a game?
A scream echoed through the morning stillness.
Brock bolted in the direction it came from.
Another shriek from Gramp’s old fishing cabin.
He charged full force.
On the porch, Devree held something small with pliers. She dropped both with a screech and did a little dance in her high heels.
“What’s wrong?”
She whirled in his direction, her business-style skirt slim-fitting at her knees. Wild-eyed, mouth open and pulled down at the corners, she looked ready to let out another blood-curdling shriek. She sucked in a breath, shuddered. “A mouse. Its tail was caught in a trap.”
“Where?” He climbed the porch steps, tried to hold in his laughter.
She propped her hands on her hips. “It’s not funny. I turned it loose.” She pointed to the end of the cabin. “It ran off over there.”
He took in the trap laying nearby along with two sets of pliers. “You know,” he said, unable to control his grin. “If you turn it loose, it’ll most likely come right back in.”
“I couldn’t take all that squealing.” She covered her ears with both hands. “From the moment I got here. Snap! Snap! Snap! And the poor little thing went to squealing.”
“What’s wrong?” Chase sprinted in their direction still wearing his robe.
“Nothing.” Her hands dropped away from her head. “I didn’t wake Landry did I?”
“No.” His brows rose. “Why were you screaming about nothing?”
She repeated her story, shrugged as if it was no big deal. “When I turned him loose, he darted toward my foot. I might have yelled a bit. Just a little adrenaline kicking in. But I’m fine. And the mouse is too.”
“You should have killed him.” Chase tightened the belt on his robe. “He’ll only come back inside.”
“I know, but he was crying. And he was kind of cute.”
Chase cut his gaze to the sky, as if trying to keep from rolling his eyes. “Are there any dead ones in other traps?”
She pulled in a shaky breath. “I think so.”
“I’ll empty them for you.”
“I’ll take care of it.” Brock stepped up on the porch. “Just tell me where they are.”
“Under the kitchen and bathroom counters, behind the trash can in the kitchen, living room and bedroom.”
“I’m on it. What about getting some cats?”
“Good idea.” Chase ran a hand through his bed head. “If you have any more live ones, call me.”
“I’m fine.” She pulled on a brave smile.
“And try not to scream. It scares the guests.” Chase strolled back toward the ranch house.
Poor guy—completely stressed out.
“Let’s just say I’m not the most serene person when it comes to rodents.”
“I noticed.” Brock smirked. “Guess you won’t be helping me with the traps.”
She shot him a look, then hung her head. “I think I’ll hide in the closet while you take care of things. Landry can do anything—help birth farm animals, decapitate a rattlesnake with a hoe, bait her own fishing hook. But I’m not like that. Not at all.”
A definite understatement from what little he knew of her so far.
“Sounds like it’ll be a challenge to keep Landry occupied for six weeks.” He peered down at her. “You really here for events? Or to help Chase babysit her without her knowing it?”
“Chase called, wanted me to help out here. They happened to have the first wedding booked in the new chapel.” She shrugged. “It worked out perfectly.”
“Kind of sounds like you were meant to be here.” He hooked his thumbs through his belt loops.
“Except that I’m trying to go in a new direction as an event planner—company retreats, family reunions, conferences, corporate Christmas parties, that sort of thing. But my sister needed me, so I’m doing this one last wedding.” Bitterness edged her words. “And that’s it.” She stepped inside.
Her distaste for nuptials didn’t detract from her beauty. Not at all.
He followed. Several large white-tailed and axis deer preserved in taxidermy mounts hung on the wall. A large glass display box full of fish hooks of every size and style, from hand-tied fly to vintage wooden lures. It had always fascinated him as a kid when he’d come here with Chase and Gramps.
“This place creeps me out.” Devree shivered, hugged herself tighter.
“I always loved it. Gramps—he insisted everyone call him that—used to bring us here for early morning fishing.” The smell of Pine Sol and lemon cleaning supplies tickled his nose. Took him back.
Since he always wanted to help when he made the cleaning rounds with his mom, she’d let him dust the guest rooms. He could almost feel the damp, worn terry cloth in his hand. The way he got two nightstands and a headboard dusted in the time it took her to clean an entire room and bathroom. But she’d never hurried him or reprimanded him for taking too long.
He shook the memories away. But his brush with Ruby settled in his empty spaces. “Do you know a little girl named Ruby?”
“Sure. She’s Ron’s granddaughter. She comes here to catch the bus some mornings and gets off here in the afternoon part of the time.”
“I met her in the barn this morning. And Ron is?”
“Your um—Becca’s husband. He’s a bellhop and wild boar hunting guide here at the dude ranch.”
So Mom had remarried. The muscle in his jaw twitched. “And Scarlet?”
“Ron’s daughter.”
His stepsister. It all clicked into place. Well, Ruby was cute and all, but he had no intention of getting to know his blended family while he was here.
“They’re really sweet people.” Devree settled on the plaid couch. “I need to get a feel for the space.” She must have sensed he didn’t want to talk about it. She tucked her feet up beside her. Probably trying to avoid varmints.
He scanned the room. With the blinds open, sunlight streamed into the main living area. There were wood floors, ceilings and log walls with a dozen marble eyes staring at them.
“It’s perfect as is for a hunting cabin. Why not take the personal items out, spruce it up a bit and use it for that?”
“We need a honeymoon cottage up and running ASAP. And the guest cottages are all on the front of the property while the hunting ones are on the back of the acreage.”
“But this is such a personal space. Why are they opening it up to guests?”
“Chase doesn’t want it to go unused and eventually rot away. A ranch hand is coming sometime to take all these poor dead animals to the new house. Along with those.” She gestured to the fishhook display with another shudder.
Snap! Another trap went off and she jumped. “Great. Another victim. Isn’t there any other way?”
“I could buy some poison. But you take the chance of one dying in the wall. Trust me, you don’t want to go there.”
“Ugh.” She closed her eyes. “Something humane?”
“There are live traps that don’t hurt them. I’m going into town later to buy lumber. I could pick up a few.”
“Say you do that and we catch them. Then what do we do to keep them from coming back in?”
“I could feed them to my pet boa constrictor.”
Her eyes popped open wide, revealing a hint of green amidst the blue.
Captivating. “Kidding. I’d find some place deep in the woods.”
“But what would they eat?”
“Seeds, berries. Don’t worry, I’ll find a good place for them.”
“I’d appreciate it.”
He went in the kitchen, came back with two traps.
She clasped a hand over her mouth.
“Sorry. You might not want to watch.” He hurried to the door, emptied the traps several yards from the cabin and returned.
She buried her face in a pillow, stayed huddled on the couch while he made another trip with the remaining traps. Finished, he returned to the kitchen and washed his hands.
“You don’t want me to reset them?”
“Definitely not.” She peeked from behind the pillow.
“Okay, I’ll bring the live traps by later. Anything else I can do for you before I start caulking?”
Her gaze darted to the glass display case hanging on the wall. “Could you do something with that?”
“The fishhooks?”
“Yes, please. If you laugh, I’ll die, but I’m terrified of them.”
Seriously? But the terror in her eyes kept his humor at bay. He opened the case.
“No!” She screeched. “Just take the whole thing.” She closed her eyes. “I mean, it would be awful if you lost one.”
“Or if one fell out.”
“Stop.” She pressed her face in the pillow again. “You’ll give me nightmares.”
“Relax. I was only checking to see how it’s mounted. Have you been hooked?”
She lowered the pillow. With a slow nod, she rubbed the skin between her thumb and forefinger on her right hand, a slight scar. “My father promised to take Landry and me fishing when we were little. But someone called in sick and he had to work in the Christian bookstore our parents own. I got a hook out and tried to put it on my line so we’d be ready when he got home.”
“And hooked yourself.”
She pinched the skin. “It went through right here. All the way through, barb and all. It had to be cut out in the emergency room. I can still feel it.”
Her vulnerability tugged at him as he shut the display case, carefully lifted the brackets off the screws holding it up. “I’ll take it to the new house when I finish insulating. For now, how about I put it out of sight, maybe under the bed?”
“Thanks.”
“So, do you like to fish?”
Her laugh came out ironic. “No. I’m afraid of hooks, worms are slimy and fish are stinky. I just wanted to be with my dad.”
“Did you not get much time with him?”
“He was great at setting up outings with us. But we’d have these awesome plans until someone called in sick and he’d end up at the store. Sometimes, I went to work with him, just to be with him.”
She was way too charming when she showed this soft side. “My dad died when I was barely eight.”
“I bet that was tough.” Her gaze met his.
“It was. He was my hero.” The loss burned fresh in his heart. He tucked the display case under his arm and headed for the bedroom.
“Thanks.”
“Let me know if you need anything else.”
“Thought your cape was at the dry cleaners. And I’ll remind you, that despite circumstances, I’m not a damsel.” A small smile slipped out. “Just slightly out of my element.”
“Got my cape back this morning and we’re in dire straits here. Mice and traps and fishhooks! Oh, my!” He mimicked the classic Wizard of Oz chant and got a chuckle out of her. And coming to her rescue might have its perks. She certainly wasn’t a chore to look at.
“Just for the record, I’m afraid of flying monkeys too.”
“Let me know if you see any of those.” He shot her a wink and stashed the display box under the bed. “Typical city girl.”
“I may be a city girl.” Her tone turned sharp. “But there’s nothing typical about me.”
Definitely overly sensitive. And now he’d offended her. Maybe that was a good turn of events. The last thing he needed was to develop a soft spot for her.
Besides, he wouldn’t be here long. And she wouldn’t either. They were just biding their time stuck here together. Both itching to get back to their real lives.
Chapter Three (#ua8a54173-e417-5fd1-b0aa-04a767ff2f0d)
Devree drove past the ranch house and pulled into the cabin parking lot. Maybe she could do this. Once the ranch hands had removed all the dead animal heads yesterday, ideas for the cabin’s decor took shape. A mix of rustic and shabby chic. This morning, her visit to Rustick’s Log Furnishings had been productive.
Resa—store owner, neighbor and friend—had been extremely helpful. And, so Landry wouldn’t feel useless, Devree had texted her pictures of her choices. With her sister’s approval, she’d purchased a back seat full of curtains, pillows and a bedspread while the furniture would arrive next week.
Arms laden with goodies, she stepped up on the porch and reached blindly to insert the key into the lock. But the door opened.
Brock. “Here, let me help you.” He tugged the bags out of her hands.
“Thanks.” Why did his accidental touch send a shiver through her? Even after he’d called her typical just yesterday.
“You’ve been busy. Me too. I caulked all the plumbing and popped all the trim to seal the joints. Where do you want this stuff?”
“On the couch. New furniture will arrive next week. Will it be in your way?”
“I should be done with the messy stuff by then.” He stashed the bags, then grabbed a putty knife, scraped a spot on the log wall and wiped the area with a cloth. “What about the old furniture?”
“Chase is sending ranch hands. Most of it will go in his man cave at the new house. What doesn’t will go to charities. Will you be doing any work in the bedroom or bathroom? I thought I’d put curtains up in there.”
“Go for it. Need a screwdriver?”
Why did he have to be so helpful? And appealing? “Come to think of it...”
“Have you ever hung curtains?”
“Hello? I have my own apartment.”
“Just offering my help. And a step stool.”
“That might be useful.”
He picked up a small stool from the corner, dug around in his toolbox. “Flat or Phillips?”
“Phillips.”
“You know your way around a screwdriver.” He handed it to her.
“I have a dad, you know.” When she saw his gaze drop, she wished she could take that back. She hadn’t meant to hurt him; it had just slipped out. “Thanks.” She grabbed the bag, hoofed it to the bedroom.
Brock followed, carrying the stool. “Sure you don’t need any help?”
“I’ve got this.” She turned to take the stool from him. Something scampered across her sandaled foot. She screamed, dropped the screwdriver and the stool.
“What?”
But she was too busy clambering onto the bed. Safely off the floor, she stood in the middle, scanning for movement.
“What?” His tone exasperated.
“I think—” she did a whole body shudder followed by a heebie-jeebies dance “—a mouse just ran across my foot.”
“Okay.” He reached for her hand. “Just calm down. Sit and relax before you fall off there and break your neck.”
“I’d really like to get out of here.” She gingerly sat down in the center of the bed, keeping her eyes on the edges, half expecting a mouse to come climbing up the bed skirt.
“Maybe that’s best.” He gestured toward the door.
“I’m afraid to put my feet on the floor.” She squeezed her eyes closed. Great. She’d just proven every city girl notion he had about her to be true.
“Do I need to carry you?”
Her eyes popped open, surveyed him for a moment. Feet on the floor with the mice? Or carried out by the handsome cowboy she barely knew? Which was worse? Definitely rodents. With a slow nod, she scooted toward him.
He scooped her up.
With no choice, she put her arms around his neck, tried not to cling too tight.
As he stepped out on the porch, an elderly couple hand in hand rounded the walking trail thirty feet away.
“Look, Henry, newlyweds.”
“In my day, you carried her inside, young man.” The man frowned. “Not out.”
“Thanks for the advice.”
As her cheeks flamed, she felt the deep rumble of Brock’s laughter. “You can put me down now.”
He bent to lower her. “You know it was probably the same mouse you let go yesterday.”
“Not funny.” She smacked him on the shoulder.
“That little dance you did sure was.” When she didn’t smile, he sobered. “Once we get the furniture out, it’ll be easier to get this place mouse-free with fewer places for them to hide.”
“I’ll be back post-evacuation.” She headed for the ranch house.
“Watch out for flying monkeys.” His chuckle echoed across the field.
What she really needed to watch out for was Brock.
He’d carried her out as if she weighed nothing. His strength had felt too comforting. Too safe.
And she knew from experience, the least safe place she could be was close to a man.
* * *
With a thousand things on his mind, Brock had awakened early. He strolled toward the fishing cabin with only birdsong and horse whinnies to greet him.
Past the cabin, he could see the chapel in the distance. The wood on the exterior was grayed with age. One of the hands told him it had come from an ancient barn a windstorm had toppled on the property a few months back. With a high peak in the middle and slanted roof on each side, the structure was a cross between a rustic chapel and a barn. Church always soothed him, no matter what was going on. He looked forward to attending services there.
But for now, he needed to focus. Maybe he could get some work done before Devree showed up to distract him. Two full days of working with her and he felt as if he’d barely gotten anything done. At least she’d held up her end of the bargain. She hadn’t tried to talk about his mother anymore.
And his mother had been true to her word. She’d steered clear of him. If they’d both just stick to their promises, he could stay. Help his old friend out, finish the cabins, get Chase moved into his new house. But it would never work. He’d run into her eventually. A new handyman was the only solution. Though Chase hadn’t gotten any more applicants. Yet.
“You’re stirring early.” Devree’s voice.
His feet stalled as he glanced around.
Over by the goat enclosures. Her foot propped on the bottom rail of the fence.
“I could say the same thing.” He counted the goats—all eleven of them. Right where they were supposed to be—males in one pen, females in the other.
“Who could sleep around here with that stupid rooster on duty?”
“Aw, come on. Rusty’s just doing his job. And a fine one at that.” Just as he’d tagged her—classic city girl through and through. Even if she didn’t want to admit it.
“I’m gonna buy him a muzzle.”
The image made him chuckle. “I don’t think that works on a rooster. I take it you’re not a morning person?”
“I’m fine with morning. But this is the wee hours in my book.” The sunlight picked out honeyed strands amidst her cinnamon hair.
“It’s daylight.” He tore his gaze away, checked his watch. Six thirty-eight to be exact.
“Yes. But it wasn’t when he started up.”
A goat clambered to the top of the play station, nudged the current resident out of his way. “So that first day, I’d have never taken you for a goat lover.”
“I’m not.”
“Then why are you standing here watching them instead of holding your nose and running the other way?”
She laughed a little at that. “I’ve been here long enough my sinuses are burned out and no longer detect farm animal smells. And goats are kind of fun. It’s like they’re playing king of the mountain. I want to see who wins.”
“Knock yourself out.” He tipped his hat, continued on to the cabin. Typical, but with a few surprises.
“I’ll be there once you get it all evacuated.”
He hurried down the path, eager to escape the scent of her apple shampoo. A scent that he was starting to recognize as uniquely hers. Just one more reason Chase needed to find another handyman and Brock needed to go on down the road.
As he stepped up onto the porch of the fishing cabin, a thud sounded at the back. Not Devree. Maybe the ranch hands were moving the old furniture out today.
He turned the knob, but it was still locked. He inserted the key, clicked the latch, opened the door. Just inside, a tightly woven wire cage with the grid open, a dozen mice still inside. “Huh?”
It was a live trap for larger animals, not the kind he’d bought. And besides, he’d put his traps in the bedroom and kitchen. He shut the wire grid, keeping the rodents locked inside, hurried toward the kitchen.
The window in the top of the live trap he’d set revealed it was empty, the release open. The back door stood ajar. He hurried out, looked around. Caught a glimpse of a man wearing a baseball cap a hundred yards away.
“Hey! What are you doing?”
The man bolted for the woods.
Brock shot after him, down the trail, past the barn and into the pine thicket behind it.
The runner stayed off the trail. Briars clawed at Brock’s jeans. Some jabbed into tender flesh. The trees and undergrowth were so dense he couldn’t see the guy anymore, just followed the sound of his escape. Prayed he didn’t blindly step on a rattler.
A branch swatted him in the face. Eyes tearing up, he couldn’t see a thing. Still, he was caught off guard when he stepped in a hole, his knee buckling, and he went down. He jumped up quick, but it was quiet as he peered into the dense sea of green. Nothing, as he stood there and listened for several minutes.
Why would the man put mice in the cabin? He headed back toward the structure. It explained the constant infestation. And brought up a whole host of new questions.
* * *
Devree kept her eyes on the ground. Aware that snakes slithered in the cool of the morning and evening this time of year, she stayed on the path to the fishing cabin.
The rooster crowed again, close by. Surely, the guests hated him as much as she did.
“I’m up already,” she growled. “Can’t you just sleep in sometimes?”
A flash of red to her left. The rooster running at her.
She bolted for the fishing cabin, snakes forgotten, but the rooster cut her off. A flap of amber-colored wings, blue-and-green tail feathers, spurs aimed at her as he lunged/flew in her direction. She dodged, bit her tongue to keep from screaming. No waking Chase again or alerting Brock to come to her rescue. She scrambled around Rusty. He crowed in hot pursuit. Okay, maybe she wouldn’t mind if Brock showed up about now.
“You stupid bird, leave me alone.” She made it to the cabin porch, grabbed a broom, spun and jabbed it at the rooster.
He paced back and forth, looking cocky, crowed again, then turned and headed up the path back to the barn.
“Take that, you stupid rooster.” But as much as she wanted to, she couldn’t just leave him loose to attack guests. She followed at a distance. Not a ranch hand in sight to help her.
Instead of going to his coop, the rooster stopped near the goat pen, pecked at the ground. Though she’d never been inside the barn, if she could find some feed, maybe she could lure the foul fowl back into his lair.
At least he was the only one out. She rounded the goat pen, found a bucket near the chicken coop with seeds in it, opened the wire door of the pen, and jogged back to the huge bird. But not too close.
“Look what I got, big fella.”
The rooster cocked his head, strutted in her direction. Faster than she was comfortable with, but she still had the broom. She backed all the way to the pen, then threw the bucket inside. Thankfully, the rooster went in and she fastened the door in place.
She blew out a big breath, closed her eyes, leaned her forehead on the hand that was still holding the broom.
A noise behind her. She jabbed the broom as she spun around.
And almost gouged Brock in the chest.
His arms went up in a defensive stance. “I never would have pegged you for having such impressive rooster wrangling skills.”
She dropped the broom, covered her face with her hands. “Sorry. I thought Rusty had a friend.”
“I doubt he has any with that attitude. Whoa! Get back in there.” Brock scooped up the broom, darted around her. “No wonder he got out, there’s a hole in the pen.”
By the time she turned around, Brock had the broom clamped over the hole. The rooster flapped his wings and crowed, but at least he wasn’t going anywhere.
“That’s weird.” Brock knelt, inspected the wire.
“What?”
“It’s been cut. With wire cutters.” He ran his fingers along the slit. “See how it’s crimped—dull wire cutters do that.”
“Why would someone cut the wire?”
“I have no idea. But probably for the same reason they’d bring a live trap full of mice to the cabin.”
“Huh?” She shuddered. “Someone opened the trap you set?”
He told her about the extra trap and chasing the man he’d dubbed Ball-Cap into the woods.
“He broke in?” Her voice cracked. “Do you know who he was?”
“I couldn’t get a good look. He was too far away. But I don’t know many folks around here, anyway.”
“So someone’s been bringing mice to the fishing cabin. And they cut the wire, so the rooster would get out. Why would anyone do that?”
“I’m not sure. But once I get this wire fixed, we need to tell Chase. Can you hold the broom while I find something to repair the hole?”
“Sure.” She took the broom from him. As soon as he stepped away, the rooster flapped at the hole. But she kept him at bay.
Brock hurried back with a spool of wire and cutters. He threaded the wire to make a seam across the hole, with the rooster flogging the broom through the whole procedure. By the time the repair was finished, she was shaking.
“That should keep him.” He raised up, took the broom from her. “Hey.” His hands settled on her shoulders. “You okay?”
“I just don’t know who would want to hurt Landry and Chase. She can’t handle this.”
“We won’t tell her. But Chase has to know someone has it out for this place. Maybe he’ll know who we’re dealing with. Or it could be teenagers playing pranks. Whoever it is, we’ll get to the bottom of it. And it’ll be okay.” He squeezed her hand.
Gentle, calloused palm. Soothing, comforting. And suddenly, the effect the cowboy’s touch had on her was much more worrisome than dude ranch hijinks.
Chapter Four (#ua8a54173-e417-5fd1-b0aa-04a767ff2f0d)
“We can’t tell Landry about this.” Chase paced the office.
“That’s why we asked to talk to you alone.” If only Brock could take away his friend’s stress. But instead, he was adding to it.
“What about a competing dude ranch?” Devree picked at her nails. “Any owners capable of pulling something like this to steal business?”
“No. The other owners are stand up people. They might undercut our prices, but not purposely try to sabotage us. I can’t imagine anyone I know doing this.”
“Anyone got a bone to pick with you?” Brock pressed on. They had to figure this out. “An ex-employee maybe?”
Chase snapped his fingers. “There was a ranch hand. Nash Porter. I fired him shortly after Landry and I met. A real troublemaker.”
“Is he still around these parts?” He glanced at Devree.
Fiddling with her phone? Was she trying to play it calm, ease Chase’s worries?
“He’s in jail.” She caught his gaze.
“He is? How do you know?” Chase zeroed in on her.
“I just googled him. Assault and battery, stemming from a bar fight.”
“I’m not surprised.” Chase tunneled his fingers through his hair. “There’s no one else I can think of. Here’s what we’re gonna do. Not a word to Landry. I’ll have the locks changed for the cabin. Only y’all get keys. No one else.”
“I’ll change them out today.”
“And I’m sorry about the rooster, Devree. He won’t bother you again.”
“I’m fine.”
“You should have seen her. She handled him like a pro.” Maybe she was tougher than she realized. And Brock was beginning to suspect she didn’t hate the country as much as she thought she did. Trouble was—she’d probably never realize it.
Besides, his mom had toughed it out once. Then returned to the city just like Devree would.
“Come to supper with us tomorrow night, Brock. Landry’s been wanting to have you join us.”
“I reckon I’m always up for good grub.”
“Six o’clock. But no talk of live traps or wire cutters or disgruntled saboteurs.”
“My lips are sealed. But does that mean I can’t tell about watching this one run from Rusty?”
Chase chuckled. “As long as you don’t mention how he got out.”
“I bet y’all wouldn’t laugh if his spurs were aimed in your direction.” Devree’s cheeks went pink, but her good-natured smile revealed only affection for her brother-in-law.
“You’re right.” Chase sobered. “He could have easily hurt you.”
“No harm done. Except for two years he shaved off my life expectancy.” She stood. “We better get to work. The hands are coming to move the old furniture out this morning.”
“I emptied the interloper’s live trap and reset both.” He followed her lead. “Maybe the mouse population has decreased during our absence.”
Devree closed her eyes for a second, then headed for the door. “Don’t worry, Chase. We’re on it. This wedding will go off without a hitch and the happy couple will have a pristine cabin ready for their honeymoon.”
“I still think we should report it to the police.” Brock adjusted his hat.
“No!” Chase cleared his throat. “It would get around town and Landry would hear of it for sure. Just keep an eye on things.”
“Will do.” Brock followed Devree out. The guy he’d chased into the woods worried him. But he wanted to keep an eye on Devree most of all. What if she’d gotten to the cabin first? Caught Ball-Cap in the act. He could have hurt her. Once they were outside, he grabbed her elbow.
She turned to face him with a puzzled frown. “What?”
“I’m going to the hardware store to get new locks. I don’t want you going to the cabin alone.”
“Trust me, I won’t. Too many mice for my comfort.” But her attempt to make light of the situation didn’t disguise what he saw deep in her eyes.
Fear.
* * *
The dude ranch dining room was hopping with guests as the drone of multiple conversations filled the room. Typical Friday night. Devree sat in a secluded corner with Landry and Chase, as Brock gave a detailed recount of her bout with Rusty.
“I wish I could have seen it.” Landry giggled. “I can’t believe you got him back in the pen all by yourself.”
Devree shrugged, as if her rooster wrangling was nothing. “You expected me to turn into a screaming ninny?”
“Well—yes.”
It was good to hear her sister laugh, even if it was at her expense.
But then Landry frowned. “I wonder how he got out.”
Devree’s gaze met Brock’s, then shifted to her brother-in-law.
“It doesn’t matter how.” Chase refolded his napkin. “It can’t happen again. What if he’d gone after a guest? Or a child?”
“I guess you’re right.” Landry groaned. “But he’s the prettiest rooster I’ve ever seen. I hate to part with him.”
The kitchen doors opened and Chase’s parents entered, headed their way with his chef dad carrying a covered roasting dish.
“What’s this?” Landry’s hand went to her chest. “I thought we were having buffet along with our guests.”
“We always try our new dishes out on family.” Chase’s dad, Elliot, took the lid off with a flourish to reveal a large Thanksgiving-worthy turkey.
“Brock, I’m so glad you’re back.” Chase’s mom, Janice, squeezed his shoulders. “We always thought the world of you. And your folks.”
“Thanks. It’s good to be back.” There were so many mixed emotions on his face Devree wasn’t sure she could keep up. A frown marred his brow, and she could tell his smile was forced. But his pale green eyes shone with happy memories. He seemed genuinely glad to be here, but jumpy as if he expected Becca to pounce on him at any minute.
“We’ll leave you to your meal. I’ll need honest opinions.” Elliot wiped his hands on his apron, headed back to the kitchen, Janice trailing him.
“What were we talking about?” Landry frowned.
“Rusty.” Chase picked up the large carving knife and fork, started to work on the bird. “I’ve already taken care of it. He won’t bother anyone else around here.”
Devree’s gaze dropped to the bird as Chase made a deep slice across the breast. On it’s back, all fours in the air. Why would Elliot try a new turkey recipe so far away from Thanksgiving? Or was it Rusty? Her eyes widened.
As Chase doled out slabs of meat, her appetite fled.
“Give me your plate, Devree.” Chase held a large slice of meat between the carving set.
Mute, she shook her head.
“Are you okay? You look rather pale.” Landry touched her hand.
“I can’t eat him.” Her vision clouded. He may have been mean, but she hadn’t wanted him to die.
“Who?”
“I can’t eat a rooster I knew by name.”
Chase guffawed. “I can assure you, this isn’t Rusty. It’s turkey.”
Her eyes met his. “You promise?”
“It’s turkey.” Landry squeezed her hand. “Rusty may be ornery, but he’s much too pretty to eat. What did you do with him, Chase?”
“I gave him to the Whitlows. He’s alive and well and far enough away you’ll be able to sleep in tomorrow morning.”
A relieved sigh whooshed out of her.
“Can I have your plate now?” Chase grinned.
She lifted her plate to accept the slice of meat as he lost his struggle with laughter. Again, at her expense. But she joined him. Soon Landry and Brock did too.
Appetite returned, she bowed her head as Chase prayed over the meal. Amens rounded the table and she muttered hers.
“The vegetables are on the buffet.” Chase picked up his and Landry’s plates, headed that way.
Devree caught Brock’s gaze as she stood. She saw something different in his eyes—respect maybe?
Whatever it was made her pulse kick up a notch.
* * *
Dread weighed heavy on Brock’s shoulders as he folded his napkin, set it by his plate. At least Chase and Landry hadn’t harangued him about his mom during the meal. Or invited her to join them.
Though he’d have been more at ease if they hadn’t included Devree. He couldn’t seem to escape her presence and she always did a number on his peace of mind.
It was nice to see Chase’s parents again. They’d always been such nice and welcoming folks. And the meal was mouthwatering. He thought of the moment Devree was sure the turkey was Rusty and almost lapsed into another bout of stomach-cramping laughter. How could a woman be so empathetic she didn’t want to eat a rooster who’d tried to impale her?
“I don’t mean to rush, but I need to get this lady back to her couch.” Chase rose to his feet.
“Don’t mind me.” Brock picked up his hat, scooted his chair out. “That was the best meal I’ve had in some time. Is it always buffet here?”
“It depends on how many guests we have. When we’re heavily booked, buffet is easier. I sure miss the kitchen.” Landry stared longingly at the doors. “Your parents could probably use my help.”
“They’re fine.” Chase scooped her up.
A few guests smiled; no one seemed to think it odd to see a pregnant woman carried out.
“I’ll break your back.” Landry giggled as Chase walked toward the foyer with her cradled in his arms. “Hey, Brock, don’t run off. Join us in the great room.”
He’d have loved to come up with an excuse. He was afraid, despite their deal, they’d bring up his mother. For that matter, if he went back to his bunk, he could avoid running into her. But he worked for the Donovans. He couldn’t really refuse their offer.
“Sure. I’ll get the door.” Brock opened the double doors into the lobby. Chase carried his wife through.
As Devree trailed them, she glanced back at Brock. Her rich blue dress matched her eyes, caused his breath to stutter.
Landry smacked Chase in the chest. “If I could eat laying down, you’d make me, wouldn’t you?”
“Whatever it takes.” The seriousness in his tone silenced her protests.
She patted her stomach. “We’re fine. Don’t worry.”
He set her down—oh, so gently—on the couch. The care and love in his eyes reminded Brock of just what was at stake. Making the situation with his mother seem trivial.
“Happy Trails” started up, Chase’s ringtone. He dug his phone from his pocket, sighed and turned it off.
“Who was it?”
“That real estate developer. You’d think as many times as I’ve rejected his call, he’d realize he’s barking up the wrong tree. This place has been in my family for decades.” Chase took his place at the end of the couch with Landry’s feet in his lap. “How’s the fishing cabin coming?”
Despite Chase’s attempt to change the subject, Brock’s brain was stuck on the real estate developer. Took him back to his days of hounding landowners during his short-lived and ill-fated business partnership.
“It’s overrun with mice.” Devree clamped a hand to her mouth, cut her gaze to Landry. “But we’re handling it.”
“I won’t faint.” Landry rolled her eyes. “I can handle the truth. I just don’t understand where they’re coming from. It’s like somebody’s trucking them in or something.”
Devree’s gaze met Brock’s.
“I caulked all the plumbing, around the windows and doors, and underneath the baseboards and trim. With it airtight, we’ll conquer them.” And changed the locks so Ball-Cap couldn’t bring in more. “We got the old furniture out today. That should help.”
“I’m so glad you’re here.” Landry plumped her pillow. “I have to admit, I was getting worried.”
“We’ll have the cabin ready. I promise.” Devree sat down in a cowhide wingback chair. “I got the curtains and bedspread today and the furniture will be here next week. I got some wall decor for the chapel too.” Her focus went to the coffee table.
Brock settled in the matching chair and followed her gaze to an architectural magazine with a picture of him on the cover. An article from long ago. The city girl reporter had flirted with him mercilessly, tagging him “the cowboy carpenter,” and made a big deal about him wearing a Stetson instead of a hard hat. He’d built luxury cabins for wealthy clients all over Texas back then. A lifetime ago.
“Why did you stop building your cabins?” Chase gestured to the magazine. “The article’s quite impressive.”
His mouth went dry. He didn’t want to get into the fiasco with Phoebe. And her father. “I went into partnership, tried to go on a grander scale, but it didn’t work out.”
“I wish we could afford your cabins here.” Landry rolled onto her side. “I’m afraid ours probably seem beneath you.”
“They’re cozy and perfect for a vacation. Besides, I’m happy to be here. To help out a friend.” He was. He just wished he wasn’t constantly distracted by Devree and her pretty blue eyes. And his mother lurking about somewhere on the premises weighed heavy on his mind. He stood. “I appreciate y’all inviting me to supper, but I think I’ll turn in.”
“Glad you could make it. Eat in the dining room anytime you like. On the house.”
“I don’t mind paying.”
“We know. But you’re getting us out of a major bind. The least we can do is feed you.”
“Good night, then.” He headed for the exit. The night sounds—frog’s croaks, cricket’s chirps, horse’s whinnies—tugged at him. He’d sat on the porch swing many a night with his dad. He knew he should get going, back to his room. But as housekeeper, his mom should be long gone by now. He could sit a spell.
Closing his eyes, he settled on the swing. Old spice cologne and tales of the day’s handyman chores filled his memory. His dad’s calloused hands gentle, his voice low. Brock leaning his cheek on his dad’s arm. He’d often fallen asleep in the swing, then awoken in his bed the next morning.
The door opened and he became instantly alert. Surely, not his mom. He stiffened, then quickly relaxed as Devree stepped outside. Gasping when she spotted him.
“Sorry, I didn’t know you were out here.”
“I didn’t mean to be.”
“I love sitting on the porch swing at night.”
He scooted to the end, patted the slats beside him. “Feel free.”
She hesitated a moment, but headed his way in the end. The swing barely shifted with her slight weight.
“I don’t know why I like it out here.” She shuddered. “There’s probably snakes lurking. Or bats. Or bears for that matter. Maybe even a man with wire cutters. But I feel safe so close to the house and I love the night sounds. You don’t get that in the city.”
“I imagine not.”
“And the stars are so bright here. So many of them.”
He scanned the horizon, ashamed he often took the stars for granted. The black curtain sprinkled with sparkling flecks spread for miles. “So, why do you stay there?”
“It’s where I belong. It’s nice to visit the country—hear the sounds, experience the slowed-down lifestyle—but I could never live here. I’d be bored to tears.”
Her statement was a good reminder. For a short time, they’d work together. Then they’d go their separate ways. “I could never live anywhere else.”
“Do you think we put Landry’s mind at ease? With my blurting out the mouse issue.”
“She seemed relieved.” The swing had almost stopped and he pushed off with his boot. “Just wish she wasn’t right about someone trucking mice into the fishing cabin. Maybe I scared him off and the mice will be gone in the morning.”
“Where do you even find so many mice?”
“Good question. Maybe the city dump.”
“We should go there, ask around, see if anyone’s been setting traps.”
With the renewed swaying, a waft of apples caught his senses. “What are you, a detective?”
“I just want this craziness to end. If we don’t get rid of the mice before the Brighton/Anderson wedding, it’ll be a disaster.”
“The cabin’s caulked as tight as a storm shelter and the locks have been changed. I think the mice invasion is over.”
“Maybe so. But if someone’s trying to sabotage the dude ranch, they’ll come up with another way. He broke into the cabin.” The quiver in her voice tugged at him. “What if the ranch house is next?”

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