Counting on the Cowboy Read online

  “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?”

  “The last thing we need is you playing amateur detective. We don’t know what kind of person we’re dealing with here. Leave it to Chase and me to ask questions or do any investigating. Understood?”

  “Will you please talk Chase into calling the police?”

  “I’ll do my best.” He pushed to his feet. “See you in the morning.”

  “First thing.”

  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 abs
olutely nothing in common with her. He’d better tread carefully.

  * * *

  “Are they gone?” Devree peeked through the cracked door into the fishing cabin.

  “There were five in the live trap and no extra traps.” Brock scanned the living room. “I haven’t seen any movement, so maybe.”

  Tentatively, she stepped inside, arms loaded with draperies.

  “I told you I’d help with those.” He grabbed the bundle from her with a grimace. “What is all this?”

  His spicy cologne in her space. “Curtains.”

  “Men don’t like curtains.”

  “Women do.”

  “Do they have to be flowered?”

  “It’s a honeymoon cottage.”

  “You’re forgetting the cabin part. These timbers and caulking are rustic. You can’t put flowered curtains up.”

  “This is shabby chic decor, which is considered rustic.” She pulled up a picture on her tablet of floral wingback chairs paired with a cowhide rug against hardwood and log walls. “And you didn’t complain about the ones in the bedroom.”

  “They’re white and you can put as many cowhide rugs down as you want, but men don’t like flowers.” He wasn’t being argumentative, just passionate.

  “I can’t do the whole place in white. It’ll be—” she searched for the right word “—monotonous. Besides, Landry approved these curtains.”

  “Of course, she did. She’s a woman. I bet Chase would balk if he saw them.”

  “You really think it’s that important?”

  “The wedding’s all about the bride. The groom parades around in a penguin suit she picked out with a flower on his lapel and some girly-colored cockamamy vest.” He covered his ears with both hands. “He’s spent months hearing about bouquets, colors, cake flavors and designs. At least let him feel like a man in the honeymoon cottage.”

  Did his strong opinion on the subject come from experience? Had Brock been married? Whatever his story, his plea made sense. It really shouldn’t be all about the bride.

  “You know—you may have a point.” She dug her phone out of her pocket, punched in Landry’s number.

  Her sister answered on the second ring. “Boredom 101 here.”

  “Hey, sis. Brock thinks the flowered curtains don’t fit in the cottage and that I should try to incorporate male tastes too. What do you think?”

  “That actually makes sense. But it can’t be too manly. It’s a honeymoon cottage.”

  “Agreed. But if we put our heads together, we could come up with a balance of feminine and masculine, so the bride and the groom will feel comfortable. Maybe Brock could go to Rustick’s with me and give me some pointers.”

  He shook his head, held his palms toward her as if warding off a blow.

  “I like that idea.” Landry sounded entirely too pleased. Probably getting ideas about fixing her up with Brock. “Just don’t go too masculine. No dead animals and such.”

  “I’ll send you pictures of our choices, get your approval.”

  “I’ll be here.”

  Devree ended the call.

  “I don’t shop.”

  “You’re done caulking and Landry thought it was a great idea. And you’ll love this store. It’s all log furniture and deer antler chandeliers.”

  “And flowered curtains.”

  “We’ll see what else she has. Landry’s counting on you.”

  “You just had to throw that in there, didn’t you?” He glanced down at the bundle of flowered curtains he held. “I reckon I’ll go if it’ll get these back where they came from.”

  “Come on, I’ll drive.”

  “If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather drive us in my truck.”

  “Whatever makes you feel manly.”

  With a chuckle, he followed her out, double-checked that the new lock clicked in place. Why had she suggested they ride together? They could have met at Rustick’s in separate vehicles. Now she’d be stuck in his truck with him.

  Him and his spicy cologne, enigmatic green eyes, cleft chin and dimples that came out of nowhere. What had she been thinking subjecting herself to all that in close quarters?

  Chapter Five

  Saturday morning in town meant extra car and human traffic—vehicles whizzed by and pedestrians clogged the sidewalk. Faded logs notched together at the corners lined the exterior of the store, large windows flanking the glass doors—Rustick’s seemed like Brock’s kind of place.

  An older gentleman sat on a long church pew in front of the store, carving a walking stick with a knife.

  “Why, Jed Whitlow—” Devree plopped down beside him “—you’re just the guy I need to see.”

  Jed shot her a wink. “Why’s that, Ms. Devree?”

  “Does your grandson still work at the landfill?”

  Brock’s hackles went up. He nudged her foot with his, a subtle reminder she shouldn’t be doing the detective-thing.

  “Sure does.” Jed puffed his chest up. “He’s a senior in college. Almost got ’er wrapped up.”

  “This is my friend, Brock McBride. He’s thinking about getting a pet boa constrictor.”

  Clever. Not what he’d expected. Brock relaxed a bit.

  “Sweet. I’ve always wanted one, but the missus would move out if I came home with one.”

  “Marilyn is a wise woman.” She laughed. “I was thinking if Brock gets his snake, he might be able to get free food for it from the landfill while taking care of an environmental issue at the same time. Do you think they’d let him bring a live trap to catch mice for the snake’s supper?”

  “I can check with him. I reckon Steven would have to ask his boss, but he could probably fix you up with rats yea big.” Jed spread his hands apart ten inches or so. “I don’t think anybody would mind getting rid of them.”

  She closed her eyes, for just a second. “Ask Steven. But make sure Brock wouldn’t be cutting into anyone else’s territory. There might be someone else catching rodents at the landfill to feed a pet snake.”

  “I doubt anybody else would ask. They’d probably just sneak on the property at night and set their traps.”

  “Tell Steven not to say anything to his boss just yet.” Brock gave Jed an eye roll. “My girlfriend’s not sold on it. But thanks for your help.”

  Jed’s knowing gaze pinged back and forth between them. “Anytime.”

  “See you around.” Devree waved.

  Brock opened the door to Rustick’s and she stepped inside.

  “What did you go and do that for?” she whispered, punching him in the shoulder. “Now he thinks I’m your girlfriend.”

  “I didn’t say that. I was just coming up with a reason the kid shouldn’t say anything to his boss.” He shrugged. “If it gets around that we’re asking about live traps, our culprit might hear we’re trying to track him down. And besides—” he waggled his eyebrows at her “—would it be so horrible to be my girlfriend?”

  “We barely know each other, we have nothing in common and we’re both only here for a short time.”

  His chest deflated. Though he’d been convincing himself of the same thing, using those same reasons, hearing them come from her, hurt. And now that he’d put the question out there and been shot down, he had to play it off as a joke. He clutched his heart in dramatic fashion. “You wound me, fair lady.”

  She huffed out a sigh, and he tried to focus on their surroundings as opposed to her obvious lack of interest.

  Man-cave paradise greeted him. A treasure trove of log furnishings. More than Brock could take in. But not enough to keep his mind off of Devree’s words.

  A slender woman stepped toward them with two little girls.

  “Hi, Brock.”

  He looked down. Ruby. His gaze bounced up to the woman. Long light brown hair, kind gray eyes.

>   “I’m Scarlet Miller.” She stuck her hand out and he clasped it. “I’m so glad you’re here.” Her smile was genuine. “I mean in Bandera.”

  “Thanks.” He tried to keep it casual.

  “This is my friend, Cheyenne.” Ruby fought for his attention.

  “Hi, Cheyenne.” He glanced down at the dark-haired child with her.

  “Come give me a hug before you go.” A brunette woman scurried from the back of the store, knelt to Cheyenne’s level. “You be good and use your best manners.”

  “We always enjoy having her.” Scarlet took both girls by the hand, but her interest returned to him. “Well, we won’t keep you. But maybe you could come over for supper while you’re here. I’d love for you to meet Drew, my husband.”

  “Thanks for asking. We’ll see.” Code for no. But a kinder way of putting it. “Nice meeting you.” He opened the door for them.

  “You too.” Scarlet tugged the girls outside as Ruby waved goodbye.

  “You brought the curtains back.” The brunette sounded as if she’d expected it.

  Devree introduced Brock and his position at the dude ranch. “He’s helping get the fishing cabin ready for our honeymooners. He doesn’t think the groom will like flowered curtains.”

  “I tried to tell you.” The brunette propped her hands on her hips.

  “You did. I should have listened.” Devree turned to him. “This is Resa McCall, Landry’s neighbor, friend, Rustick’s owner and furniture designer.”

  “Your little girl looks just like you.”

  “Actually, she’s my niece. But I just got engaged to her father.” She winced. “It’s not as weird as I just made it sound.”

  Sounded as complicated as his life. He’d just met his stepsister for the first time, though she’d been part of his family for twelve years.

  “I’m behind.” Devree grabbed Resa’s left hand, inspected the sparkler gracing her ring finger. “When did this happen?”

  “Just last weekend.” Resa flashed a smile even brighter than the diamond. “Anyway, it’s nice meeting you, Brock. What are we looking for?”