Counting on the Cowboy

by Shannon Taylor Vannatter

“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

  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.”