Counting on the Cowboy

by Shannon Taylor Vannatter

  “Something not too feminine, not too masculine. A nice balance of both.” Devree scanned the store.

  “I’ve got the perfect thing. We just got a new line in from Dallas, the Burlap-and-Lace collection.” Resa led them to the left side of the store where numerous draperies hung.

  A few flowers, but mostly wildlife and horse designs. Devree must have worked hard to find the ones she’d bought.

  “We have four different designs.” Resa pulled curtains from the display rods, held one up for them to see.

  Brock grimaced at the large burlap panel lined by a wide strip of lace. “Still too frilly. No offense.”

  “None taken.” Resa held up the next choice.

  “Too burlap.” Devree shot down the panel with a thin band of lace.

  “Next.” Resa held up another.

  “Not bad.” Brock inspected the curtain, intermixed with broad strips of burlap and narrow lace. No flowers or ruffles.

  “You could feel like a man with these?”

  “They’re tolerable.”

  “Good.” Devree smiled. “I like them too.”

  “I didn’t say I liked them. If it were up to me, I’d say no curtains.”

  “Good thing it’s not up to you. Let’s see the last choice.”

  Resa held up another curtain, glancing back and forth between them with a grin that said she knew something they didn’t.

  Burlap with a ruffle at the top and a band of white at the bottom with holes in it.

  “Oh, I love the eyelet trim at the hem,” Devree gushed. “These would be great in the kitchen. And maybe the bathroom. Do they come in café style?”

  “They do. And I have a shower curtain to match.”

  “What do you think?” Devree turned to him.

  “Bearable.” Though he felt his man card slipping a bit out of reach.

  She rolled her eyes.

  “What? I like them better than the flowery ones you brought back.”

  “Okay, I’ll take the mix for the living room and the eyelet for the bathroom and kitchen.”

  For the next several minutes, the two women dug through the shelves to find the right size for each curtain, then stacked their finds in Brock’s arms.

  “So how’s Landry?” Resa’s brow furrowed.

  “Bored to tears. But I think her stress level is down since Brock showed up and the cabins are coming along nicely.”

  “I wish I had more time to spend with her. But with the store and my designs, my hunky fiancé and now a wedding to plan...” Resa sighed. “There just isn’t enough time in the day.”

  “She knows you’ve got a lot going on.”

  “But I shouldn’t be too busy for my dearest friend. Hey, I know—we need to set up a meeting for wedding planning.”

  “Do you have a date in mind?”

  “We’re hoping for the third weekend in June.”

  “This June?”

  “Please tell me you’re available. Do not make me wait any longer to marry that man of mine.”

  Brock strolled through the store as the ladies hashed out their schedules. Why couldn’t he have someone to love, someone who couldn’t wait to marry him? Because he kept going after the wrong women.

  Despite his mother’s abandonment and Phoebe dumping him, he’d always longed for a family of his own. One like he’d had before his father’s passing.

  “Okay, got you on my calendar.” But the smile Devree gave her friend wasn’t real. She obviously, truly wasn’t into weddings anymore. Why? He’d like to know what had soured her on her chosen profession. Though he couldn’t dwell on why he cared.

  “Let’s do our wedding discussing at the dude ranch with Landry included. I mean, she is my maid of honor.” Resa checked her phone. “What about May 18?”

  “She’d love that.” Devree grabbed Resa’s hand, gave it a squeeze. “Let’s surprise her. But wait. You want to meet on May 18 to plan a wedding for June 16?”

  “We don’t want all the hullabaloo. As long as I have my groom and a photographer, I’ll be happy. And Landry’s holding the great room at the dude ranch and the dining room for me on that date.”

  “Okay, lunch on the eighteenth.”

  “Sounds great.” Resa added more packages to Brock’s pile of burlap. “That should do it. Take these to the counter for me.”

  Brock did as he was told and Resa bagged the curtains. How had this become his life—shopping for curtains and wedding discussions? By hanging out with a city-girl wedding planner, that’s how. He could suffer through it for Chase and Landry.

  “These actually cost a little less than the floral draperies. I’ll figure out the difference and send Chase the updated invoice.”

  “Thanks, Resa. See you on the eighteenth.”

  Brock grabbed both enormous bags, opened the door for Devree.

  “I can take one of those.”

  “I’ve got them.” He hurried to stash the bags in the back seat of his cab. By the time he climbed into the driver’s seat, she was already in. “Getting hot.” He started the engine, turned the air on full blast and maneuvered into the flow of traffic on Main Street.

  “I’m glad we did this. The new curtains fit the cabin much better than the ones I originally chose. Thanks to you, hundreds of grooms will be happier.” The last bit held a note of sarcasm.

  “What do you have against grooms?”

  “It’s not so much the grooms.” She closed her eyes. “It’s the whole wedding thing.”

  “But you’re a wedding planner.”

  “Event planner.” Her gaze went past him, off into the distance. “It’s more the marriage part that gets me. They don’t seem to last.”

  “Some do.” He stopped at the only red light. “So how’d you get into wedding planning, then?”

  She huffed out a sigh. “Once upon a time, I was a romantic.”

  “But not anymore?”

  “I went to my first wedding when I was twelve. My mom’s cousin.” A wistful lilt hung in her words. “Lace and flowers everywhere. I decided I wanted to spend my life creating stunning weddings. Making perfect days for brides without going overboard, without breaking the bank. Just a simple, beautiful day to remember and begin a marriage.”

  “What happened?”

  “By the time I was putting together my fifth wedding, my second and third couples were filing for divorce.” Her shoulders sagged. “After eight years, my divorce rate is at forty percent.”

  “That’s not your fault. Focus on the sixty.”

  “I try.” She lifted one shoulder. “But it’s so discouraging. And I’m so jaded. Each wedding I plan now, I expect them to crash and burn in a few years. Or months. I just go through the motions.”

  “And never take the chance on love for yourself.”

  She met his gaze. “I don’t see a ring on your finger.”

  “I haven’t found the right girl.” The right country girl.

  “I hope it works out for you, but I wouldn’t hold my breath.”

  “I know lots of happy couples. Look at Landry and Chase.”

  “Yes.” She rolled her eyes. “But the first jerk she fell for dumped her at the altar. She had to get her heart broken before she met Chase.”

  “Still, she found him.”

  “Only after heartbreak.” The dullness in her tone said she’d been there as well.

  “Ever wonder if you’re missing out?”

  “No.” She hugged herself. “I just want to get the Brighton/Anderson wedding done, see my niece or nephew born healthy and get back to my life. In Dallas.” She sighed. “But now I’ll have to come back for Resa’s ceremony. At least it sounds simple and small.”

  The light turned green and he gassed it through the intersection.

  “What about Resa’s fella? Think they
’ll make it?”

  “I’ve only met him in passing. I hope so.”

  Phoebe had left a bitter taste in his mouth for love. But seeing Chase and Landry so happy gave him hope. And spending his days with the plucky wedding planner—turned decorator and aspiring event planner—had him thinking about a future he had no business entertaining. Especially not with her thoughts on love and her determination to get back to her beloved Dallas.

  * * *

  Devree peeked in the great room. Landry lay on the couch, flipping through a magazine with Chase nowhere in sight. She’d dreaded Sunday all week. For the first time since arriving in Bandera, she was on the rotation to go to church this morning. Maybe she could get out of it by offering to stay with Landry while Chase went.

  “Hey, sis.” She bustled into the room, sat in the wingback across from Landry’s couch.

  “Why aren’t you getting ready?”

  “For what?”

  “Church. You’re on the rotation this morning.”

  The Donovan family her sister had married into had been encouraging employees to take turns attending church services for years. “I thought I’d sit with you and let Chase go.”

  “No one needs to sit with me. It’s only an hour. I’d love to go and I won’t let you miss your chance.”

  “I really don’t want to leave you here alone.”

  “I’m not alone. There are several of the staff here. And the chapel is a hop, skip and a jump away.”

  “I’d rather stay with you.”

  Landry’s gaze narrowed. “Why don’t you want to go?”

  She’d have to spill. But Landry didn’t need to stress over her spiritual condition. Or a reminder of the reason. “It’s been a while since I’ve been to church.”

  Landry looked at her quizzically. “Why?”

  She couldn’t let her sister know she hadn’t been to church since seeing that tiny coffin.

  A childhood hang up surfaced and she decided to go with that. “When we were teenagers, Mom and Dad planned all those wonderful family vacations and outings. But then some employee would get sick or quit, and we didn’t get to go.” A wave of guilt washed over her, but Landry didn’t need to hear the truth.

  “But you must realize that sick employees or unreliable ones aren’t God’s fault. That’s just part of owning a business. And we got to spend plenty of time with Mom and Dad by tagging along to the store with them.”

  “I know. And as an adult, I realize how important the Christian bookstore is. They’re getting to be almost extinct. But I figure after all this time of me being mad at Him and ignoring Him—” she ducked her head “—God must be done with me.”

  “Oh, Devree, how could you think that? God never gives up on anyone. He’s just waiting for you to stop ignoring Him. All you have to do is ask for forgiveness. He’s waiting right where you left Him.”

  Something inside her chest squeezed.

  “When I moved here, after my first engagement ended so publicly, I was so mad and bitter I hadn’t been to church in a while. But Chase’s mom talked me into attending and all that anger began to melt.”

  “Last year, after our baby died, I thought I’d die too.” Landry’s chin trembled. “But God got me through it. Please don’t try to wade through this world without Him.”

  Devree’s vision blurred. What right did she have to be mad at God over Landry’s tragedy, while her sister had chosen to lean on Him more fully?

  “I won’t. Not anymore.” She swiped at a tear she hadn’t even realized had fallen and stood. “I better go get ready.”

  Even though she hadn’t told her sister the truth, she’d acknowledged it to God. And He’d heard her silent torment. She hurried up the stairs.

  I’m sorry, God. I didn’t have any right to get mad at You or ignore You. And it stops now. Peace replaced the pressure in her chest and suddenly she couldn’t wait to get to church.

  * * *

  Brock was here at Chase’s insistence. He wanted to be here. In the chapel on Sunday morning. But what if his mom was on this service’s rotation schedule? He couldn’t relax, and church should be the one place he could.

  From his vantage point in the back pew, he could see that ranch employees and a smattering of guests made up the congregation. No sign of her. If he’d known she wasn’t coming, he’d have chosen a closer pew.

  Devree sat with Chase about halfway up. Looking way too pretty in her vivid purple dress.

  Third row from the front, a child leaned over the back of the pew, staring at him. Ruby, with her hair done up in red ribbons. His gaze went to the woman beside her. Light brown hair, wavy. Slender shoulders. Scarlet. She whispered something to Ruby. The child promptly turned around and sat facing forward.

  The man beside Ruby wore a typical western shirt, his arm across the back of the pew, hand on Scarlet’s shoulder. Must be the husband, Drew. What were their supper conversations like these days? Did they discuss the black sheep stepbrother holding a grudge against dear sweet Becca? How had she managed to make him the bad guy when it had been all her?

  At least she wasn’t with them.

  A thick, stocky man with a ruddy complexion stepped onto the stage behind the pulpit. “Good morning.” Booming voice, perfect for preaching. “We’re so glad you could be here with us. Turn to page fifty-four in your hymn book.”

  The piano started up—“I’ll Fly Away.” The old standard from his childhood brought a rush of good memories. Until he got that odd feeling. Someone was staring at him. He scanned the crowd.

  Everyone seemed to be facing forward or looking at their hymn book and it wasn’t the preacher. Brock’s gaze went to the piano player.

  His mom.

  The words to the hymn stifled in his throat.

  She gave him a tentative smile before her gaze went back to her music.

  From adoring mom, to grief-stricken and neglectful, to drug addict, to remarried, stepmom, church pianist. His mom had certainly come full circle.

  He didn’t hear anything after that. None of the following hymns. None of the sermon. The man in front of him stood and he realized it was over. Down to the closing hymn and altar call. He rose to his feet as several people went up to the front, including Devree. The piano stopped, but the congregation kept singing. His mom descended the stage steps. He stiffened.

  Would she approach him, make a scene? She knelt at the altar and he started breathing again.

  The song wound down as people returned to their pews. Someone said a closing prayer. He was almost first out the door.

  Heavy footfalls behind him. “Brock. Wait.” The preacher.

  Reluctantly, he stopped, turned around. “How do you know my name?”

  The preacher’s ruddy complexion was even redder with his exertion. “Ron Fletcher.” He stuck his hand out and Brock clasped it. “I’m your, uh...your mama’s husband.”

  Add preacher’s wife to his mom’s circle. He wanted to pull his hand away. But his manners wouldn’t allow it.

  “Look, son, I don’t know what your relatives told you about your mama to turn you against her.”

  If this guy knew the truth, would he still be pleading her case?

  “She’s a good woman. Loves the Lord. Loves you like nobody’s business. Cried many a night over you. Days too—like now. All worried you’ll leave without talking to her.”

  “I’m staying until Chase finds someone else. Only because he’s a friend and he needs me. But I don’t think we have anything to discuss.”

  “Do me a favor?”

  “Can’t promise anything.” Brock shoved his hands in his pockets.

  “Give her a chance.”

  “Can’t promise anything,” he repeated and turned away.

  “Just think about it.”

  How could he work here and continue to avoid his mother
? Tell her to keep her distance or he’d bust her secret wide open? He wasn’t into blackmail. But if he let her think he was, maybe that would keep her at bay.

  He climbed in his truck, desperate for escape. But as he slowly maneuvered through the parking lot, past the church to the exit, he noticed Ruby standing at the glass door. Eyes locked on his, she waved.

  Chapter Six

  “Could you move it this way a bit?” Devree directed the Rustick’s delivery guys on where to put the new couch. “Perfect. Thanks. And that’s everything.” She signed the work order, verifying she’d received each piece and the men left.

  It was the last day of April, the week of the wedding. She was starting to feel the stress as the countdown to Saturday’s nuptials began. Could they get everything ready in time? With some nut, trucking in mice?

  “At least it’s not flowery.” Brock surveyed the furnishings.

  “I thought the white fabric would brighten it up in here. I picked these up too.” She placed a burlap-and-lace throw pillow at each end of the couch. “Can you help me hang the wall art?”

  “At your service.”

  “This, centered above the fireplace.” She held up the rustic window with four divided panes of glass to show him the right height, then stood back out of his way.

  He used his drill to sink the screw and hung the window.

  “What do you think?” She surveyed the piece. Curvy wooden letters painted pale aqua spelled out Mr. and Mrs. in catty-cornered panes of the window. A nice pop of color.

  “The peeling paint of the frame balances the girly blue color. It’s tolerable.”

  “This must be hard for you. From building designer cabins to seeing others doing the building while you end up playing interior decorator with me.”

  “I don’t mind. Keeps me busy.”

  From the looks of that fancy magazine, he was quite talented. Not the country bumpkin she’d pegged him as at all. Humble and willing to put everything aside to help his friend. Appealing character traits. Not to mention the cute cowboy thing he had going.

  “I’d like this over here.” She picked up a galvanized windmill clock, held it where she wanted it. “Can you hold this and let me look from a distance?”