Counting on the Cowboy

by Shannon Taylor Vannatter

  “Now, this I like. Nothing girly about it.” He held it for her.

  She took a few steps back. “A little lower and to the left. Right there.”

  Brock marked the spot, drove the screw into the wall.

  “The great thing about logs, you don’t have to worry about finding a stud.”

  “I saw you in church yesterday.” He hung the windmill. “Guess we’re on the same rotation.”

  “I think it swaps around.” Should she broach the subject? It wasn’t technically discussing his mother. “This was my first week to be on the rotation. I knew Ron was a military chaplain, but I missed the memo about him being the preacher here. If I’d known, I’d have warned you.”

  “He clued me in. I don’t want to talk about it. What’s next?”

  Should have kept her mouth shut. “I thought this wreath would look nice here. It’s made of vines from Grapevine, Texas and the cotton is grown locally too.” She placed it on the wall where she wanted.

  “Rustick’s has some cool stuff.” He took it from her.

  She moved back. “To the right and lower. Perfect.”

  As he marked the spot, the door opened.

  Devree turned around. Becca. Her breath stalled.

  Brock glanced over, did a double take. “What are you doing here?”

  “I was supposed to vacuum before the new furniture arrived.” She looked around, bit her lip. “Guess I’m too late. But that’s okay, I can move it and clean underneath.”

  “You know...” Devree tapped her chin with an index finger, as if she were thinking. “There was a clock made from a wooden electric spool at Rustick’s. It would be perfect in the kitchen. I think I’ll go back and get it. Maybe you can help Becca move the furniture?”

  His mouth gaped, eyes begging her to stay.

  “See you in a bit.” Ignoring his silent plea, she backed out the door and shut it. She really had been thinking she should have gotten the other clock—but it could have waited. The conversation between mother and son, on the other hand, was a long time coming. Devree’s legs shook as she got in her car. He’d be mad at her. But she cared about him—not in a romantic way, of course—about his well-being. Brock needed the only parent he had left, whether he realized it or not.

  * * *

  “How are you?”

  “Busy.” Brock bit the words out. “Five minutes and I’m out of here.”

  “Fair enough.” She smiled sadly and said nothing more as she got the vacuum cleaner out of the closet.

  Thoughts of bolting for the door tumbled in his gut, but the many questions he had running through his head prevailed. “Why are you here?” He splayed his hands. “I remember you badgering Dad—trying to get him to move. Before he was even cold in the ground, you dragged me to your beloved Dallas.”

  She jerked, as if he’d struck her. “I moved because I couldn’t face the memories of your father here.”

  “But you obviously can now.”

  “I’ve learned a lot.” Mom shrugged. “The city isn’t all I thought it was and you can’t run from problems. That’s part of how I ended up—”

  “On drugs. Abandoning your son.”

  “I didn’t abandon you.”

  “You never picked me up from the babysitter.”

  “I was just so lost without your father. I wanted an escape.” She covered her face with both hands.

  “I guess I was a reminder of him you decided you could do without.”

  “No.” She shook her head. “I never meant to leave you.”

  “But you did.”

  “No.” She pressed her knuckles against trembling lips. “I’m ashamed to admit it.” She closed her eyes. “I forgot where I left you.”

  “Forgot?” A twitch started up in his jaw muscle. “How could you forget where you left your kid?” he roared.

  She jumped, tears streaming again. “Drugs.” She lifted one shoulder. “I was so messed up and Mrs. Simons was a new sitter. I couldn’t remember where her house was. And by the time I came down and could remember, I knew if I went to get you, they’d arrest me.”

  “So you just left me there?” He’d imagined she hadn’t wanted him. That she’d have more money for drugs without him. Never that she’d forgotten where he was. People forgot where they left things. Their eyeglasses, their keys, their phone. Not kids. Not kids they loved, anyway.

  “Mrs. Simons was a nice lady and I was such a mess. I figured you were better off with her.” Her chin wobbled. “But I never forgot about you. I missed you so badly—as if I’d cut off a piece of myself.”

  “Not enough to come back for me.”

  “I wanted to. So much.” Her voice broke. “You’ll never understand unless you’ve been on drugs. I wanted my next fix more. And I knew if I went to jail, there wouldn’t be another. I’ve been clean for fifteen years. You can ask my former parole officer if you don’t believe me.”

  So in the end, she had chosen drugs over him. “Why didn’t you try to find me?”

  “You were a teenager by the time I got myself together, and I figured you hated me.” Her chin trembled. “With just cause.” Her cheeks reddened. “I got caught—ended up in jail—got parole by agreeing to enter a faith-based rehab program. I accepted Jesus as my Savior. Are you a Christian?”

  “Yes.” Thanks to Mama Simons. She was the one he should consider his mom. The best of his foster families—until Pop Simons’s mother was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s and Brock had to give up his room.

  “Oh good.” She let out a sigh.

  “I’ll move the couch and leave you to your cleaning.”

  “Please wait.” She blocked his path. “Tell me about your life. I prayed so hard for you to have a good one. Hoped the Simons would adopt you.”

  He glared at her. “Didn’t happen. She called child services the second day you didn’t show and arranged to be my guardian, then went through the process to foster me. Until Grandma needed to move in. After that, I bounced from foster home to foster home. Some ditched me because I cried myself to sleep every night, some because they decided they wanted a dog instead of a kid. Eventually, I aged out of the system and I’ve been on my own since.”

  “I’m so sorry.” Her voice took on a breathy quality. “But you built a successful business. Are you married?”

  “No.” He’d fallen for a girl in Austin once, almost married her, until she reminded him not to trust city girls. “How did you end up back here?”

  “Once I got out of the program, no one would hire me. So I came back. Partly for a job, partly because I thought you might show up some day.” She clasped the vacuum again. “Chase’s grandmother was still alive then and let me have my old position back. I married Ron twelve years ago.”

  She nibbled her lip. “He’s a wonderful man, as much in the dark about me as everyone else. I know I should have been truthful. But I was so ashamed and Granny said no one else needed to know. And once I started falling for Ron, I was so afraid he wouldn’t love me if he knew everything. That he wouldn’t want an ex-addict near his daughter.”

  “You better get back to work, so I can. Have Chase call me when you’ve finished.” He moved the couch away from the wall, then bent to flip the vacuum she held on, effectively ending the conversation.

  Her mouth opened, shut as the whine of the cleaner drowned out whatever she wanted to say.

  He’d heard enough, anyway. It satisfied him immensely to walk out on her and slam the door.

  * * *

  Devree hesitated on the porch of the fishing cabin. Two hours had passed. Was Becca gone? Had she and Brock reconciled? Or had it out?

  The door swung open. Brock stood there, grim-faced. “Don’t ever do that to me again.”

  “I needed to get the clock. It’s in the car. Kind of heavy. Can you—?”

  “It could have
waited.” He stepped aside, ushered her in.

  True. “But I wanted to get the kitchen done today. So how did it go? Did you and Becca talk?”

  “Enough. If she ever shows up again, do not try to manipulate a reunion between us. If I ever decide I want to work things out with her, I’ll do it. On my terms. And timing.”

  “Okay. I get it. I’m sorry. I was only trying to help.” Subject closed.

  “Just don’t. I’ll get the clock from your car, so we can get back to work.” He hurried out the door.

  She stared after him. How could she fix this? How were they supposed to work together if he was all mad and stiff?

  The door opened and Brock strode in carrying the massive clock. Chase just a few steps behind him.

  “Wow, this place is different.” Chase looked around, a hint of sadness in his eyes.

  “Don’t worry.” Devree hurried to reassure him. “All your grandfather’s things are at the new house. What do you think?”

  “I guess you had to girly it up some, but it’s not too bad.”

  “So you approve?”

  “Not too shabby. You’ve done a fine job.”

  “Brock was a big help. I initially picked floral curtains and throw pillows.”

  Brock gave no reaction to her praise. Still frowning, he focused on Chase.

  “Nice save, Brock.” Chase stepped into the kitchen, then the bedroom. “I just wanted to see the final result. And Landry wants me to take pictures.”

  “I think the mice are a thing of the past, thankfully.” She rushed to cover Brock’s silence. “While you’re here, let me run an idea by you.”

  “What’s that?” Chase took several pictures of the furnishings with his phone.

  “I’ve been thinking of ways to promote my event planning when I get back to Dallas. I came up with a contest to bolster my services and then I thought of using the dude ranch as a venue. I could do a massive publicity campaign and have a drawing for a free company retreat here. With me as the event planner.”

  “After the baby?” Chase lowered his phone.

  “Yes. You’d get publicity from the contest and retreat attendees would rent rooms. I can probably get florists and caterers I’ve worked with to donate services in exchange for exposure.”

  “Sounds feasible. I’ll run it by Landry. And Mom and Dad might want to do the catering themselves.”

  “Great.”

  “My work is done here.” Chase pocketed his phone. “I can’t tell you what a load you’ve taken off Landry’s mind, working together on this. She’ll love what you did with the place.”

  “It’s been kind of fun.” Devree surveyed the room with pride. “I’ve never done anything like this, but we make a good team.” She tried for eye contact with Brock, but he looked away.

  Obviously, it wasn’t fun for him. Not anymore, anyway.

  Chase’s gaze bounced from her to Brock. “You two getting along okay?”

  “Well enough,” Brock mumbled.

  “Thanks for helping us out on this.” Chase squeezed her shoulder, shook Brock’s hand. “I know it’s not really in either of your job descriptions.”

  “We’ve made it work,” she promised.

  Another curious glance between them and Chase left.

  “Where do you want the clock?” All business. None of the warmth he’d shown Chase. Or the teasing connection they’d shared before she’d meddled in his mom situation.

  “On the wall behind the kitchen table.”

  He stalked into the kitchen, obviously eager to wrap this up and escape her for the rest of the day.

  Somehow, him being mad at her didn’t sit well. As if she’d lost something...special.

  * * *

  Devree took the stairs two at a time down to the foyer, peeked in the great room. No Landry. She must be still asleep.

  She had a meeting with the bride and groom at the bakery in town that shouldn’t take long. Typical bride, considering a flavor change at the last minute. Miranda would probably end up sticking with her original choice.

  After the cake consultation, she had a few finishing touches to make at the fishing cabin. And a tense cowboy to try to soothe. Maybe he’d be better today.

  She slipped on her sunglasses and stepped outside. Cows. She gasped, clasped a hand to her chest. Half a dozen cows. Surrounding her car. Two of them licking her passenger windows.

  Wearing a mustard yellow sundress and heels, she wasn’t clad for herding cattle. Nor did she have time. And she wasn’t a fan of getting up close and personal with cows. They were big and stinky, and she liked them a lot better when they were behind a fence.

  But she couldn’t bother Chase with this. And no one else was about. Yet, even if she could get them away from her car, she couldn’t just leave them out.

  At least they weren’t longhorns. She drew in a deep breath, stepped purposely off the porch, waving her arms. “Shoo, shoo. Go back where you came from.”

  All six red-and-white faces turned her way. One bawled at her, but they didn’t move. Two went back to licking her passenger side windows, leaving slimy tongue streaks from top to bottom.

  “Shoo, shoo. Get back in your fence.” She ran at them, but they paid her no mind. So she tried jumping up and down, waving her arms more frantically. “Come on, you stupid cows. I don’t have time for this.”

  “Whoa. How’d they get out?” Brock rounded the ranch house.

  “I don’t know. They were just here when I came out.”

  “I’ll get a feed bucket.” He hurried toward the barn.

  Within minutes, he returned with a pail full of grains. One of the cows bawled, then headed in his direction. The others followed.

  Brock backed to the gate, opened it, led the cows inside. Once all six were back in the fence, he fastened it.

  “Thanks.” She got in her car, started the engine. But the passenger windows were a streaky mess she couldn’t see through. She jumped out, hurried toward the ranch house.

  “Where are you going?” Brock jogged toward her. “I thought you had a meeting.”

  “I need something to wipe their slobber off with. I can’t see out my passenger side.”

  “Get in your car. I’ll take care of it.” He rushed to his truck, came back with a spray bottle and blue paper towels. Quickly, he sprayed the window down and wiped it clear. “Go.”

  “Thanks. Again.” She gave him her best smile, waved goodbye.

  At least he wasn’t so mad at her that he wouldn’t come to her rescue. Maybe she’d offer to pay to have his cape dry-cleaned this time.

  Five minutes later, she entered the bakery with time to spare.

  “Devree.” Miranda was as giddy as ever, with Joel’s arm around her waist. If he couldn’t care less about the wedding, he sure was putting on a good front.

  “I hope you haven’t been waiting long.”

  “Not at all. And you’re early, anyway.”

  “Have a seat and I’ll be with you in just a few.” The owner waited on another customer.

  “Thank you both for coming.” Devree followed them to a table. “This is usually the most fun wedding prep meeting for the groom. Lots of cake flavors to taste. And you get to do it again.”

  “I’ve truly enjoyed all of it.” Joel never took his eyes off Miranda. “It’s meant I’ve gotten to spend time with the love of my life.”

  “Aww, isn’t he sweet?” Miranda pressed her cheek against his. “Do you think we could see the honeymoon cottage since we’re here? And maybe I could see those glass bell decorations you told me about.”

  “Sure.” It was clean and ready minus a few wall decor items. And, hopefully, still mouse-free.

  The couple stole a quick kiss.

  And for some reason, this time, instead of gagging over their head-over-heels in love antics, D
evree longed for what they had.

  * * *

  Brock reread the text from Devree.

  Are you at the cabin? If so, is anything amiss? My bride and groom would like to see it while they’re in town.

  He’d replied that everything was fine. That didn’t necessarily mean he had to stay. So, why was he still here? Because he didn’t have anything else to do at the moment? He’d repaired the hole in the fence where the cows had gotten out. Reported the bad news to Chase—another fence cut. Adding to Chase’s stress instead of detracting from it. He suggested it was time to call the police. His friend had promised to think about it.

  In the meantime, one carpentry crew was hard at work completing the new house, another tackling the new honeymoon cottages and a demolition team was tearing down the old storm shelter by the chapel.

  Sometimes he missed getting his hands dirty. This handyman gig wasn’t enough to keep his mind busy. Off of Devree. Even with a fence-tampering vandal on the loose, he couldn’t stop thinking about her. Despite their complete incompatibility and her interference with his mom yesterday, he was eager to spend the rest of his day with her. What was wrong with him?

  He opened the door when he heard voices coming his way. Devree and the couple.

  The sun set her hair on fire. The pretty mustard yellow sundress only accented her beauty.

  “This is Brock, the handyman. And this is Miranda and Joel.”

  He forced his attention away from her and concentrated on the couple. He shook hands with Joel as they stepped up on the porch. “Nice to meet you.”

  “So is the cabin new?” Miranda frowned at the aged logs.

  “It belonged to the owner’s grandfather, but we recently updated the interior.”

  “Farmhouse decor.” Miranda clapped her hands together. “I love it. It’s so pretty.”

  “But still rustic. I like all the burlap.” Joel looked around the living room.

  Brock caught her gaze, gave her the tiniest smirk.

  Her eyes narrowed. “You can thank Brock for that. I picked floral fabrics, but he gave me insight on the male perspective.”

  Nice. She gave credit where it was due. “I’ll let you handle the rest of the tour. Good meeting y’all, and I’m glad you like what we’ve done here.” He tipped his hat, headed out. He needed some air and to stop liking her so much.