Chapter Ten
The wedding rehearsal and dinner had gone off without a hitch last night. Now, if the ceremony would just come together glitch-free, maybe Devree would be on her way to planning Brighton Electronics’ company retreat. She lay in bed a few minutes longer, reveling in the rooster-less morning, reliving Brock’s kiss despite her need to forget it.
Hoofbeats nearby and cattle bawling interrupted the peaceful moment. What was going on down there? She got up, went to the window and peered out. Hooping cowboys on horseback herding cows. A cattle drive? On the very day of her most important wedding ever.
Five minutes later, she was dressed and dashing down the stairs, out the door. Troy, the foreman, made a loop around a stray cow, got it back in line.
“Troy!” she cupped her hands around her mouth to be heard.
“Morning, Miss Devree.” He tipped his hat.
“What’s going on here?”
“A cattle drive.”
“But I have a wedding today.” Her tone was on the verge of panic. “The cattle drives aren’t supposed to happen on the same weekends as weddings.”
“Apparently, Lee set it up before he left and got our guests all excited about it.”
She looked past him. Three city slickers having the time of their lives. “You have to cancel it.”
“What’s going on?” Brock asked behind her.
“We can’t have a cattle drive the day of the wedding.” She was near tears and seeing him after last night didn’t help her nerves.
“Can you move the cattle to the back of the property?” Brock shouted.
“Sure.” Troy called orders to his hands. Within minutes, the herd was headed away from the ranch. Dust swirled in their wake, then began to settle.
“Problem solved.” Brock’s posture was stiff as he strode away.
Except the problem stirring in her heart.
She hurried inside to apologize and calm the bride. In the foyer, the father-of-the-bride—the man she really needed to impress, descended the stairs. A grim frown on his face.
“I’m so sorry, Mr. Brighton. We had a scheduling issue, but they’ve moved the cattle drive to the back pasture and you won’t even know it’s going on.”
He opened his mouth.
“Daddy, wasn’t that fun?” Miranda hurried down the steps, slid her arm into the crook of her father’s elbow. “I’ve never seen a real cattle drive before. What a great way to begin my wedding day.”
“I’m glad you enjoyed it.” Apparently her bride wasn’t as metropolitan as she’d thought. “Maybe you can come back sometime and go on a drive.”
Miranda laughed. “I don’t want to get that close. But I just had the best idea. Maybe Daddy could have the company retreat here. And the men could go on a cattle drive.”
Great idea. “The dude ranch is open for events and I’d be happy to plan it for you, if you decide to go that route.” Devree smiled, as if she hadn’t been conspiring since she’d agreed to plan the wedding.
“Something to think on. But right now, I’d like to take my daughter to breakfast while she still has my last name.”
“Of course. Just let me know if you need anything.”
They strolled across to the dining room. As the doors closed behind them, Devree pumped her fist in a victory gesture.
The front door opened and Brock stepped inside. “Guess everything’s good in here.” He barely looked at her.
She told him about her conversation with the bride’s father. “That’s what this whole wedding has been about for me.”
“I’m glad you’re getting what you want.” He strode toward the dining room.
Except, she wasn’t. Deep down—she wanted him in her life. But he’d never move to Dallas and she could never stay here. How had she let herself get so attached to him?
* * *
From the porch of the ranch house, Brock watched the newlyweds flee the chapel as guests threw birdseed and stopped them for last-minute hugs. Reception over, the couple climbed into the waiting horse-drawn carriage and were whisked away to the cottage. The crowd dispersed to their cars. Once he saw the parents of the bride leave, he stood and headed that way. Though he’d rather do anything else. But he couldn’t turn down a pregnant lady’s request.
Inside the chapel, Devree was already on the ladder, unwinding poufy white netting from the pillars. Barefoot.
She stopped, turned to see who’d come in. “What are you doing here?”
“Landry sent me to help you clean up.”
“Surely, wedding cleanup isn’t in your job description.”
“Neither is digging a skunk out of a dryer vent. But I’ll do whatever Chase and Landry need for as long as I’m here.”
“Suit yourself.” She shrugged. “I’ll go move my trailer around front, so we can load this stuff up.”
“You have your own trailer?”
“It’s small, but all this stuff is mine. I need somewhere to store it and it makes it easy to transport with a trailer.”
“Why have I not seen it?”
“It’s in the garage at the new house.” She grabbed her purse, slipped on her shoes. “Be right back.”
The one place he hadn’t been on the property. “What can I do while you’re gone?”
“Move the pillars and those totes I’ve already packed on the front pew to the door.”
Left alone, he moved the items she’d requested. None of them were heavy, but they were bulky and awkward. Just as he moved the last tub, she stepped back inside.
“Want me to take these on out?”
“No. The arbor needs to go in first, then the pillars, then the totes.” She started to move the ladder.
“I’ve got it.” He manhandled it from her, grazing her hands along the way, stirring his pulse. “Where do you want it?”
“Under the arbor so I can take the ivy and tulle off.”
He moved the ladder. “Do you use the greenery and netting for every wedding?”
“Most of them. Sometimes a bride will get picky and want something else.”
“Why don’t you just leave it on until you get a picky bride?”
“It doesn’t keep as well. It gets dingy and frayed and I don’t always use the same fabric. Besides, it doesn’t take long to put it on or take it off. I’ve done it so many times, I could do it with my eyes closed if I had to.” She loosened the last bit of netting and stepped down from the ladder. But didn’t stumble this time. The air crackled between them as her gaze caught his.
He stepped aside as she unwound the decorations from one side of the archway and he tackled the other. He moved underneath the arbor, now stripped free of trappings, and lifted it. “This thing’s heavy.”
“I didn’t mean for you to do it alone.” She grabbed one side. “Let me help.”
“I’ve got it. Just get the door.”
She let go and hurried for the exit, held it open for him, then unlocked the trailer and stood out of the way as he walked his load inside.
“How do you handle this stuff on your own?”
“I don’t. I have a guy.”
Of course, she did. His breath caught. If she was involved with someone else, what was she doing kissing him? Technically, he’d kissed her, but she’d definitely kissed him back.
“His mother is a florist I use often. He’s sixteen and a fullback on his football team. I hire him to do my heavy lifting.”
Oh. That kind of guy. “So what’s on your agenda, now that the wedding is over?”
“I’ll be decorating the new honeymoon cottages. And I’ll help get the new house move-in ready for Chase and Landry. They approved my contest idea, so I’ll be doing publicity for that along with finding vendors to volunteer services for the winning retreat. What’s next for you?”
“Getting Cha
se and Landry moved into the new house, fixing whatever needs fixing around here and helping with the new cabins.” Which meant, they’d still be working together much of the time. With this attraction sizzling between them. But it was more than that. She’d gotten past all his defenses. Yet Dallas was too big of a gulf for them to span.
“So when can they move?”
“Technically—Friday. Once the painters finish, we’ll do the flooring and finish work. The furniture is arriving Thursday, so everything will be ready. But Chase wants to wait until the next week to make certain the paint fumes are gone.”
“He won’t take any chances with the baby.” The corners of her mouth kicked up, a dreamy expression softened her eyes. “Not many men like him in the world. And I’m so glad Landry found him after everything she went through before.”
“Yet their happiness—even after losing their first child—hasn’t restored your faith in love?”
“Most of the time, it doesn’t work out so well.” She rolled her eyes, slipped her shoes off, hurried back up the ladder.
Silly woman. Must she wear those excuses for shoes even when cleaning up after the wedding?
But deep down, he hoped she’d lose her balance again. So he could catch her.
* * *
No Devree at morning service. They must be on a different schedule now. The closing prayer ended with an echo of amens. Brock shot from his seat, headed for the door. Ron or his mom wouldn’t get the chance to pull him aside today. He was out of here.
“Hello, I’m Ella Jones.” A salt-and-pepper-haired woman headed him off. “I’m on housekeeping detail here at the dude ranch.”
“Brock McBride.” At least his last name wouldn’t tip her off since it was different than his mom’s. “Handyman.” He clasped her outstretched hand.
“Oh, yes. I heard they hired someone. Do you sing, young man?”
“I’m afraid not.”
“I’m trying to put a choir together. Do you know of anyone employed here who does?”
“Brock has a wonderful voice,” his mom said appearing on his left.
“Really? Are you trying to hold out on me, Mr. McBride?”
“Not at all. She hasn’t heard me sing since I was a child.” He spared her a glance.
Color suffused her face. “That’s true. But he had a wonderful voice the last time I heard him at ten years old. Usually if a person can sing as a child, they don’t lose the ability as an adult.”
“That’s true. You knew Becca when you were little?”
“It was a long time ago.” Brock worked at keeping his tone pleasant for Ella’s sake.
“Listen, the chapel is mainly for dude ranch employees and guests.” Ella looped her arm through the crook of his elbow, leaned close as if they were conspiring. “It’ll be difficult since we attend on separate shifts. But all congregations need a choir. How can I convince you to join?”
“Let me try.” Mom smiled up at him. “Since we go way back.”
“Excellent idea.” Ella patted his shoulder. “I’ll be expecting you in the choir, Mr. McBride. Nice meeting you.” She moved on, leaving them alone.
Brock looked around. They were alone. Even Ron was gone. As if the entire congregation had conspired to get them together.
“I’ll pretend you tried to talk me into it.” He started past her.
But she touched his arm. “Ella’s watching and if you go scowling off, she’ll ask questions. Besides, I never got the chance to ask you how you like the ranch?”
“It’s all right.” Except she was here. He pulled away from her.
Her hand dropped to her side. “You’ve relieved a lot of Chase’s stress.”
“That’s why I’m sticking around.” Not to reunite with her.
“What’s next on your to-do list?”
“Get Chase and Landry moved into the new house. Finishing touches and paint. Trim work and flooring.” Get through Dad’s birthday on Tuesday. Did she even remember the significance of the date? “Setting up the nursery and furniture.”
“My crew is all set to clean. Just let me know when.”
He’d be sure to make himself scarce, then. “Your crew?”
“I’m head of housekeeping.”
If the Donovans knew the truth, would they trust her with that position?
“Look, why don’t you come to the house for lunch? Ron would love to visit with you. And I would too.”
He wanted to bite her head off. Tell her all the reasons he’d never step foot in her house. But standing inside a church wasn’t the proper place and the manners Mama Simons had instilled in him came to the surface. “No, thank you.”
“Because I haven’t told Ron everything?”
“The subject will come up. Where was I as a kid? What did Dad’s family supposedly tell me to turn me against you? I won’t go through that.”
“I just want to spend time with you.”
“Then tell him the truth,” Brock growled.
“He’s such a good man.” Mom’s eyes begged for mercy. “I don’t want to lose him.”
“If he’s the kind of man who’ll leave over past mistakes, maybe he’s not worth having.”
“It’s not that. Ron is a stickler for the truth. He’ll be deeply hurt that I withheld my past from him.”
“Maybe you should have thought of that before you married him. Until then, I think we’ve said all we need to say.”
Eyes glossy, she nodded her head as if she’d expected him to decline. “Will you at least consider singing in the choir? God wants us to use the talents He’s given us.”
“God expects us to keep our word when we say we’ll leave someone alone too.” His jaw clenched.
“Grandma.” Ruby ran up and hugged his mom. “Grandpa said the petting zoo is set up. When can I come, Uncle Brock?” She lowered her voice to a whisper on the last bit.
“Let me know next time you’re at the ranch after school and I’ll give you a private tour.”
“I can’t wait.” She looked up at his mom. “Is Uncle Brock coming to lunch with us?”
“Sorry. Not today, kiddo.” He twirled her curly ponytail around his finger, then strode away. Actually, never—if Grandma was invited too.
Who was his mom to tell him what God wanted? God wanted parents to stay off drugs. To remember where they left their children. To pick them up from the babysitter. To love them. Not to abandon them. To do everything opposite of what she’d done.
* * *
The chatter and song of various birds serenaded the morning sun as Brock stepped out on his porch. His cell rang. He swiped his hand down his work shirt and dug in his pocket. The contractor. “Brock here. What can I do for you?”
“Can you retrieve the redhead?”
“You mean Devree? What’s she doing?”
“She’s here at the new house, second-guessing everything we do. Can you call her off?”
“I can’t promise anything.” He tucked his phone back in his pocket, jumped in his truck and headed that way. Minutes later, he killed his engine. No power tools sounded. Had she managed to single-handedly bring construction to a standstill?
The buzz of a compressor started up, followed by the thunk of a nail gun, along with the whine of a circular saw echoing from inside. Okay, maybe not even Devree Malone could stop progress.
He opened the door, stepped inside. There was sawdust everywhere. A thick fog hung in the air, what with the doorways to the rest of the house closed off with heavy plastic sheeting. Exposed insulation and multicolored slats of wood lined the walls.
Devree’s mouth was moving, but the compressor drowned her out. “Excuse me!”
The compressor silenced just as she shouted. All eyes turned on her.
“Ahem.” Her face turned four shades of red. “As I said, I’m Devree Malone—I�
�ll be overseeing interior design. Is there any way y’all could do the sawing outside, so there’s not dust everywhere?”
Snickers.
The gray-haired construction foreman, Ben Myers, stepped toward her. “Like I said, sawing inside saves time and we’re on a tight schedule here.”
“But cleaning up all this sawdust will take time.”
“Not as much time as carrying our lumber in and out. It’s a construction site. Things get messy. But we’ll clean up when we’re done.” He propped his hands on his tool belt. “Anything else?”
Not easily intimidated, she straightened her spine, raised her chin. “The lumber is all willy-nilly, mismatched with no pattern.”
“That’s the way it’s supposed to be, according to the work order. It’s a focal point.” The compressor started up again. Ben held his hands palm up, then turned away and went back to work with his men.
She scanned the walls once more, dug her phone from her pocket, took pictures from different angles as the sawdust swirled. Noticing him, she turned to give him a mouthful, only he couldn’t hear a thing she said.
He grabbed her elbow, pointed her toward the exit. Thankfully, she complied. Outside, the noise faded as he shut the door behind them.
“If I’m going to oversee the design, you have to make them listen to me.”
“He’s right on the sawing. It would be time-consuming to do it outside. And they need to get the wall done, so the painters can tackle the rest of the room. I told the contractor I’d help with the finish work after that to speed things along.”
“Let me know when I can set up the nursery. I want to do that for Landry.”
“Will Wednesday work?”
“Perfect. But do you really think the house will be dust-free enough by then?”
“I’ve seen thousands of construction sites. Trust me, when it’s over, you won’t know there was ever sawdust involved.” Especially with his mom on the job. They might have their issues, but she excelled when it came to cleaning.
“I thought that wall was all supposed to be barn wood.” She scrolled on her tablet, turned it to show him. A picture of a reclaimed lumber wall with little variety in color.
Counting on the Cowboy Page 11
