“Barn wood is usually all different colors from sun and weather. As long as they’re putting it on the right wall, I don’t see a problem.”
“But there has to be some sort of pattern.”
“Huh?”
All animated, she drew in the air with her hands. “A pattern—light, dark, medium.”
“You mean like stripes?”
“Something. Right now, it’s a mismatched mess.”
“Can I see your tablet?”
Her right eyebrow lifted, but she handed him the tablet and he googled rustic wood interior. Several walls popped up with a mix of wood shades. She stepped beside him to see. Apple shampoo tickled his senses.
“See, it’s a new trend.” He tried to ignore her nearness, her cinnamon hair against his arm. “You blend different shades. There’s no pattern and it turns out great.”
“If you say so.” Her nose crinkled. “It seems like the wood should at least go from wall to wall. With them layering it in short pieces, it looks like a mess. Apparently, the mix of shades couldn’t be helped. But shouldn’t there be some sort of order instead of chaos?”
“You’re not into rustic design, huh?”
“Not really. Rustic weddings are always a challenge for me.”
“Then I reckon you’ll just have to trust me. I’ll admit it looks like a mess right now, but wait until you see the big picture.”
Her blue eyes met his. And he had to fight the pull he felt toward her. She’d made her intentions about her future clear. “If I send the pictures to Chase, he probably wouldn’t see the problem. Should I bother Landry with it? Would it stress her out?”
“From what I understood, Landry made the call. The wood came from an old outbuilding on the property that collapsed.”
“I think I will show her the pictures to make sure she knows what it looks like.”
“Go for it.”
The backup generator whirred to life and she jumped right into him. He steadied her, his hands on her shoulders.
“What’s that?” Her eyes wide.
“The generator, so we don’t blow a fuse when they use all the tools at once.”
She stayed there, too close, for a few seconds longer. His cell started up and she stepped back.
Tugging his gaze away from hers, he dug his phone from his pocket, scanned the screen. Wallace Montgomery. The architect he and Tuckerman once worked with. He jogged away from the generator before answering.
“Brock McBride here. Good to hear from you, sir.”
Wallace chuckled. “You still have me in your phone after all these years. I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“You’re one of the best I ever worked with.”
“Same here, which is why I called. I’ve got an opportunity to design luxury cabins for an upscale resort in Fredericksburg. Wondered if you might be on board to work with me.”
“I’m surprised you’d want to work with me again.” Brock focused on the wildflowers dancing in the slight breeze. “After the way things went down before.”
“The problem in that partnership was Tuckerman. You’re the most skilled builder I’ve ever worked with. Honest and reliable to boot.”
“I appreciate that, sir.” Relief washed over him. Maybe his reputation wasn’t completely in shreds. “I’m afraid I might be tied up for the next few months, but after that...”
“It’ll be August at least. I’ll call again when we get a definite timeline.”
“Thank you, sir. It’ll be a privilege to work with you again.” Brock hung up, turned around.
Devree stood right in front of him.
“Sorry. I wasn’t trying to listen in. Just frantic to escape the racket before it drives me completely buggy.” But there was a dullness in her eyes. “You’ve got a job opportunity?”
“Yeah. I thought I’d blown it the last time we worked together, but apparently not.”
“Thanks for putting it off for Chase and Landry.” She slipped her hands in her back pockets. “Is there anything I can do to help speed completion along here at the house?”
“The ceiling will be old rusty tin. It all has to get several coats of polyurethane to meet code. You can help me with that.” He expected her to decline. She wanted the work done, but did she want to get her hands dirty?
No answer. She headed to her car.
“Guess I’ll take that as a no.”
“Actually, I’m going to change clothes. Be right back.” She glanced over her shoulder at him.
And his heart did a funny thing in his chest. This could easily get out of hand. Who was he trying to kid? It was already out of hand.
Chapter Eleven
Devree parked her car in the lot and hurried to the ranch house, mentally cataloguing her supply of work clothes. Definitely lacking in that area. But she and Landry were the same size—at least until the pregnancy. Maybe she could borrow something.
As the door shut behind her, she stopped. In the foyer, she found Becca pacing.
“What’s wrong?”
“There’s a man in the office applying for the handyman position.”
Her heart sank to the pointy toes of her high heels. “Maybe Chase won’t hire him.”
“He will if this guy is qualified at all. Brock has made it abundantly clear he’s only here as a favor.” Becca wrung her hands. “I thought this was my chance to get reacquainted with my son. If he leaves now, I’ll probably never see him again.”
“I can’t believe that. Surely God put you both here at the same time for a reason.” Devree slipped an arm around Becca’s thin shoulders. “Say this guy gets hired. Chase and Brock have rediscovered their friendship. I bet if Brock ends up leaving, he’ll come back to visit. Especially when the baby’s born.”
“I just need time. To chip away at his armor. Soften his heart. And find my place in it again.”
“We’ll have to hope the applicant is underqualified. Or overqualified for that matter.”
“But then that makes me feel bad.” Becca went back to pacing. “What if this man really needs the job?”
“You’re so sweet. Always putting others before yourself.”
Becca scoffed. “I try. But believe me, it used to be all about me.”
The conversation she’d overheard in the chapel popped into her brain unbidden. What was Becca’s secret? None of her business. Something for Brock and his mom to work out among themselves.
“You go on about what you need to do. Don’t let me hold you up.”
“I just came to borrow some work clothes from Landry, so I can polyurethane rusty tin.”
“Not exactly in your event planner job description.”
“No, but it’ll speed completion on the new house, so I’m up for it. Tell you what, I’ll go change and then I’ll wait here with you.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“How long can an interview take? Not long enough to make a big difference in my schedule. Be right back.” She headed to the great room.
No Landry. She crossed to her sister’s suite, silently turned the knob, pushed the door open. Dark inside. Her eyes adjusted to the dimness enough to make out the form of her sister in the bed. Lying on her side, the heaviness of her abdomen propped on a pillow. Devree tiptoed across to the closet, stepped inside, shut the door.
With the small light flipped on, she felt like an interloper sifting through Landry’s clothes. She found the jeans all hung together. She grabbed a paint-splotched pair with a pink T-shirt in the same condition and pulled both from the rack.
Minutes later, she stepped from the closet dressed in Landry’s clothes. Though they were practically the same size, the jeans were a bit loose in the waist. Should have thought to grab a belt, but she was halfway to the door when Landry mumbled something in her sleep. She’d have to make do.
She stopped in her tracks until Landry quieted. Looking for a belt wasn’t worth waking her sister over. She’d find hay twine or something and pull an Elly May Clampett. Tiptoeing, she made it to the door and out without disturbing her sister.
A whimper came from the couch. Becca sat there, shoulders slumped, face in her hands.
Oh, no. Chase had hired the new handyman. Brock would be leaving. Emotion clogged in her throat. Why did she care? Empathy for Becca? Yes. But mostly because, despite her best efforts, she’d developed feelings for him.
“I’m so sorry, Becca.” She sat down beside his distraught mom.
Becca raised her head, dabbed under her eyes with her thumbs. “Sorry. I just needed a moment to pull myself together.”
“Are you sure Chase hired the guy?”
“I was in the foyer when they came out of the office. Chase took him out to show him around, said he could start first thing in the morning.”
Her eyes stung. More than anything, she wanted to cry with Becca. “Maybe you can get Brock’s number before he leaves. And I’m working with him most days. I’ll try to convince him to talk to you before he leaves.”
“No, don’t.” Becca grabbed Devree’s wrist. “That will only make him angry at you. He’ll probably have to give notice. I’ll try to meet with him before he leaves. See if I can’t make some headway to repair our relationship.”
“Becca.” Ron hurried to her side. “What’s wrong?”
“Oh, Ron.” Becca dissolved into tears.
Devree quickly explained the situation to Ron, then left them alone. Back to spread polyurethane on rusty tin. Side by side with Brock. Would Chase tell him the news with her there? Would she have to pretend she was pleased? While all she wanted to do was beg him to stay. Not for Becca’s sake. But for her own.
* * *
Cup of coffee to his lips, Brock stood in the doorway of the wide galley between the barn stalls. He needed to get to the new house for day two of poly on tin. Devree was probably already there. Maybe it would be tolerable if she clammed up today the way she had yesterday.
But today was different than any other day of the year and he always felt closest to his dad here. Memories of him repairing the stalls, the roof, the slatted flooring in the loft. Letting Brock help. Dad’s birthday had driven him here this morning.
“You always loved coming to the barn with him.” Mom behind him. “Happy birthday, Wesley.”
The quiver in her voice forced him to face her. So she did remember.
Chin trembling, she clamped a hand over her mouth, sank to a hay bale. “I loved him so much. So much, I couldn’t function when I lost him. Even though you needed me. I just wasn’t strong enough. Especially after I lost our apartment and we had to move in with your grandfather.”
Her obvious pain drew him to her. The only person on earth who missed his dad as much as he did. He settled beside her on the hay bale, could feel the racking sobs she held back in his heart.
“I’m so sorry.” She leaned into him. “Your grandfather was always in his alcoholic stupor, feeling no pain. I wanted to feel that way, just once. Just for a little while until I could get a handle on things.” Her words ended on a sob, followed by a long pause.
He put his arm around her, absorbed her shudder.
“I didn’t want to end up like my dad. So there was this guy at the motel where I cleaned. I knew he dealt drugs.” She shrugged. “I thought I could handle it. Just once. But I was hooked before I knew what hit me. Isn’t that the stupidest thing? I didn’t want to end up an alcoholic, so I tried drugs instead.”
Words failed him.
“I let you down. And you’re right, I did abandon you. But I didn’t mean to. I loved you. I still do.” She raised up, looked at him. “I’m so proud of the man you’ve become. With absolutely no help from me.” She scoffed.
“You got the wind knocked out of you. We both did.”
“But we survived. I have Ron and a chance to make things right with you. I hope.”
And he had memories of his dad. No woman to love. No family. Except this woman he’d spent so many years hating.
“If I’d had God back then, things would have been so very different.”
“Maybe He’s giving us a fresh start.”
“I’d like to make the most of it.” She sniffled. “How much longer will you be here?”
He frowned. They’d taken a step forward together this morning. But he wasn’t sure he’d stay permanently. “I’ll stick with the original plan. Until Chase hires a new handyman or the baby’s born. Whichever comes first.”
“But I thought he hired someone yesterday.”
“Oh, yeah. I heard about that. He wasn’t qualified. But he had experience as a hunting guide and a ranch hand, so Chase hired him for that.”
Mom pressed her face into his shoulder, blubbered unintelligibly.
“Even if Chase found someone to replace me, I’d give two weeks’ notice.” His arm tightened around her. “I’d be here for that length of time no matter what.”
“So, do I still have to stay away from you?”
“No. You stink at it, anyway.” He eased her away from him and stood. “I’ll see you around, but right now I gotta get to work.”
“Please give me a second chance. I won’t blow it this time.”
“We’ll see.” He strode away, a mix of emotions roiling in his gut.
His dad’s death hurt her as much as it did Brock, and she loved him with a mother’s love. But the abyss of their years apart still yawned between them.
* * *
Devree rolled thick gooey polyurethane on a piece of tin that looked like it needed to be condemned. But Landry loved all things rustic, even the mismatched wood in the den. And Devree would do whatever it took to keep her sister happy and stress-free.
Which meant continuing to work side by side with Brock. Every day she felt closer to him as every day brought them closer to going their separate ways.
But where was he this morning? He was usually here by now. Was he consulting with the new guy? Would the new handyman be as agreeable to work with as Brock had been? Or would he think helping her hang curtains and wall art was beneath him?
But more pressing was that when Brock left...she’d miss him. Only days ago, he’d kissed her. And she’d shot him down. He’d been all business since then.
It wouldn’t have worked, anyway. Her heart was in Dallas. And Brock’s could never survive there. It was best that it ended. She just needed to get through however long of a notice he’d given Chase and maybe her heart would one day go back to normal.
With her long extension pole, she dipped back into the goo, rolled off the excess.
“Sorry I’m late.”
She chanced a glance up.
His face looked drawn, haggard.
Maybe, deep down, he really didn’t want to leave. “Are you okay?”
“Today would have been my dad’s fiftieth birthday.”
“I’m sorry.” Pushing her topsy-turvy emotions aside, she set down the extension pole and placed her hand on his arm.
“I was in the barn.” His shoulders sagged. “He made lots of repairs there when I was a kid and let me hang out with him. It was our place.”
“I’m glad you’re here. Where you can feel close to him.”
“My mom showed up.”
“How did that go?”
“I’ve been angry with her for so long.” He picked up his roller, sank it in the poly. “But we talked. It was nice.”
“I’m so glad. Everyone needs family.”
“Can you keep a secret? Even from Landry and Chase.”
“As long as it won’t hurt them, I won’t tell anyone. I promise.”
“It won’t. It’s ancient history.” He sighed, long and hard. “My mom got hook
ed on drugs after we left here. I was raised, and not raised, by a series of foster parents from the time I was ten. Some good, some bad.” He grimaced. “Some really bad.”
“I’m so sorry. I had no idea.” Devree tried to hold in her shock. Act like the bomb he’d just dropped was no big deal.
“She told everyone here, after she got out of drug rehab, that I was with my dad’s family. That they turned me against her. Covering her tracks.”
“I can see why you’ve been so angry with her.” She leaned on her paint-roller rod. “And I’m honored that you trust me enough to talk about it.”
“She told Chase’s grandmother her secret, but that truth died with Granny—that’s what everybody called her. Not even Ron knows about the drugs. But today, I got a glimpse of how much Dad’s death truly devastated her.” He swallowed hard. “And it hit me, we were both dealt a really bad blow when he died. My bitterness toward her is hurting me as much as her. And we’ve both had enough pain.”
“It’s really good that y’all are talking things out. For both of you. You need each other.”
“I can’t stay here and keep her secret though. When I first came, she promised to work up the courage to tell Ron the truth.” He let out a harsh laugh. “I mean, imagine family dinners. Say, Ron asks me if I played basketball in school and I have to tell him that I was never with one family long enough to be under one coach and learn the rules of the game.”
“Just give her time.” With all his ambivalence toward his mother, he wore his hurt like a cloak. And she longed to comfort him. But her words came out sounding like platitudes. “I’m sure she’s scared of how he’ll take the news and what he’ll think of her.”
“Does it change your opinion of her?”
She thought for a moment. Of how kind and supportive Becca had always been. “No. Your mother is very sweet. I won’t pretend everything you’ve told me isn’t a shock. But her past is her past. And if anyone else had told me about it, I probably wouldn’t have believed them. That’s a reflection on the person she is now.”
He gave a curt nod at her statement. “I’m holding up production,” he said, obviously wanting to change the subject. He rolled his dripping paint rod, sloughed off the excess and spread the coating on the tin.
Counting on the Cowboy Page 12
