Counting On The Cowboy

“I don’t mean to rush, but I need to get this lady back to her couch.” Chase rose to his feet.

“Don’t mind me.” Brock picked up his hat, scooted his chair out. “That was the best meal I’ve had in some time. Is it always buffet here?”

“It depends on how many guests we have. When we’re heavily booked, buffet is easier. I sure miss the kitchen.” Landry stared longingly at the doors. “Your parents could probably use my help.”

“They’re fine.” Chase scooped her up.

A few guests smiled; no one seemed to think it odd to see a pregnant woman carried out.

“I’ll break your back.” Landry giggled as Chase walked toward the foyer with her cradled in his arms. “Hey, Brock, don’t run off. Join us in the great room.”

He’d have loved to come up with an excuse. He was afraid, despite their deal, they’d bring up his mother. For that matter, if he went back to his bunk, he could avoid running into her. But he worked for the Donovans. He couldn’t really refuse their offer.

“Sure. I’ll get the door.” Brock opened the double doors into the lobby. Chase carried his wife through.

As Devree trailed them, she glanced back at Brock. Her rich blue dress matched her eyes, caused his breath to stutter.

Landry smacked Chase in the chest. “If I could eat laying down, you’d make me, wouldn’t you?”

“Whatever it takes.” The seriousness in his tone silenced her protests.

She patted her stomach. “We’re fine. Don’t worry.”

He set her down—oh, so gently—on the couch. The care and love in his eyes reminded Brock of just what was at stake. Making the situation with his mother seem trivial.

“Happy Trails” started up, Chase’s ringtone. He dug his phone from his pocket, sighed and turned it off.

“Who was it?”

“That real estate developer. You’d think as many times as I’ve rejected his call, he’d realize he’s barking up the wrong tree. This place has been in my family for decades.” Chase took his place at the end of the couch with Landry’s feet in his lap. “How’s the fishing cabin coming?”

Despite Chase’s attempt to change the subject, Brock’s brain was stuck on the real estate developer. Took him back to his days of hounding landowners during his short-lived and ill-fated business partnership.

“It’s overrun with mice.” Devree clamped a hand to her mouth, cut her gaze to Landry. “But we’re handling it.”

“I won’t faint.” Landry rolled her eyes. “I can handle the truth. I just don’t understand where they’re coming from. It’s like somebody’s trucking them in or something.”

Devree’s gaze met Brock’s.

“I caulked all the plumbing, around the windows and doors, and underneath the baseboards and trim. With it airtight, we’ll conquer them.” And changed the locks so Ball-Cap couldn’t bring in more. “We got the old furniture out today. That should help.”

“I’m so glad you’re here.” Landry plumped her pillow. “I have to admit, I was getting worried.”

“We’ll have the cabin ready. I promise.” Devree sat down in a cowhide wingback chair. “I got the curtains and bedspread today and the furniture will be here next week. I got some wall decor for the chapel too.” Her focus went to the coffee table.

Brock settled in the matching chair and followed her gaze to an architectural magazine with a picture of him on the cover. An article from long ago. The city girl reporter had flirted with him mercilessly, tagging him “the cowboy carpenter,” and made a big deal about him wearing a Stetson instead of a hard hat. He’d built luxury cabins for wealthy clients all over Texas back then. A lifetime ago.

“Why did you stop building your cabins?” Chase gestured to the magazine. “The article’s quite impressive.”

His mouth went dry. He didn’t want to get into the fiasco with Phoebe. And her father. “I went into partnership, tried to go on a grander scale, but it didn’t work out.”

“I wish we could afford your cabins here.” Landry rolled onto her side. “I’m afraid ours probably seem beneath you.”

“They’re cozy and perfect for a vacation. Besides, I’m happy to be here. To help out a friend.” He was. He just wished he wasn’t constantly distracted by Devree and her pretty blue eyes. And his mother lurking about somewhere on the premises weighed heavy on his mind. He stood. “I appreciate y’all inviting me to supper, but I think I’ll turn in.”

“Glad you could make it. Eat in the dining room anytime you like. On the house.”

“I don’t mind paying.”

“We know. But you’re getting us out of a major bind. The least we can do is feed you.”

“Good night, then.” He headed for the exit. The night sounds—frog’s croaks, cricket’s chirps, horse’s whinnies—tugged at him. He’d sat on the porch swing many a night with his dad. He knew he should get going, back to his room. But as housekeeper, his mom should be long gone by now. He could sit a spell.

Closing his eyes, he settled on the swing. Old spice cologne and tales of the day’s handyman chores filled his memory. His dad’s calloused hands gentle, his voice low. Brock leaning his cheek on his dad’s arm. He’d often fallen asleep in the swing, then awoken in his bed the next morning.

The door opened and he became instantly alert. Surely, not his mom. He stiffened, then quickly relaxed as Devree stepped outside. Gasping when she spotted him.

“Sorry, I didn’t know you were out here.”

“I didn’t mean to be.”

“I love sitting on the porch swing at night.”

He scooted to the end, patted the slats beside him. “Feel free.”

She hesitated a moment, but headed his way in the end. The swing barely shifted with her slight weight.

“I don’t know why I like it out here.” She shuddered. “There’s probably snakes lurking. Or bats. Or bears for that matter. Maybe even a man with wire cutters. But I feel safe so close to the house and I love the night sounds. You don’t get that in the city.”

“I imagine not.”

“And the stars are so bright here. So many of them.”

He scanned the horizon, ashamed he often took the stars for granted. The black curtain sprinkled with sparkling flecks spread for miles. “So, why do you stay there?”

“It’s where I belong. It’s nice to visit the country—hear the sounds, experience the slowed-down lifestyle—but I could never live here. I’d be bored to tears.”

Her statement was a good reminder. For a short time, they’d work together. Then they’d go their separate ways. “I could never live anywhere else.”

“Do you think we put Landry’s mind at ease? With my blurting out the mouse issue.”

“She seemed relieved.” The swing had almost stopped and he pushed off with his boot. “Just wish she wasn’t right about someone trucking mice into the fishing cabin. Maybe I scared him off and the mice will be gone in the morning.”

“Where do you even find so many mice?”

“Good question. Maybe the city dump.”

“We should go there, ask around, see if anyone’s been setting traps.”

With the renewed swaying, a waft of apples caught his senses. “What are you, a detective?”

“I just want this craziness to end. If we don’t get rid of the mice before the Brighton/Anderson wedding, it’ll be a disaster.”

“The cabin’s caulked as tight as a storm shelter and the locks have been changed. I think the mice invasion is over.”

“Maybe so. But if someone’s trying to sabotage the dude ranch, they’ll come up with another way. He broke into the cabin.” The quiver in her voice tugged at him. “What if the ranch house is next?”

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