Читать книгу Counting On The Cowboy - Shannon Vannatter Taylor - Страница 15

Chapter Four

“We can’t tell Landry about this.” Chase paced the office.

“That’s why we asked to talk to you alone.” If only Brock could take away his friend’s stress. But instead, he was adding to it.

“What about a competing dude ranch?” Devree picked at her nails. “Any owners capable of pulling something like this to steal business?”

“No. The other owners are stand up people. They might undercut our prices, but not purposely try to sabotage us. I can’t imagine anyone I know doing this.”

“Anyone got a bone to pick with you?” Brock pressed on. They had to figure this out. “An ex-employee maybe?”

Chase snapped his fingers. “There was a ranch hand. Nash Porter. I fired him shortly after Landry and I met. A real troublemaker.”

“Is he still around these parts?” He glanced at Devree.

Fiddling with her phone? Was she trying to play it calm, ease Chase’s worries?

“He’s in jail.” She caught his gaze.

“He is? How do you know?” Chase zeroed in on her.

“I just googled him. Assault and battery, stemming from a bar fight.”

“I’m not surprised.” Chase tunneled his fingers through his hair. “There’s no one else I can think of. Here’s what we’re gonna do. Not a word to Landry. I’ll have the locks changed for the cabin. Only y’all get keys. No one else.”

“I’ll change them out today.”

“And I’m sorry about the rooster, Devree. He won’t bother you again.”

“I’m fine.”

“You should have seen her. She handled him like a pro.” Maybe she was tougher than she realized. And Brock was beginning to suspect she didn’t hate the country as much as she thought she did. Trouble was—she’d probably never realize it.

Besides, his mom had toughed it out once. Then returned to the city just like Devree would.

“Come to supper with us tomorrow night, Brock. Landry’s been wanting to have you join us.”

“I reckon I’m always up for good grub.”

“Six o’clock. But no talk of live traps or wire cutters or disgruntled saboteurs.”

“My lips are sealed. But does that mean I can’t tell about watching this one run from Rusty?”

Chase chuckled. “As long as you don’t mention how he got out.”

“I bet y’all wouldn’t laugh if his spurs were aimed in your direction.” Devree’s cheeks went pink, but her good-natured smile revealed only affection for her brother-in-law.

“You’re right.” Chase sobered. “He could have easily hurt you.”

“No harm done. Except for two years he shaved off my life expectancy.” She stood. “We better get to work. The hands are coming to move the old furniture out this morning.”

“I emptied the interloper’s live trap and reset both.” He followed her lead. “Maybe the mouse population has decreased during our absence.”

Devree closed her eyes for a second, then headed for the door. “Don’t worry, Chase. We’re on it. This wedding will go off without a hitch and the happy couple will have a pristine cabin ready for their honeymoon.”

“I still think we should report it to the police.” Brock adjusted his hat.

“No!” Chase cleared his throat. “It would get around town and Landry would hear of it for sure. Just keep an eye on things.”

“Will do.” Brock followed Devree out. The guy he’d chased into the woods worried him. But he wanted to keep an eye on Devree most of all. What if she’d gotten to the cabin first? Caught Ball-Cap in the act. He could have hurt her. Once they were outside, he grabbed her elbow.

She turned to face him with a puzzled frown. “What?”

“I’m going to the hardware store to get new locks. I don’t want you going to the cabin alone.”

“Trust me, I won’t. Too many mice for my comfort.” But her attempt to make light of the situation didn’t disguise what he saw deep in her eyes.

Fear.

* * *

The dude ranch dining room was hopping with guests as the drone of multiple conversations filled the room. Typical Friday night. Devree sat in a secluded corner with Landry and Chase, as Brock gave a detailed recount of her bout with Rusty.

“I wish I could have seen it.” Landry giggled. “I can’t believe you got him back in the pen all by yourself.”

Devree shrugged, as if her rooster wrangling was nothing. “You expected me to turn into a screaming ninny?”

“Well—yes.”

It was good to hear her sister laugh, even if it was at her expense.

But then Landry frowned. “I wonder how he got out.”

Devree’s gaze met Brock’s, then shifted to her brother-in-law.

“It doesn’t matter how.” Chase refolded his napkin. “It can’t happen again. What if he’d gone after a guest? Or a child?”

“I guess you’re right.” Landry groaned. “But he’s the prettiest rooster I’ve ever seen. I hate to part with him.”

The kitchen doors opened and Chase’s parents entered, headed their way with his chef dad carrying a covered roasting dish.

“What’s this?” Landry’s hand went to her chest. “I thought we were having buffet along with our guests.”

“We always try our new dishes out on family.” Chase’s dad, Elliot, took the lid off with a flourish to reveal a large Thanksgiving-worthy turkey.

“Brock, I’m so glad you’re back.” Chase’s mom, Janice, squeezed his shoulders. “We always thought the world of you. And your folks.”

“Thanks. It’s good to be back.” There were so many mixed emotions on his face Devree wasn’t sure she could keep up. A frown marred his brow, and she could tell his smile was forced. But his pale green eyes shone with happy memories. He seemed genuinely glad to be here, but jumpy as if he expected Becca to pounce on him at any minute.

“We’ll leave you to your meal. I’ll need honest opinions.” Elliot wiped his hands on his apron, headed back to the kitchen, Janice trailing him.

“What were we talking about?” Landry frowned.

“Rusty.” Chase picked up the large carving knife and fork, started to work on the bird. “I’ve already taken care of it. He won’t bother anyone else around here.”

Devree’s gaze dropped to the bird as Chase made a deep slice across the breast. On it’s back, all fours in the air. Why would Elliot try a new turkey recipe so far away from Thanksgiving? Or was it Rusty? Her eyes widened.

As Chase doled out slabs of meat, her appetite fled.

“Give me your plate, Devree.” Chase held a large slice of meat between the carving set.

Mute, she shook her head.

“Are you okay? You look rather pale.” Landry touched her hand.

“I can’t eat him.” Her vision clouded. He may have been mean, but she hadn’t wanted him to die.

“Who?”

“I can’t eat a rooster I knew by name.”

Chase guffawed. “I can assure you, this isn’t Rusty. It’s turkey.”

Her eyes met his. “You promise?”

“It’s turkey.” Landry squeezed her hand. “Rusty may be ornery, but he’s much too pretty to eat. What did you do with him, Chase?”

“I gave him to the Whitlows. He’s alive and well and far enough away you’ll be able to sleep in tomorrow morning.”

A relieved sigh whooshed out of her.

“Can I have your plate now?” Chase grinned.

She lifted her plate to accept the slice of meat as he lost his struggle with laughter. Again, at her expense. But she joined him. Soon Landry and Brock did too.

Appetite returned, she bowed her head as Chase prayed over the meal. Amens rounded the table and she muttered hers.

“The vegetables are on the buffet.” Chase picked up his and Landry’s plates, headed that way.

Devree caught Brock’s gaze as she stood. She saw something different in his eyes—respect maybe?

Whatever it was made her pulse kick up a notch.

* * *

Dread weighed heavy on Brock’s shoulders as he folded his napkin, set it by his plate. At least Chase and Landry hadn’t harangued him about his mom during the meal. Or invited her to join them.

Though he’d have been more at ease if they hadn’t included Devree. He couldn’t seem to escape her presence and she always did a number on his peace of mind.

It was nice to see Chase’s parents again. They’d always been such nice and welcoming folks. And the meal was mouthwatering. He thought of the moment Devree was sure the turkey was Rusty and almost lapsed into another bout of stomach-cramping laughter. How could a woman be so empathetic she didn’t want to eat a rooster who’d tried to impale her?

“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?”