Counting On The Cowboy. Shannon Taylor Vannatter

      The two men hugged with lots of back clapping.

      So he’d told the truth about knowing Devree’s brother-in-law.

      “Guess y’all know each other.” Landry rolled onto her side.

      “Brock used to live here. We grew up together. He’s Becca’s son.”

      Landry’s eyes widened.

      “Becca, the housekeeper?” Devree turned to Brock. But her last name wasn’t McBride.

      His face went ashen.

      “She’ll be so excited to see you.” Landry’s mouth curved into a smile. “Does she know you’re here?”

      “Uh—maybe I should come back some other time.” Brock took a step back.

      “No. Timing’s perfect.” Chase slapped him on the back again. “Let’s go to the office. Unless you want to let your mom know you’re here first.”

      “No,” he replied, a hint of dread in his tone. He cleared his throat. “I should have called first. And I have another appointment. I’ll have to get back to you.”

      “But you can’t leave without seeing your mom.” Chase steered him to the foyer. “She’s just upstairs cleaning the guest rooms.”

      Seconds later, the great room door closed.

      “What was that all about?” Devree sank into the chair facing her sister.

      “I didn’t make the connection when he first introduced himself, but Becca mentioned she was married before Ron and worked here back when Chase was a kid. Chase told me he and Brock were friends until Brock’s dad died when he was young and Becca moved away.” Landry scrolled down her phone, tapped and pressed it to her ear. “Becca came back several years ago, but she and Brock have been estranged. She’s longed to reconnect with him for years. And now, he’s here. She’ll be so excited.”

      “Maybe we shouldn’t get involved in their private business. Besides, I think he’s leaving.”

      “He’s probably nerv— Becca. You won’t believe who’s here. Brock,” her sister said, ignoring Devree’s words of caution. “Yes, I’m sure. Chase is in the foyer talking to him as we speak.”

      An audible squeal came through the phone.

      “Hurry, Devree,” Landry begged. “You have to stop him. If he leaves before Becca can get to him, it’ll break her heart.”

      Surely, he wouldn’t leave without seeing Becca. Always so sweet and pleasant—who could be estranged from her?

      She should stay out of it. But if she did, she knew Landry would try to stop Brock from leaving. And her sister didn’t need any more stress. On top of that, the ranch badly needed a handyman.

      Devree dashed toward the foyer.

      * * *

      “Please don’t leave without seeing your mom.” Chase stepped in front of the exit, cutting off Brock’s escape.

      “It’s been a while. I should have called first,” Brock repeated through gritted teeth.

      “Look, I don’t know what happened between y’all. All I know is your mom has pined for you—the entire fifteen years since she came back here.”

      Fifteen years. His mom had been at the dude ranch for that long. Miss City Girl—who’d nagged Dad to move—had come back willingly and stayed? Probably the only place she could find a job, considering her habit. But if his mom was still using, would Chase keep her on? Surely not. Unless she somehow hid her addiction.

      Footfalls behind him; he braced himself.

      “Wait!” The wedding planner.

      He’d enjoyed talking to her, despite their being from different worlds. Until Chase mentioned his mom.

      “Landry called Becca. She’s on her way. You can’t just leave.”

      “I’ll leave when I’m good and ready.” He spun to face her. “And I’m good and ready.”

      She gasped at his outburst and something flashed in her eyes. Hurt.

      “I’m sorry.” He hung his head. “I didn’t mean to snap at you. It’s just—there’s history to wade through. And I didn’t bring my muck boots.” He turned and strode for the door, intent on going through Chase if he had to.

      “Brock!” The voice he dreamt about too often for peace of mind echoed down the staircase behind him and took him back in time. Ten years old, sobbing on the social worker’s shoulder, wondering when his mom would come back for him.

      Never.

      For the last fifteen years, she’d been here. And never lifted a finger to try to find him.

      The sound of hurried footsteps descended on his ears.

      Pressure built in his chest. He didn’t turn around.

      “Please wait!” A small hand grabbed his arm. “Please.” Pleading, tearful. “At least look at me.”

      She stepped in front of him. Much the way he remembered her. Rail thin, long brown hair. Eighteen years older. But somehow she looked better. Healthier. No telltale sunken shadows beneath her pale blue eyes. The hand on his arm was steady.

      “Sure hope you’ll stick around, Brock.” Chase gave him a beseeching smile. “The job’s yours.”

      “You didn’t even look at my résumé.” He focused on his friend, mainly to escape his mom’s imploring gaze. Why did he still think of her as his mom after she’d abandoned him?

      “I’m familiar with your work and you’re overqualified. Your mom found an article about you building luxury cabins in a magazine a few years back.”

      “I still have it.” She squeezed his arm.

      Why did she think she had the right to touch him? He pulled away from her grasp, took a step back.

      Her hand fell to her side. “Please stay.”

      “We’ll give you some privacy.” Chase stepped away from the exit, motioned Devree to follow.

      “I need to stash my wedding paraphernalia in the chapel loft.” A pinched frown drew her brows together. Her gaze clashed with his, and then she whirled away and disappeared outside. Was she embarrassed to witness their turmoil? Did she feel sorry for him? Or for his mom?

      “Please, Brock, can’t we talk? You came here for a reason. Don’t back out now.”

      His mom’s plea clanged in his head. He’d come for the job. But also because the eight years he’d spent at the dude ranch were the best of his life. When his dad had been alive. When his mom hadn’t been catatonic and actually cared if he ate or not. Before their move to Dallas. Before they lost their apartment and ended up moving in with his alcoholic grandfather. Before she got hooked on drugs.

      He’d returned to come to terms with his past and his mom’s abandonment. To remember his dad. He’d expected to come face to face with the memories that haunted him. But not with her.

      “Please come to the office with me.” Tears streamed down her cheeks.

      But not as many as he’d cried over her. “I didn’t know you were here.”

      “Or you wouldn’t have come.” She hiccupped a sob. “I get that. Can’t we just talk for a few minutes?”

      “Do the Donovans know everything? I mean, about you.”

      She sucked in a big breath, shook her head. “Granny did, but she’s been gone several years. I told everyone else your father’s family turned you against me and we haven’t spoken in years.”

      “So you expect me to stay and live your lie with