Counting On The Cowboy. Shannon Taylor Vannatter

      He took in the trap laying nearby along with two sets of pliers. “You know,” he said, unable to control his grin. “If you turn it loose, it’ll most likely come right back in.”

      “I couldn’t take all that squealing.” She covered her ears with both hands. “From the moment I got here. Snap! Snap! Snap! And the poor little thing went to squealing.”

      “What’s wrong?” Chase sprinted in their direction still wearing his robe.

      “Nothing.” Her hands dropped away from her head. “I didn’t wake Landry did I?”

      “No.” His brows rose. “Why were you screaming about nothing?”

      She repeated her story, shrugged as if it was no big deal. “When I turned him loose, he darted toward my foot. I might have yelled a bit. Just a little adrenaline kicking in. But I’m fine. And the mouse is too.”

      “You should have killed him.” Chase tightened the belt on his robe. “He’ll only come back inside.”

      “I know, but he was crying. And he was kind of cute.”

      Chase cut his gaze to the sky, as if trying to keep from rolling his eyes. “Are there any dead ones in other traps?”

      She pulled in a shaky breath. “I think so.”

      “I’ll empty them for you.”

      “I’ll take care of it.” Brock stepped up on the porch. “Just tell me where they are.”

      “Under the kitchen and bathroom counters, behind the trash can in the kitchen, living room and bedroom.”

      “I’m on it. What about getting some cats?”

      “Good idea.” Chase ran a hand through his bed head. “If you have any more live ones, call me.”

      “I’m fine.” She pulled on a brave smile.

      “And try not to scream. It scares the guests.” Chase strolled back toward the ranch house.

      Poor guy—completely stressed out.

      “Let’s just say I’m not the most serene person when it comes to rodents.”

      “I noticed.” Brock smirked. “Guess you won’t be helping me with the traps.”

      She shot him a look, then hung her head. “I think I’ll hide in the closet while you take care of things. Landry can do anything—help birth farm animals, decapitate a rattlesnake with a hoe, bait her own fishing hook. But I’m not like that. Not at all.”

      A definite understatement from what little he knew of her so far.

      “Sounds like it’ll be a challenge to keep Landry occupied for six weeks.” He peered down at her. “You really here for events? Or to help Chase babysit her without her knowing it?”

      “Chase called, wanted me to help out here. They happened to have the first wedding booked in the new chapel.” She shrugged. “It worked out perfectly.”

      “Kind of sounds like you were meant to be here.” He hooked his thumbs through his belt loops.

      “Except that I’m trying to go in a new direction as an event planner—company retreats, family reunions, conferences, corporate Christmas parties, that sort of thing. But my sister needed me, so I’m doing this one last wedding.” Bitterness edged her words. “And that’s it.” She stepped inside.

      Her distaste for nuptials didn’t detract from her beauty. Not at all.

      He followed. Several large white-tailed and axis deer preserved in taxidermy mounts hung on the wall. A large glass display box full of fish hooks of every size and style, from hand-tied fly to vintage wooden lures. It had always fascinated him as a kid when he’d come here with Chase and Gramps.

      “This place creeps me out.” Devree shivered, hugged herself tighter.

      “I always loved it. Gramps—he insisted everyone call him that—used to bring us here for early morning fishing.” The smell of Pine Sol and lemon cleaning supplies tickled his nose. Took him back.

      Since he always wanted to help when he made the cleaning rounds with his mom, she’d let him dust the guest rooms. He could almost feel the damp, worn terry cloth in his hand. The way he got two nightstands and a headboard dusted in the time it took her to clean an entire room and bathroom. But she’d never hurried him or reprimanded him for taking too long.

      He shook the memories away. But his brush with Ruby settled in his empty spaces. “Do you know a little girl named Ruby?”

      “Sure. She’s Ron’s granddaughter. She comes here to catch the bus some mornings and gets off here in the afternoon part of the time.”

      “I met her in the barn this morning. And Ron is?”

      “Your um—Becca’s husband. He’s a bellhop and wild boar hunting guide here at the dude ranch.”

      So Mom had remarried. The muscle in his jaw twitched. “And Scarlet?”

      “Ron’s daughter.”

      His stepsister. It all clicked into place. Well, Ruby was cute and all, but he had no intention of getting to know his blended family while he was here.

      “They’re really sweet people.” Devree settled on the plaid couch. “I need to get a feel for the space.” She must have sensed he didn’t want to talk about it. She tucked her feet up beside her. Probably trying to avoid varmints.

      He scanned the room. With the blinds open, sunlight streamed into the main living area. There were wood floors, ceilings and log walls with a dozen marble eyes staring at them.

      “It’s perfect as is for a hunting cabin. Why not take the personal items out, spruce it up a bit and use it for that?”

      “We need a honeymoon cottage up and running ASAP. And the guest cottages are all on the front of the property while the hunting ones are on the back of the acreage.”

      “But this is such a personal space. Why are they opening it up to guests?”

      “Chase doesn’t want it to go unused and eventually rot away. A ranch hand is coming sometime to take all these poor dead animals to the new house. Along with those.” She gestured to the fishhook display with another shudder.

      Snap! Another trap went off and she jumped. “Great. Another victim. Isn’t there any other way?”

      “I could buy some poison. But you take the chance of one dying in the wall. Trust me, you don’t want to go there.”

      “Ugh.” She closed her eyes. “Something humane?”

      “There are live traps that don’t hurt them. I’m going into town later to buy lumber. I could pick up a few.”

      “Say you do that and we catch them. Then what do we do to keep them from coming back in?”

      “I could feed them to my pet boa constrictor.”

      Her eyes popped open wide, revealing a hint of green amidst the blue.

      Captivating. “Kidding. I’d find some place deep in the woods.”

      “But what would they eat?”

      “Seeds, berries. Don’t worry, I’ll find a good place for them.”

      “I’d appreciate it.”

      He went in the kitchen, came back with two traps.

      She clasped a hand over her mouth.

      “Sorry. You might not want to watch.” He hurried to the door, emptied the traps several yards from the cabin and returned.

      She buried her face in a pillow, stayed huddled on the couch while he made another trip with the remaining traps. Finished, he returned to the kitchen and washed his hands.