Page 12 of Cowboy and the Convict

Janie scoffed. "I already said you could show me whatever witchcraft you think you know."

Devon’s expression remained serious. "Again, I have three daughters. I’ve spent a lot of time teaching them that no one gets to touch them without clear consent." He shook his head. "And I'm not a fucking hypocrite."

She was circling back to thinking she was in the twilight zone. A man who not only wasn't disgusted by menstruation, but also didn't jump at the opportunity to get his hands on her? Definitely some sort of alternate universe.

“Fine.” Adjusting where her face rested against the pillow, she closed her eyes, needing a little space from a moment that wasn’t going at all the way she expected. "Yes. You can touch me."

She held her breath, expecting Devon’s touch to be hesitant and cautious, considering his concern over touching her, but the hands that pressed into her skin were anything but. Each move was strong and steady as he worked his fingers into the tense muscles at the base of her spine.

That was one of the worst parts about the kind of cramps she got. They were all-encompassing, slowly involving nearly every part of her, leaving her not only in pain, but also nauseous, hunched over, and lightheaded.

"Too hard?" Devon’s voice was low and deep.

And once again had parts of her that had no business getting any ideas, perking up.

Janie shook her head. "No." She bit her lip, to the point she could taste blood, but it was no use. At some point she had to exhale, and when she did, a moan slipped free.

It was probably only because it had been years since she'd been touched this way. It was the same reason she’d accidentally hugged him earlier when he helped her out of the car. The alcohol and the pain medication had her a little out of her head, and the needy, lonely part of her took full advantage.

And as much as she hated to admit it, being held tight like that was really freaking nice. For just a moment, it felt like she wasn't alone. Like someone else had her back. Of course, she knew that wasn't the truth. Devon wasn't here because he genuinely wanted to help her. He was driven entirely by obligation and the dad code. The man was always willing to provide assistance, but would take the opportunity to tell you what you should be doing, or offer a lecture on why you needed to be more responsible.

He was an ass, but he could also give one hell of a backrub. And without realizing it, she was soon drifting off to sleep, dozing as he worked his way along her spine, easing the discomfort she'd tried to combat on her own.

His touch relaxed her so much, she barely noticed as his hands slid up the center of her back before dragging away. Even the press of something cool and slightly weighted against her lower back didn't fully wake her up. She was too calm. Too comfortable.

Too content.

Something she'd never, ever been.

And it would figure he’d be the one to accomplish it.

Ass.

THE SOFT LIGHT of morning filtering through the open blinds was her first reminder she hadn’t put herself to sleep. The glass of water and Advil on her nightstand was the second.

Janie lifted her head, swiping at her unrestrained hair—clue number three—as she scanned the room, half expecting to see Peters glowering at her from the corner. But her room was empty.

Choosing to ignore the tug of disappointment in her gut, she slowly worked her way upright, moving carefully to avoid reinvigorating any of the muscles taking part in her body’s monthly rebellion.

While day two was normally the worst, day three of her period wasn’t much better, but this morning she felt shockingly decent. Her head didn’t hurt. Her back and abdomen weren’t tense or sore. Even her stomach didn’t feel queasy in spite of how she’d spent the night before.

"Ugh." She groaned, hating the reason her body wasn't as raging as normal.

"I've got three daughters, Janie. I know how to magically cure cramps." She mimicked his voice as she picked up the ibuprofen and knocked it back, swallowing both pills down in one gulp. She was about to set the glass down when she noticed a small piece of paper with shredded spiral connectors still clinging to the top.

Drink it all.

She rolled her eyes but downed the rest of the water before picking up the note, giving it a second read.

‘Huh.” Apparently that little book Peters carried wasn't completely filled with all the ways she'd fucked up her life after all.

6

Devon

THE BELL ON The Baking Rack’s door jingled softly as Devon tugged it open and stepped inside. The place was quiet in the afternoons—a stark contrast to how it looked in the mornings when all of Moss Creek fought over the cinnamon rolls and pastries crafted and baked in-house. By this time of day, the display cases were empty with only a few crumbs and empty trays behind the glass, leaving anyone who might stop in with no solution to their sugar cravings.

That wasn’t a problem for him. He wasn’t there for anything Dianna offered.

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