Page 14 of Cowboy and the Convict

Janie finished up her current rectangle and glanced at where he stood, looking pointedly from the un-spread ball of filling to him. She angled a brow. "You know you actually have to do something to help, right?"

He shot her a wink, undaunted now that he was starting to figure out a little more about the woman beside him. "Not all of us are as used to being as efficient as you are."

The more time he spent with Janie, the more he understood that her personality—and the abrasiveness it could bring—stemmed mainly from the fact that she didn't have time for bullshit. She said what she meant and she meant what she said because there was no time to clarify. No time to beat around the bush or soften any blows. She didn’t hide or hold back her feelings. No matter how ugly they might be.

And it was starting to make his undeniable interest in her make a little more sense.

Devon redoubled his efforts, following behind her with his spatula and managing to catch up, so that by the time she was finishing the last wad of dough that would fit on the counter, he was stepping in to fill it.

Janie looked down the line of rectangles, lifting her brows. "You're actually not doing too bad." She circled the island, going to the other end where the first plot of pastry sat. "Have you ever made cinnamon rolls before?"

"I have not." He carefully worked the sugary sweet paste to the edges. "But I can butter a mean piece of toast, and this is sort of in that same scope."

Janie laughed, the sound amused and lighter than he was used to hearing from her. "Not much of a cook?"

Devon finished up his task and followed the same path Janie had, taking his spot behind her and waiting for direction. "I do okay with the basics, but between work and running my daughters all over town, I have to keep things simple, so from-scratch breakfast pastries aren't really in my rotation."

Janie paused what she was doing, glancing at the rectangle of dough in front of her. "We should probably switch spots." She stepped behind him, grabbing his hips and urging him into her spot. "You roll. I'll slice."

Giving her a little bow he shot her a wink. "I am at your service, milady."

Janie rolled her eyes. "You're such a dork."

He gently worked the growing tube of dough into a tight roll. "That is actually not the first time I've heard that today."

"Not surprising." Janie reached in front of him, demonstrating how to pinch the seam down the log closed. "But to be fair, I'm guessing most kids think their parents are dorks, so mine is the first one that counts."

Devon finished watching her demonstration before moving to the next rectangle and beginning to roll. "How did you guess it was one of my daughters?"

Janie picked up a very long, very thin knife and a clean kitchen towel. "You have three teenage girls. It wasn't rocket science." She slid the knife down the center of the log, cutting it in half before wiping the blade clean and cutting each half into quarters. "Legally, teenagers are required to think their parents are dorks."

Devon finished rolling and went to work pinching. "That makes me feel a little better I guess."

Janie finished slicing her log and they each moved down a spot. "I didn't say they weren't right." She peeked his way, the corners of her mouth twitching. "I've seen you in your dad jeans."

"Ouch." Devon carefully pinched his way down the roll in front of him. "I didn't know you were so vicious."

Janie worked her way through the second cinnamon roll log. "Liar. You know exactly how vicious I am, and yet you still keep crossing my path."

He shrugged, finishing up and moving to the next rectangle. "I guess I'm just a glutton for punishment."

Or, maybe he found her authenticity refreshing. The more he thought about it, the more likely that was the case. Janie didn't hold back, not to spare her feelings, and not to spare anyone else's.

Could it be a little abrasive? Sure. But it was better to know how someone felt rather than discovering years down the road things weren't what you thought they were.

After finishing another roll, he was starting to get the hang of things, and the rest went together easily. Once they were all sliced, Janie showed him how to line them into a pan, and he did that while she topped them with a layer of sliced peaches. The last thing they did was sprinkle on a crumbly concoction of what appeared to be brown sugar, cinnamon, and oats. She did that, while he covered each in a sheet of foil.

Then they started the whole process all over again.

"You do this every day?" He worked on spreading the filling over the dough. "By yourself?"

Janie lifted one shoulder and let it drop. "It's not bad. I get into a groove and it goes pretty quickly." She finished rolling out a rectangle and moved to the next. "I don't get many people stopping in to buy anything, since everyone knows we’re all sold out. So I only have to pass out the special orders and other than that, I just stay back here and crank these out."

"But still. This is a lot to do in an afternoon." He understood hard work. His job wasn't always as calm as he’d claimed and the hours were long. Then he still had to go home and manage an entire household. "Plus you work at The Inn in the mornings. That's a lot to do every day."

Janie finished up the last of the dough and circled the island. "It's not every day." She gave him a little grin. "I'm off on Sundays."

"Ohhh.” He nodded in mock understanding. “You get a whole day off every week. That's fine then." He circled the island and went to work rolling the first rectangle. "I was being sarcastic, in case you didn’t catch that. One day off every week isn't normal."

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