Page 20 of Cowboy and the Convict

Janie wiped at the corner of one eye. "Half of it.” She hesitated. “When I had the money to pay the other half, the terms of the deal had suddenly changed."

Seemed like he was going to be fucking irate. "So you didn't pay the other half, whatever city official you were dealing with got pissed off, and you left town."

Janie shot him a glare, a little flash of her normal attitude flaring to life. "If you're going to—"

"I'm not going to lecture." He cut her off before she could finish. "I'm just trying to understand. That's all."

Janie slumped back in her seat, arms crossing tight around her middle. "We’d been going out for about six months when he saw the letter I got from the city about my parking tickets." Her posture tightened even more, shoulders climbing higher. "He said he could help me, and at first he did, but after that he started acting like a dick. Treating me like I should be eternally grateful that he saved me some money." She lifted one shoulder and let it drop. "I told him to go pound sand."

That made him feel a little better even though he knew how it worked out. "Sure he loved that."

Janie's lips softened into a hint of a smile. "The look on his face was pretty priceless." She shook her head. "But I was dumb enough to assume we had an official deal. I didn't find out it was an under the table sort of thing until I tried to pay off the rest and they told me I owed sixteen hundred dollars instead of four." She tipped her head to one side. "Mariah called the next day and told me about this job she knew of, and I figured I'd just move away and he could go fuck himself."

“He can still go fuck himself.” Devon met her gaze as an idea formed. One that would help them both. “Because I’ve got a proposition for you.”

9

Janie

THIS WAS PROBABLY a bad idea, but what in hell else was she going to do? The desire to put yet another of her past bad decisions behind her had been so strong she hadn't really thought the whole thing through when Devon made his offer.

So here she was, holding the key to a man's house in her hands for the first time in her life. She didn't like being indebted to anyone, but maybe this wouldn't be so bad. She'd clean Devon's house once every two weeks for the next six months, and then they’d be even.

Sure, this whittled her days off down to one Sunday every two weeks, but it would be worth it. She could check off one more bad mistake rectified and one more debt paid, bringing her closer to finally having her shit together. Would it prove her mother wrong? No, but at this point that was never going to happen. But she would be one step closer to proving herself wrong, which was better than nothing.

Shuffling around the caddy full of cleaning products she brought along just in case Devon used crappy shit, she slid the key into the deadbolt and twisted it open. After turning the knob, Janie stepped inside, getting her first look at Devon Peters’ private world.

And dropped her caddy of tools to the floor.

"What the fuck?" She couldn't believe what she was seeing. "He's got to be kidding." No way did Devon think an every-other-week cleaning was all he required.

The place was a wreck. Not filthy per se, but certainly not clean. The primary issue with the interior of the mid-seventies tri-level was the chaos. There was shit everywhere. Bags were piled on the floor. Clothes were on the couch. Personal items were stacked on end tables and entertainment centers. The front living room alone would take her all day to clean.

Her stomach dropped. What the fuck was the kitchen going to look like?

Walking slowly so she could take it all in, Janie made her way down the hall leading to the back of the tri-level. Two sets of stairs sat on her left, one leading to the upper floor and one going to the lower level. Past them, a kitchen with an attached dining room took up the entire back end of the ground level. Both rooms were just as bad as the formal living room. The large dining table was covered with mail and the most random assortment of items she'd ever seen. Everything from pencils and pens to makeup and… Was that cat food?

She snapped her head around, but there was no sign of a cat. She wasn’t sure if that made things better or worse.

There were no dirty dishes in the sink, but that was about the only redeeming quality the joined rooms had. The windows were smudged. The stove needed scrubbing. It looked like someone just piled the groceries onto the counters instead of trying to put the items away.

And then there was the floor. The tile itself was pretty enough, but she had a sneaking suspicion the grout lines were not intended to be dark brown.

No wonder Devon was so eager to make this deal. The asshole knew he'd be getting the better end of the bargain. “Motherfucker.” She was pissed. Seriously considering marching her ass to the station so she could lay into him.

But she was also a little excited. It was nothing she would ever admit to him, but the opportunity to whip a place this chaotic into shape had her itching to get started. Of all the dumb things, cleaning had always been oddly soothing to her. She'd failed at just about everything else she'd ever attempted but had always been able to keep her home spotless.

It was an odd thing to be proud of—much like her former pride at never being arrested—but she was. Even though every other aspect of her life was a total shit show, knowing her home was organized and tidy made her feel like she wasn't a complete failure.

And right now, seeing that while Devon seemed to have it all together, his house was a shit show? That sort of made her feel better too. Like she wasn't the only one dropping the ball. And since he’d helped her juggle one of her proverbial balls, she could probably help him out too.

But she was still going to lecture the fuck out of him over it.

Going back to the front door to collect her caddy, she carried it into the kitchen, deciding the heart of the home made the most sense to start with. She pulled back her hair and got to work.

It took over two hours to go through all the food on the counters, sorting it by type and size and then doing the same with the food in the cabinets. After clearing out anything that was expired or almost used up, she put every item in place, doing her best to come up with an organizational system that made sense and would be easy for a single man and three teenage girls to be consistent with. Or, at the very least, easy for her to keep up with every two weeks.

Now that the counters were clean, she went to work scrubbing them down, wiping both the surface and the tiled wall behind it. Next were the cabinets. After filling the sink with hot water and a splash of dish liquid, she dipped in a sponge, kicking herself for not bringing a bottle of wood degreaser. If she'd known how the place looked, her car likely would've been packed to the gills with every cleaning product she owned, making the mess a little easier to tackle. But it was probably better she didn't know what was in store, because she might not have made this deal.

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