Page 35 of Cowboy and the Convict

“How’s it going?” He was pretty sure he knew, but felt obligated to ask.

“Awful.” Riley slammed the computer closed. “I can’t stare at this anymore.” She stood. “I’ll work on it again later.” She collected the laptop and left, her steps heavy as she went upstairs.

“On that note,” Janie stood, pushing her chair and Riley’s in, “I’m going to head out.”

“You have somewhere exciting to be?” He tried to sound casual. Like this was nothing more than small talk. It was just that Janie wasn’t normally in a hurry to leave on Sundays. She usually lingered, staying later than they’d agreed on every single time.

But today she was packing up right on time. Like maybe she had somewhere else to be.

Someone else to meet.

“Yeah.” Janie rolled her eyes as she added her cleaning supplies to the caddy she always brought. “I’ve got a ball to attend and I need to go put on my hoop skirt and wait for my fairy godmother.” She straightened. “I just know you have people coming over and I don’t want to be in the way.”

“You won’t be in the way.” He said it too fast, but there was no way to undo it, so he forced his next words to come slower. “Unless free pizza and a night surrounded by giggling teenage girls isn’t your idea of a good time.”

“That does sound tempting.” Janie looked him over. “Where’s the pizza from?”

“Is that a trick question? There’s only one pizza place in town.” He wiggled his brows at her. “I might even let you pick the toppings on one.”

Janie's eyes narrowed, but the expression on her face remained playful. "What if I like pineapple on my pizza?"

"Then I guess you'll have an entire pizza all to yourself." He narrowed his own eyes. "Do you like pineapple on your pizza?"

Janie didn't react for a second, but eventually her nose wrinkled. "Only psychopaths like pineapple on their pizza."

"So that's a yes then?"

He loved the way she teased him. The way he could tease her back. Throwing good-natured jobs at each other was something he and Maggie had never done. Looking back, he could see the signs that things weren't all they should have been, but at the time, she was all he knew.

They were all he knew.

Janie scoffed, eyes widening as her mouth dropped open. "I'm gonna tell your mom on you." She whipped her phone out, keeping eye contact as she swiped one thumb across the screen.

He watched her digit move, and it sure looked like she was pulling up a number. "My mom gave you her phone number?"

"Sure did. Told her I’d call her the next time Dianna put blackberry cinnamon rolls on the menu." Her smile turned devilish. "Now I'm realizing I can get plenty of use out of it."

"You better not. You'll be opening a whole can of worms you won't be able to close." He took a step toward her. "Don't make me confiscate your phone, tattletale."

Janie started backing away, but her smile—and the sparkle of mischief in her eye—held. "Now you're really making me want to text her."

He didn't really care if Janie texted his mom. She's the one who would have to deal with his mother sending her weather warnings and calling every time she heard something interesting on the news. It was more the light and easy playfulness of the interaction that had him continuing to prowl closer. It was the kind of fun he’d never had with a woman, and he wasn't quite ready for it to end.

He lunged for the phone, sending Janie jumping back on a squeal just as the doorbell rang. They both froze in place—his hand wrapped around hers, the lean line of her body so close he could almost feel it—as footsteps thundered down the stairs and his daughters’ excited voices filled the entry.

"I got it." Olivia's voice was the loudest, but immediately cut off by Gwen.

"No, I got it. It's Isabella."

Devon winced a little at the announcement, all the lighthearted fun he'd been having with Janie dissipating in a flash. He hadn't asked who his daughters invited over, and the last he heard, Gwen and Isabella weren't on the best terms. That must have changed.

Unfortunately.

The sound of the front door opening accompanied new voices joining his daughters’. One of them hit him like nails on a chalkboard and had him spinning toward the doorway, bracing for impact.

"Hi, Gwen. How are you, honey?" Isabella’s mother’s tone was saccharine sweet. She didn't wait for Gwen to answer before asking, "Where's your dad?" Again, she didn't wait for Gwen to answer, her footsteps getting louder as she strolled right through their house, coming straight into the kitchen. A smile curved her lips the second her eyes landed on him. "There you are. I was wondering where you were hiding."

"Here I am." He couldn’t muster up any sort of enthusiasm or even politeness, making his words flat and a little sharp. He never knew what to say to this woman. She'd been blatantly hitting on him for the better part of two years, and if there was a way to get her to understand he wasn't interested, he hadn't figured it out yet. She was determined, he’d give her that.

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