Page 5 of Cowboy and the Convict

Normally Winston was a lover, but tonight the big horse yanked his head away and huffed out another loud breath, reiterating his position on not being fed at his normal time.

"Hold your horses." Devon gave Winston another neck pat before turning to collect pellets and hay. "I can't help it that I had to work late." Technically, he could have, but Winston didn't need to know that.

When the call came in about glass shattered across The Baking Rack’s parking lot, he'd jumped at the opportunity a little too quickly. Quick enough dispatch might get the wrong impression he wasn't in a hurry to get home to his daughters.

And that wasn’t the case.

Today, that wasn't the case. Today, he dragged his feet for a completely different reason. A reason he didn’t have the time to waste even considering. Unfortunately, his brain hadn't really gotten the message on that. Along with other parts of him.

Devon carried his load into Winston's stall, doling out feed as he brought his problems to the only available ear he had. "I think she hates my guts, buddy."

Actually, he was pretty certain of it. Janie was not one to hide her feelings, and she made hers regarding him abundantly clear. It was as if just his offers of help and advice enraged the curly-headed spitfire, bringing out every bit of bad attitude she possessed. It should have made him avoid her like the plague. Instead it sent him seeking her out. See what might happen the next time their paths crossed.

Winston nosed him, the move less of a nuzzle and more of a not-so-subtle encouragement to get the fuck out of the way and let him at his food bowl.

"I get it. You think I'm a pain in the ass too." He backed up, slapping the horse gently on the flank as the big animal moved in to start eating. "I'm not sure when everyone got so touchy about someone trying to help."

After clearing out the small amount of mess accrued in the stall, Devon moved on to the one beside it. Winnifred, the dappled mare occupying that space, was infinitely more patient than Winston. She stayed out of his way, giving him a gentle nosing as he filled her food bucket and freshened up her little slice of Moss Creek. Once she had fresh pellets and water, he offered the sweet horse a few minutes of affection—likely the only either of them would get today—before closing her in for the night, the guilt of how little time he had for the horses tugging at his gut.

He was at a point where something probably had to give, and the thing that made the most sense was to get rid of the horses. But he couldn't bring himself to do it. Not just because Mags had loved them so much, but because they were the only ones he had to talk to. His daughters didn't need to know about the gnawing loneliness slowly eating away at him, and hearing him wishing for someone at his side made his buddies on the force noticeably uncomfortable. They'd all known Mags and witnessed what she went through. Maybe on some level they felt like they'd be betraying her if they supported him moving on. Being with someone else. He got that.

But they didn’t know the full story. No one did.

Deep down he knew Maggie wouldn’t want him to live like this. If their roles had been reversed—if it was Mags here instead of him—he would never want her to feel the way he did now. Lonely. Isolated. Overwhelmed and under touched.

But those weren’t the emotions he really struggled with. It was the cycle of anger and guilt that was hard to handle. Thankfully, he didn’t have much time to dwell on the losses he’d faced and the complicated feelings that came with them.

That lack of time was also why any interest he might have in Janie—and her filterless reactions to everything he did—was futile. There simply wasn't enough time in the day for him to add another person to his life. Not when it would take away from the already limited hours he had with his girls. He was barely keeping his head above water as it was. Trying to date would send him sinking. And his daughters had already sacrificed so much. He wouldn’t take more from them.

After hauling the manure he’d collected out back and sweeping the loose straw from the main floor, he paused to give each horse a treat. “You guys have a cleaner house than I do.”

It wasn’t true, but some days—like this one—it felt that way. He managed to keep up with the dishes and the trash, but the kitchen table was always covered in a random assortment of items and a pile of junk mail. The carpets weren’t always vacuumed and the floors only got the quickest of sweeps. But there was no expired food in the fridge and the toilets got scrubbed once a week.

Would someone call CPS on him? No. But damn it would be nice to look around without seeing blatant evidence of his lacking as a parent everywhere.

He’d just made it out of the barn when a small sound slowed his steps and had him turning back. Mouth dropping open, he watched in horror as a scrawny black cat trotted up and dropped a pink, writhing kitten at his boots. She met his eyes and gave him a meow before darting off in the direction of the woods.

“No, no, no, no.” He shook his head like the little cat would listen. “You can’t bring your babies here.” He watched in panic as she ran away, leaving him to babysit.

She raced back with a second squirming, barely fuzzed kitten and set it on top of the first. By the time she was done, he had five squalling infants on his worn steel-toes.

“Fucking hell.” Devon blew out a loud sigh. “You know a sucker when you see one, don’t you, mama?” Sucking in a lungful of the chilly evening air, he crouched down to collect the newest mouths he’d have to feed.

And probably clean up after.

“Come on. Let’s find you somewhere to sleep.”

3

Janie

"I CAN SEE why Paige has to throw these idiots out all the time." Janie scanned the boisterous crowd of baby cowboys packing The Watering Hole. "These children are out of hand."

Mariah shot her a glare across the high-top table they'd been parked at for the better part of the evening. "Stop acting like they need their diapers changed. Everyone here is over the age of twenty-one, so calm down, grandma."

She barked out a laugh. "Ninety-nine percent of the men here are practically half my age. They might as well be infants." She'd had more than her share of disappointing interactions with barely legal men when she herself was in their age group, and not a single cell in her body had any interest in circling back.

"Well they aren't half my age." Mariah took a drink of her vodka and cranberry juice. "So stop looking so fucking terrifying. I would like to talk to one man before the night is over."

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