Page 50 of Cowboy and the Convict

Mariah barked out a single, sharp laugh. “Right. I’m pretty sure I’m more like a decently paid Cinderella.”

Janie leaned into Mariah’s side, giving her a grin. “Don’t forget that Cinderella ended up with Prince Charming.”

“Who couldn’t even remember what she looked like so he had to rely on a freaking shoe to identify her.” Mariah shook her head. “I feel like that’s worse than a man not making me a priority.”

“Good point.” Janie went back to cutting chunks of bread. “What was the guy from Snow White’s name?”

Mariah lifted a brow. “The one who found a dead chick in a glass casket in the woods and his first thought was to kiss her?”

Janie cringed. “Someone at Disney is really into dead moms and toxic men.”

“I wouldn’t have any of them.” Mariah wiggled her brows, perking up a little. “Maybe The Beast. But only if he stayed a beast.”

“He did have a pretty nice library.” Janie pursed her lips. “You’d have to overlook an awful lot of kidnapping though.”

Maria laughed, still looking a little bummed, but better than she was. “I think I just like grumpy, growly men.” She thought for a second. “Maybe that’s the problem with this guy. He’s not sour enough.”

“The problem with this guy is he’s too stupid to know a good thing when he sees it.” Janie blew out a breath. “To be fair, that’s the problem with about ninety-nine percent of the men I’ve come across.”

Mariah turned to her, brows lifted. “Not one hundred percent?”

Janie turned away, going back to her task, hoping Mariah didn’t catch the heat creeping across her cheeks. “I figured I’d leave room for error.”

She hadn’t planned to tell Mariah about what was happening between her and Devon before, but she sure as hell couldn’t tell her now. It would be a dick move. Especially since Devon was so different from the asshole ranch hand Mariah should have never fucked with.

Luckily it seemed like Mariah was done with the conversation and she changed the subject. They spent the rest of the morning in idle chat, making breakfast for The Inn’s visitors. Once everything was assembled, Janie packed up and headed out, going home to eat a quick lunch before her shift at The Baking Rack.

She was piled up on her sofa, a heating pad on her belly and an ice pack on her back, watching episode three of a crime documentary while a bowlful of leftover spaghetti heated in the microwave. The appliance beeped, signaling the end of the process right as someone knocked on her door.

It took a second to unwind the blanket covering her lap and detangle from the heating pad cord. She was barely halfway across the small room when the door cracked open.

“J?”

Janie smiled, quickly pressing down the expression as she closed the distance to her door, swinging it wide to reveal Devon standing on her porch looking damn delectable in jeans and a thick, plaid flannel layered over a Henley. She lifted a brow at him. “Now you’re just coming into my house?”

“I didn’t come in.” He crossed the threshold, negating his statement. “And do I need to remind you that you have a key to my place?”

“Is that your way of asking for a key to mine?” The question brought an odd feeling to her gut. One that didn’t sit right and had nothing to do with the cramps beginning to rev their engines.

The reason behind the uncomfortable twinge had to do with knowing any key she might give him wouldn’t be useful long. It didn’t sound like she’d be living there much longer since Sharon planned to sell the place out from under her.

And she hadn’t told him. If it was simply a thing between her and her landlord, maybe it wouldn’t feel as bad, but Devon’s connection to Sharon meant the information would affect him.

His girls.

And she was keeping it from him. Just like he’d kept Sharon’s identity as his mother-in-law from her.

No. Not just like. If she believed him—and maybe she did—he’d forgotten to bring it up.

She wasn’t forgetting.

“It is not.” Devon looped one arm around her waist, pulling her close. “It is my way of letting you know you can use your key whenever you want.”

It was the kind of thing she’d always wanted. A man to invite her into his world. Make her a part of it without prompting or negotiations. She’d chased this for years and now that it was happening, all she wanted was to pretend it wasn’t.

“What are you doing here?” Thinking of letting herself into Devon’s house for any reason other than the cleaning he’d basically hired her to do made her chest tight, and the last thing she needed was body parts seizing up. “I thought you had to help your dad get his snow blower running?”

When he’d told her he’d be busy today a little part of her was relieved. She needed time to figure out what was going on between them. What was going on inside her. If they were as real as she wanted to think they were.

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