Page 10 of Cowboy and the Convict

Like the living area, there were candles of different colors and scents arranged on every available surface, each in varying stages of use. The room was also just as immaculate. The area rug covering most of the laminate even had vacuum lines on it, as if Janie backed out of the room to ensure not a single footprint marred the plush surface. Nothing was out of place, including the carefully organized charging cords on her nightstand.

With one exception.

A large heating pad sat in the center of her bed, sticking out like a sore thumb among the artfully draped throw and perfectly positioned pillows.

He looked from Janie to it, then back to the woman sprawled across the comforter as he put together the pieces. Pain pills and a heating pad were a combination he was becoming quite familiar with.

Facing down the realities of menstruation had been trial by fire, and after a few years of tackling the discomforts and emotional roller coasters that came with it, he’d learned enough to have a pretty good handle on navigating a safe course.

He’d also learned it was hard as hell to get bloodstains out of sheets, which was why he decided to risk waking the bear.

Moving to Janie’s side, he gently rolled her toward him. “Come on, sleepy pants. If you pass out now you’re going to be pissed in the morning.”

Janie groaned. “For the love of God, can’t you ever leave me alone?” She flung one arm over her face. “Why are you even still here?”

“I’m here because I have to make sure you’re safe to be on your own.” He hooked one arm behind her knees, using the hold to bring her legs over the edge of the bed. “And I’m pretty sure you want to make a trip to the bathroom before you crash. Otherwise you’ll have a lot of laundry to do in the morning.”

Janie stilled, her arm slowly lowering until she peeked over it. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I have three teenage daughters, so I know when a woman’s on her period she needs to wear something with a little more coverage at night.”

Janie’s brows slowly climbed her forehead as her arm fully slipped away. “How do you know I’m on my period?”

He pointed at the only out of place item in her home. “Between that and the pain pills you said you took, it’s a pretty easy conclusion to come to.” He took both her hands in his and hauled her up from the bed. “Now go get situated so you can go back to sleep.”

5

Janie

SHE MUST HAVE consumed more whiskey than she thought. It almost seemed like Devon was talking about her period like it was no big deal, and she'd been around enough grown men to know that particular bodily function creeped them out worse than a plague would.

"Come on." Devon pulled her toward the attached bathroom. "Keep moving."

Yeah. She was either completely shitfaced or in the fucking twilight zone. Possibly dreaming, though this wasn't anything like the dreams she'd had about Devon before. Those dreams—which she did her best to forget—were no doubt conjured up by the deepest, darkest, most self-sabotaging parts of her brain. It would make sense this particular scene was being concocted by the same, fucked-up location in her cerebrum. That’s why, when she woke up tomorrow, she’d pretend like this dream never happened too.

Except the weight of Devon's hand as it rested on her still aching back felt tragically real. As did the familiar gush that came when she stood from the bed.

"I'll wait out here." Devon urged her into the small master bathroom. "Yell if you need anything."

She shot definitely-not-dream-Devon a glare. "I'm pretty sure I know how to handle this. I've been doing it since I was eleven."

He angled a thick brow, looking just as unimpressed by her snark as he always did. "Hopefully not usually while under the effects of pain pills and Jack Daniels."

She shrugged. "Whatever it takes." Before he could lecture her on the dangers of concocting codeine and alcohol, she slammed the door in his face, holding onto the vanity for balance as she made her way to the toilet. Undoing the front of her jeans took longer than normal, since it felt like every muscle in her body was moving slower than they should be. She wasn't mad about it, especially since that was likely the reason her uterus was no longer trying to claw its way up her spinal cord.

Once her pants were undone and at her knees, she dropped to the toilet and investigated the wreckage. Day two of her period had always been the worst, and this month was no exception. As much as she hated to admit it, Devon was right. If she’d gone straight to sleep, she would have woken up to not only ruined panties and jeans, but also a destroyed comforter. Even the sheets beneath it were unlikely to have escaped unscathed.

After peeling away the pad she'd put on at the bar, Janie stuck on one of the extra-long, extra absorbent versions she slept in, wrapping the wings around the crotch of her cotton, full coverage panties before standing up and pulling everything into place. She frowned down at the constricting jeans still tangled at her knees. They'd been hard enough to get on when she was dressing before Mariah picked her up, and the thought of wrestling them again held absolutely no appeal.

Under normal circumstances, she would toss them in the hamper and go retrieve a pair of pajama pants, but there was currently a frustratingly overbearing cop in her bedroom. So after wiggling the pants off her feet, she cracked the door. As promised, Devon was right there, looking a little like an eager puppy.

"Everything okay?"

"I'm on my period. Nothing's okay." She pressed her lips together, hating that she was about to ask him for something. Knowing he would hold it against her—along with everything else about tonight—forever. "Can you get in the bottom drawer of my dresser and bring me a pair of pajama pants?"

He gave her a quick nod. "Give me just a sec."

Janie pressed one hand against her lower stomach as the uterus she thought was finally calming its tits reminded her just how fucking much hell it could bring. Enough that she'd exceeded the reasonable limits of Vicodin and whiskey, and it was still marching around, banging its fucking drum.

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