Page 12 of Cowboy Devil's Embrace

CHAPTER THREE-PENELOPE

September was my favorite month out of the entire year.

It was my mother’s birth month, and she used to always celebrate by baking special goodies with me.

It’s where I learned and honed my love of baking. So, no, I would not let this rotten sonovabitch ruin it for me.

Gritting my teeth, I closed my eyes and listened to my ex whine and threaten me with more legal bullshit.

“You have got to be kidding me,” I snapped, unable to keep silent any longer.

“It’s only fair, Pig Pen,”Burt, my ex-husband, said in that whiny voice of his that actually made me sick.

“Don’t call me that,” I said, hating the nickname even more now that we weren’t married any longer.

“Well, I guess I will see you in court then,”he replied.

I looked down at the letter in my hand. The one he’d sent requesting I give him copies of all my business tax returns, demanding half my earnings. The prick was claiming he had a right to take what I gave my blood, sweat, and tears to build.

Over my dead body.

“I guess you will. And Burt? Tell your lawyer my name is Penelope Abruzzi. Not Downs.”

“Pig Pen, you couldn’t have possibly changed your name back already.”

“It’s Penelope. And actually, I changed it back as soon as you had me served with divorce papers you cheating piece of shit.”

“Look, I married her, so it was hardly cheating.”

“Burt, you fucked her while we were still married. That’s cheating. Oh, and one more thing, Burt.”

“This conversation is boring, Pig Pen. What?”

“Screw you!” I shouted and slammed my cell phone down on the counter.

I tried not to cringe at the telltale crack I heard as soon as the infuriating hunk of plastic connected with the unforgiving granite countertop.

Jerk.

My ex was not worth the money it would cost to repair the dumb thing. I was sure it wouldn’t be the last time I’d bang my cell phone because of him.

Burt the Dirtbag was an absolute turd.

No, he was lower than that. He was a complete waste of space. A blight on humanity. A total fucking dickwad.

“Uh oh, what did I miss?” Avery asked, coming in late as usual.

“What’s wrong?” I asked my best friend.

“Where should I start? How about with back when I, with what I thought was the approval and support of my now ex-husband?—”

“Burt the Dirtbag,” Avery helpfully supplied.

“—decided to open a bakery,” I continued, “I knew I would be the one doing the heavy lifting. I would take out the loans. Paying them back. Using every cent I had earned and received frommyparents’will, after paying off his medical school first, of course,” I snarled.

“I still can’t believe he let you pay for his med school,” Avery murmured in appalled agreement.

It was all true. I worked hard so that myhusbandcould fulfill his dreams of becoming a doctor.

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