Page 14 of Cowboy Devil's Embrace

I wiped my cheeks with the back of my hands. I swore I wouldn’t do this today.

“Oh, Penny. Look, I know Burt is flexing his power right now. Ex wife. New wife. New partnership. But he doesn’t deserve a piece of this bakery. And he sure as fuck is not entitled to your peace of mind. Come on. You know that, right?”

“I know. I am just so sick of it. The fighting, the lawyers,” I moaned.

“I know you are, and I get it. But you can’t let him win. Burt is not getting a single sprinkle from this place! If he even tries to take it, I’m gonna enforce rule 76 of Girl Club!” she shouted.

“What’s that one again?” I asked and sniffed. Girl Club was a club that Avery and I started back in middle school.

“Penny! You know what it is, I am gonna put ipecac in his cupcakes! That two-timing dumb ass won’t know what hit him!”

I snorted a laugh, and Avery grinned. It was the same mischievous smile she used to make back when we were teenagers cutting class to sneak off to a carnival or theCow Country Rodeowhenever it was in the area.

Those sure were the good old days. Before life got so crappy and complicated. Before husbands and deadbeats tried to get the better of us.

“Oh, um, Penny? Your ordering system is beeping,” Avery pointed out, and I groaned.

I had no gift for technology.

Or relationships, apparently.

I needed to focus on the positives. Business was good, and that was all that mattered, I supposed.

“What does this mean?” I moaned, trying to make heads or tails of the order that just came in.

“Let me see,” Avery said and chuckled at my expense.

“Oh, looks like you got an online order for some cupcakes for Wednesday night and the buyer is going to pick them up at six.”

“Perfect. Right at closing,” I mumbled and rolled my eyes.

I knew I shouldn’t complain about having more clients, but still, it wasn’t called Hump Day for no reason. Wednesdays were typically myNetflix and chilldays.

Always the slowest day of the week, I usually only had my cashier work half a day and closed early. But this customer wanted me to stay open all the way till six just for him or her. I couldn’t tell which. The name on the order saidMCR, whatever the fuck that meant.

Whatever.

One late night at the bakery wouldn’t kill me. Besides, Netflix would wait.

CHAPTER FOUR-MAX

“Next!” I shouted from the trailer I had set up all the way at the far side of a series of dilapidated goat pens.

For some reason, three dozen Shifters had showed up on my doorstep at the ass crack of dawn the day after I moved into this hellhole.

The roof leaked. My mattress was lumpy. And the AC unit was busted. I’d only gotten about two hours of sleep.

Mrs. O’Hare was not awake yet, so now I was sitting here, angry as fuck, with no coffee or breakfast in sight, interviewing a whole gaggle of furry fuckers.

“Sir?” a shortish guy with a long beard interrupted my inner tirade.

“What?”

“Uh, nothin’. I was just waiting for you to finish with your interview to talk about my fees for maintaining this place while you were gone,” the man said, swallowing.

“What kind of Shifter are you?” I asked, not recognizing his scent. I knew it was rude of me, but whatever.

“Prairie Dog,” he replied straight-faced.

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