Cowboy and the Convict (Cowboys of Moss Creek #9)

Chapter 1

1

Janie

Please scroll back for trigger warnings.

" YOU HAVE GOT to be kidding me." Janie glared out the back door of The Baking Rack to find her newly acquired, small-town nemesis down on one knee. His current position had nothing to do with romantic inclinations—the thought of any man considering such a prospect was almost laughable—but was for a much more infuriating, and equally ridiculous, reason.

Almost as if he could sense the scowl she directed his way, Officer Peters lifted his head, squinting across the lot, hazel eyes coming to land directly on where she stood. In what was likely an effort to antagonize her even more, he had the audacity to shoot her a smile. The kind that might have gotten her heart racing a few years ago, but now only had her molars grinding together.

"Hey there.” His eyes followed her as she stalked his way. “Got a call about some broken glass in this lot, and while I was checking everyone's tires, I couldn't help but notice yours are a little bald." He dusted off his hands as he stood, the act taking an asinine amount of time because of his stupidly tall height.

How did the man even find uniforms that fit? Between the length of his legs and the broadness of his shoulders, Peters probably had to have the things custom made so they didn't come halfway up his shins and cut off the circulation to his arms.

Digging the tips of her fingers into her burning eyes, Janie attempted to rub away the exhaustion that had been with her so long it was now more of a personality trait than anything. "We talked about this, Peters." She gave up trying to soothe her irritated corneas and let both arms drop. "I'm a grown woman and I don't need you lecturing me about car maintenance."

The cop who was the bane of her existence braced both hands against his hips, lifting his eyes skyward as if he was the one who should be irritated. "I'm not lecturing. I'm simply mentioning an issue you might not have noticed."

It was the same argument he tried to make every time their paths crossed. Because every time their paths crossed, he couldn't stop himself from pointing out how epically she was failing at adulthood.

Spoiler alert: she already fucking knew.

"I don't need you to mention shit to me, Peters." Janie crammed one hand into her purse, digging around for the keys that would save her from this situation. Standing here arguing wasn't going to do either of them any good. At this point, if anyone was going to benefit, it would've already happened. So far, the only thing it accomplished was m aking her dread the sight of his cruiser.

Which was a shame, because under different circumstances, she might have enjoyed watching Peters going about his business. The man could sure as hell fill out a uniform.

He could also sure as hell induce rage, which took all the fun out of admiring his physique and always managed to ruin her day.

That’s why, the second her fingers closed around the fob, she whipped it out, shoving a thumb against the unlock button so she wouldn't have to wait for it to automatically engage when she reached her door.

"I'm not lecturing." Peters raked one hand through his dark, slightly graying, hair. "I'm just pointing something out to you." He swung one arm in the direction of a pickup truck a few spaces down. "The same way I'm gonna tell Brett Pace he's got an oil leak."

She snorted. "I'm sure he'll appreciate it."

If she didn’t want to get away from Peters and his judgmental tone so badly, she might even stick around to see how that worked out for him. But that would leave him plenty of time to pick apart everything else she was doing wrong, and then she might have to kill him.

So she made a beeline for her car, continuing to jab the unlock button with escalating intensity. It'd been finicky lately, so she hadn't panicked when the locks didn't click right open, but now that she was closing in and the things still weren't unlatching, her stomach was starting to clench. She couldn't be stranded here in a parking lot with him. Especially not if it was due to deferred fucking maintenance. Peters would never let her hear the end of it.

She decided to switch tactics, trying to sound casual when she said, “I’m sure you have much more important things to do, so feel free to move along.”

But Officer Peters didn’t budge from where he stood beside her front tire. He just watched as she kept pushing that fucking button, not saying a word. His silence was almost as bad as his lectures. She might not hear him voice how disappointing he found her existence, but it was still there. Hanging in the air like smoke from a poorly lit fire. Thick and choking and determined to follow her wherever she went.

But he couldn’t stay silent forever. Not when there was a lack to shine a light on. “Seems like the battery’s out in your fob.”

It took every ounce of willpower she possessed not to chuck the useless piece of technology at him. "Thanks, Captain Obvious." Janie spun on one heel, intending to put as much distance as she could between herself and the small-town cop who insisted on making her life more fucking frustrating than it already was.

But—in a completely unsurprising move—Peters followed her, his long legs easily catching up. "Where in the hell are you going?"

Why did he sound exasperated? She wasn't the one bothering him.

"None of your business." Janie picked up the pace, knowing it was pointless, but it wou ld cut down on the time she was forced to endure his presence.

She was just beginning to jog when Peters stepped right in her path, using his substantial size to cut her off. She tried to sidestep him, but it was no use. If she went left, so did he. And for as big as he was, the guy was fast on his feet.

Peters assumed his normal stance, bracing both hands on his hips as he stared down at her. "Have I done something to upset you?"

She laughed, because it was a ridiculous fucking question. "Are you kidding?"

Peters’ brows pinched together in what seemed to be genuine confusion. "No. It just seems like you're mad at me, and I'm not sure why."

Could he really be that dense? "Everything you do pisses me off, Peters."

“I’m just trying to help.” He dug back into the same excuse he used every time. Hiding his love of humiliating her behind the guise of assistance.

It was a tactic she was way too familiar with. One that had been used against her since she was born, and one she decided long ago never to tolerate again. “I don’t need your fucking help.”

His jaw clenched, rocking side to side as he stared her down. She lifted her chin, glaring right back as the seconds ticked past. Eventually, he stepped out of her path, holding one arm out to indicate she could go on her way.

And that was exactly what she did. Without hesitation and without looking back, Janie went right back to her speeding steps, unable to fully breathe until she rounded the front corner of The Baking Rack, putting her out of Peters’ sight.

And him out of hers.

After taking a few steadying breaths, she started walking again, stewing more with each step.

How could a man be so completely clueless about how aggravating he was? It simply wasn't possible, which meant Peters knew exactly how annoying his actions were. Knew how much his constant picking chapped her ass. He just didn’t care.

Or maybe—like some other people she knew—he thrived on breaking her down. Got his kicks out of feeling superior. The possibility was a solid reason she did her best to get away from him as fast as she could whenever their paths crossed. Because at some point, she was going to snap. And snapping on him would cause a whole host of new problems in her life.

Like needing to call her bail money bitch and attending court dates.

The thought had her moving a little faster to put as much distance between them as possible. Just in case. She’d made a slew of bad decisions in her life and didn’t need the temptation of adding that one to her list.

Luckily, downtown Moss Creek was quiet as she booked it down the sidewalk, aiming for the most likely place to stock a solution to her problem.

One of her problems.

Hopefully, the convenience-type store a few doors down from the bakery carried the but ton-style battery her fob required. She could run in, grab what she needed, and be on her merry fucking way.

And Officer Peters could kiss her ass.

She was moving so fast—intent on staying the hell away from Peters— that when her palms hit the bar on the mini mart’s door, she continued her forward momentum.

Even though the damn thing was locked.

Like a freaking idiot, she face-planted right into the glass, leaving a smudge of what was probably frosting where her forehead made aggressive contact. Stumbling back, she lifted one hand to her temple, the dull thud of the collision still ringing through her head.

Or maybe that was a concussion talking.

“Fucking ow.” She gingerly felt across her skin and hairline. After pulling her palm away and not finding blood, she took a tentative step toward the glass, peering into the darkened shop. “They can’t be serious.” She checked her watch. Tried to check her watch. The face was black because she’d forgotten to set it on the charger before bed. Again.

It was yet another failure Peters would love to add to his little list. At this point that notebook he carried in his pocket was probably filled from front to back with them. It was probably what he read at night, sitting in his perfect little house, with his perfect little children, smirking smugly at his superior adulting skills.

"Motherfucker." She leaned forward, this time purposefully letting her forehead hit the glass as she closed her eyes and took a slow, dee p breath. She could figure this out. No way was she going to let Peters catch her failing again.

Once the initial surge of frustration had dissipated slightly, she turned to look up and down the street, gauging who in town was most likely to have the battery she needed. And who was least likely to judge her for letting it run out in the first place.

Amelie's art studio was her top choice. While Amelie was now happily married with the cutest little baby, she had initially come to Moss Creek for a fresh start after making a few bad decisions of her own. Janie made a beeline for the storefront, hoping against hope the young mother would be there. The odds were against her, but it was worth a shot.

As she expected, the inside of the studio was dark, forcing her to take another calming breath as she regrouped. "Strike one."

Turning back to face the street, Janie went directly for option two—The Watering Hole. Paige, the owner and full-time bartender, would definitely be there. Whether she’d have a battery or not was anyone's guess.

Striding into the bar, Janie blinked a few times as her eyes acclimated to the dim lighting. Once she had a clear view, it was easy enough to sidle up to the bar and wait for Paige to notice her. It didn't take long. Paige shot her a grin, abandoning the old cowboy who’d likely been monopolizing her time to head Janie's way. "Hey, lady. What are you doing here?"

She and Paige were friendly. It was one of the things that made Moss Creek so diffe rent from other places she'd lived before. Somehow, the small Montana town seemed to miraculously escape the cattiness that plagued every other part of the universe. The women around town—including the ones over eighty—were essentially one big group of friends. A girl gang of sorts.

But while they all appeared friendly and supportive and accepting on the surface, she wasn’t stupid enough to believe that's how it genuinely was. Even if they didn't say it or show it, these women had to be judging each other.

Had to be judging her . And honestly, she couldn't blame them. She judged herself.

Daily.

“I just discovered the fob for my car is out of batteries.” She lifted the offending item and gave it a wiggle. “You don’t have any button batteries hanging around, do you?”

It was a stretch, but Paige was one of the most put-together women she’d ever met. The chick had the game of life down to a science. She owned a business, a house, a nice car. And didn’t fuck with men.

She was brilliant.

Paige’s smile fell. "I don't have anything like that here. Did you try the general store?"

She'd been around the block enough times that her hopes hadn't been up, so finding out Paige didn't have what she needed came as no surprise. "I went there first. They're already closed. "

"Of course they are." Paige shook her head. "I know it sucks to stay open longer hours, but damn."

The bartender tipped her head to one side, eyes widening. "Wait a second." Her bright smile from earlier returned as she spun away and hustled down the bar. After digging around under the counter for a few seconds, she came back, a fob dangling from her hand. "I forgot I had to take one of the ranch hand’s keys away last night." She went to work opening the fob. "Cross your fingers." After prying off the front, she popped the silver, circular battery free and held it up. "Is this the right size?"

"You've got to be shitting me." Janie took the battery. The thing was exactly what she needed. After switching it for the dead one in her own fob, she passed the juiceless battery to Paige. "Won't that guy be pissed when he comes back and his keys don't work?"

Paige smirked as she poked the dead battery into the ranch hand’s fob. "Probably should've thought of that before he grabbed my ass."

Janie shook her head, rolling her eyes. "Those ranch hands do get a little wild, don't they?"

"You have no freaking idea." Paige carried the keys back down and tossed them where she found them. "If they keep it up, I'm going to have to hire a bouncer."

Janie leaned against the counter, wiggling her brows. "Let me know. I'd like to fill out an application." She made a show of cracking her knuckles. "I've got some rage I should probably try to get out."

Paige cackled, head tipping back. "You'd think that would be a great stress reliever, bu t these idiots like it. You'll end up with three marriage proposals before the end of your first night."

Janie wrinkled her nose, disgusted. "Never mind then. I've decided I'm done fucking with men. They’re way more hassle than they're worth.” She shrugged. “Guess it’s time for me to embrace my spinsterhood and be everyone's honorary, shit-show of an auntie." At least that was something she could excel at.

After spending a lifetime chasing down dreams only to discover she lacked the skills to catch any of them, she'd found some semblance of peace in giving up and simply accepting herself for what she was.

A fucking failure.

"A-fucking-men to that." Paige eyed her. "You want a drink before you go?"

Yes. She absolutely did. Unfortunately, it wasn’t in the cards. "I have to get up early tomorrow to help Mariah set up for a big event at The Inn." She slapped the counter, backing away. "I will take a rain check, though." She grinned at Paige. "Let me know how butt-grabber likes having dead keys."

Imagining one of the fly-by-night idiot ranch hands standing there pushing the button on his fob like an ass brightened her spirits a little. Made her feel incrementally better about being that same sort of ass not so long ago.

She ducked out of the bar, eyes watering as she again had to adjust to the change in light. Her vision was clear by the time she made it to the employee parking lot behind The Baking Rack. Like the cow ard she was, Janie paused at the edge of the building to peek around, letting out a sigh of relief when there was no sight of Peters or his car.

Just in case he was making a lap and planning to come back, she ran across the blacktop, thumb punching the unlock button five times just to be sure her car really was accessible when she got there. But, instead of immediately jumping in and starting the engine, she stopped dead in her tracks and stared.

"Fucking asshole." She snatched the paper wedged under her wiper free, crumpling it with one hand as she yanked open the door and fell into the driver's seat. The prick really couldn't help himself. It was almost like he thought she was incapable of figuring out how to replace the tires on her own. Granted, their current condition might make him wonder, but that didn't mean he needed to leave her the name and number of his own personal tire guy on her windshield.

Tossing the paper into the passenger side floorboard, she started the engine and shoved her foot toward the floor, getting out of the area as fast as she could manage, relaxing a little more with every second she put between herself and the last spot she saw Peters. By the time she made it to her place twenty minutes later, the tension in her shoulders was all but gone.

When she first moved to Moss Creek, the lack of affordable housing was irritating as hell. Anything decently close to town was snapped up in an instant, or way above her price range, leaving her stuck at the very edge of the city's limits. Her drive to The Baking Rack wasn't terrible, but getting out to The Inn at Red Cedar Ranch was brutal. Especially at five in the morning.

But right now, the location felt fantastic. Far away from the latest reminder of just how much she sucked.

After parking in the dirt spot allocated to her, she started to get out, remembering Peters’ crumpled note at the last second and leaning across the console to grab it.

Her life might be a mess figuratively, but that didn’t mean she was going to let it become a literal translation.