Wrong Place, Wrong Time (Pete 'Monty' Montgomery 1)

“Leave them alone,” Sally admonished. She rose, glancing over at Devon. “Why don’t I start serving?”

“Good idea.” Monty jumped up. “I’ll slice the prime rib; you serve it. It’ll be just like old times.”

“What old times are you remembering?” Sally asked, flashing him a teasing grin. “Prime rib wasn’t in our budget.”

“It’s still not in mine,” Devon admitted. “I’d be eating Cheerios for the next two weeks if Lane hadn’t kicked in.”

“Yeah, well, you had a bet to win.” Lane gave her a broad grin. “And priorities are priorities.”

Meredith watched their parents disappear into the kitchen. Then she glanced quickly and assessingly at Devon and Blake. “Hey.” She poked Lane. “Would you help me pack up my computer? It’ll be one less thing for me to do after dinner.”

Chuckling, Lane came to his feet. “In other words, give both couples some time alone. Gotcha, Dear Abby.” He joined Merry and crossed over toward the staircase. “You’ve got five minutes,” he informed Blake as they passed. “Then we’re eating.”

“Thanks for the warning,” Blake replied. “And Meredith?” He winked at her. “In your case, just thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.” She followed Lane up the stairs.

Devon smiled, turning back to Blake. “Merry’s driving up to the house with Monty and Mom tonight,” she explained. “They’re taking her back to school in the morning. And Lane’s flight leaves tomorrow afternoon. So, after that, it’ll just be me and my pets.”

“Hmm.” Blake wrapped his arms around her and pulled her against him. “That has possibilities. Our marathon nights in my apartment are starting to wear thin.”

“I’m too much for you, huh?” Devon’s eyes sparkled as she smiled up at him.

“Uh-uh.” He lowered his head and kissed her. “Not even close. What’s too much for me is having you to myself for just five hours a night.”

“That’s because of your crazy schedule, not my family.”

“I know.” Blake regarded her intently, threading his fingers through her hair. “But I want more.”

Devon studied his expression, her smile fading. “So do I.”

“We’ll have to probe the options.” He kissed her again, this time more explicitly. “Tomorrow night?”

“Tomorrow night,” she murmured. “Consider it a date.”

At that moment, there was a commotion from the kitchen. First, a shout from Monty. Then a “Pete, grab the tray!” from Sally, followed by a grunt, a splat, a few yips, and the pad-pad of running paws. Finally, Terror darted out, a slice of meat dangling from between his teeth. He peered from left to right, spotted Devon and Blake, and veered away from them, bolting down the hall. Scamp burst out on his heels, jumping and snapping in an attempt to grab the piece of prime rib. Seconds later, Chomper exploded into the room, also in hot pursuit of the meat, his chunky little legs sliding out from under him as he sprinted after Terror and Scamp. Behind the vying male canines, Connie exited, her feline expression the picture of disgust as she gazed after them. She turned to blink at Devon, gave an exasperated meow, and headed in the opposite direction.

“Talk about a bucket of ice water in the face,” Devon said with a rueful shake of her head. “I think they’re telling us not to count on too much quiet alone time tomorrow night.”

“Great,” Blake muttered. “Any chance that SUNY Albany would be willing to start an undergrad program for matriculating pets? We could send the whole bunch of them up with Meredith.”

“Nice thought.” Devon’s lips quirked. “But doubtful.”

Monty poked his head out of the kitchen. “Your dog, your portion,” he informed Devon, glaring after Terror. “Expect to see one less slice on your plate. And be grateful that I have lightning reflexes, or your whole dinner would be on the floor. By the way, your mother and I are about to carry out the food. So lip-lock time’s over.” He disappeared back inside.

Devon rolled her eyes and glanced from the three dogs—who were now in the hall playing tug-of-war with the meat—to Blake. “Those five hours alone at your place are starting to sound good.”

“Uh-uh.” Blake gave her a heated look, then released her. “Like I said, I want more. And I don’t just mean time.”

Something in his tone struck Devon, a profound note that told her that whatever he had on his mind was significant.

Unfortunately, it would have to wait.

The entire family reappeared at once, this time along with platters of food, as Sally and Monty placed Devon’s meal on the table for all to admire and enjoy.

Devon served, and everyone dug in, offering their high praise in between mouthfuls.

“I didn’t taste Blake’s salmon, but I still say you win,” Monty announced.