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

“What, and ruin the fun of torturing you? Nah.”

“Does the family know?”

“Mom and Dad do. I went up to Mom’s place today and told them.”

Devon smiled as she pictured that announcement. “They must have been thrilled.”

“Actually, they were caught off guard. But you’re going to be thrilled.”

A puzzled shrug. “You lost me.”

Lane plucked out an olive and munched on it. “Let’s say I dropped by at an inopportune time.”

Devon stared. “You didn’t.”

“Oh yeah, I did. Mom was in the bedroom, indisposed. Monty was in the kitchen, wearing a towel and throwing together some breakfast in bed. We collided in the hall.”

Stifling her laughter, Devon caught her lower lip between her teeth. “I don’t know who I feel sorriest for.”

“Me,” Lane supplied. “I waited for them in the living room like a kid who’d gotten caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Mom finally came out in a bathrobe. She couldn’t look me in the eye for ten minutes. All she did was blush. And Monty—his jaw was clenched so tightly, I half expected him to pull out his Glock and blow me away.”

“So what did you do?”

Lane gave her a crooked grin. “Now’s the part where you’ll be thrilled. I told Monty he’d better make an honest woman out of Mom. He told me that was the plan.”

“Really?” Devon gripped her brother’s arms. “He said those exact words?”

“Sure did,” Monty confirmed, strolling in out of nowhere and snatching an artichoke off the salad. “And I meant them. Now all I need is a little time—and some privacy—to convince your mother.” He rolled his eyes, chomping on the artichoke. “And here I thought only little kids interrupted their parents at the wrong time and that grown-up kids had more smarts. Guess I was wrong. By the way, Dev, do a better job of locking your front door. Anyone could walk in.”

“Thanks for the tip,” she replied, fighting the urge to cheer. “I will.”

Monty sniffed. “Smells good. Your mother and I are starved. Oh, and cut the conversation. Our relationship is off-limits—the same way all of yours are. You know, what’s good for the goose is good for the gander, and all that. Besides, it wouldn’t hurt to show your parents a little respect.” Whistling, he left the room.

Devon and Lane stared at each other and cracked up.

“We’re going to get a ton of mileage out of this one,” Devon gasped out, her shoulders shaking with laughter. “I don’t care how cavalier Monty’s pretending to be. He’ll move heaven and earth not to upset Mom during this courting stage. He knows how easily she embarrasses. The last thing he needs is for us to make sexual innuendos. He’ll be on his best behavior. For a while, anyway.”

“Damn straight,” Lane agreed. “That means no snide remarks about the women in my life having to take a number. And no sentry duty for you to face after spending a night with Blake.” Abruptly, Lane paused, a glint lighting his eyes.

“Uh-oh, I know that look.”

“You sure do.” A corner of his mouth lifted in a smug grin. “Like you said, this reprieve won’t last long. Especially since it’ll take Monty about a New York minute to convince Mom to remarry him. After that, it’ll be bye-bye leverage. We’d better strike now, while the iron’s hot.”

“You’ve got a suggestion about the best way to cash in our chips?”

“Not a suggestion. A brainstorm.”

From out in the foyer, Merry’s voice drifted in, mingling with her parents’. At the same time, the doorbell sounded, followed by a flurry of footsteps and three sets of barking—one deep, two slightly higher, but no less forceful.

“Chomper’s here,” Devon determined. “That’s his, Terror’s, and Scamp’s idea of saying hello and competing for the role of alpha male.”

“Chomper? Good. That means Blake’s here.” Lane grabbed the salad bowl and gestured for Devon to follow. “Time to eat.”

Devon opened the fridge, took out the tray of fresh fruit she’d prepared, and scooted after Lane. Whatever her brother was planning, she didn’t want to miss it.

“Finally,” Monty noted drily. He was standing next to the dining-room table, an arm draped around Sally’s shoulders. “I was about to send out for a pizza.”

“No need.” Devon set down the fruit tray. “I made enough even for you.” She bent down to pat Chomper, then turned to Blake, her gaze intimate. “Hi.”