Page 10 of My Cowboy Trouble (The Cowboy Romantic Comedies #1)

KENZIE

I'm elbow-deep in Whiskey's hoof, digging out a stone that's been bothering him all day, when I hear her laugh. It's bright and genuine, floating through the barn doors like it belongs here. Like she belongs here.

She doesn't.

Twenty-five days left. I've been counting every single one since she arrived, and that blasted Gavin's determined to make me lose track.

"You sure this is safe?" Kenzie's asking as I straighten up, my back protesting from being bent over for the last twenty minutes.

She's standing by Gavin's truck in jeans and a white tank top that's going to be transparent the minute she starts sweating.

Her hair's down, falling in waves around her shoulders, and she's wearing actual boots.

Not the fancy ones with fringe—real boots.

Someone's been to the general store in town.

Christ.

"Safe is relative," Gavin's saying, holding the passenger door open like some kind of gentleman we all know he's not. "But don't worry, princess. I'll protect you from all the big bad cowboys."

"What about protecting me from you?"

"Now where's the fun in that?"

She laughs again, and something in my chest tightens. I focus on Whiskey's hoof, but the stone's already out. I'm just stalling now.

"You coming, Trent?" Asher appears in the barn doorway, dressed for a night out. Of course he is. When Gavin makes plans, Asher follows. They always have, ever since we were teenagers getting into trouble—that I'd have to get us out of later.

"Someone needs to stay with the ranch."

"The ranch will survive one night." Asher walks over, leaning against Whiskey's stall. "Besides, don't you want to make sure Gavin doesn't do something stupid?"

"Gavin always does something stupid."

"Exactly. So you should come. For supervision."

"I'm not a babysitter."

"No, but you're acting like a jealous boyfriend."

The words hit like a slap. "I'm not?—"

"Sure you're not." Asher's grin says he knows exactly what buttons he's pushing. "That's why you've been death-gripping that hoof pick for the last five minutes, watching her through the window."

I look down. He's right. My knuckles are white around the tool.

"Kenzie's not ready for a rodeo," I say, setting the pick aside and running my hands down Whiskey's leg to check for heat or swelling. Anything to avoid looking at Asher. "She can barely handle the ranch."

"She handled you pretty well in that feed room earlier."

My jaw tightens. "Nothing happened."

"Right. That's why you both looked guilty as teenagers when I walked in."

"Drop it, Asher."

"Come to the rodeo, Trent." His voice goes serious. "You know you want to. And maybe it's time to stop punishing yourself for wanting things."

"I don't?—"

"Your dad's been gone eight years. The ranch didn't fall apart. You saved it. You can take one night off."

He leaves before I can respond, jogging over to the truck where Gavin's revving the engine impatiently. I watch Kenzie climb in, laughing at something Gavin says. Watch Asher slide in next to her, sandwiching her between them.

Whiskey nudges my shoulder, nearly knocking me over.

"What?" I ask him.

He snorts and tosses his head toward the truck .

"I don't take advice from horses."

He kicks his stall door.

"Fine. Jesus. Everyone's got an opinion tonight."

I close up the barn and head to the house to change. I tell myself I'm going only to keep them out of trouble. To make sure Gavin doesn't let her do something dangerous. To supervise.

But when I catch myself putting on my good jeans—the ones that actually fit instead of hanging off me like feed sacks—I know I'm lying to myself.

Twenty-five days.

I can control myself for twenty-five days.

The doubt starts creeping in before I even reach my truck.

The rodeo grounds are packed, which is typical for a Saturday night. What's not typical is the way every head turns when Gavin's truck pulls up, with me right behind him. Or maybe it is typical for Gavin, but tonight they're not looking at him.

They're looking at her.

I catch up to them just as Kenzie climbs out of the truck, eyes wide as she takes in the scene. The arena's lit up like daylight, country music blaring from speakers that have seen better decades, and the air's thick with dust and the smell of livestock and beer.

"Holy shit," she breathes, and I can see her trying to process it all—the cowboys warming up their horses, the girls in their Saturday night best, the kids running around with cotton candy bigger than their heads.

"Welcome to the real Montana," Gavin says, throwing an arm around her shoulders. "Not that prettied-up tourist stuff. This is where the actual cowboys come to play."

"And the wannabes," I mumble.

Kenzie spins around. "Glad you came, even if you are grouchy."

"Someone needs to make sure you don't break anything. Including yourself."

"Aw, he cares," Gavin stage-whispers. "Trent actually cares about something besides the ranch."

"Shut up, Gavin."

But Kenzie's smiling at me, this soft, pleased look that makes my chest do things it shouldn't. "Thanks for coming."

"Don't thank me yet. You haven't seen Gavin drunk on adrenaline and cheap beer."

"Hey! I only drink the expensive stuff," Gavin protests. "Sometimes."

We make our way through the grounds, and I try not to notice how Kenzie stays close to me when the crowd presses in. Or how her hand brushes mine when someone jostles her. Or how she smells like something floral that definitely doesn't belong in a place that reeks of manure and nachos.

"Gavin Slade!" A group of female barrel racers spot him and squeal like he's some kind of celebrity. Which, around here, he kind of was before his accident. "We heard you were back! You competin' tonight?"

"Not tonight, ladies." He flashes that grin that used to get him free drinks in every bar across the state. "I'm showing our new friend around. This is Kenzie. She inherited the Dusty Spur."

The temperature drops about ten degrees. Amazing how fast friendly turns to suspicious when property's involved. Competition, too.

From the amused look on Kenzie's face, this is not lost on her. I realize she can handle herself when she stretches to her full height and plasters on a huge, fake-ass smile. No big surprise, really. The woman can give as good as she gets.

I cross my arms and hide my smirk, ready to enjoy the showdown.

"You're the city girl," one of them says, looking Kenzie up and down like she's cataloguing every designer label. "Heard you've been having some... trouble adjusting."

"She's doing fine," I say before Kenzie can respond. The sharpness in my voice surprises everyone, including me.

"Real fine," Asher adds, appearing with beers for everyone. "In fact, she's thinking about competing tonight. Aren't you, Kenzie?"

"I am? "

"Sure you are." Gavin's grin turns wicked. "Can't own a ranch if you can't ride."

"She can barely stay on a horse," I protest.

"I can ride," Kenzie says, chin coming up in that way that means trouble. "I've been practicing with Whiskey."

"You've sat on him twice. While he was standing still. In the barn."

"Still counts."

The barrel racers laugh, but it's not a nice sound. "This should be interesting," one says. "Gavin, you letting her use your horse?"

"Why not? Whiskey likes her." Gavin winks at Kenzie. "Doesn't he, princess?"

"Stop calling me princess."

"Would you prefer 'queen of the rodeo'? Because that's what you'll be after you show these ladies how it's done."

I want to grab her and shake some sense into her. Or maybe just grab her. Either way, this is a bad idea. "She's not ready?—"

"I'm standing right here," Kenzie interrupts. "And I can make my own decisions."

"Bad decisions."

"Maybe. But they're mine to make." She takes a long pull of her beer, then looks me dead in the eye. "Unless you think I'm too fragile to handle it?"

Fuck. She knows exactly what she's doing. Knows I can't back down from that challenge without looking like I'm trying to control her. Which I am. But not for the reasons she thinks.

"Fine," I say. "But when you fall on your ass, don't come crying to me."

"I never cry."

"Everyone cries their first time at a rodeo," one of the barrel racers says. "It's tradition."

Kenzie's smile is sharp as glass, just like her voice is. "Guess I'll be breaking tradition, then."

The crowd around us is growing, word spreading that the city girl's going to ride. Money's already changing hands, bets being placed. Most of them are betting against her.

I pull out my wallet.

"Hundred on her to finish," I tell Billy, who's apparently become the unofficial bookie.

Kenzie looks at me, surprised. "You're betting on me?"

"Someone has to."

"Make it two hundred," Asher says, adding his money to mine.

"Three hundred," Gavin adds. "And another fifty says she beats at least one of these so-called professionals."

The barrel racers stop laughing.

Kenzie's looking at us like we've grown extra heads. "You're all insane."

"Probably," I agree. "But we're your kind of insane now. So try not to embarrass us. "

"Or yourself," Gavin adds helpfully.

"Or the ranch," Asher chimes in.

"Or the entire state of Montana," I finish.

"No pressure though," Gavin grins.

She flips us all off, but she's smiling. "Where's this horse I'm supposedly riding?"

Watching Kenzie try to mount Whiskey in front of a crowd is like watching a baby giraffe try to ice skate. She's determined, I'll give her that, but determination doesn't make up for complete lack of experience.

"Wrong foot," I say, standing close enough to catch her if she falls. When she falls.

"I know that." She switches feet, grabs the saddle horn, and hauls herself up with more grit than grace. Whiskey shifts, and she nearly slides right off the other side. "Shit!"

"Language," I mutter, steadying her with a hand on her thigh. "There are kids around."