Page 11 of My Cowboy Trouble (The Cowboy Romantic Comedies #1)

"The kids have heard worse. This is cowboy country." But she's settling into the saddle now, looking down at me with something between terror and excitement. "This is really high."

"It's a horse, not a skyscraper."

"Easy for you to say from down there." She grips the reins like they're a lifeline. "Any advice?"

"Don't fall off. "

"Gee, thanks. Really helpful."

I move closer, my hand on her thigh, and lower my voice so only she can hear. "Grip with your knees, not your hands. Keep your weight centered. And whatever you do, don't pull back on the reins unless you want him to stop."

"What if I do want him to stop?"

"Then you've already lost."

She looks down at me, and for a moment, the crowd disappears. It's just us, her leg warm under my hand, her eyes locked on mine.

"I don't lose," she says quietly.

"Prove it."

Gavin leads Whiskey to the arena entrance, and I step back, immediately missing my contact with Kenzie. The crowd's getting louder, sensing blood in the water. Or maybe just sensing entertainment, which amounts to the same thing around here.

"Ladies and gentlemen," the announcer booms, "we've got a special treat tonight! Making her rodeo debut, all the way from the big city, let's hear it for Kenzie Rhodes!"

The crowd's response is mixed—some cheers, mostly laughter, and more than a few catcalls. I scan the faces, memorizing the ones who need a lesson in manners.

"You've got this, princess!" Gavin shouts.

"Show them how it's done, darlin'!" Asher adds.

I don't say anything. I can't. My throat's too tight watching her out there, looking small and vulnerable on Whiskey's back.

The horn sounds.

Whiskey takes off like he's been shot from a cannon, and Kenzie immediately loses both stirrups. But somehow—God knows how—she hangs on. She's bouncing around like a rag doll, completely out of rhythm with the horse, but she's still on him.

First barrel. Whiskey knows his job even if his rider doesn't. He cuts it close, and Kenzie leans the wrong way, nearly sliding off. The crowd gasps. I take a step forward before I catch myself.

Second barrel. She's found one stirrup and is fishing for the other with her free foot. It would be comical if I wasn't terrified she's about to break her neck.

Third barrel. She's got both stirrups now and something like confidence. She leans into the turn, not perfect, but better. Good enough.

The home stretch. Whiskey opens up, really running now, and Kenzie does something unexpected.

She laughs.

Not a nervous laugh or a scared laugh. A full-throated, joyful laugh that carries over the crowd noise. She's grinning like an idiot, hair flying behind her, and she looks...

Beautiful.

Alive.

Free .

They cross the finish line, and the crowd erupts. Not because she was good—she wasn't. Her time is terrible, dead last by a mile. But because she finished. Because she didn't give up. Because sometimes that's enough.

She pulls Whiskey to a stop right in front of us, still laughing, still glowing with adrenaline.

"Did you see that?" she gasps. "I didn't die!"

"The bar's pretty low when not dying is the goal," I say, but I'm fighting a smile.

"Don't care. I survived a rodeo!" She starts to dismount and immediately gets tangled in the stirrups. "Uh, small problem."

I catch her as she falls, my hands spanning her waist, her body sliding down mine until her feet hit the ground. We're pressed together, her hands on my shoulders, my hands still on her waist, and that adrenaline in her eyes shifts to something else.

"Thanks," she breathes.

"Yeah."

Neither of us moves.

"Get a room!" someone shouts, and we spring apart.

But Gavin and Asher are right there, pulling her into a group hug that I somehow get dragged into. We're all laughing, even me, and for a moment, just a moment, I forget why this is a bad idea.

I forget that she's leaving.

I forget that I don't do this—don't get close, don't let people in, don't want things I can't have.

I forget everything except how right this feels.

How right she feels.

The forgetting is going to cost me. I know it. But right now, with her pressed between us, smelling like horse and hay and happiness, I can't bring myself to care.

The Rusty Spur is packed, which is normal for a Saturday night after the rodeo. What's not normal is how Kenzie's fitting in, buying rounds and laughing at terrible jokes and letting old cowboys teach her to two-step.

She's terrible at it. Absolutely awful. Steps on everyone's feet, turns the wrong way, and somehow manages to lead when she should follow and follow when she should lead. But she's trying, and that counts for something.

"My turn," Gavin cuts in on her current partner, some ranch hand from the Triple Cross who's been holding her unnecessarily close.

"We were just getting started," the guy protests.

"And now you're just getting finished." Gavin's smile is all teeth. "Move along, partner."

The ranch hand looks like he wants to argue, but something in Gavin's eyes makes him think better of it. Smart man .

"You didn't have to do that," Kenzie says as Gavin pulls her into position. "I was fine."

"You were about to get felt up by Tommy Henderson, who hasn't seen a dentist or a willing woman in about five years."

"Maybe I like projects."

"You've already got three of those." He spins her, and she laughs as she tries to keep up. "Speaking of which, Trent hasn't taken his eyes off you all night."

"I can hear you," I call, and he ignores me.

He's right. I haven't taken my eyes off her. I know I haven't. I'm standing at the bar, nursing the same beer I've had for an hour, watching her move through the crowd like she belongs here. Like she's not leaving in twenty-five days.

Twenty-four days actually. Or is it now twenty-three?

"You're pathetic," Asher says, appearing beside me. "Either ask her to dance or stop looking like someone shot your dog."

"I don't dance."

"You used to."

"That was before."

"Before what? Before you decided that wanting something was weakness?" He signals the bartender for another round. "Your dad wouldn't want this for you."

"Don't."

"Someone needs to. You're thirty-two, Trent, not dead. And that woman out there? She wants you. Hell, she wants all of us, which should be complicated but somehow isn't."

"It is complicated."

"Only if we make it complicated." He pushes a fresh beer toward me. "Clara Mae was right. We're a package deal. Always have been. Maybe it's time to stop fighting it."

Out on the dance floor, Gavin's got Kenzie in a low dip, her hair nearly touching the floor, her laugh bright as bells. When he pulls her up, she's flushed and breathless and gorgeous.

"Fuck it," I mutter, downing half the beer in one go.

I cross the dance floor, ignoring the surprised looks. Trent Mercer doesn't dance. Hasn't in eight years. This is practically front-page news.

"Mind if I cut in?"

Gavin grins like he's won something. "About time." He passes Kenzie's hand to mine. "Try not to break her."

"I'm not breakable," Kenzie protests.

"We'll see about that," I say, pulling her close.

She fits against me perfectly, which is a problem. Everything about her is a problem—the way she smells, the way she feels, the way she looks up at me like I'm something more than a broken cowboy holding onto a failing ranch.

"You came," she says softly. "To the rodeo. You came."

"You mentioned that already. "

"It bears repeating." Her hand tightens on my shoulder. "Why?"

"Someone had to make sure you didn't kill yourself on that horse."

"Liar."

"I don't lie."

"Everyone lies." She steps closer, our bodies aligned from chest to thigh. "But your tells are showing."

"I don't have tells."

"You do. Your jaw tightens when you're fighting something. Your hands flex when you want to touch but won't let yourself. And right now?" She leans up, her breath warm against my ear. "Right now, you're doing both."

I look down at my free hand. It's clenched at my side.

"This is a bad idea," I say for what feels like the hundredth time today.

"The worst," she agrees, but she's pressing closer, not pulling away.

The song ends, but we don't move. Another starts—something slow and sultry—and I keep dancing with her because stopping means thinking, and thinking means remembering why I can't have this.

"Trent?"

"Yeah?"

"Take me home."

Two words, but they change everything. I look over at Gavin and Asher. They're watching us, knowing. Waiting.

"All of us?" I ask, because I need to be clear. Need to know we're all on the same page.

"All of you." She looks up at me, eyes dark with want and something else. Something that looks dangerously like affection. "Is that... is that okay?"

I should say no. Should walk away. Should protect myself and them and her from what's coming in twenty-three-some-odd days.

Instead, I say, "Yeah. It's okay."

We pile into one truck, leaving mine behind.

The ride home is silent except for the radio playing something low and staticky.

Kenzie's pressed between me and Gavin, with Asher driving.

Every bump in the road shifts her against me.

Every turn presses her closer. By the time we reach the ranch, my control is hanging by a thread.

We make it to the house, barely. The door's hardly closed before Gavin's kissing Kenzie, all heat and demand. She melts into him, making these little sounds that go straight to my cock.

"My turn," Asher says, pulling her away from Gavin and into a kiss that's slower but no less intense.

I stand there, watching, my control finally snapping. When Asher releases her, she turns to me, eyes blown wide with desire.

"Trent?"

I don't answer with words. I can't. Instead, I kiss her like I've wanted to since that first morning when she stood on my porch defending her right to coffee. Like I've wanted to every time she's challenged me, defied me, surprised me.

Like I want her.