Page 18 of My Cowboy Trouble (The Cowboy Romantic Comedies #1)

"I am imagining. Vividly."

"Margaret! You're married!"

"To a man who thinks foreplay is taking his boots off first. Let me have my fantasies."

I'm trying to figure out which mineral block is the right one—who knew there were seventeen varieties with names like "Super Mineral Plus" and "Ultra Mega Mineral Maximum," when I hear voices from the next aisle over.

They're trying to whisper, but it's the kind of whisper that's actually louder than normal talking.

"She's pretty enough, I suppose. In that city way."

"All makeup and fancy clothes. Bet she doesn't look like that when she wakes up."

I’m not wearing any makeup. And I’m dressed like a slob.

"Pretty won't last once the novelty wears off."

"How long you think before she runs back to New York or wherever?"

"I give it another week. Two tops."

"Depends on how good the boys are at convincing her to stay."

"From what I heard, they're being very convincing. Very."

"Did you hear about the rodeo? Dancing with all three of them? My cousin was there. Said she was practically sitting on their laps. "

"And leaving with all three."

"Shameless."

"I heard she's only here for the money. Soon as she can sell, she'll be gone."

"Typical gold digger."

"Though if I had three cowboys looking at me like that..."

"Martha!"

"What? I'm married, not dead. That Gavin could park his boots under my bed any day. I'd even make him breakfast."

"Just breakfast?"

"Well, he'd have to work up an appetite first."

Giggling. Actual giggling from women old enough to be my mother.

I'm frozen, clutching a mineral block like it's a lifeline. The weight of it is making my arms shake, or maybe that's just rage. Is that really what everyone thinks? That I'm some gold-digging city slut here to corrupt their cowboys and steal their land?

"You okay?"

I jump, nearly dropping the block on my foot. Billy's standing next to me, struggling with a bag of feed that's definitely too heavy for him. His face is red with exertion, and his skinny arms are shaking.

"Fine," I lie, setting the block in my cart with a thud that probably registered on the Richter scale. "Need help? "

"I got it," he says, but he's sweating and red-faced, and the bag is slipping from his grip.

I grab one end of the bag. "Let's both get it. On three?"

We pay and drag our haul to the truck together. Billy gives me that puppy dog smile that would be adorable if it wasn't so tragic. The kid needs to find someone his own age to moon over.

"Thanks, Kenzie. You're really nice."

"Just doing my part."

"No, I mean it. You're not like they say."

My stomach drops. "What do they say?"

He goes red, the color spreading from his neck up to his hairline like someone's filling him with tomato juice. "Nothing. Just... stuff. But it's not true! You're nice and smart and pretty and you work hard and you don't act all stuck-up like they said you would and?—"

"Billy."

"Yeah?"

"Thanks."

He beams at me like I just gave him the moon wrapped in a bow.

"Billy! Stop mooning over the city girl and help me load this!"

An older man, probably his father from the similar features and identical scowl, is glaring at us from across the parking lot. He's got the same narrow face and suspicious eyes, but where Billy's are soft with youth, his are hard with disappointment .

"That's my dad," Billy says unnecessarily. "He doesn't like... I mean, he thinks..." He trails off, looking miserable.

"It's okay. I get it."

"He's wrong though. About you. About the guys. About everything." Billy looks at me with those earnest eyes. "I should go help my dad. But, Kenzie? Don't listen to them. They're just jealous.

"Of what?"

"Of you. You got the ranch, the guys, everything. Plus, you're from somewhere exciting. Not stuck here like the rest of us." He pauses, then adds quietly, "Sometimes I dream about leaving. Going somewhere nobody knows me. Somewhere I could be whoever I want."

"You can be whoever you want here too, Billy."

"No," he says sadly. "Here, I'll always be Billy Jenkins who walked into a fence post staring at a pretty girl and threw up on his shoes at junior prom."

"You threw up on your shoes?"

"And Sally Mabry's. She never talked to me again."

He trudges off to his father's truck, shoulders slumped like he's carrying the weight of every embarrassing thing he's ever done.

I'm loading our supplies into the truck, trying to Tetris everything in so it won't slide around, when I hear it.

"Must be nice, having a warm bed every night."

Two men are leaning against a nearby truck, watching me with expressions that make my skin crawl. They're the type who peaked in high school and have been bitter about it ever since—soft around the middle, hard in the eyes, wearing their disappointment like cologne.

"Bet she's keeping all three of them real happy."

"Happy and tired, from what I hear."

"You know what they say about city girls. They'll do anything."

"And anyone."

"Maybe when she's done with them, she'll lower her standards enough for us regular folks."

They laugh, an ugly sound that makes my hands clench into fists. I focus on lifting the feed bag, pretending I can't hear them.

"Hey, sweetheart," one calls out. He's missing a tooth and apparently basic human decency. "When you're done with them, maybe you could show us some of that city hospitality. We're real friendly here in Montana."

"Real friendly," the other echoes, and the way he says it makes me want to shower.

"Or maybe," the first one continues, emboldened by my silence, "you don't have to wait. I heard you can handle multiple?— "

"Finish that sentence and I'll finish you."

Gavin appears beside me, and the playful cowboy is gone. In his place is someone dangerous, all barely controlled violence and protective fury. His hands are clenched, knuckles white, and there's a vein pulsing in his neck that I've never seen before.

"We were just talking," one of the men says, but he takes a step back. Smart move.

"No, you were being disrespectful assholes." Gavin moves closer to them, and I realize he's actually bigger than both of them. Taller, broader, and currently radiating the kind of energy that makes smart people run. "And now you're going to apologize to the lady."

"For what? Everyone knows?—"

Gavin's fist connects with the truck beside the man's head, leaving a dent that's going to be expensive to fix. The sound echoes across the parking lot like a gunshot.

"Apologize. Now."

"Sorry," they mutter, not looking at me.

"Louder. And look at her when you say it."

"We're sorry, miss."

"Now get the fuck out of here before I decide an apology isn't enough and rearrange your faces to match your loser personalities."

They scramble into their truck and peel out of the parking lot, leaving rubber on the asphalt. Gavin watches them go, his jaw clenched so tight, I'm worried he'll crack a tooth .

"You okay?" he asks, turning to me. His knuckles are bleeding from hitting the truck.

"Your hand?—"

"It's fine. Are you okay?"

"I didn't need you to defend me."

"I know." He touches my face gently, a complete contrast to the violence from seconds ago. His thumb traces my cheekbone with impossible tenderness. "But I wanted to. Nobody talks about you like that. Nobody."

"People are going to talk, Gavin. It's a small town, and I'm?—"

"You're what?"

"I'm the city girl sleeping with three cowboys. That's what everyone thinks."

"You've only slept with one cowboy recently," he points out with a grin that doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Though we could fix that."

"Gavin."

"I'm serious. Fuck what they think. Let them talk."

"Easy for you to say. You're not the one being called a gold digger. Or worse."

"No, I'm the one being called a lucky bastard." He pulls me against him, right there in the parking lot where anyone can see. "And they're right. I am lucky. We all are."

"Gavin, people are watching."

"Let them watch." But he lets me go, opening the truck door for me. "Where's Asher? "

"Still negotiating with Carl."

"Which means Carl's kids are about to lose their college funds." He helps me into the truck, his hands lingering on my waist. "You sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine."

"Liar."

"I'm mostly fine."

"Better." He kisses my forehead, then surprises me by adding, "Those guys?

Tommy Henderson and Jake Morris. They're idiots who've been stuck in this town their whole lives, getting drunk at the same bar, hitting on the same women who reject them, blaming everyone else for their problems. Their opinions are worth less than the shit we muck out of the stalls. "

"Colorful."

"Accurate. And, Kenzie? For what it's worth, I don't care what they say. Neither do the others. You belong at the ranch. With us."

"For twenty more days."

"We'll see about that."

Asher appears, looking pleased with himself, carrying a box of what appears to be drill bits. "Carl caved on the lumber. We're getting it at cost."

"How?" I ask.

"I reminded him that his wife has been buying eggs from Clara Mae instead of his sister's farm. Amazing what people will do to avoid family drama."

"You're evil," I tell him .

"I'm practical. There's a difference." He notices our supplies are loaded. "Ready to go?"

"More than ready," I mutter.

The drive back is quiet, but both of them keep touching me—Gavin's hand on my knee, Asher's fingers brushing mine when he shifts.

It's like they're trying to remind me I'm not alone, even though we all know I am.

In twenty days, I'll be gone, and they'll still be here, dealing with the gossip I left behind.

"Stop thinking so loud," Asher says, glancing at me.

"I'm not thinking."

"You're overthinking. I can practically hear the gears grinding."

"My gears are fine."

"Your gears are stressed," Gavin says. "Want to talk about it?"

"Not really."

"Want to make out about it?" he offers hopefully.

Despite everything, I laugh. "You're ridiculous."

"But I made you smile. That's worth something."

It is. It's worth more than he knows.