Page 19 of My Cowboy Trouble (The Cowboy Romantic Comedies #1)

Trent's waiting by the barn when we pull up, and I can tell from his expression he already knows something happened. He's got that jaw-clench thing going, and his arms are crossed in a way that makes his biceps strain against his shirt .

"How was town?" he asks, but his eyes are on me, scanning for damage like I might be broken.

"Educational," I say, grabbing a bag of feed and heading for the barn. I heft it like it's nothing because I need to do something with all this angry energy.

"Kenzie—"

"I'm fine, Trent. Just need to put this away."

I breeze past him, pretending the whispers aren't still echoing in my head. Gold digger. Slut. City girl. Mail-order bride, for fuck's sake. Who even uses that term anymore?

He follows me into the barn, his boots heavy on the wooden floor. "What happened?"

"Nothing. Just small-town charm at its finest."

"Kenzie."

"What?" I spin to face him, dropping the feed bag with a thud that sends dust swirling. "What do you want me to say? That everyone in town thinks I'm a whore? That they're placing bets on how long before I run back to the city? That they think I'm using you all?"

"Are you?"

The question hits like a slap. The barn suddenly feels too small, too hot, too everything.

"Excuse me?"

"Are you using us?" His voice is quiet, controlled, but I can see something flickering in his eyes. Fear, maybe. Or hope. "Because if this is just some game to you, some ranch adventure before you go back to your real life?—"

"Fuck you." I throw the next feed bag down harder, and it splits open, spilling grain across the floor.

"You know what? Fuck all of you. I've been breaking my back trying to prove I belong here.

I've mucked stalls until my hands bled. I've fixed fences in hundred-degree heat.

I've patched roofs and wrangled your demon rooster and learned to ride a horse that hates me.

I've done everything you've asked and more.

And for what? So you can stand here and ask if I'm using you? "

"That's not what I?—"

"Yes, it is. You heard the gossip and part of you believes it. Admit it."

"I don't?—"

"You do. You think I'm some city girl playing cowboy, getting her kicks before I sell this place to the highest bidder."

"Aren't you?"

I stare at him, something cracking in my chest. "I don't know. I thought... I thought maybe..."

"What?"

"Nothing. It doesn't matter." I push past him, but he grabs my arm. Not hard, just enough to stop me.

"It matters. Tell me what you thought."

I look up at him, at this man who's so controlled it hurts, who's been taking care of everyone but himself for so long. "I thought maybe I could belong here, Trent. That maybe this could be home. But you're right. I'm just playing pretend. The city girl playing ranch. How fucking stupid of me."

I yank my arm free and push past him. "I need to shower. Wash the small-town judgment off me."

"Kenzie, wait."

But I don't wait. I run to the house, up the stairs, and lock myself in my bathroom. I turn the shower as hot as it will go and stand under the spray, trying to wash away the words, the looks, the doubts.

They're right, aren't they? I am leaving. I am selling. I am sleeping with men I have no future with. What does that make me if not exactly what they say?

The water's so hot, it's turning my skin red, but I can't seem to feel it. Everything's numb except the ache in my chest where Trent's words landed.

A knock on the bathroom door interrupts my pity party.

"Go away."

"It's Asher. Open up."

"I'm in the shower."

"I don't care."

"Asher, I'm naked and crying and having a crisis. Please go away."

"That's exactly why I'm not going away. Open the door or I'm picking the lock."

"You don't know how to pick locks."

"I grew up in foster care. I know how to pick locks, hot-wire cars, and make seven different meals with just ramen and ketchup. Open the door. "

I turn off the water and wrap myself in a towel, then crack the door open. "What?"

He pushes the door wider and steps inside. "Trent's an idiot."

"He's not wrong."

"Yes, he is." He cups my face in his hands, forcing me to look at him. "You're not using us. If anything, we're using you."

"What?"

"You brought life back to this place, Kenzie.

Not just the ranch—us. We were just existing before you showed up.

Going through the motions. Wake up, work, eat, sleep, repeat.

Now..." He traces his thumb over my cheekbone, catching a tear I didn't realize had fallen.

"Now we have something to look forward to. Even if it's temporary."

"The whole town thinks?—"

"The whole town can fuck off." It's Gavin, crowding into the bathroom too. "They're jealous, bored, and have nothing better to do than gossip about people actually living their lives."

"They're not wrong though. I am leaving at the end of thirty days."

"Maybe," Trent says from the doorway, because apparently this is a party now. He looks miserable, running his hand through his hair in that way he does when he's stressed. "Maybe not."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means twenty days is a long time. A lot can change."

"You just accused me of using you!"

"I was wrong." The admission seems to physically pain him. His jaw works like he's chewing glass. "I was... scared."

"Scared?" I laugh, but it's bitter. "The great Trent Mercer is scared?"

"Terrified," he admits quietly. "That they were right. That you're just marking time until you can leave. That this—us—doesn't mean anything to you."

I look at all three of them, crowded into my bathroom while I stand there in nothing but a towel, water still dripping from my hair, and something shifts in my chest. The anger drains away, leaving something raw and vulnerable behind.

"It means everything," I whisper. "That's the problem. It means everything and I still have to leave."

"Why?" Asher asks.

"Because that's the plan. Because I have a life in the city. Because this was never supposed to be real."

"But it is real," Gavin says, stepping closer. "What we have is real."

"For twenty more days."

"Then we make them count," Trent says, moving into the bathroom too. It's getting crowded, but somehow I don't mind. "Fuck what everyone thinks. Fuck the gossip. We know the truth."

"Which is? "

"You belong here," he says simply. "With us. For however long we have."

I look at them—my three cowboys, all different, all complicated, all mine for now—and make a decision.

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"Okay, we make it count. All twenty days."

"Starting now?" Gavin asks hopefully, his eyes tracking a water droplet as it slides down my neck.

I drop the towel.

"Starting now."

The bathroom gets very crowded very quickly, and for once, I don't care what anyone thinks. Let them talk. Let them gossip. Let them place their bets and whisper their theories.

For the next twenty days, I'm going to live like I belong here.

Because maybe, just maybe, I do.