Page 26 of My Cowboy Trouble (The Cowboy Romantic Comedies #1)

TRENT

I've been awake since four a.m., which isn't unusual.

What is unusual is that I've spent those two hours staring at the ceiling, reliving every second of what happened in the tack room yesterday.

The way Kenzie felt underneath me—tight and perfect and mine.

The sounds she made when I moved inside her, those little gasps and moans that went straight to my cock.

The way she said my name when she came, like it was torn from her throat.

The way I walked away afterward like a complete bastard.

Sleep was impossible after that. Every time I closed my eyes, I could smell her on my skin, could feel the phantom weight of her body against mine. Could hear her voice asking me not to pretend it didn't happen, and my own voice telling her that's exactly what we needed to do.

By the time I drag myself out of bed and into the barn, I'm already in a foul mood that has nothing to do with the early hour and everything to do with the fact that I'm apparently a masochist who enjoys torturing himself.

The last thing I need is to see Kenzie laughing with Asher like yesterday never happened.

Like I didn't have her bent over a workbench, claiming her in every way that matters, marking her as mine even as I was telling myself it could never happen again.

But that's exactly what I find.

They're by Pepper's stall, Kenzie brushing the mare's coat with long, steady strokes while Asher leans against the doorframe, looking relaxed and charming as always.

He's got that easy smile on his face, the one that makes women melt and men want to punch him.

She's wearing one of my old flannel shirts—when the hell did she start wearing my clothes?

—over those jeans that should be illegal in three states, and her hair is braided down her back in a way that makes my fingers itch to tangle in it and mess it up.

The sight of her in my shirt does something primal to my chest. It's territorial and possessive and completely irrational, but there it is. She's wearing my clothes, smells like soap from my shower, and yet she's standing there laughing with another man like I don't exist .

"Morning, boss," Asher says without looking at me, his attention focused entirely on Kenzie. There's something intimate in the way he's watching her, like he's cataloguing every movement. "Sleep well?"

Like hell I did. I spent the night hard as a rock, thinking about her hands on my skin, replaying the way she felt when I was buried inside her. Thinking about how I'd fucked up the best thing to happen to me in eight years because I'm too much of a coward to believe in something good.

"Fine. What's the status on the south pasture fence?"

"All secure. Kenzie and I repaired it, good as new." His voice is casual, but there's something in his tone that sets my teeth on edge. A smugness that suggests they did more than just check fence posts. "Didn't we, darlin'?"

The endearment hits me like a slap. Darlin'. He's calling her darlin' like she belongs to him, like he has the right. My hands clench into fists at my sides.

She glances over at him with a smile that hits like a punch to the gut. It's soft, intimate, the kind of smile that suggests shared secrets. The kind of smile she used to give me before I fucked everything up by being honest about my feelings and then running away like a coward.

"We did. Though I think Asher's definition of 'checking the fence' is loose at best."

"Hey now," Asher protests, that lazy grin spreading across his face like honey. "We got the job done, didn't we? Eventually."

"Eventually."

They're talking in code, sharing some private joke that excludes me completely, and jealousy claws at my chest like a living thing.

I know what that tone means. I know what that look means.

They've been together again. While I was brooding in the south pasture like an idiot, nursing my wounded pride and telling myself I'd done the right thing, they were probably tangled up somewhere, doing exactly what I'd done with her in the tack room.

The thought makes me want to put my fist through something. Preferably Asher's smug face.

But that's not fair, is it? I'm the one who walked away.

I'm the one who told her we needed to pretend it never happened.

I'm the one who gave up any claim I might have had to her exclusive attention.

So why does watching her with Asher feel like someone's slowly pulling my heart out through my ribs?

"Thunder needs new shoes," I say, more sharply than necessary. "Billy can't handle him alone."

Thunder doesn't need new shoes. I checked his hooves myself three days ago. But I need something to break up this cozy little scene, need to assert some kind of authority in a situation where I feel like I'm losing control of everything.

"I'll take care of it," Asher says, finally looking at me. There's something knowing in his eyes, like he can read exactly what I'm thinking. Like he knows I'm standing here green with jealousy and trying not to show it. "Unless you want to do it yourself?"

"I've got other things to handle."

"I'm sure you do." The way he says it makes me want to grab him by the shirt and ask exactly what the hell that's supposed to mean. There's an undercurrent there, a challenge or an invitation, I can't tell which.

But Kenzie's watching our exchange with interest, those sharp eyes missing nothing, and I refuse to give her the satisfaction of seeing me lose control. She's probably enjoying this, watching me squirm while she moves on like yesterday meant nothing.

What can I say? She's just following my lead.

Except... when I look at her, really look at her, I don't see satisfaction. I see something that might be hurt. Confusion. Like she's trying to figure out what's happening between Asher and me, what all the subtext means.

"Kenzie," I say, my voice coming out rougher than intended. "You're with me today. Cattle need moving."

She straightens, and for a second, I think she's going to argue. Tell me she'd rather stay with Asher and his easy charm and his complete lack of emotional complications. Tell me she's done with my hot-and-cold bullshit and ready to move on to someone who knows what he wants.

But then she nods, setting down the brush with careful precision .

"Sure thing, boss."

The way she says “boss” sends heat straight to my cock, and I have to turn away before she notices.

Because the last thing I need is her knowing that twenty-four hours after walking away from her, I'm already thinking about bending her over the nearest flat surface and proving that whatever she did with Asher yesterday, it doesn't compare to what we have.

Had. What we had.

"Let's go," I mutter, heading for the door before I do something stupid like ask her outright if she slept with Asher. Before I demand to know if she's already forgotten how I made her come, how she clawed at my arms and begged for more.

"Have fun, you two," Asher calls after us, and the amusement in his voice makes me want to turn around and wipe it off his face. "Try not to work too hard."

But I don't. Because I'm the responsible one. The controlled one. The one who makes smart decisions and doesn't let his dick do his thinking for him.

Even if every smart decision I've made in the past twenty-four hours has felt like the stupidest thing I've ever done.

"Trent?"

Kenzie's voice stops me at the barn door.

When I turn, she's standing in the shaft of sunlight streaming through the windows, and she looks so beautiful, it actually hurts to look at her.

The flannel shirt—my shirt—is too big, hanging off one shoulder, and her skin is already tanned from days in the sun.

She looks like she belongs here, like she's always belonged here, and that makes this whole situation a thousand times worse.

"You okay? You seem... tense."

Tense. That's one way to put it. I'm wound so tight I'm about to snap, caught between wanting to shake her for being so casual about things and wanting to kiss her until she remembers why she was screaming my name in the tack room.

"I'm fine. Let's get those cattle moved."

She studies my face for a moment, and I can see her trying to read me. Trying to figure out what's going on in my head. Good luck with that, sweetheart. I can't even figure it out myself.

"Okay," she says finally, but there's something in her voice. Disappointment, maybe. Or resignation. "Whatever you say, boss."

There's that word again, and this time, she definitely knows what she's doing. The slight emphasis, the way her tongue flicks out to wet her bottom lip—she's testing me. Pushing me. Seeing how far she can go before I crack and admit that walking away from her was the biggest mistake of my life.

She has no idea how close to the edge I already am.

We're halfway to the south pasture, riding in tense silence, when the thunder of hoofbeats makes me look up. Gavin appears on Whiskey, riding hard with that reckless abandon that's going to get him killed someday. The man has no sense of self-preservation, never has.

He pulls up alongside us with his trademark grin, Whiskey prancing and snorting from the hard ride. "Mind if I join the party?"

"We're working, not partying," I say, but Gavin's already looking at Kenzie with that calculating expression that means trouble.

"You know what your problem is, princess?" he says to her, ignoring me completely. "You're riding that old mare like you're going to a funeral. When's the last time you really felt alive on a horse?"

"How about never? For cripes' sake, Gavin, I'm still learning the basics," Kenzie says, but I can see the interest in her eyes. Gavin's always been good at reading people, knowing exactly what buttons to push.

"Basics are boring. You want to feel what it's really like to ride?" He pats Whiskey's neck. "This boy's got speed and spirit. Just like his rider."