Page 27 of My Cowboy Trouble (The Cowboy Romantic Comedies #1)

"Absolutely not," I cut in. "She's not ready for that."

"How do you know what she's ready for?" Gavin challenges, his eyes meeting mine. "Maybe you're not giving her enough credit."

"Maybe you're being reckless, as usual."

"Maybe you're being overly cautious, as usual." He turns back to Kenzie, that charming smile in full force. "What do you say? Want to find out what you're really made of?"

I can see her wavering, caught between curiosity and caution. "I don't know... Trent's right, I'm still learning."

"The best way to learn is to push yourself,” Gavin says, his grin turning wicked. “Besides, where's the fun in playing it safe all the time?"

"There's no fun in breaking your neck either," I snap.

"Come on, boss. Live a little. When's the last time you did something just because it felt good?"

Yesterday. In the tack room. With your woman.

The thought hits me like a lightning bolt, and I have to grip my reins tighter. Because she's not my woman. I made sure of that when I walked away.

"What do you say, Kenzie?" Gavin continues, extending his hand to her. "Trust me?"

She looks between us, and I can see the moment she makes her decision. The moment she chooses adventure over safety. Chooses Gavin over me.

"Okay," she says, taking his hand. "But if I die, I'm haunting all of you."

I need to stop him. This is crazy. And dangerous. "Gavin, we have work to do?—"

But the asshole cuts me off. "Deal," he says, helping her slide from her horse onto Whiskey behind him. "Hold on tight. "

She wraps her arms around his waist, and something primitive and possessive roars to life in my chest. "Gavin, if you get her hurt?—"

"I won't," he says, but his eyes are sparkling with mischief. "She's in good hands."

And then they're off, Whiskey's hooves thundering against the ground as Gavin lets him run. I watch them disappear across the pasture, Kenzie's laughter carrying on the wind, and feel my heart stop.

By the time I catch up to them, they're both breathless and exhilarated. Kenzie's face is flushed with adrenaline, her hair wild from the wind, and she's looking at Gavin like he just gave her the moon.

"That was incredible," she gasps as Gavin brings Whiskey to a stop. "I've never felt anything like that."

"Fun doesn't matter if you break your neck," I say, dismounting with more force than necessary. The jealousy is eating me alive, making me say things I shouldn't say, feel things I have no right to feel.

"But I didn't break my neck," Kenzie points out, still catching her breath. "I'm fine. Better than fine."

"This time," I snap. "What about next time? What happens when Gavin's not around to catch you if you fall?"

"Maybe I won't fall," she says, and there's something in her voice. A challenge. "Maybe I'm stronger than you think."

Gavin dismounts and helps her down, his hands lingering on her waist longer than necessary. "She's tougher than she looks, boss. Maybe it's time you started treating her like it."

"Safety comes first," I say through gritted teeth. "Always."

"Safety's boring," Gavin counters, and now he's got that look in his eyes. The one that means he's about to push every button I have just to see what happens. "Right, cowgirl?"

She laughs, and the sound goes straight through me like a knife. "You're both right. Safety's important, but so is living. And that was definitely living."

"There's plenty more where that came from," Gavin says, his hand still on her waist. "I could teach you things that would make your head spin."

"You'll teach her nothing," I snap, the jealousy finally boiling over. "She's not your responsibility."

Shit. This is not going to end well.

"Whose responsibility is she, then?" Gavin's eyes glitter with challenge, and I realize he's been building to this moment. Testing me. Seeing how far he can push before I crack. "Yours?"

The question hangs in the air between us like a loaded gun. Because that's exactly what this is about, isn't it? Whose responsibility she is. Who gets to touch her, teach her, protect her. Who gets to have her.

"I can take care of myself," Kenzie says, but her voice is quiet, careful. Like she can sense the tension crackling between Gavin and me and doesn't want to be the one to set it off .

"Of course you can," Gavin says, never taking his eyes off me. "But that doesn't mean you should have to. A woman like you deserves to be taken care of. Protected. Cherished." He pauses, his grin turning wicked. "Right, boss?"

There's that word again, but this time, it's coming from Gavin, and the way he says it is pure provocation. Like he knows exactly what it does to me when Kenzie says it, and he's throwing it in my face.

"The cattle need moving," I say, because it's safer than what I really want to say. Which is that if he touches her again, if he puts her in danger again, I'm going to break his pretty face.

"They do," Gavin agrees, remounting Whiskey with fluid grace. "Good thing we've got all day. Plenty of time for work and play."

"This isn't a game, Gavin."

"Isn't it?" His grin widens, and there's something almost predatory in it now. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks like we're all playing. Question is, who's winning?"

I look at Kenzie, who's watching our exchange with an expression I can't read. She looks like she wants to say something, but she's holding back. Waiting to see what happens next.

What happens next is that I'm going to lose my goddamn mind if I have to stand here much longer watching Gavin stake his claim while pretending everything's fine .

"Get to work," I say, turning away before I do something stupid. "Both of you."

But as I walk toward the cattle, I can hear them talking behind me.

Low voices, easy laughter, the kind of casual intimacy that makes my jaw clench.

And I know that no matter how many times I tell myself she's not mine, no matter how many logical reasons I have for walking away, I'm not going to be able to handle watching her with them much longer.

Something's going to give. And when it does, it's going to be messy.

By noon, I'm ready to murder someone. Preferably Gavin, who's spent the entire morning finding excuses to touch Kenzie.

Helping her mount her horse. Adjusting her stirrups.

Showing her the "proper" way to hold the reins, which apparently requires standing behind her with his arms around her like they're slow dancing instead of working cattle.

I've counted at least fifteen different moments where his hands were on her body, and each one feels like a knife between my ribs.

A slow, deliberate torture designed to drive me out of my mind.

And the worst part? He's doing it on purpose.

Every time he touches her, he glances over at me with that knowing smirk, like he's daring me to do something about it.

The worst part is that she's letting him. Laughing at his jokes. Leaning into his touch. Acting like our time in the tack room never happened, just like I told her to. Just like I wanted her to.

Fuck me.

I'm realizing I lied. I don't want her to forget. I don't want her to move on. I want her to remember every second of what we shared, want it to haunt her the way it's haunting me.

I should be grateful. This is what I wanted, right? Distance. Pretending nothing happened. Getting back to normal.

But normal doesn't include watching another man's hands on the woman who was coming apart underneath me less than twenty-four hours ago. Normal doesn't include this burning jealousy that's making it hard to think, hard to breathe, hard to function like a rational human being.

"I need help with something in the tack room," I say when we break for lunch, my voice coming out rougher than intended.

Kenzie looks up from where she's sitting on a fallen log, sharing a sandwich with Gavin. They're sitting close, close enough that their thighs are touching, and she's stealing pickles off his plate like they've been doing this for years instead of days.

"What kind of help?" she asks, and there's something in her voice. Wariness, maybe. Or hope. I can't tell which.

"Bridle needs adjusting. Your hands are smaller.

" It's a bullshit excuse and we both know it.

I could adjust that bridle with my eyes closed, could probably do it in my sleep.

But I need to get her alone, need to break up this cozy little scene before I do something stupid like drag Gavin off that log and show him exactly what I think of his wandering hands.

She nods anyway, dusting crumbs off her jeans as she stands. "Sure thing."

Gavin watches us go with knowing eyes, and for once, keeps his mouth shut. Maybe he recognizes the edge I'm walking, the barely leashed control that's threatening to snap at any moment. Maybe he can see the violence brewing just under the surface and knows better than to push.

Or maybe he's planning something. With Gavin, you never know.

The tack room smells like leather and yesterday—sex and desperation and all the things I'm trying not to think about. Kenzie seems to notice it too, because she hesitates at the threshold, her hand on the doorframe.

"Which bridle?" she asks, her voice carefully neutral.

"This one." I grab the first one I see, not because it needs adjusting but because I need something to do with my hands that isn't touching her. Because if I touch her right now, I'm not going to be able to stop.

She moves closer, and suddenly the air in the small room feels thick, charged with electricity. She smells like sunshine and horses and something uniquely her that makes my mouth water. The scent hits me like a physical force, and I have to grip the bridle tighter to keep from reaching for her.

"Show me what needs fixing," she says, reaching for the bridle at the same time I do.

Our hands brush over the leather, and electricity shoots up my arm like I've been struck by lightning. She jerks back like she's been burned, but I catch her wrist, holding her in place.