Page 33 of My Cowboy Trouble (The Cowboy Romantic Comedies #1)

But I can't do that. Can't just walk away and let this fester until it destroys everything we've built. So I move closer, positioning myself where she can't ignore me.

"The bet wasn't what Clara Mae made it sound like."

"Really?" She finally looks at me, and the coldness in her eyes hits me like a slap. "So you didn't bet on how long I'd last before running back to the city?"

"We did, but?—"

"And you didn't think I was just some spoiled city girl who'd never make it on a real ranch?"

"At first, yes, but?—"

"And you didn't think it would be entertaining to watch me fail?"

Each question is a knife twisting in my gut, because she's right. All of it is true, even if it's not the whole truth.

"Yes," I admit. "But that was before we knew you. Before?—"

"Before you got me into bed?" Her voice is razor-sharp now, cutting through every excuse I might have. " Before you figured out you could get some entertainment out of the stupid city girl before she left?"

"That's not what happened."

"Isn't it?" She sets down the pitchfork and turns to face me fully, and the hurt in her eyes is so raw, it makes me physically sick. "You made a bet about me, Gavin. About my failure. You literally wagered money on how quickly I'd give up and run away."

"Because we were idiots!" The words explode out of me, desperate and honest. "Because we were too ignorant and too stupid to see what was right in front of us. But everything changed."

"Did it? Or did you just realize you could have some fun with me before I left?"

"You know that's not true."

"Do I?" She picks up the pitchfork again, using it like a barrier between us.

"Because from where I'm standing, it looks like everything I thought was real was just part of some elaborate joke.

The way you looked at me, the things you said, the way you made me feel like I belonged here, was any of it real, or was I just entertainment for three bored cowboys? "

"All of it was real." I step closer, desperate to make her understand. "Listen to me, Kenzie. Please. Every moment, every touch, every word, especially when you said you might love me too. Tell me that wasn't real."

For a moment, I think I see her walls crack. See a flicker of the woman who was laughing just hours ago. But then she shakes her head, and the ice is back .

"I don't know what's real anymore. How can I? How can I trust anything when it all started with you betting against me?"

"Because you know us. You know me. You know I wouldn't?—"

"I thought I knew you." She turns away, going back to her aggressive stall-mucking. "Turns out, I was wrong about that too."

The dismissal in her voice cuts deeper than any insult could. She's not even angry anymore—she's done. Written us off as a mistake, a temporary lapse in judgment that she's already regretting.

"Kenzie, please. Just listen to me for five minutes?—"

"I listened to you long enough." She doesn't look up from her work. "Listened to you tell me I was beautiful, that I belonged here, that you wanted me to stay. And all of it was bullshit, wasn't it? All of it was just part of keeping the bet interesting."

"No. God, no. The bet stopped mattering the moment I realized I was falling for you."

"When was that? Because I'd really like to know when exactly I stopped being a joke and started being a person to you."

The question hangs in the air, and I realize I don't have a good answer. Because the truth is, it happened gradually. So gradually that I didn't even notice it at first. One day, she was just the city girl we were all betting against, and the next day, she was... everything.

"I don't know," I admit. "It wasn't a moment, it was... it was a process. Watching you work, watching you learn, watching you fight for respect. Somewhere along the way, you stopped being a bet and started being?—"

"Started being what?"

"A partner. A companion. A lover."

She goes still, her hands tightening on the pitchfork handle. For a moment, I think maybe I've gotten through to her. Maybe she's remembering the way she looked at me when I said I loved her.

And then I think she might stab me with the pitchfork.

Instead, she shakes her head again, and when she speaks, her voice is flat. Empty.

"Pretty words, Gavin. But they don't change what you did. They don't change the fact that this whole thing started as a joke at my expense."

"It did. You are right. I can't deny it. But, Kenzie, it doesn't have to end that way."

"Yes, it does." She finally looks at me again, and what I see in her eyes makes my heart stop.

Because it's not anger anymore. It's not hurt.

It's nothing. She's looking at me like I'm a stranger.

"Because I can't trust you anymore. Any of you.

And without trust, all the pretty words in the world don't mean anything. "

She throws down the pitchfork and walks past me toward the barn door, and I know if I let her leave like this, it's over.

"Kenzie, wait?—"

But she doesn't stop. Doesn't even slow down. Just walks away without looking back, leaving me standing alone in a barn that suddenly feels empty despite being full of horses.

I punch the stall door so hard my knuckles split, but the physical pain is nothing compared to the ache in my chest. The worst of it is, she's not wrong.

We did bet against her. We did think she was a joke.

And even though everything changed, even though we fell for her harder than we ever thought possible, that doesn't erase what we did at the beginning.

It doesn't make it okay that we started this by betting on her failure.

And now, she's never going to forgive us. The humiliation and disrespect are too much for her, or anyone, to swallow. Because Kenzie Rhodes doesn't give second chances to people who make her feel like a fool. And that's exactly what we did.

I find Trent and Asher in the equipment shed, supposedly working on the tractor but really just standing around looking as miserable as I feel. The air is thick with tension and unspoken blame, and I know before anyone says a word that this conversation is going to get ugly. Fast.

"How'd it go?" Asher asks, though one look at my face probably tells him everything he needs to know.

"About as well as you'd expect." I lean against the workbench, my knuckles still bleeding from where I punched the stall door. "She won't listen. She's done."

"Maybe if you'd kept your mouth shut about that goddamn bet in the first place?—"

"Don't." Trent's voice cuts through Asher's words like a blade. "Don't start."

"Why not?" Asher throws down the wrench he's been holding, the sound echoing off the metal walls. "This is Gavin's fault. If he hadn't made that stupid bet?—"

"We all made that stupid bet," I snap. "Every one of us. Don't try to rewrite history now that it's blown up in our faces."

"You're the one who suggested it. You're the one who thought it would be fun to wager on whether the city girl would break."

"And you're the one who took the bet!" I push off from the workbench, anger flooding through me.

Because Asher's right, and that makes it worse.

"You and Trent both. So don't stand there acting like you're innocent in this.

You both thought it was funny too. Watch the city girl fall on her pretty ass. Like we were so much better than her."

"At least I didn't go around bragging about it to half the town."

"I never bragged about anything."

"Really? Because Clara Mae seemed to know an awful lot of details about our 'arrangement.' Where do you think she got that information? "

The accusation hits like a physical blow, and I realize he's right. Clara Mae didn't just know about the bet—she knew specifics. Details that could have only come from one of us. And knowing my big mouth...

"Fuck," I breathe.

"Yeah, fuck." Asher starts pacing, that restless energy that means he's about to do something stupid. "You couldn't just keep it between us, could you? Had to go running your mouth at the bar, probably bought everybody a round to celebrate how clever you were."

"It wasn't like that?—"

"Wasn't it? Because that's sure as hell what it sounds like to Kenzie. That's what Clara Mae made it sound like. That we were all sitting around laughing at her behind her back."

"We weren't!"

"Weren't we?" This from Trent, his voice quiet but deadly. "Because I remember you making jokes about her designer boots. I remember you calling her 'princess' like it was an insult. I remember all of us thinking she was a big joke."

The silence that follows is deafening, because he's right. We were laughing at her. Maybe not maliciously, but we were definitely treating her like entertainment rather than a person. And the fact that our feelings changed doesn't erase that.

"So what do we do?" I ask finally.

"We?" Asher laughs, but there's no humor in it. " There is no 'we' anymore, Gavin. You made sure of that when you shot your mouth off to Clara Mae."

"I didn't tell Clara Mae anything directly?—"

"But you told someone. Someone who told someone else, who told Clara Mae. And now the whole town thinks we were running some kind of elaborate con on Kenzie."

"Maybe because we were," Trent says quietly, and both Asher and I turn to stare at him.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" I demand.

"It means maybe Clara Mae's right. Maybe we were just using her for our own entertainment. Maybe the bet was just the beginning, and everything that came after was just... an extension of that."

"You don't believe that."

"Don't I?" Trent's looking at me with something that might be disgust. "Because looking back at the past weeks, I'm having a hard time telling where the bet ended and the real feelings began. Are you sure you love her, Gavin? Or do you just love the idea of her? Love the challenge she represented?"