Page 35 of My Cowboy Trouble (The Cowboy Romantic Comedies #1)

KENZIE

The Pineview Motel is exactly as depressing as it sounds.

Faded beige carpet that hasn't been cleaned in decades, a bathroom with water stains, and a bed that sags in the middle.

The air conditioner makes a grinding noise scarier than Sir Clucks, and there's a mysterious stain on the ceiling that I'm trying not to think about.

Perfect. It matches my mood.

I've been here for six hours, and my phone has buzzed with texts and calls approximately every three minutes. I stopped checking after the first hour, but the preview notifications keep lighting up the screen like tiny digital daggers:

Gavin: Please just let me explain

Asher: This isn't what you think

Trent: Come home

Gavin: I know you're reading these

Asher: We fucked up but we can fix this

Home. Trent called the ranch home, like I actually belong there. Like I'm not just the punchline to a joke I found out about the hard way.

I turn the phone face down and stare at the ceiling stain, trying to make sense of the past three weeks. Trying to figure out when exactly I became such a fool.

Because that's what I am, isn't it? A fool.

A naive city girl who thought three gorgeous cowboys actually wanted her for something other than entertainment.

Who thought she'd found love and belonging and a place where she mattered, when really, she was just the latest in what's probably a long line of women who've made the same mistake.

The worst part is how real it felt. This morning…

God, was it only this morning?... I was lying naked in a tack room with three men, feeling like I'd found something precious and rare.

Something worth fighting for. The way Gavin looked at me when he said he loved me, the way Trent held me like I was valuable, the way Asher touched me. All of it felt so genuine.

But it was fake, wasn't it? All performance. All part of keeping their bet interesting .

I roll over and grab the folder of documents the lawyer Henry Phelps gave me when I first arrived.

Great Aunt Maybelle's will, property documents, financial records and all the legal proof that I own something I'm not sure I want anymore.

When I first read through these papers, they felt like freedom.

Like possibility. Like the universe had handed me a second chance wrapped in Montana real estate.

Now, they feel like evidence of my own stupidity.

To my great-niece Kenzie, who I hope will find what I found on this land—a place to belong, a purpose worth pursuing, and love that grows from the ground up with the strongest roots.

I'd thought it was poetic when I first read it. Now, it feels like a cruel joke. Aunt Maybelle probably knew exactly what would happen. Probably knew I'd fall for the first three men who showed me any attention, like some desperate lonely woman with daddy issues and terrible judgment.

Which, let's be honest, isn't entirely wrong.

My phone buzzes again. Gavin this time.

The bet was stupid but what we feel for you isn't

I want to throw the phone against the wall. Want to smash it into a thousand pieces so I don't have to see his lies anymore. But instead, I just turn it off completely and toss it on the nightstand.

The silence is worse than the buzzing. Without the constant notifications, I'm left alone with my thoughts, and my thoughts are not good company right now.

Because here's the thing I keep coming back to… I should have known better. I'm twenty-seven years old, not some teenager with her first crush. I run my own business, for Christ's sake. I've dealt with enough manipulative clients and fake friends to recognize when someone's using me.

But somehow, I missed all the signs with them. Or maybe I saw the signs and ignored them because I wanted so badly to believe I'd found something special.

The way they all seemed to coordinate their attention, taking turns spending time with me like they were following some kind of schedule. The inside jokes and shared looks. The way they'd sometimes stop talking when I walked into a room.

I'd thought it was because they were figuring out how to share me, how to make an unconventional relationship work. But it was probably just them comparing notes on their bet. Sharing strategies for keeping me interested long enough to see how far they could push things.

God, I'm such a fool.

The most humiliating part is how completely I fell for it.

How I actually started to believe I belonged there, that I was building something permanent.

How I let myself imagine a future where I stayed on the ranch, where we made this crazy relationship work, where I got to wake up every morning in that beautiful place with those three men who made me feel like I was worth something.

How I actually thought they loved me.

A sob escapes, catching me off guard. It's raw and painful and scrapes at my throat like sandpaper.

I haven't cried yet, certainly not in front of Clara Mae, not when Gavin tried to explain, not during the silent cab ride to town.

But now, alone in this depressing motel room with the truth settling over me like a suffocating blanket, the tears come whether I want them or not.

I cry for the woman I was this morning, so confident and happy and secure in her place. I cry for the future I started to imagine, the life I began to build. I cry for the trust I gave so freely and had thrown back in my face.

But mostly, I cry because despite everything, despite knowing it was all fake, I miss them. I miss the way Gavin's eyes lit up when he laughed. I miss the way Asher could make everything feel like an adventure. I miss the way Trent looked at me like he was proud of my progress.

Even knowing it was all lies, I miss the way they made me feel.

The diner on Main Street is the kind of place where everyone knows everyone, and the arrival of the infamous city girl who's been sleeping with the Dusty Spur boys is apparently the most exciting thing to happen since the high school football team made it to regionals.

The stares and whispers poke at me as I slide into a corner booth, but I don't care. I need coffee and food and something to do with my hands that isn't checking my phone or staring at motel room walls.

I’ll be out of this town soon enough. I’ll never return and in time, will forget all these people and my stupid stint trying to learn about ranching. I’ll forget about the guys, too. Eventually.

"Well, well. Look what the cat dragged in."

I look up to see a woman about my age sliding into the seat across from me. She's got short brown hair, kind eyes, and the confident bearing of someone who's never doubted her place in the world. She's wearing scrubs, which suggests she works at the clinic or hospital.

"I'm sorry, do I know you?"

"Darla Simmons. I'm a nurse at the clinic." She signals the waitress for coffee. "And you're Kenzie Rhodes, the woman who's got half the town placing side bets on whether you'll make it to thirty days."

My stomach drops. "There are more bets? "

"Honey, this is a small town. We bet on everything.

Whether Mrs. Patterson's cat will come home, whether the high school will finally fix the football field, whether my cousin Daniel will ever ask his girl Susie to marry him.

" She accepts her coffee from the waitress with a nod of thanks.

"A city girl inheriting the Dusty Spur and shacking up with all three of the prettiest cowboys in the county? That's prime betting material."

"Wonderful." I stare into my coffee, filling with rage. "So the whole town thinks I'm a joke. You people really know how to make a girl feel good. Bunch of assholes..."

"No, no. Wait a minute. The whole town thinks you're interesting. There's a difference." Darla leans back, studying me. "Though from the looks of you right now, it's clear something ain't right."

"You could say that."

"Want to talk about it? I've got time before my shift starts, and I'm a good listener. Comes with the job."

I shouldn't. I should finish my coffee and go back to my depressing motel room and figure out how to get back to New York with whatever dignity I have left. But there's something about Darla that feels uncomplicated. Like she doesn't have a dog in this fight.

And besides, I am desperate for another human being to talk to. Even if she blasts our entire conversation to the entire town. I just don't give a shit anymore.

"They made a bet about me," I hear myself saying. " About how long I'd last before running back to the city. The whole thing was just... entertainment."

Darla's eyebrows rise. "All of them?"

"All of them."

"Hmm." She takes a long sip of coffee, considering. "And you found out how?"

"Clara Mae. Apparently half the town knew about it."

"Ah, Clara Mae." Darla's expression turns sympathetic. "She does love her gossip. Usually gets about half the facts right and embellishes the rest."

"Are you saying she lied?"

"I'm saying Clara Mae has never met a story she couldn't improve with a little creative editing." Darla signals for more coffee. "What exactly did she tell you?"

I repeat Clara Mae's words as best I can remember them, watching Darla's face for any sign that she thinks I'm overreacting. But her expression just gets more thoughtful.

"Okay," she says finally. "So they did make a bet. But did Clara Mae tell you when the bet was made? Or why?"

"Does it matter?"

"It might. Those boys have been best friends since they were teenagers. They've seen plenty of women come and go, usually drawn by the novelty of dating cowboys or the fantasy of ranch life. Most of them don't last a month once they realize it's actual work."

"So I'm just the latest in a long line. "