Page 36 of My Cowboy Trouble (The Cowboy Romantic Comedies #1)

"Or maybe you're the one who's different.

" Darla leans forward. "Kenzie, I've lived in this town my whole life.

I've watched those three boys grow up, watched them work their asses off to keep that ranch running after John Mercer died.

They're good men, but they're also careful. They don't let people in easily."

"Careful enough to bet against me."

"Maybe. Or maybe they made a dumb bet before they knew you, and then fell for you harder than they expected."

I shake my head. "You didn't see Clara Mae's face. You didn't hear the way she talked about it, like I was some kind of entertainment. She… she laughed at me. The whole town is laughing at me."

I'm killing it with the pity party.

Darla shakes her head. "Clara Mae wasn't there every day. She doesn’t know what went on at the ranch, she’s just speculating. Although I will say it’s common knowledge that the boys looked at you during the town barbecue, like you were the only woman in the world."

"How could you possibly know how they looked at me?"

"The whole town saw it, honey. We were all there. And let me tell you, I've never seen Trent Mercer smile so much in eight years. I've never seen Gavin Slade pay attention to one woman for more than five minutes. And I've never seen Asher Holt look at anyone the way he looks at you. ”

The words hit me harder than they should, because they echo things I thought I saw but dismissed as wishful thinking.

"It doesn't matter," I say, but my voice lacks conviction. "Even if their feelings changed, it all started with them betting against me. How am I supposed to trust anything after that?"

"You're not," Darla says simply. "Not right away. Trust is earned, and they'll have to work to get yours back. The question is whether you think they're worth the effort."

"I don't know."

"That's fair. You're hurt, and you have every right to be.

But, Kenzie?" She reaches across the table and touches my hand.

"Don't let pride make your decision for you.

Sometimes the best things in life start messy and get better.

Sometimes people do stupid things before they figure out what really matters. "

"How do I know they won't just hurt me again?"

"You don't. That's what makes it scary." Darla finishes her coffee and stands.

"But here's what I know about those three.

They've been through hell together and come out stronger.

They lost John like losing a father, almost lost the ranch twice, and still manage to take care of everyone around them.

They're not perfect, but they're not the kind of men who hurt people on purpose. "

She drops a five on the table. "My shift starts in twenty minutes, but if you want to talk more, you know where to find me. And, Kenzie? Whatever you decide, make sure it's what you want, not what someone else wants for you."

She leaves me sitting there with words echoing in my head. The waitress refills my coffee, clearly seeing that I need time to think.

Maybe Darla's right. Maybe Clara Mae got some of the facts wrong, or presented them in the worst possible light. Maybe the bet was stupid but not malicious. Maybe their feelings did change, and what I felt from them was real.

But even if all of that is true, it doesn't change the fundamental problem. They started all this by betting against me. They looked at me and saw failure, saw entertainment, saw someone they could use for their own amusement.

How do you come back from that? How do you build something real on a foundation of lies and wagered money?

Back in my crappy motel room, I spread Aunt Maybelle's papers across the scratchy bedspread, looking through the items I’d not paid much attention to. Henry mentioned there were personal letters, things she'd written to be opened at specific times or under certain circumstances.

I find the envelope marked "For when you're thinking of giving up" tucked between property deeds and insurance documents. The handwriting is spidery but legible, and the paper smells faintly of lavender and something else… horses, maybe, or hay.

My dear Kenzie,

If you're reading this, something has gone wrong, and you're probably sitting somewhere feeling sorry for yourself and questioning every choice that brought you to Montana.

I know this because I did the same thing about six months after I arrived at the Dusty Spur in 1967, young and stupid and convinced I could run a ranch because I'd read some books and watched a few westerns.

Spoiler alert: I couldn't. I was terrible at it.

The cows escaped twice in my first month, I accidentally poisoned half my vegetable garden with the wrong fertilizer, and I cried every night for three weeks because everything was harder than I expected and I was sure I'd made the biggest mistake of my life.

But you know what? I stayed. Not because I was brave or determined or any of the noble reasons people like to imagine. I stayed because I was too broke to leave and too stubborn to admit failure. Best decision I ever made.

Not the staying itself, mind you. The reason I stayed didn't matter.

What mattered was what I learned while I was here.

I learned that home isn't a place you find, it's a place you build.

I learned that love isn't neat and tidy and logical, it's messy and complicated and sometimes it starts in the most unexpected ways.

I learned that the best things in life are worth fighting for, even when, especially when, they seem impossible.

I don't know what brought you to this letter, but I'm guessing it has something to do with the boys who work the ranch.

Yes, I know about them. I've been planning this for longer than you might think, and I chose you specifically because I thought you might be stubborn enough and smart enough to handle three broken cowboys who don't know how to ask for what they need.

Because that's what they are, you know. Broken. Each in their own way, each carrying wounds that haven't quite healed. They'll probably hurt you without meaning to, disappoint you, make mistakes that seem unforgivable. They're men, after all, and men are idiots about ninety percent of the time.

But here's what I learned in my sixty-plus years of loving difficult men.

That forgiveness isn't about them deserving it.

It's about you deciding what kind of life you want to live.

Do you want to be the woman who walks away at the first sign of trouble, or the woman who stays and fights for something worth having?

Love, real love, isn't a fairy tale. It's a daily choice to see the best in someone even when they're showing you their worst. It's deciding that the mess is worth cleaning up, over and over again, because what you're building together matters more than what went wrong.

I won't tell you what to do. You're too smart to listen to an old woman's advice anyway.

But I will say this… if you're thinking of giving up on the ranch, on the boys, on the life you could build there, make sure you're giving up for the right reasons.

Not because it's hard, not because people di sappointed you, not because it's easier to run than to stay and fight.

Give up if you truly don't want it. But if you do want it, if some part of you believes it could be worth the effort, then stop feeling sorry for yourself and go get it.

The Dusty Spur has been waiting for someone like you for a long time. So have they.

With all my love and a healthy dose of impatience, Aunt Maybelle

P.S. If you're still reading this, you care more than you want to admit. That's step one.

2nd P.S. John Mercer, Trent's father, was the love of my life. Yes he was, and it's time you knew. A part of me died when he did and I hope that when I reach the "other side," he's there waiting for me. He damn well better be.

I read the letter three times, hearing my aunt’s voice in every line.

She sounds exactly like I imagined she would, practical, irreverent, impatient with self-pity and excuses.

The kind of woman who'd leave her ranch to a great-niece she barely knew because she saw something in her that maybe I don't see in myself.

The kind of woman who'd orchestrate this whole thing, knowing full well it would be messy and complicated and probably blow up at least once before it got better.

Could she have anticipated the guys' stupid bet? Did she count on it, even? Did she figure I'd be stubborn enough to fight through the initial disaster and smart enough to see what was worth saving on the other side?

I fold the letter carefully and set it on the nightstand, but her words echo in my head.

Love isn't neat and tidy and logical, it's messy and complicated and sometimes it starts in the most unexpected ways.

And she was with Trent's dad. Mind fucking blown.

Or not.

Did she want me to have something she did? Did she know something she felt I needed to learn?

Maybe Darla was right. Maybe the whole town did notice something I'm too hurt and proud to acknowledge.

But even if that's all true, even if the guys’ feelings changed and became real, there's still the fundamental question, am I strong enough to try again? Am I brave enough to go back and demand better?

Or am I going to let one stupid bet, however hurtful and humiliating, destroy something that could be extraordinary?

A voice whispers in my head, possibly Aunt Maybelle's… Stop feeling sorry for yourself and go get it.

But I'm not ready. Not yet. I need more time to think, to process, to figure out what I actually want versus what I think I should want.

I need to decide if I'm the woman who walks away, or the woman who stays and fights.