Page 39 of My Cowboy Trouble (The Cowboy Romantic Comedies #1)

Cheesy as it sounds, my heart leaps. "Thank you for giving me a chance."

"We're not there yet. There's still… work to do."

"Yup. But it's a start."

She nods, and I can see her steeling herself for whatever comes next. For facing Gavin and Trent, for dealing with all the complicated emotions this mess has stirred up.

But she's here. She came with me, she let me show her what she means to me, and she's not running. That has to count for something.

Gavin and Trent are on the porch when we pull up, like I knew they’d be, both of them looking like they haven't slept. Gavin's pacing, never a good sign, and Trent's got that stillness about him that usually means he's wound tight as a spring.

"Kenzie," Trent says as we get out of the truck, his voice carefully neutral. "Glad you came back."

"I'm not back," she says quickly, but there's less ice in her voice than there was this morning. "I'm just... here."

"Fair enough," Gavin says, stopping his pacing. "Can we talk? All of us?"

She glances at me, and I nod. This is what we planned, all of us together, no secrets, no hiding behind pride or fear or any other bullshit.

"Okay," she says. "Talk."

But instead of launching into some speech, Gavin reaches into his pocket and pulls out something small, tossing it in the air and catching it like a coin. When he holds it out to her, I can see what it is—his old rodeo belt buckle. The one from state championships. The one he never takes off.

Kenzie stares at it like it might bite her. "What is that?"

"Proof," Gavin says simply.

"Proof of what?"

"That you won."

She takes the buckle, turning it over in her hands. It's worn smooth in places, the engraving faded but still readable. I know what it means to him. It's not just a piece of metal. It's a symbol of who he used to be before injury and responsibility took over his life.

"I don't understand," she says.

"I made that bet because I was so damn sure you'd fail. So certain that a city girl couldn't hack it on a ranch, couldn't last a month of real work." He runs a hand through his hair. "But you didn't fail. You succeeded. You proved me wrong about everything."

"So?"

"So you won. You beat the bet, you beat my expectations, you beat every stupid assumption I made about you." He steps closer, his voice getting rougher. " And when someone beats you fair and square, you acknowledge their victory."

"By giving them your belt buckle?"

"By giving them the thing that matters most to you." He pauses, his eyes locked on hers. "That buckle represents the best thing I ever did before I met you. Now, you're the best thing. So it's yours."

Kenzie looks between the buckle and Gavin's face, clearly trying to figure out if this is genuine or just another manipulation.

"This doesn't fix what you did," she says with a sniff, holding her chin high.

"I know. But it's a start. It's me admitting that you're worth more than any stupid bet, worth more than my pride."

She clips the buckle to her belt loop, and I see something shift in Gavin's expression. Relief, maybe, or hope.

"What about you?" she asks, turning to Trent. "What's your gesture?"

"Not a gesture," Trent says. "Something more practical."

He leads us toward the house, but instead of going to the main living areas, he turns down the hallway toward the back. To a section we never use much, the old study that's been storage for years.

But when he opens the door, I realize it's been completely transformed.

The dusty boxes and forgotten furniture are gone, replaced by a sleek desk, a comfortable chair, and shelves lined with business books.

There's space for a computer and printer, and a whiteboard he must have found in the attic.

The windows have been cleaned, letting in natural light, and there are fresh flowers on the desk.

Damn. Trent pulled it off.

"What is this?" Kenzie breathes.

"Your office," Trent says simply. "If you want it."

She steps into the room like she's walking into a dream, running her fingers over the desk, the computer, the books.

"When did you do this?"

"Been working on it a while. But I finished last night. Couldn't sleep, so I figured I might as well do something productive."

"But why?"

Trent leans against the doorframe, arms crossed. He's never been good with words, worse than either of us, and I can see him struggling to find the right ones.

"I… I thought it might make you want to stay."

Holy shit. I know that was not easy for him to say.

"Trent—"

"Not done." With a gulp, he steps into the room, moving closer to her. "I want you here, Kenzie. Not because you fit some idea of what a ranch woman should be, but because you're exactly who you are. Smart, stubborn, capable of things I can't even imagine. "

She's staring at him like she's never seen him before. "You set up an office for my PR business?"

"Set up an office for whatever you want to do. PR, ranching, taking over the world. I don't care, as long as you do it here."

"But my clients are in New York. My whole life is there."

"Some of it, sure. But not all of it." He moves closer, close enough to touch her if he wanted to. "Your life is wherever you choose to build it. And I'm hoping you'll choose to build it here. With us."

The silence stretches between them, thick with possibility and hope and everything none of us have dared to say out loud until now.

"This doesn't fix the bet," she says finally.

"No, it doesn't. Nothing can undo that stupidity. But it's proof that I see you as permanent, not temporary. As a partner, not entertainment."

She turns away from him, walking over to the window that looks out over the pasture. "I don't know if I can trust you again. Any of you."

"Then don't. Not yet," Trent says, following her but not touching. "We'll work for it. But, Kenzie? Whatever it takes, and I think I can speak for all of us, we're willing to do the work."

"All of you?"

"All of us," I say from the doorway.

She turns around, and they're standing so close, I can see the exact moment something shifts in her. Like a wall cracking, letting light through.

"Prove it," she whispers.

What happens next isn't planned. It's just instinct and desire, the four of us acknowledging what we've been dancing around.

Trent's hands cup her face first, his mouth finding hers in a kiss that's been building since she walked away. She melts into him, her arms coming up around his neck, and I can see the exact moment when everything else fades away except the four of us in this room.

"Missed you," Trent murmurs against her lips. "I was so afraid we lost you."

"Show me how you missed me," she breathes. "Don't tell me, show me."

Gavin moves to her other side, his hands finding her waist, and then we're all touching her, surrounding her, proving with our touches what we've been trying to say with words.

"Here?" she asks, glancing around the office.

"It’s your space now," Trent says.

"Our space," she corrects, and something in my chest loosens at the word "our."

"Let's break this baby in!" Gavin shouts.

We move with an urgency that's been building since she left, hands and mouths and a need to reconnect. Her clothes disappear, then ours, until we're all skin and heat. And honesty.

Finally.

"Love you," Trent says against her throat as he lifts her onto the desk. "Love you, and I'm sorry, and I'll spend the rest of my life proving both if you'll let me."

"Show me," she whispers.

So we do.

Trent settles between her thighs while Gavin and I position ourselves on either side, all of us touching her, kissing her, worshipping her like the precious woman she is. When Trent enters her, she cries out, her back arching off the desk.

"That's it," Gavin murmurs, his mouth on her breast.

We move together like the past day was just a bad dream and we're finally waking up. Her responses guide us, her body telling us exactly what she needs, how to touch her, how to love her.

"Please," she gasps, and we know what she's asking for.

Gavin and I position ourselves carefully, with him under her and me behind. After slow preparation, we're all connected, all joined, the feeling mind-blowing. Like puzzle pieces clicking into place.

"Love you too," she whispers. "So help me, I love all of you crazy cowboys."

Boom. The walls are down. At least I hope so.

We follow her over the edge one by one, and then we collapse together on the floor, cushioned by an oriental rug Trent found stored in some far corner of the house.

"So," she says after a long moment, her voice slightly hoarse. "What happens now?"

"Now," Trent says, helping her sit up, "we figure out how to make this work. All of us, together."

"You sure you want that? All the complications, all the messiness?"

"Princess," Gavin says, grinning as he smooths her hair back from her face, "we wouldn't have it any other way."

She looks between the three of us, and for the first time since Clara Mae spilled our terrible secret, I see something that looks like hope in her eyes.

"This isn't going to be easy," she warns. "I'm still hurt. Still angry. It's going to take time."

"We've got time," I tell her.

"All the time in the world," Trent adds.

"And we're not going anywhere," Gavin finishes.

She nods slowly, allowing herself to believe it. "Okay. But we do this on my terms. No more secrets, no more bets, no more treating me like I'm something you won instead of someone you chose.”

"Deal," all three of us say at the same time, which makes her roll her eyes.

"And I want to know everything. About the bet, about what you really thought of me, about how your feelings changed. All of it."

"Everything," Trent agrees .

"And if I decide to stay, if , we figure out how to make this work as equals. Partners."

"You keep your business," Trent says, gesturing around the office. "You keep your independence. You keep being exactly who you are."

"And we keep being the idiots who fell for you," Gavin adds.

"Reformed idiots," I correct.

She shakes her head, but she's smiling. Actually smiling, for the first time since this whole mess started. "I must be out of my mind."

"Probably. Definitely." Trent agrees. "But so are we."

"Good thing we're all crazy together, then."

And for the first time since Clara Mae opened her mouth, I think we might actually pull this off. Whatever the hell this is we're doing.

Just like Maybelle probably planned all along.