Page 45 of My Cowboy Trouble (The Cowboy Romantic Comedies #1)

KENZIE

Six months later, I'm sitting in my office at seven in the morning, surrounded by invoices that multiply like rabbits and a cup of coffee that's already gone cold, when Gavin appears in the doorway looking like trouble with spurs on.

"Morning, princess. You busy?"

I gesture at the paperwork explosion covering my desk. "Just trying to figure out how we made three times last month's revenue and somehow still need to order more liability insurance."

"That's what happens when you charge city folks to do farm work." He leans against the doorframe, all casual cowboy charm. "Speaking of which, want to come watch the sunrise trail ride? Mrs. Henderson from Phoenix is convinced she's going to see wild mustangs."

"Please tell me you didn't promise her wild mustangs."

"I told her she might see horses running free in their natural habitat."

"Gavin. We don't have wild mustangs."

"We have horses. And they run. Sometimes they're free-ish."

I stare at him. "You mean when they escape from the pasture."

"Exactly. Natural habitat behavior."

"You're going to get us sued."

"That's what the liability insurance is for." He grins. "Come on. You should see her trying to mount a horse in designer boots. It's entertainment gold."

Before I can respond, Asher appears in the doorway behind Gavin, carrying two cups of fresh coffee and wearing a smirk that means he's been eavesdropping.

"Morning, beautiful. Heard you're drowning in your own success." He hands me one of the coffees, which is exactly the right temperature and sweetness because the man pays attention to details. "Need rescue?"

"I need a clone. Or possibly a time machine so I can go back and not suggest this guest ranch idea in the first place."

"Too late for that. Besides, you love being right about everything."

"I love being right about business projections. I'm less enthusiastic about explaining to Mr. Peterson why Sir Clucks-a-Lot attacked his luggage."

"That rooster's got good instincts," Asher says. "Those were ugly suitcases."

"The rooster is a menace. A profitable menace, apparently, but still a menace."

The sound of hammering comes from somewhere near the kitchen, followed by creative cursing that would make a sailor proud.

"Trent fixing something again?" I ask.

"Cabinet door in the guest bathroom," Asher explains. "Mrs. Judge tried to hang her entire wardrobe on it. Apparently city folks don't understand weight limits."

"Or the concept of a closet," Gavin adds. "She asked where the valet service was."

"Please tell me you didn't?—"

"I told her we're very hands-on but she'd have to tip in cash."

"Gavin!"

"What? She laughed. Even gave me twenty bucks."

I drop my head into my hands. "We're running a legitimate business, not a comedy show."

"Why can't we do both?" Asher asks. "You're the one who said diversifying revenue streams was basic business strategy."

"I meant through additional services, not through comedy performances."

"Same difference. "

The hammering stops, and a moment later, Trent appears in the doorway, wiping his hands on a rag and looking like he's been wrestling with more than just cabinet hardware.

"Morning. How's the paperwork coming?"

"It's not. I'm too busy listening to your business partners describe their creative approach to customer service."

"What'd they do now?"

"Gavin promised wild mustangs, and Asher charged for valet service."

Trent looks between them with the expression of a man who's given up trying to control the chaos. "Did we make money?"

"Unfortunately, yes," I say with a scowl.

The guys are beaming. Of course.

Trent holds his hands up like no big deal . "Then I don't care if they promised unicorns and charged for rainbow farts. As long as nobody dies and the insurance company doesn't drop us, we're good."

"See?" Gavin says. "Trent gets it."

"Trent's given up. There's a difference."

"Same result though."

I look around at the three men who've somehow turned my carefully planned business venture into a circus and realize that despite the chaos, despite the liability nightmares, despite the fact that we're apparently charging people for the privilege of being terrorized by livestock, this is working .

The ranch is profitable. The guests keep coming back and bringing friends. And somewhere between the wild mustang promises and the rooster attacks, we've created something that's uniquely ours.

Even if it's completely insane.

I'm just starting to make sense of supply orders when I hear the unmistakable sound of Clara Mae's truck rumbling up the driveway. Through the window, I can see her climbing out with a basket that probably contains enough eggs to feed our current batch of guests and half the county.

"Incoming," I call to the guys.

"Hide," Gavin suggests.

"Too late. She's already spotted me through the window."

Clara Mae appears at the office door moments later, beaming like she's personally responsible for our success. Which, considering she was the one who spread the word about our "authentic ranch experience" to half her book club, she kind of is.

"Morning, honey! Brought you some fresh eggs from my girls." She sets the basket on my desk, somehow managing not to disturb the carefully organized mess of invoices and reservation forms. "How's business?"

"Booming. Possibly too much. "

"No such thing as too much success, dear. Though I heard about the incident with Sir Clucks-a-Lot and some poor man's luggage."

"It was an isolated incident."

"'Course it was. That rooster's got personality, and personality sells." She glances around the office, taking in the upgraded equipment and the whiteboard covered in guest schedules. "You've really made something special here."

"We've made something profitable. Whether it's special or just crazy remains to be seen."

"Oh, it's definitely crazy. But the best things usually are." She pats my arm with the fondness of someone who's watched the whole drama unfold from the beginning. "Your aunt Maybelle would be so proud."

"She'd probably be horrified that we're charging people to muck stalls."

"You underestimate your aunt. I knew her for a long time and can assure you she'd be impressed that you figured out how to make money doing it." Clara Mae winks. "Besides, these city folks need a little reality in their lives. Nothing wrong with showing them where their food comes from."

"As long as nobody gets trampled by our 'authentic ranch wildlife.'"

"That's what those waiver forms are for, dear. Very thorough, by the way. My lawyer friend was impressed."

"Your lawyer friend? "

"Oh yes, I had him look them over. Can't be too careful when you're dealing with tourists. They sue over everything."

I stare at her. "You had your lawyer review our liability waivers?"

"Well, someone had to. The boys are too trusting, and you're too busy trying to keep everything running smoothly." She adjusts her purse strap. "Consider it my contribution to the local economy."

"Clara Mae?—"

"Don't you 'Clara Mae' me. This whole operation is the best thing to happen to this town since the highway went through. Half the businesses in town are seeing increased traffic, thanks to your guests needing supplies and meals and entertainment."

"Entertainment?"

"Oh yes. The diner is doing a roaring trade in 'authentic cowboy breakfast experiences,' and the feedstore started selling souvenir T-shirts." She grins. "You've accidentally revitalized the entire downtown."

"Accidentally?"

"Well, I doubt you planned to turn the whole county into a tourist destination when you started this little venture."

She's right. What started as a simple idea to bring in some extra revenue has somehow snowballed into a regional attraction. Last week, three different travel bloggers showed up wanting to write about the "undiscovered gem of authentic Western hospitality. "

I'm not sure whether to be proud or terrified.

"Anyway," Clara Mae continues, "I just wanted to stop by and see how you're settling in. Still feels like yesterday you showed up in those fancy boots, convinced you were going to sell this place and run back to the city."

"I was convinced of that."

"And now look at you. Local business owner, pillar of the community, practically an institution." She heads toward the door, then turns back with that knowing smile. "Like I always said, some people are meant for ranch life. They just need the right incentive to figure it out."

"The right incentive?"

"Three cowboys and a profitable ranch don't hurt."

And with that, she's gone, leaving me with a basket of eggs and the distinct feeling that my entire life has been orchestrated by forces beyond my control.

Starting with one very manipulative aunt and her very detailed will.

That evening, after the last guest has been fed and the horses are settled for the night, I'm finally relaxing in the living room.

Gavin flops down beside me on the couch with a beer and that look that means he's about to say something that'll either make me laugh or want to throw something at him .

"So, princess, been thinking."

"You're thinking again, Gavin? That's dangerous."

"Very funny. I've been thinking about your next brilliant business idea."

Asher appears from the kitchen with his own beer, grinning. "Oh, this should be good. What's she planning to monetize now?"

"Is that your new favorite word?" I laugh.

He shrugs. "I'd never heard of it until you came on the scene. So yeah, I guess so. It has a nice ring. And when I throw it around with the other cowboys, they think I'm fucking Einstein."

"Glad I could make you look good among your buddies. Anyway, I'm not planning to monetize anything else," I protest.

"Yet," Trent says, settling into his chair. "Give her time."

"I heard one guest asking about horseback yoga classes," Gavin says innocently.

"Absolutely not."

"Think about it though. City folks love yoga. They love horses. Why not combine them?"