Page 7 of Curvy Girl and the Grumpy Cowboy

"What I know," I say, keeping my voice level, "is that my brother's been helping his best friend set up shop half a mile outside town for a month and somehow never thought to mention it."

Cole's eyes narrow. "You gave up the right to know Sarah's business seven years ago when you let her walk away."

The accusation hits like a physical blow, but I keep my face neutral. Cole's always been protective of Sarah, even before we dated. After our breakup, his loyalty to her never wavered, even though blood is supposed to be thicker than water.

"She invited me to her fundraiser," I say, the words coming out as a challenge.

That takes him by surprise. "She what?"

"Saturday night. The community hall." I close Midnight's stall door and face him fully. "Said I should bring my brothers."

"And you're going?"

"I said I would."

He lets out a low whistle, shaking his head. "Man, you've got some nerve."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means," Cole says, pushing off from the stall door to stand straight, "that you broke her heart once already. I'm not gonna stand by and watch you do it again."

The accusation stings, but it's nothing I haven't told myself a thousand times. "I'm just going to a fundraiser, Cole. Not proposing marriage."

"Yeah? And what happens when she starts to trust you again? When she lets herself believe you might've changed?" Cole takes a step closer, his eyes hard. "You gonna bail again the minute it gets complicated?"

"You don't know what you're talking about," I growl.

"Don't I? I was there, Jackson. I'm the one who helped her pack her apartment. I'm the one who got those 3 AM calls from Seattle when she couldn't sleep because she was still trying to figure out why she wasn't enough to make you leave the ranch."

Shame burns hot under my skin. "It wasn't about her not being enough—"

"Save it," Cole cuts me off. "I'm not the one who needs to hear it."

We stand there in tense silence, the only sound Midnight's occasional snort. Cole and I have butted heads plenty over the years, but this feels different. Deeper.

"She's not the same woman who left," Cole finally says, his voice quieter. "She built something for herself out there. She's stronger now."

"I know that," I say, and I do.

I saw it in the set of her shoulders, the confidence in her eyes when she showed me around her property.

"Do you? Because from where I'm standing, you're still the same man who couldn't imagine a life beyond these fences." Cole shakes his head. "She deserves better than half measures, Jackson."

The truth of his words settles heavy in my chest.

"I made a mistake," I admit, the words feeling like they're being torn from me. "You think I don't know that? You think I haven't regretted it every damn day for seven years?"

Something in Cole's expression shifts. Not softening exactly, but reassessing.

"She asked me to help move a water trough," I continue, needing him to understand. "We had lunch. She invited me to this fundraiser. That's all. I'm not planning anything."

"And if she gave you another chance? What then?"

The question hangs between us. What then, indeed.

"I'd take it," I say simply. "And I wouldn't waste it this time."

"The fundraiser starts at six. She's nervous about the turnout—needs to raise at least fifteen thousand for the specialized equipment."

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