Page 106 of My Cowboy Trouble
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."
"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, youknow 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 mycrappy 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'rethinking 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.
