Page 14 of My Cowboy Trouble
But as I head back to the house for that desperately needed shower, I catch sight of the mountains in the distance, the horses grazing in the pasture, and Sir Clucks-a-Lot strutting around, and something in my chest does this weird squeeze thing.
It's not affection. It's probably just a pulled muscle from the hay bales.
Right?
Twenty-seven more days. I can do this.
Probably.
Maybe.
God, I need a drink. And a massage. And possibly a therapist.
But first, a shower. Because Trent's right about one thing—I smell like I actually worked today.
And weirdly, that doesn't feel as terrible as it should.
4
ASHER
“She's all yours, Ash,"Trent says, dumping a tool bag at my feet with the same enthusiasm most people reserve for taking out the trash. The bag lands with a metallic clatter that makes Kenzie jump.
She's standing by his truck looking like she went ten rounds in a boxing ring and lost. Her hair's still damp from her shower, pulled back in a ponytail that shows off the curve of her neck and the faint red mark where hay scratched her earlier. She's changed into clean jeans and a tank top that's already showing signs of stress from the Montana heat. There's a smudge of something—hopefully not manure—on her shoulder that she missed.
Perfection.
"Fence repair?" She eyes the tool bag like it mightcontain live snakes. "Please tell me that's less disgusting than stall mucking."
"Depends on your definition of disgusting." I hoist the bag into the truck bed, making sure to flex just enough to catch her attention. Her eyes track my movement before snapping back to my face. Interesting. "Less shit, but more splinters. Possible rattlers. Sometimes all of the above."
"Okay great," she sighs, pulling her ponytail tighter. "Because why would anything on this ranch be simple? Or safe? Or like, not deadly?"
"Simple's boring, darlin'."
"I could use some boring right about now. Boring sounds amazing. Boring doesn't involve demon roosters or horses with digestive issues."
Trent snorts. "You want boring, you picked the wrong inheritance." He's already walking away, probably to find some other impossible task to assign. "Section twelve needs the most work. Don't let her hammer any fingers off, Asher."
"My fingers are perfectly safe," Kenzie calls after him.
"That's what Billy said before the nail gun incident," I tell her, enjoying the way her eyes go wide.
"The what now?"
"Don't worry. He's got most of his feeling back in that thumb."
Before she can respond, Billy himself appears from nowhere—kid's got the worst timing and apparentlyzero survival instinct—bouncing on his toes like an overexcited golden retriever.
"Can I come? I'm really good at fence repair!" His voice cracks on 'repair,' and he flushes red. "I can show you how to use the post driver and everything! And the wire stretcher! And I know which posts are rotten and which ones just look rotten but are actually okay and?—"
The kid's looking at Kenzie like she hung the moon, taught it to sing, and personally delivered it to his doorstep. His puppy love is so obvious, it's embarrassing.
"That's really sweet, Billy—" Kenzie starts.
"Billy!" Gavin's voice cuts through the air like a whip crack from the barn. "Get your ass in here. You're on stall duty."
"But I just did stalls yesterday!" Billy's voice goes up an octave in protest.
