Page 104 of My Cowboy Trouble
"Now, we figure out how to run a ranch without the only person who made it feel like home," I say quietly.
And then I walk inside, leaving them to sit with that truth. Because that's all we have left now, the truth of what we've lost, and the knowledge that we have no one to blame but ourselves.
15
KENZIE
The Pineview Motelis exactly as depressing as it sounds. Faded beige carpet that hasn't been cleaned in decades, a bathroom with water stains, and a bed that sags in the middle. The air conditioner makes a grinding noise scarier than Sir Clucks, and there's a mysterious stain on the ceiling that I'm trying not to think about.
Perfect. It matches my mood.
I've been here for six hours, and my phone has buzzed with texts and calls approximately every three minutes. I stopped checking after the first hour, but the preview notifications keep lighting up the screen like tiny digital daggers:
Gavin: Please just let me explain
Asher: This isn't what you think
Trent: Come home
Gavin: I know you're reading these
Asher: We fucked up but we can fix this
Home. Trent called the ranch home, like I actually belong there. Like I'm not just the punchline to a joke I found out about the hard way.
I turn the phone face down and stare at the ceiling stain, trying to make sense of the past three weeks. Trying to figure out when exactly I became such a fool.
Because that's what I am, isn't it? A fool. A naive city girl who thought three gorgeous cowboys actually wanted her for something other than entertainment. Who thought she'd found love and belonging and a place where she mattered, when really, she was just the latest in what's probably a long line of women who've made the same mistake.
The worst part is how real it felt. This morning… God, was it only this morning?... I was lying naked in a tack room with three men, feeling like I'd found something precious and rare. Something worth fighting for. The way Gavin looked at me when he said he loved me, the way Trent held me like I was valuable, the way Asher touched me. All of it felt so genuine.
But it was fake, wasn't it? All performance. All part of keeping their bet interesting.
I roll over and grab the folder of documents the lawyer Henry Phelps gave me when I first arrived. Great Aunt Maybelle's will, property documents, financial records and all the legal proof that I own something I'm not sure I want anymore. When I first read through these papers, they felt like freedom. Like possibility. Like the universe had handed me a second chance wrapped in Montana real estate.
Now, they feel like evidence of my own stupidity.
To my great-niece Kenzie, who I hope will find what I found on this land—a place to belong, a purpose worth pursuing, and love that grows from the ground up with the strongest roots.
I'd thought it was poetic when I first read it. Now, it feels like a cruel joke. Aunt Maybelle probably knew exactly what would happen. Probably knew I'd fall for the first three men who showed me any attention, like some desperate lonely woman with daddy issues and terrible judgment.
Which, let's be honest, isn't entirely wrong.
My phone buzzes again. Gavin this time.
The bet was stupid but what we feel for you isn't
I want to throw the phone against the wall. Want tosmash it into a thousand pieces so I don't have to see his lies anymore. But instead, I just turn it off completely and toss it on the nightstand.
The silence is worse than the buzzing. Without the constant notifications, I'm left alone with my thoughts, and my thoughts are not good company right now.
Because here's the thing I keep coming back to… I should have known better. I'm twenty-seven years old, not some teenager with her first crush. I run my own business, for Christ's sake. I've dealt with enough manipulative clients and fake friends to recognize when someone's using me.
But somehow, I missed all the signs with them. Or maybe I saw the signs and ignored them because I wanted so badly to believe I'd found something special.
The way they all seemed to coordinate their attention, taking turns spending time with me like they were following some kind of schedule. The inside jokes and shared looks. The way they'd sometimes stop talking when I walked into a room.
I'd thought it was because they were figuring out how to share me, how to make an unconventional relationship work. But it was probably just them comparing notes on their bet. Sharing strategies for keeping me interested long enough to see how far they could push things.
