Page 108 of My Cowboy Trouble
My phone, which I turned back on an hour ago, has been relatively quiet. A few more texts from the guys, but they've gotten less frequent, less desperate. Maybe they're giving me space, or maybe they've given up. I'm not sure which possibility bothers me more.
There's also a text from a number I don't recognize.
This is Darla. Got your number from the clinic intake form from when you brought Billy in for stitches. (Don't worry, I didn't look at anything else.) If you want to talk more, I'll be at Murphy's Bar when I get off work. First drink's on me.
I could go have a drink with Darla, let her talk me into giving the guys another chance. Or I could go back to my motel room and spend the night staring at the ceiling, trying to decide what comes next.
Or I could do something else entirely.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I'm walking toward the edge of town, toward the road that leads to the Dusty Spur. Not to go back, I'm not ready for thatyet, but to see it. To look at the place I'd started to think of as home and figure out if that feeling was real or just wishful thinking.
It looks different in the moonlight, softer somehow. The barn where I learned to muck stalls and lost my virginity to ranch work. The corral where Trent taught me to rope and I first saw him really smile. The tack room where this morning feels like a lifetime ago.
There's a light on in the main house, and I can see shadows moving behind the windows. All three of them are probably in there, maybe talking about damage control or maybe just trying to figure out how to move forward. Part of me wants to march up to that door and demand answers, demand better, demand they prove to me that what I felt was real.
But a bigger part of me isn't ready for that confrontation yet. Isn't ready to be vulnerable again, to risk getting hurt again.
Instead, I sit on the fence at the edge of the property, looking at the mountains in the distance and the stars that are so much brighter here than they ever were in the city. Listening to the sound of cattle moving in the darkness and the distant hum of the generator that keeps the whole operation running.
This place got under my skin in a way I wasn't expecting. Not just the beauty of it, though Montana is stunning in ways that make your chest ache. Not just the work, though there's something satisfying about physical labor that produces tangible results. But thefeeling of being necessary, of contributing something valuable, of building something.
I felt useful. Needed. Important. Like I was part of something bigger than myself.
And yes, I felt loved. Even if it started as a bet, even if they didn't expect to care about me, somewhere along the way, it became real. I'm almost certain of that now, sitting here in the dark with Aunt Maybelle's letter in my back pocket and Darla's words echoing in my head.
The question is whether that's enough. Whether I'm brave enough to go back and demand they prove it, to fight for something that might be worth having.
Whether I'm the woman who walks away, or the woman who stays and fights.
My phone buzzes with another text, and this time it's from Trent.
I know you probably don't want to hear from any of us right now, but I need you to know that the bet stopped mattering the day you stayed to help with the storm damage instead of hiding in your room. For me, at least, it stopped being about proving you'd fail and started being about hoping you'd stay.
I stare at the message for a long time, remembering that day. How scared I'd been of doing something wrong but how determined I'd been to help anyway.How Trent had looked at me differently afterward, like I'd surprised him.
Maybe I had. Maybe I'd surprised all of them.
Another text, this one from Asher.
I know we fucked up. I know sorry isn't enough. But if you're willing to let us try to make it right, we're here. All of us.
And finally, Gavin.
I've been an asshole my whole life, but I've never been a liar. When I said I loved you this morning, I meant it. That wasn't part of any bet. That was just true.
I close my eyes and let their words sink in. Three different men, three different ways of saying the same thing…we screwed up, but what we feel for you is real.
It's not enough. Not yet. Words are cheap, and I need more than promises if I'm going to risk my heart again.
But it's a start.
I climb down from the fence and start walking back toward town, but I don't feel defeated anymore. I feel... determined. Like maybe I am the woman who stays and fights after all.
I'm not ready to go back to the ranch tonight. I need time to figure out what I want to say, what I need from them, what it would take for me to trust them again.
But I'm not ready to walk away either. Tomorrow, I'll figure out what comes next. Tonight, I'm going to go back to my depressing motel room and plan my strategy.
Because if Aunt Maybelle was right, if this messy, complicated thing is worth fighting for, then I'm going to fight for it. But I'm going to do it on my terms, in my own way, and they're going to have to prove they deserve a second chance.
