Page 33 of My Cowboy Trouble
"Now where's the fun in that?"
She laughs again, and something in my chest tightens. I focus on Whiskey's hoof, but the stone's already out. I'm just stalling now.
"You coming, Trent?" Asher appears in the barn doorway, dressed for a night out. Of course he is. When Gavin makes plans, Asher follows. They always have, ever since we were teenagers getting into trouble—that I'd have to get us out of later.
"Someone needs to stay with the ranch."
"The ranch will survive one night." Asher walks over, leaning against Whiskey's stall. "Besides, don't you want to make sure Gavin doesn't do something stupid?"
"Gavin always does something stupid."
"Exactly. So you should come. For supervision."
"I'm not a babysitter."
"No, but you're acting like a jealous boyfriend."
The words hit like a slap. "I'm not?—"
"Sure you're not." Asher's grin says he knows exactly what buttons he's pushing. "That's why you've beendeath-gripping that hoof pick for the last five minutes, watching her through the window."
I look down. He's right. My knuckles are white around the tool.
"Kenzie's not ready for a rodeo," I say, setting the pick aside and running my hands down Whiskey's leg to check for heat or swelling. Anything to avoid looking at Asher. "She can barely handle the ranch."
"She handled you pretty well in that feed room earlier."
My jaw tightens. "Nothing happened."
"Right. That's why you both looked guilty as teenagers when I walked in."
"Drop it, Asher."
"Come to the rodeo, Trent." His voice goes serious. "You know you want to. And maybe it's time to stop punishing yourself for wanting things."
"I don't?—"
"Your dad's been gone eight years. The ranch didn't fall apart. You saved it. You can take one night off."
He leaves before I can respond, jogging over to the truck where Gavin's revving the engine impatiently. I watch Kenzie climb in, laughing at something Gavin says. Watch Asher slide in next to her, sandwiching her between them.
Whiskey nudges my shoulder, nearly knocking me over.
"What?" I ask him.
He snorts and tosses his head toward the truck.
"I don't take advice from horses."
He kicks his stall door.
"Fine. Jesus. Everyone's got an opinion tonight."
I close up the barn and head to the house to change. I tell myself I'm going only to keep them out of trouble. To make sure Gavin doesn't let her do something dangerous. To supervise.
But when I catch myself putting on my good jeans—the ones that actually fit instead of hanging off me like feed sacks—I know I'm lying to myself.
Twenty-five days.
