Page 79 of My Cowboy Trouble
But neither of us moves until Thunder whinnies impatiently, reminding us that there are still six stalls to clean and horses to feed and a ranch to run. Trent steps back reluctantly, and I immediately miss his touch.
"Tack room needs organizing," he says, not quite meeting my eyes. "Saddles need cleaning. If you want something to do."
"Sure. I love organizing." Which is true. There's something soothing about bringing order to disorder, about making things neat and functional. "Where do you want me to start?"
"Wherever. It's all a mess."
The tack room is indeed a disaster. Bridles hang in tangled heaps, saddles are stacked haphazardly on sawhorses, and cleaning supplies are scattered across every available surface. It looks like a tornado hit a horse supply store.
"This is what happens with men," I grumble, starting to untangle a particularly complicated knot of reins. "No one ever puts anything back where it belongs."
I'm making good progress when I decide to tackle the saddle situation. Some genius—probably Gavin—has stacked the heaviest saddles on top of the lightest ones, creating a precarious tower of leather and metal that's defying all the laws of physics.
"This is an accident waiting to happen," I say to no one in particular, reaching for the saddle on top.
The moment I touch it, I realize my mistake. The whole stack shifts, wobbling dangerously, and I have just enough time to thinkthis is going to hurtbefore a hundred-some-odd pounds of leather and metal come crashing down.
Except it doesn't hit me.
Strong arms wrap around my waist, yanking me backward just as the saddles tumble to the floor with a crash that probably wakes every animal on the ranch. Istumble into a solid chest, my heart hammering so hard, I'm surprised it doesn't crack a rib.
"Jesus Christ, Kenzie." Trent's voice is shaky, his arms still tight around me. "Are you trying to give me a heart attack?"
"I was just—the saddles were—" I can't seem to form a complete sentence. The adrenaline is making me dizzy, or maybe it's the way Trent is holding me.
"You could have been seriously hurt." His hands move to my shoulders, turning me around to face him. "Concussion, broken bones, internal bleeding?—"
"But I wasn't. You caught me." I look up at him, and the expression on his face steals whatever breath the falling saddles left me. He looks terrified. Actually, genuinely terrified. "I'm fine, Trent. I'm okay."
"This time." His hands frame my face, tilting it up so he can examine me for damage. "Next time I might not be here. Next time you might?—"
"There won't be a next time. I'll be more careful."
"You can't promise that. You don't know this place like we do. Don't know all the ways it can hurt you." His thumb traces the line of my jaw, gentle despite the intensity in his voice. "I can't lose anyone else to this ranch."
The weight of that statement hits me like a physical blow. His father. He's thinking about his father, who died in the barn where we're standing. Who had a heart attack and couldn't be saved no matter how hard Trent tried.
"Hey." I cover his hands with mine. "I'm not going anywhere. Not today, not because of a few falling saddles. I'm tougher than I look."
"I know you are. That's the problem." His forehead drops to mine, and we're breathing the same air, sharing the same space. "You're so damn tough, you make me forget to be careful with you."
"Maybe I don't want you to be careful with me."
"Kenzie." My name sounds like a warning.
"Maybe I want you to treat me like I can handle whatever you've got. Maybe I'm tired of everyone acting like I'm made of glass."
His eyes search mine, looking for something. Permission, maybe. Or absolution.
"You don't know what you're asking for."
"Try me."
We're standing in a tack room surrounded by fallen saddles, the scent of leather and horse sweat heavy in the air, and somehow it feels like the most romantic place in the world. My heart is still racing from the near-accident, from the adrenaline, from the way he's looking at me like I'm something precious and dangerous at the same time.
"Trent," I whisper.
"Yeah?"
