Page 83 of My Cowboy Trouble
Trent Mercer thinks this story ends with me leaving and the ranch dying. But he's forgotten one very important thing about me.
I don't lose.
And I sure as hell don't give up without a fight.
12
TRENT
I've beenawake since four a.m., which isn't unusual. What is unusual is that I've spent those two hours staring at the ceiling, reliving every second of what happened in the tack room yesterday. The way Kenzie felt underneath me—tight and perfect and mine. The sounds she made when I moved inside her, those little gasps and moans that went straight to my cock. The way she said my name when she came, like it was torn from her throat.
The way I walked away afterward like a complete bastard.
Sleep was impossible after that. Every time I closed my eyes, I could smell her on my skin, could feel the phantom weight of her body against mine. Could hearher voice asking me not to pretend it didn't happen, and my own voice telling her that's exactly what we needed to do.
By the time I drag myself out of bed and into the barn, I'm already in a foul mood that has nothing to do with the early hour and everything to do with the fact that I'm apparently a masochist who enjoys torturing himself. The last thing I need is to see Kenzie laughing with Asher like yesterday never happened. Like I didn't have her bent over a workbench, claiming her in every way that matters, marking her as mine even as I was telling myself it could never happen again.
But that's exactly what I find.
They're by Pepper's stall, Kenzie brushing the mare's coat with long, steady strokes while Asher leans against the doorframe, looking relaxed and charming as always. He's got that easy smile on his face, the one that makes women melt and men want to punch him. She's wearing one of my old flannel shirts—when the hell did she start wearing my clothes?—over those jeans that should be illegal in three states, and her hair is braided down her back in a way that makes my fingers itch to tangle in it and mess it up.
The sight of her in my shirt does something primal to my chest. It's territorial and possessive and completely irrational, but there it is. She's wearing my clothes, smells like soap from my shower, and yet she's standing there laughing with another man like I don't exist.
"Morning, boss," Asher says without looking at me, his attention focused entirely on Kenzie. There's something intimate in the way he's watching her, like he's cataloguing every movement. "Sleep well?"
Like hell I did. I spent the night hard as a rock, thinking about her hands on my skin, replaying the way she felt when I was buried inside her. Thinking about how I'd fucked up the best thing to happen to me in eight years because I'm too much of a coward to believe in something good.
"Fine. What's the status on the south pasture fence?"
"All secure. Kenzie and I repaired it, good as new." His voice is casual, but there's something in his tone that sets my teeth on edge. A smugness that suggests they did more than just check fence posts. "Didn't we, darlin'?"
The endearment hits me like a slap. Darlin'. He's calling her darlin' like she belongs to him, like he has the right. My hands clench into fists at my sides.
She glances over at him with a smile that hits like a punch to the gut. It's soft, intimate, the kind of smile that suggests shared secrets. The kind of smile she used to give me before I fucked everything up by being honest about my feelings and then running away like a coward.
"We did. Though I think Asher's definition of 'checking the fence' is loose at best."
"Hey now," Asher protests, that lazy grin spreadingacross his face like honey. "We got the job done, didn't we? Eventually."
"Eventually."
They're talking in code, sharing some private joke that excludes me completely, and jealousy claws at my chest like a living thing. I know what that tone means. I know what that look means. They've been together again. While I was brooding in the south pasture like an idiot, nursing my wounded pride and telling myself I'd done the right thing, they were probably tangled up somewhere, doing exactly what I'd done with her in the tack room.
The thought makes me want to put my fist through something. Preferably Asher's smug face.
But that's not fair, is it? I'm the one who walked away. I'm the one who told her we needed to pretend it never happened. I'm the one who gave up any claim I might have had to her exclusive attention. So why does watching her with Asher feel like someone's slowly pulling my heart out through my ribs?
"Thunder needs new shoes," I say, more sharply than necessary. "Billy can't handle him alone."
Thunder doesn't need new shoes. I checked his hooves myself three days ago. But I need something to break up this cozy little scene, need to assert some kind of authority in a situation where I feel like I'm losing control of everything.
"I'll take care of it," Asher says, finally looking at me. There's something knowing in his eyes, like he canread exactly what I'm thinking. Like he knows I'm standing here green with jealousy and trying not to show it. "Unless you want to do it yourself?"
"I've got other things to handle."
"I'm sure you do." The way he says it makes me want to grab him by the shirt and ask exactly what the hell that's supposed to mean. There's an undercurrent there, a challenge or an invitation, I can't tell which.
But Kenzie's watching our exchange with interest, those sharp eyes missing nothing, and I refuse to give her the satisfaction of seeing me lose control. She's probably enjoying this, watching me squirm while she moves on like yesterday meant nothing.
