Page 96 of My Cowboy Trouble
None of this should make sense. None of this should feel normal.
But it does.
That's the thing I keep coming back to—how normal this all feels. How right. Three weeks ago, if someone had told me I'd be living on a ranch in Montana, sleeping with three cowboys, and solving supply chain issues with creative truth-telling, I would have laughed in their face.
Now? Now, I can't imagine being anywhere else.
When did this happen? When did this stop being a temporary adventure and start feeling like home?
Maybe it was the first time Trent looked at me with something other than skepticism. Maybe it was when Gavin stopped calling me "princess" like it was an insult and started saying it like an endearment. Maybe it was when Asher taught me to fix a fence and didn't make me feel stupid for not knowing how.
Or maybe it was this morning, when all three of them looked at me like I was something precious and said they wanted me to stay.
Fact is, I don't want to leave. The thought of going back to New York, to my apartment with the noisyneighbors and the broken radiator, to clients who think they're doing me a favor by paying my invoices, it all feels foreign now. Like a life that belonged to someone else.
But wanting to stay and being able to stay are two different things. There are logistics to consider, practicalities that can't be solved with clever negotiation or creative problem-solving. I have a business in New York, clients who depend on me, a lease on an apartment I can't afford to break. And they have a ranch to run with big responsibilities that don't include taking care of a city girl who's having an identity crisis.
Except... maybe that's not true anymore. Maybe I'm not a city girl having an identity crisis. Maybe I'm just a woman who found a place where she fits.
Today, when Earl the delivery driver was giving me grief about payment policies, I didn't think about calling for help.
That's not tourist behavior. That's not someone playing dress-up or marking time until she can get back to her "real" life. That's someone who belongs here, who has something to contribute, who's building a life instead of just surviving one.
The front door opens, and I hear voices, Gavin and Asher discussing something about tomorrow's schedule. They're laughing about something, easy and relaxed in the way that comes from working together all day. The sound makes me smile, makes something warm settle in my chest.
"Kenzie?" Gavin hollers. "You in here?"
"Living room," I call.
They appear in the doorway in their work clothes, full of the kind of satisfied exhaustion that comes from a productive day. Asher's got his sleeves rolled up, and there's a smudge of dirt on his cheek. Gavin's hair is sticking up in the back where he's been running his hands through it.
My heart leaps. I can't deny it.
"What are you doing?" Asher asks, settling onto the couch across from me.
"Thinking."
"Dangerous habit," Gavin observes, dropping onto the other end of the couch. "What about?"
"This. Today. Everything." I gesture vaguely at the room, the ranch, the life I've somehow built in such a short time. "A month ago, I was hiding in a coffee shop trying to save a business that was falling apart. Tonight, I'm sitting in a house I own, sort of, on a ranch I'm learning to work, thinking about logistics and feed deliveries and whether I've earned the right to consider this home."
"Have you?" Asher asks. "Earned the right?"
I think about it. Really think about it. About the calluses forming on my palms and the confidence in my voice. About the way Trent nodded when Billy told him how I'd handled the feed payment situation, like I'd passed some test I didn't know I was taking. Aboutthe genuine warmth in Gavin's smile when he handed me that apple.
"Yeah," I say, surprising myself with the certainty in my voice. "I think I have."
"Good," Gavin says simply. "Because we've been waiting for you to figure that out."
"Have you?"
"Darlin'," Asher says, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, "you've been home since the day you showed up. You just needed time to realize it."
The words hit me like a physical force, knocking the breath out of my lungs. Home. Such a simple word, but I don't think I've ever really understood what it meant before. I thought it was about places like apartments, cities, zip codes. But it's not. It's about people. It's about belonging somewhere so completely that you can't imagine being anywhere else.
"So what now?" I ask.
"Now," Gavin says, stretching out on the couch like a cat in a sunbeam, "we figure out dinner. And tomorrow, we keep building whatever this is we're building."
