Page 98 of My Cowboy Trouble
"What bet?" Kenzie asks quietly, but she's looking at me now, not Clara Mae, and there's something in her eyes that makes me want to throw up.
"Now, now," Clara Mae continues, oblivious to the damage she's doing, "don't look at him like that. It was harmless fun. Boys will be boys, you know. And you can't blame them for thinking a fancy city girl wouldn't last five minutes on a working ranch. The bet was just... incentive to see how long they could keep you around for entertainment."
"Entertainment?" Kenzie repeats, and her voice has gone flat, emotionless. Dangerous.
"Clara Mae, you need to leave," I say, finally finding my voice. "Now."
"Oh, don't get all bent out of shape, Gavin. I'm just being honest with the girl. She deserves to know the truth, don't you think? Better she finds out now than after she's made an even bigger fool of herself."
Kenzie hasn't moved, hasn't said another word, but I can see her shutting down. See the walls going up, the defenses snapping into place. The same walls that were there when she first arrived, before we'd earned her trust. Before she'd started to believe she belonged here.
"Kenzie," I start, stepping toward her.
She takes a step back, shaking her head. "No."
"It's not what she's making it sound like?—"
"Isn't it?" Her voice is still quiet, but there's steel underneath now. The kind of steel that could cut a manin half. "You made a bet about how long I'd last. About whether I'd sleep with you before I left. Is that true or not?"
The direct question hangs in the air between us, and I know that whatever I say next is going to determine everything. I could lie, could spin it, could try to make it sound better than it was. But looking at her face, seeing the hurt and betrayal there, I know she deserves the truth.
"Yes," I say quietly. "But?—"
"But nothing." She turns away from me, heading back toward the house. "Thank you for your honesty, Clara Mae. I appreciate knowing where I stand."
"Kenzie, wait?—"
But she's already gone, the front door closing behind her with a soft click that somehow sounds louder than if she'd slammed it.
Clara Mae, completely oblivious to what she's just done, sets her casserole dish on the porch railing. "Well, I suppose that's that. Poor thing. Though honestly, what did she expect? You boys aren't the settling-down type, and she's not the ranch type. Better she learns it now than later."
"Get out," I say, my voice low and dangerous.
"Now, Gavin?—"
"Get the fuck off this property before I do something we'll both regret."
Clara Mae's eyes widen at the venom in my voice,and for the first time, she seems to realize she might have crossed a line. "I was just trying to help?—"
"You just destroyed the best thing that's happened to this ranch in years. So take your casserole and your gossip and get out."
She huffs and grabs her dish, muttering something about ungrateful men and city girls who think they're too good for small towns. But she climbs back into her truck and drives away, leaving me standing on the porch with the taste of ash in my mouth and the sick certainty that I've just lost something important.
I sink onto the porch steps, my head in my hands. The bet. Jesus Christ, how could I have been so stupid? How could any of us have been so stupid?
But it wasn't like Clara Mae made it sound. It wasn't about humiliating Kenzie or using her for entertainment. It was... fuck, it was exactly like that, wasn't it? At the beginning, at least. We did make a bet about how long she'd last. We did think she was just a spoiled city girl playing cowgirl for a month.
The fact that we fell for her, that everything changed, that the bet became irrelevant the moment we realized we were in love with her. None of that changes what we did at the beginning. None of that changes the fact that we started this whole thing by wagering on her failure.
And now she knows. And she's never going to forgive us for it.
I've fucked up a lot of things in my life, but thismight be the worst. Because this wasn't just about me. This was about all of us, about something we were building together. And it just crumbled to dust because of a stupid bet I made when I was too blind to see what was right in front of me.
The front door opens behind me, and I don't have to look to know it's Trent. His footsteps are heavy on the porch boards, and when he sits down beside me, I can feel the anger radiating off him like heat.
"What the hell just happened?" he asks, his voice deadly quiet.
"Clara Mae told her about the bet."
