Page 123 of Wild As Her

Sterling looks like he’s been sucker-punched. “Now wait, I—this can be resolved. We don’t need to be rash?—”

“No,” Jack says quietly, deadly. “We do. You messed with one of us.”

Tucker leans forward, glare sharp. “You messed with all of us.”

There’s a long beat of silence. The kind that makes grown men sweat.

Atwood shifts in his seat. “There’s no need for threats.”

Weston tilts his head. “We’re not threatening. We’re stating facts and consequences.”

Jack leans forward slightly. “Did you have anything to do with Granger and Jace who were messing with Cami and her property?”

Atwood stiffens. “Absolutely not.”

Judging by the surprised look on his face, I don’t think he did. But I am glad that Jack thought to ask.

Then, Weston rests his hands on the table, calm and composed as ever. “And one more thing. I know you’ve been to visit our father.”

Sterling freezes again.

“That’s not our business,” Weston continues, “but it is… interesting. That you’re associating with a convicted felon. Of grand larceny, no less. Something the board of this bank will be made aware of. Immediately.”

Sterling opens his mouth. Nothing comes out.

I sit back slowly, my heart thudding.

I should be shaking. I should be crying. But all I feel is clarity.

Because for the first time, I’m not fighting alone. I’m not clawing my way to respect. I have it.

And not just because of the men beside me, but because I finally believe I deserve it.

My chest pulls tight. I nod once, swallowing down the lump in my throat. This time, I don’t cry in the bank parking lot. This time, I walk out with my head high.

Tucker breaks the silence with a low whistle. “Damn, Cami. I'm glad we have you on our team.”

I snort. Jack grins, proud and flushed.

“But seriously,” Tucker adds. “You were scary. Like… impressively scary.”

Jack leans over, voice low. “We fight right. And for the right things.”

And three cowboys walking right beside me.

My heart’s still racing, and my adrenaline’s still high. But underneath all of it is this strange, steady hum in my chest.

I didn’t cry or crumble. I stood up for myself—for my ranch, for my name—and the men beside me didn’t speak for me.

Nope. They stood with me.

Jack’s hand brushes mine as we walk, and it’s warm, solid, familiar. But the second we round the corner of the building—out of view of Weston and Tucker—he stops.

“Come here,” he says, voice low and rough.

Before I can say anything, he pulls me toward him, arms wrapping around my waist, and kisses me.

Hard. Like he’s been holding it in all morning. Like kissing me is the only way to say what he’s feeling.

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