Page 56 of Wild As Her

Then back at Jack. Then at Mouse.

I sigh dramatically. “Well… Ididjust pull my last tray out of the oven.”

Jack grins, and before I can second-guess myself, I untie my apron, wipe my hands on it and toss it onto the counter, and step out into the night air.

Jack swings into his saddle like he wasbornthere, easy and smooth, and I roll my eyes at how unfairly attractive that is. I mount Mouse, settling into the saddle as he shifts beneath me.

He snorts happily as she stands next to Pesto.

Jack studies me in the moonlight, that same unreadable expression flickering across his face. “Ready?”

I nod. “Lead the way, Jessop.”

And with that, we take off into the quiet night, leaving the warmth of the kitchen behind, the scent of cinnamon and sugar trailing in the cool evening air.

As we ride side by side under the moonlit sky, I tell myself this isn’ta thing. It’s just a ride. Fresh air. A break from the heat of my kitchen. That’s all.

Except… it doesn’t feel like just a ride.

The steady rhythm of Mouse’s hooves echoes in the quiet, Jack and Pesto moving in sync beside us. The world is still, the air cool against my skin, and the only sound, aside from the occasional creak of leather and the soft rustling of grass is my own damn thoughts.

The way Jack saddled Mouse up without asking, like he just knew I needed this. Like he knew I wouldn’t step away unlesssomeone made me. Full of the way he looked at me back in the kitchen, soft, full of intent, like I was something worth watching.

Like he was memorizing me. And the worst part? I didn’t hate it. I should, though. I should hate this.

I should still be furious that he bought my ranch, that he’s everywhere I turn, that he came back to Bridger Falls looking too damn good for his own good and especially for mine.

But instead, I feel this. This warm, fluttery, nerve-wracking thing low in my stomach when he glances at me. This stupid little thrill when he rides just a bit closer, like he’s making sure I don’t fall behind.

This quiet, creeping realization that Jack has wedged himself under my skin in a way I never saw coming. And worse? I don’t think I want him to leave.

I know one thing for sure. Things are heating up, and it's not just in my kitchen.

Chapter 15

Jack

Worst Way by Riley Green

There are few things I hate more than what I’m doing right now, standing around in a freshly pressed shirt while a producer named Kyle, who has never stepped foot on a ranch tries to fix my damn cowboy hat like it’s a prop.

I swat his hands away. “Touch my hat again, and we’re gonna have a problem, Kyle.”

He scurries off, looking scared, and I sigh, turning to look at the lodge. The Jessop Lodge. My father’s pride and joy. The place where he made deals, drank too much, and single-handedly destroyed our family’s reputation. It's not a home, it's a prop. It has always been, even before this ridiculous reality show. And I suppose it works well as a prop for that purpose. But it's not a home that you come home to and relax. Wilder House is a place to go to relax.

Instead of working my ranch and knocking out my endless to do list, I’m standing here in the shadow of the past,pretending I give a damn about “finding love” on national television when all I really want to do is get my hands in the dirt, fix fences, and forget I share a name with my father, the criminal.

But then Cami stomps into my line of sight, and suddenly, my day gets a hell of a lot better.

She’s wearing tight jeans, boots that have seen actual ranch work, and her hair’s tied back in another complicated braid that makes me itch to pull it loose.

But that’s the thing about Cami. She gets under my skin in ways I don’t even have words to describe. I can be irritated with her, frustrated, pissed off even, but the second she’s near, all of it turns into something else. Something that scares me, but I can’t get enough of.

“What’s wrong, Jessop? Too much TV romance?” She grins, leaning on the fence post beside me.

“You say that like you don’t already know the answer,” I grunt out, grumpy at the world.

“Oh, I do. But watching you suffer is my favorite pastime.”

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