Page 7 of Wild As Her

She looks at me. “We’re not friends, Jessop. I’ve got it covered.”

“We’ll see about that,” I mutter, turning and getting back on my horse before she can say anything. She yells something behind me, but I don’t listen as I ride the fence line home in case someone else wants to mess with Wilder Ranch.

Nobody is messing with Cami. Not on my watch.

Cami is my kryptonite. The only woman I’ve ever truly loved.

Too bad she’s too damn stubborn to realize it.

“What happened in the east pasture this morning?” Hank, my head ranch wrangler for the Jessop Ranch, asks. Hank’s in his sixties and probably should have retired a long time ago, but he loves cowboying. He’s the epitome of a Wyoming cowboy. He’s got white hair, tanned skin, and a kind smile. This ranch has gone through a lot of changes, but Hank will never be one that we lose. He’ll always have a home here. We’re his family, and he’s been here from day one. He’s always been one to keep hishead down and work hard. He didn’t see eye-to-eye with our dad, but he was good to all of us kids. He’s like a grandfather to us.

He joins me as we watch a few horses work in the pen. “I saw you take off like a bat out of hell.”

“Old man Granger was over on the Wilder side, causing trouble.”

He turns and looks at me, surprised. “And he’s still alive? Got both his balls and everything?”

“For now. Unless he gets another idea to try to come on her land again. She shot at him. Twice.”

Hank shakes his head. “Glad she has you, boss. I don’t like how the vultures are swarming on the Wilder Ranch. It’s a shame, and Cami doesn’t deserve that,” he grumbles.

“No, she doesn’t. And you make sure every hand here on Jessop ranch knows that we protect the Wilder Ranch and their land,” I say as I push off the fence and stride toward the barn.

“You got it, boss,” he calls. Hank is probably one of the few wranglers that I can trust at this point. He’s older, and I grew up with him here. But he’s not like the other wranglers that were tight with my father and his shady ways.

I’m wound a little too tight, so I head to town for some supper. When I drive out through the ridiculous iron arches of the Jessop ranch, laughter fills my chest. Cami was right. It does look like a villain’s entrance or whatever she called it. It’s ostentatious and ridiculous, and I make a mental note to add it to my list to get it removed. The ranch still feels like my father’s place, and I’m not used to it being mine. When I look over at the ranch, I see how much work I need to do to make it clean again. Because the business practices that my father had on this ranch are not how I want things to run. And my brothers and sister all agree. That’s the one thing we’re all in agreement on. Our father’s path was trash.

When I see the future of this ranch, I do not share the philosophies that generations before me had. I can’t get behind the bully tactics, stealing, gambling, and hidden agendas from my father’s era. I’ve got different plans, and I’m meeting resistance everywhere I turn on the ranch. Old ways are not the way we’re going to do things moving forward.

The Black Dog is unusually quiet for a Thursday night. The low hum of conversation and the sound of clinking silverware fade into the country music playing on the jukebox.

The owners, Walker and Violet, are a couple of musicians. I’ve known Walker since I was a kid, and he’s a great guy. He and his daughter Mack have always been there for me. They even flew out for my Navy graduation years back. Walker is the closest thing I have to a father figure, but I think he’s only about eight years older than me, so maybe more like an older brother. But he’s a solid man. He chose a good woman with Violet. Her aunt Maggie owns the Dogwood Inn.

Violet wipes down the counter and watches me. Finally, she stands before me and leans her elbows on the bar. “You doing okay, Jack?”

“I’m fine,” I say as I tip back my whiskey glass, which she just set down.

“You don’t look fine,” she says with a raised eyebrow.

“Well, I’ve got a lot on my mind,” I admit.

“You mean you have her on your mind?” she says, her voice low.

I didn’t have to ask who she meant, she knows Cami and I have a connection. She has a knack for calling me out on things, even when I don’t feel like talking about them. Sometimes I text her when I have something on my mind. And sometimes, she bakes me muffins and cookies with Mack. She’s been good to me and my sister, who used to work at the bar as a bartender afterhigh school and has filled in recently when Walker and Violet needed help.

I sigh, looking over the bar. “Can’t help it. She gets under my skin.”

I feel my phone vibrate in my pocket, and I reach down to check it. Think of the devil, it’s my sister, Jenna. I silence the call and make a mental note to call her later. I see that I’ve several missed calls from her. Shit. I’m really dropping the ball on everything these days.

Violet laughs. “When are you and Cami going to admit that you’re hopelessly in love with each other? It’s honestly so romantic. I could write a dozen songs about your epic love story,” she teases.

I grin at that. Violet and Walker have been working on starting their own music label and recording studio here in Bridger Falls, and they’ve played some of their songs here at The Black Dog, and they’re really good. Walker used to be a country music legend, and now he’s a songwriter and owner of The Black Dog. He’s a pretty big deal, but in Bridger Falls, he’s a great guy and friend. Everyone treats him normal here. Because to us, he’s just Walker.

I know where I stand with Cami. Always have. But I don’t know where she stands with me, and that’s the thing that scares me the most. I’m pretty sure Cami hates the sight of me most days. But then there’s times when she thinks I’m not paying attention, and I could swear she’s looking at me with something other than loathing. Sometimes it’ll be at the Black Dog when we’re all in a big group hanging out and I will catch her smiling if I say something. Of course, she’ll pretend it doesn’t happen or she’ll look away if I meet her eyes. It also could be wishful thinking on my part.

I shoot her a look, but she doesn’t back down. Not her style.Instead, she grabs a rag and begins to shine the bar, waiting for me to spill my guts like she knows I will.

“It’s…complicated.” I admit.

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