Page 57 of The Jack*ss in Class

We pulled into my old neighborhood in Thornminster, and seeing my dad’s house and the Kingman family home through Tempest’s eyes made it feel different somehow. Manicured lawn, same Denver Mustangs and DSU flags, same rose bushes Mom had planted that Dad still maintained with precision.

“This is where you grew up?” She stood in the driveway, taking in the sprawling two-story that had somehow contained eight kids and more chaos than should be legally possible.

“Home sweet home.” I helped the donkey down the truck ramp we’d borrowed from Hayes. Through the backyard gate, I could hear Chris and Jules bickering about proper hay storage while Trixie played mediator.

Dad cleared his throat. “Your siblings appear to be making a mess of my yard.”

“It’s what we do best,” I said, just as Jules shouted, “Flynn, tell Chris he’s arranging the hay bales wrong.”

“Sorry about...” I gestured vaguely at the chaos. “All of this.”

“Don’t be,” Tempest said softly, and something in her voice made me look closer. She was staring at Mom’s roses, illuminated by the porch lights, with an expression I couldn’t quite read.

The donkey chose that moment to discover those same rosebushes.

“No,” Dad and I shouted in unison, but Tempest wasfaster. She stepped between the donkey and the flowers with a grace that stopped both of us in our tracks.

“Hey there, little one.” Her voice was soft but firm. “Those aren’t for eating.” She pulled what looked like a granola bar from her pocket. “This is much better.”

The donkey considered its options, then delicately took the treat from her hand.

“You’ve done this before,” Dad said, and it wasn’t a question.

“I volunteer at a farm sanctuary.” She shrugged, but I caught the hint of pride in her voice. “Animals respond to calm energy.”

“Hmm.” Dad studied her with the same intensity he used to evaluate potential recruits. Then his expression softened as the donkey bumped against his leg again. “That’ll do, donkey. That’ll do.”

From the backyard, Jules called out, “Dad, Chris is being impossible.”

“Speaking of impossible...” Dad sighed. “I better go supervise before they undo all of Trixie’s organizing. Flynn, show our guest what they’ve set up.” He headed toward the gate, then paused. “And Miss Navarro? I assume you’ll be here early to help with his care?”

“Yes, sir. I have an eight o’clock class, but I can come right after.”

“Good. Flynn’s free from nine to noon. Between combine prep sessions.” He disappeared into the backyard before I could protest being scheduled like a rookie.

“Your father’s quite the commander,” Tempest said, amusement coloring her voice.

“You have no idea, my queen.” The nickname slippedout without thought, inspired by her regal handling of the chaos. When her cheeks flushed pink, I decided to keep it.

We rounded the corner to find Chris and Jules had actually done a decent job setting up a sheltered area with fresh hay and water. Trixie was adding some finishing touches, including what looked suspiciously like fairy lights.

“For ambiance,” she explained, not at all sheepishly. “Every creature deserves a little magic.”

After a quick tutorial on the setup from Trixie, I drove Tempest back to campus. She was quiet, but I caught her smiling at nothing more than once.

“I can’t believe your whole family dropped everything to help,” she said as I pulled up to the KAT house.

“That’s what Kingmans do. We’re ride-or-die, even for criminal donkeys.” I turned to face her. “And definitely for people we care about.”

Her breath caught, and for a moment, I thought about closing the distance between us. About finally finding out if her lips were as soft as they looked.

“Flynn...” The way she said my name did dangerous things to my heart rate.

A tap on the window made us both jump. Parker, Tempest’s roommate, waved apologetically.

“Sorry.” Her voice was muffled through the glass. “But Mrs. Henderson is doing one of her infamous random room checks in ten minutes and she’s already suspicious about the donkey thing.”

Tempest sighed, reaching for the door handle. “Duty calls.”

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