2. Jackson #2
“That’s because your ass ain’t said five words to her,” I point out, rolling my shoulders.
Jensen shrugs, completely unbothered. “Exactly. I know to keep my mouth shut.”
He’s got me there. Can’t argue with the fact that the only Rowe brother Ozzy isn’t actively plotting to murder is the one smart enough to keep his distance.
“Speak of the devil,” Jensen mutters, nodding toward the yard.
I look up just in time to see Ozzy—six-inch heels, skin-tight pants, and a glare sharp enough to cut steel—stumbling through the uneven grass like a baby deer on stilts.
“Why does she insist on those stupid shoes?” I mutter, shaking my head as I lean on my shovel.
Suddenly, Jensen inhales sharply and elbows me. “Jackson,” he hisses urgently, “I think she’s got titty piercings.”
My eyes snap to her chest before I can stop them, and—ho-ly shit.
Yeah. Yeah, those are pierced nipples.
Underneath that way-too-tight, way-too-thin white tank top, two tiny barbell piercings are very visible, and my brain short-circuits for a solid three seconds.
Long enough for her to close the distance between us and for me to wrench my gaze back to hers like I wasn’t just ogling her tits.
I drag a hand down my face. This woman is going to be the death of me.
After pulling her heel free from a stubborn patch of mud, Ozzy steps into the barn and instantly wrinkles her nose.
I smirk. “Somethin’ wrong, Tink?”
“Jesus fuck. What is that smell? ”
I cross my arms. “That would be the smell of a working ranch.”
She exhales dramatically, fanning her face like she might pass out. “That is the smell of something dead. ”
I shake my head and go back to work, ignoring the way she takes cautious little breaths through her mouth. It’s like she’s trying to taste the air before committing to inhaling it fully.
“I need one of you—” she starts before abruptly stopping, eyes narrowing as they land on Carter and me. “Jensen, I need your help.”
Jensen blinks, caught off guard. I grab the back of his shirt before he can move. “Uh-uh,” I grunt, yanking him back. “Nope. My ranch, my rules. They’re working. We ain’t payin’ you to come down here and pull us away from our job.”
Ozzy lifts a brow, unimpressed. “You done?”
“No, actually?—”
“Well, if you are,” she cuts me off, folding her arms, “I’d like to let you know that your mother sent me down here because you aren’t answering your damn phone.”
Shit.
I pull my gloves off instantly. “Is she okay?”
“No, she fell, and I left her bleeding out on the floor,” she deadpans.
I glare at her, already jogging toward the house. “I will yell at you for that comment later.”
Running up the yard and through the house’s back door, I burst in only to find my mother very much not bleeding out, but instead trying to fend off Leroy, our resident asshole of a goat.
Leroy recently figured out how to open doors; since then, he likes to break into our house and start headbutting anyone and anything until you feed him popcorn. P
“Leroy!” I holler as he fakes a jump towards Mom.
“I swear to god I’m gonna turn you into a stew if you don’t stop with this shit.
” I reach up and grab my Pops’ old rope hanging on the hook.
Behind me, I hear the telltale click-clack of Ozzy’s heels on the hardwood.
She doesn’t seem at all phased by the scene in front of her—doesn’t comment on the goat terrorizing my mother, doesn’t acknowledge me visibly struggling with an animal half my size.
No, she just strolls over to the fridge and starts pulling out food.
“Do ya mind? ” I grit out, gesturing to Leroy, who is side-eyeing me. “I’m in the middle of something here.”
“You’re taking too long. What is it you country people say? Shit or get off the pot?” she taunts while pulling food out of the fridge and placing it on the counter.
I scowl at her. “I’d like to see you try! You ever been headbutted by a testosterone-driven billy? Because I can assure you; if you had, you’d be much less nonchalant.”
She doesn’t reply. She just stares at me, watching the rope in my hands. I notice her whole body has gone stiff, her knuckles white as she grips the counter. Her eyes flick from my hands to Leroy, then back again, and something dark crosses her face.
“What are you doing?” she asks. Her voice is quiet in a way that makes the hair on my arms stand up.
I glance down at the rope, confused. “I’m gonna tie him up and toss him back outside, like always,” I state.
Her jaw tightens and she shakes her head.
She doesn’t say anything—just grabs an apple from the counter and walks around me, toward Leroy.
She looks at Leroy before letting out a whistle.
“Come here, handsome.” Her voice is low and alluring.
Fuck, talk about weird feelings. Am I jealous of how she’s sweet-talking a fucking goat?
“Ozzy, no,” I hiss as she crouches down, biting a piece of apple off the core and holding it out to Leroy.
The goat spits at her, and she huffs.“Well, that’s rude. Usually, I charge an hourly rate for that kind of play.”
My mother muffles a laugh at the comment, and I watch in horror as Leroy charges Ozzy, head down and horns out. She doesn’t move, doesn’t flinch. Leroy stops in front of her, just shy of hitting her stomach.
Ozzy tilts her head, arching a brow. “You done now?” she asks in the same low, soft voice. Leroy stares Ozzy right in the eyes before slowly walking over and taking the apple out of her hand.
Leroy has never been hand-fed. He was abused by an ex-ranch hand a couple of years ago while he was a kid.
Since then, despite what we’ve tried, he just wants to be left alone and is aggressive to almost anyone he comes in contact with.
I’ve been told to put him down several times, but I can’t bring myself to do it.
As a rancher, these animals are my responsibility, and it’s my fault he was hurt, not his.
He doesn’t deserve to die just because I trusted the wrong person.
Pops has a different view on it, but this isn’t his decision anymore.
I watch in awe as Leroy not only allows it but leans into Ozzy’s touch as she slowly stands and leads him out the door. Once outside, she chucks the apple into the yard, and Leroy charges after it.
She turns back around and shrugs. “What?”
I turn to Mom, who is just as shocked as I am. “What?” I repeat. “What the hell was that? Are you a goat whisperer or something?”
She rolls her eyes, returns to the kitchen, and starts making a sandwich.“No, that’s the first time I’ve actually seen a goat in real life. I’m originally from Chicago. I’ve never seen farm animals.”
Mama lets out a breath. “Could’ve fooled us. I fully expected to be cleaning up blood and goat droppings.”
I watch Ozzy closely as she moves. Every muscle in her body is coiled tight like she’s waiting for something.
Waiting for what? My gaze flickers across her entire presence—from her hands and the way they grip the knife a little too tightly while slicing through the sandwich, to the way her jaw clenches, and then to how her eyes dart—just once—back to the wall before snapping forward again like she can’t stand to look at it.
“How did you know that would work?” I ask, my voice slower this time, more careful. I step back toward the wall, hanging the rope where it always goes, but I don’t miss the way she stiffens, like she’s bracing for something. And then her eyes flick to the rope again.
Not just looking. Watching. Like it’s something dangerous.
She takes a measured breath, straightening her shoulders.
“I didn’t,” she answers, voice flat as she finishes cutting the sandwich into perfect quarters.
“He was obviously scared and felt cornered. I think he was looking for someone to make him feel safe. My guess is he’s been neglected.
” Her fingers tighten around the knife’s handle before she lays it down—just a little too forcefully.
My stomach knots as I exhale. “Leroy was abused as a kid,” I admit, the words thick in my throat as I feel the familiar shame over that goddamn goat.
“By an ex-employee.” I glance at her again, noticing the way her body is still rigid and the way she refuses to look at me now.
I push forward, needing her to understand that I know what happened to him wasn’t his fault.
“The guy used to drag him around by a chain around the ne?—”
CRACK.
Ozzy slams the knife onto the counter so hard, the sound makes my mother and I both jump. I freeze, my mouth snapping shut as she slowly raises her head, her expression thunderous.
Her rich brown eyes are blazing, her nostrils flaring.
“No one,” she snarls, her voice vibrating with something raw, “ human or animal deserves to be yanked around by a fucking chain.”
The words hit the air like a gunshot. My skin prickles.
Her cheeks are going splotchy, her breathing uneven, her chest rising and falling a little too fast. And her eyes— her goddamn eyes. They’re so dark, full of so much rage and disdain.
My gut twists. “What?” I murmur, but she’s not looking at me anymore. She’s looking past me, past everything; locked in some place I can’t see. I glance at Mom, but she looks just as lost as I feel.
“Ozzy,” I try again, lowering my voice. It doesn't help, because she snaps back like a live wire.
“No one is yanking a human around by a chain,” I tell her, slow and deliberate; unsure why I suddenly feel the need to reassure her when I’m still trying to piece together what the hell is happening.
“Are you seriously upset over the rope? How else do you figure I’m supposed to handle an angry animal? ”
Her jaw clenches. “I did it,” she snaps through gritted teeth. “No one deserves to be hurt like that.”
Mama steps forward and gently places a hand on Ozzy’s shoulder.
Ozzy flinches. It’s a full-body recoil; her breath hitches as she jolts back, her eyes widening for just a second before she masks it, smoothing her expression over with something flat, something impassive. But it’s too late.
I saw it.
Mama pulls back immediately, raising her hands.
“Ozzy, sweetheart, we aren’t like that. You best believe that man had more than a talking to by Jackson and the boys.
We don’t see them as products. Our animals are living, breathing creatures.
We had a bad egg, and unfortunately, we found out too late for Leroy. ”
I watch Ozzy’s throat bob as she swallows thickly. She grips the counter like she needs to steady herself, and for the first time since she stormed onto this ranch, she looks small.
Vulnerable.
Her voice is quiet when she finally speaks.
“It’s not too late,” she murmurs, barely above a whisper.
“He has his walls up because he doesn’t want to be hurt again.
It’s understandable, but that doesn’t mean he’s worthless or undeserving of patience and love.
” She doesn’t wait for a response. Simply grabbing the sandwich, she turns on her heel and storms up the stairs to Pop’s room.
Silence stretches across the kitchen. I let out a breath and turn to Mama, who looks just as startled as I am.
“What the fuck was that?” I mutter, scrubbing a hand down my face.
Mama sighs, glancing toward the stairs before turning back to me. “That,” she answers softly, “is a soul that’s been shattered.”
“How so?” She shrugs her slim shoulders.
She exhales slowly, like she’s choosing her words carefully. “I saw it when I first met her yesterday,” she admits. “But just now… someone hurt that girl, Jackson. They left her broken, and she’s had to put herself back together.”
Her words settle in my chest like a weight and my jaw tightens, as I glance back at the rope hanging on the wall.
“No one, human or animal, deserves to be yanked around by a fucking chain.”
What in the fuck happened to you, Tink?