26. Jackson
Jackson
T here’s a lightness in my step I haven’t felt in years.
Three days since the date. Three days since I held Ozzy in my arms in the back of that truck and gave her every part of me. Since she gave herself back, slow and shaky but real. Since she looked at me like I was someone worth trusting.
And fuck, I’ll never forget the way she looked that night—eyes glazed with need, cheeks flushed, lips parted as she said my name like it meant something.
It’s been three days of domestic heaven.
Three days of watching her laugh at Carter’s bullshit, tease Theo over breakfast, sneak snacks to Pops like it’s a crime, and pretend not to be scared of the horses even though she still flinches when one snorts too loud.
Three days of trying not to get hard every time she wears those damn leggings.
It’s too early for all this sentimental shit, but here I am—grinning like a lovesick idiot as I follow the fence line, boots scuffing the frostbitten grass.
The sun’s barely up, golden light cutting through the trees like spilled honey, and I’m thinking about what it’d be like to ask her to stay longer.
Maybe for good.
And then I hear it.
Not a chicken. Not a hawk. Not the wind rattling the barn doors.
Sobbing.
Panic grips my spine, and I’m running before I even realize it, vaulting the lower gate and skidding into the open chicken coop like I’m expecting a dead body.
Instead, I find her.
Ozzy.
On her knees in the hay, tears streaming down her face as she cradles something small and yellow against her chest.
“Jesus, baby, what’s wrong?” My voice is tight with fear as I crouch next to her, ready to grab her, hold her, fix whatever the hell just broke her open.
She looks up at me with red-rimmed eyes and sniffling lips… and then I hear it.
Cheeping.
Tiny, frantic peeps from all directions.
I blink, finally noticing the flurry of movement around us. Eight tiny chicks scurrying in the hay, fluff balls on spindly legs, looking confused and chirping for all they’re worth.
“Look at them!” she cries, holding one to her chest like it’s a goddamn unicorn. “I love all of them so much!”
My body sags with relief, and a laugh—half stunned, half hysterical—slips out before I can stop it.
She swats me weakly, still weeping.
“Why are you crying if you love them?” I ask gently, brushing her hair off her damp cheek.
“Because they’re so little and perfect and I wasn’t ready for it!” Her lip trembles, and she hiccups another sob as the chick nestles under her collarbone.
“Alright, sweetheart,” I say with a smile, standing back up. “Looks like Mama Hen decided to dip, so let’s move these little escape artists to the brooder, yeah?”
She blinks at me. “What’s a brooder?”
I grin, already scooping up three chirping puffballs. “Come on. I’ll show you.”
She trails behind me toward the side barn, still sniffling, still cradling a handful of chicks like precious gems.
As we get them settled under the red heat lamp, I explain everything—temperature regulation, feed, water, spacing. She listens like it’s gospel, nodding, asking questions, and reaching to adjust things before yanking her hand back like she’s afraid to mess it up.
Ozzy has decided to name them all. All eight of these little fuckers.
I didn’t have the heart to tell her we don’t typically name all the animals, especially when they’re new.
Because things happen on the ranch, and it usually happens to the chickens first. If I had, I am sure she would move her bed out here or them into the house.
So now we’ve got: Chicklet, Chick Norris, Beaker, Rex, Peter Pecker, Sanders, Punky Rooster, and Little Foot.
“Why Little Foot?” I ask, brow raised.
She points at the tiniest one. “He was sitting on a tree star when I found him.”
I blink. “A what?”
Ozzy glares at me like I just pissed on her childhood. “Rowe, you are not allowed to be my boyfriend if you don’t know what a tree star is.”
My brain short-circuits.
“Boyfriend, huh?” I murmur, watching her cheeks go crimson like spilled wine.
She backpedals instantly. “I—I mean, I just figured, you know, after what you said. And the date. And the… the thing. I mean?—”
I silence her with a kiss, just the lightest touch to the tip of her nose.
“I like that title,” I reassure Ozzy quietly, then tilt my head and press one to her lips.
Soft. Gentle. Like a promise.
Her eyes flutter shut, then open slowly, dazed and dreamy.
“Me too,” she whispers, and my fucking chest caves in.
She pulls away first, tucking a chick under the lamp before wiping her face. “I better go make breakfast for your dad.”
“Alright, baby,” I grin, still watching her as she walks off. “You look beautiful, by the way. Even covered in chicken shit.”
She looks down at herself and scowls. “I’m gonna need my own ranch shirt if I’m gonna stay here,” she mutters like it’s nothing.
But I hear it.
Stay here.
Goddamn.
She doesn’t know what she just said or what it did to me. But one thing’s for sure. She’s not getting a ranch shirt.
She’s getting a damn closet full.
The sun’s warm today. Not hot—just that gentle kind of warmth that seeps through your shirt and makes your bones feel loose.
I lean back in the porch chair beside the open window.
Pops is on the other side of the window, in his bed.
We watch Ozzy disappear around the corner of the barn.
She’s probably cooing at those damn chicks again.
Girl’s got a bleeding heart for anything small and soft.
“How’s the house looking?” Pops asks, his voice thready and winded.
I glance over at him through the window.
He’s bundled in a blanket even though the weather’s mild.
His skin’s got that paper-thin look again, and his eyes—though still sharp—don’t always stay open the way they used to.
But right now, he’s present. Watching. Waiting for me to answer.
“Good,” I answer, sighing as I stretch my legs out, crossing them at the ankle. “It’s solid. Needs a stove and a fridge, maybe a couch that doesn’t feel like you’re sittin’ on bricks, but other than that... she’s got a place. It’s about ready for her.”
He hums like that means more than I think it does.
“You’ve got this place running smoother than I ever did,” he admits after a beat. “Your mama told me you spoke to that feed supplier outside of town to help us over the winter?”
I nod, tapping the side of my mug. “Yeah. Actually... that was Ozzy. Found ‘em online yesterday. Did some haggling. Talked ‘em down a good bit. I didn’t even ask her to—she just did it.”
And fuck if that wasn’t hot.
Smart as hell. Confident. Voice firm as she leaned against the kitchen counter in my oversized hoodie, looking like every goddamn fantasy I’ve ever had while she argued price points.
I wanted to toss her over my shoulder, haul her into bed, and tell her what a good girl she was for saving us a hundred bucks in under five minutes.
But I didn’t.
Because the night after we were together, she had a nightmare so bad she woke up sobbing. Flinched when I reached out. Took half the day to let me hold her again.
She said it wasn’t me—it was her past. But still.
I sat in on her therapy session when she asked if I’d be open to learning how to help her through that. And the way she kissed me afterward, like she didn’t know how to thank me with words... Jesus Christ, I would’ve sat through ten more sessions if it meant I got to feel that again.
“She’s a keeper,” Pops says, breaking through my thoughts.
I nod. “She is.”
The words come easy after that.
“I’m in love with her, Pops.”
He smiles, small but proud. Like that’s all he needed to hear.
“There’s not a better soul for either of you. I’m happy for you, Jackson. Real happy. I’m glad I got to see it... you finding someone who treats you right. Someone you deserve.”
I blink a few times too fast and look out at the pasture. “Yeah.”
My voice cracks just a little, and I let it.
We sit like that for a while—quiet. Breathing. The kind of silence that says more than anything we could fill it with. The kind I’ll miss when it’s gone.
Eventually, I crack a grin and stretch my arms behind my head. “Next up, we find someone for Carter and Theo.”
He lets out a weak laugh and shakes his head slowly. “You’ll have to handle that one for me, son. I won’t be around that long.”
I try to laugh with him. Try to make it easy. “Hell, even I probably won’t make it long enough to see those two finally find someone to reel them in.”
But when I glance at him again, he’s just staring at me.
Not smiling now. Just watching. Quiet.
I know what he means. He knows I know. But neither of us says it.
Because not saying it makes it feel like we still have time.
He’s still eating. Still laughing. Still here. I won’t let him be gone yet. Not yet.
“I might die,” Theo wheezes as she flops dramatically onto the tree stump like she’s just been shot.
I chuckle, tossing the last few logs into the trailer. “You act like you don’t come out here and do this for fun. You begged to split wood a few weeks ago.”
“That was before they removed an organ from me,” she laments, clutching her side like she’s about to keel over. “I’m not the same woman I used to be.”
“It was an appendix, Theo,” I mutter, wiping sweat from my brow. “You didn’t get lung surgery. Stop trying to milk sympathy outta me. I ain’t one of your potential lays.”
She snorts. “Whatever. I met this girl last night; we’re supposed to go out tonight. And I’m telling you—Jackson—the ass on this one.” She spreads her hands like she’s measuring a prize catch.
“Don’t finish that sentence,” I grunt, pushing her face gently to the side like she’s a cat climbing on my workbench.
“Ugh, you’re no fun anymore,” she mutters. “Ever since you got all googly-eyed over your tattooed goth princess.”
I ignore her, my eyes scanning out toward the barn until they land—right there.
Ozzy.
Wearing one of my old flannels over those tiny black shorts she thinks are modest. Hair in a messy bun. Talking to the chicks like they’re her actual children.
My girl.
Fuck. My chest tightens just thinking about it.
She chose me. She trusts me and when she smiles, it’s because I said something that made her feel safe. She lets me touch her and soothe her when she’s shaking and believes me when I say I’ll never leave.
I love that she’s mine. And I really love the way she sounds when she comes on my cock.
“You’re making the face again,” Theo groans, pulling me out of my reverie.
“What face?”
“That dumbass face. The I’m so in love, I want to knit her a sweater and die on top of her grave face. You look like a Labrador with a wedding ring.”
I grin. “I’m alright with looking dumb for her.”
A low grunt sounds from behind us.
Jensen. Leaning against the fence post with a look that could curdle milk. Arms crossed, jaw tight, and very pointedly not looking at me.
“Well, if it ain’t Broody McSilence,” Theo chirps. “You come out here to glower or actually lift something?”
“Came to see if you two idiots needed help,” he mutters, grabbing a stray log and tossing it into the trailer like it offended him.
“You could at least pretend to be enjoying the fresh air,” I say with a raised brow.
“I could,” Jensen replies dryly, “but I’m already pretending I don’t wanna strangle you.”
Theo raises both brows. “Oof. What did he do?”
“Niamh.” Jensen says her name like it’s been chewing on him all morning.
“Ah,” Theo breathes. “The plot thickens.”
I glance between them. “You two still not talking?”
“Didn’t try,” Jensen grumbles, avoiding my eyes. “But someone else is. Some guy has been hanging around the bar. Walking her to her car at night.”
I blink. “Wait—I thought that was your thing?” Jensen doesn’t answer. Just clenches his jaw.
“Could it be a platonic thing?” Theo asks carefully.
He shakes his head once. “Could be. But it ain’t.”
“Oh shit,” Theo whispers.
“You want me to talk to her?” I offer.
Jensen lifts a brow. “You’re the last person she wants to see right now. You went from ‘no nonsense cowboy’ to ‘lovesick horndog who ran over bikes outside her bar’.”
“Yeah, well,” I shrug. “I got the girl. You could too if you’d pull your head out of your ass and just talk to her.”
“Or,” Theo chimes in, “you could do nothing, let this new guy steal her, and spend the rest of your life sadly jerking off to her selfies you screenshot from her social media.”
Jensen flips her off, which she returns with a cheerful salute.
“God,” she sighs, stretching her arms over her head. “I love this family. It’s like a horny soap opera with livestock.”
I look back toward the barn where Ozzy’s crouched next to the coop again, gently placing a baby chick back under the heat lamp. My chest aches with something good.
Yeah. I got the girl.
Now it’s time the rest of this family gets their shit together, too.