Wild As Her (Bridger Falls #2)

1. Cami

Cami

Wild As Her by Corey Kent

" C ami, is that you?” A voice calls out before I can step through the doors of the Bridger Falls National Bank. I glance over nervously and spot Maggie, our town’s fairy godmother, beaming over at me.

“Oh. Hey, Maggie. How are you?”

“Well, well, Sugar. Where are you going all dressed up?” she asks, not answering my question.

“I have a meeting with Sterling,” I tell her with my best smile. While I know she’s supportive, I also know that word will travel that I was all dressed up at the bank for a meeting with the bank manager. She means well. But small towns are small towns. Everybody talks.

“Knock ‘em dead!” She waves encouragingly and heads into Boots & Bangs, the beauty shop next door.

I take a deep breath and adjust my black blazer, smoothing down the tailored red dress beneath it that makes me feel professional.

My black power heels click against the polished floor, each step confident and fueled with determination.

The air smells like stale coffee and fake promises, but I’m here to save my family’s ranch.

Am I overdressed for a meeting at our small-town bank?

Probably. Do I care? No. My ranch is at stake here.

My sleek, shiny black hair is swept into a professional chignon, and the bold red lipstick I’ve chosen matches my dress perfectly.

The look I’m going for is professional-business-boss-lady-rancher.

But really, on the inside? Yeah, I’m just a mess.

I want this more than anything in the world.

And I’m scared to death that they won’t help me.

This bank holds the keys to my future. They can choose to open the door for me or slam it shut in my face.

And lately, there’s been a lot of doors being slammed.

I’m here to fight for the future of my family’s ranch and work as hard as I can to make that happen.

I picked this ensemble so that I would look every bit the part of a businesswoman, a strong woman rancher, and a force to be reckoned with. That’s my hope anyway.

In my trusty, soft, black leather satchel gifted to me from one of my favorite professors after I got my master’s degree, I carry a folder with a meticulously crafted business plan, my desperate attempt to woo the bank.

The ranch will become more than just a small family-run ranch.

It’s going to be a gathering place. A cozy bed and breakfast with charm, trail rides with views that leave you breathless, a summer camp for kids, and a micro bakery-farmstand combo that people will drive hours to visit.

It’s going to be the heartbeat of Bridger Falls.

I’ve poured so much time and energy into this plan.

It’s been a nonstop dream – sometimes a fever dream – for me to put this together.

This is something I eat, sleep, dream, and put into action every day with all that I do.

I want nothing more than to make this come true for Wilder Ranch.

And while I know that they’re big dreams, I’m chasing them with everything I’ve got.

I think about my grandfather Wilder and wonder if he’d be proud of how hard I’m fighting for the family ranch.

I remember the promise that I made to my grandpa when he was sitting in his rocking chair on the back porch of our family’s home.

He was near the end when he made me promise to keep the ranch in the family and do everything I can to fight for it.

He and I were always very close, and my love for the ranch runs as deep as his.

We were kindred spirits. I think he realized at the time that it wasn’t safe with my parents, and while he hoped my mom would do right by the ranch, she didn’t.

So yeah, on the outside, I probably look put together, but on the inside, my stomach churns with nerves. I won’t let it show. I learned a long time ago that showing weakness does me no good. It only gives ammunition to the people who want to take me down. And no one is taking me down.

Sterling Atwood, a man in his late fifties, greets me as if he’s in a hurry and ushers me into his office.

His eyes don’t meet mine. Instead, they rake over me like he’s sizing me up, all while pretending to be a gentleman as he gestures for me to go first. I bite down the cringe clawing up my spine, fully aware he’s watching every step I take as we head down the hallway toward the conference room off his office.

Any other day, I’d whirl around, call him out, and make damn sure he knew exactly how obvious he was being.

But not today. I need him on my side, and biting my tongue feels like swallowing glass.

Still, I keep walking, fists clenched, resisting the urge to spin on my heel and shoot him a glare that would melt the smug look right off his face.

His walls are lined with degrees, awards, and certificates that don’t impress me one bit, but I pretend that they do.

He gives me time to look over his accolades, and I don’t miss the dick measuring contest he presents me with, making sure that I see how important he wants me to believe he is.

To Atwood, I’m just a nobody here in this town.

At best, someone who runs a mobile coffee trailer.

He doesn’t see me as the businesswoman that I am.

I give him his moment, but I’m here to present my plan to him.

I’m too educated for his bullshit. And my respect for him has diminished at his nonchalance towards my situation.

In fact, it just pisses me off. But again, I’m not letting it show.

I smile at him and calmly lay the two folders in front of us, my bright red polished nails tapping lightly on the desk as I enthusiastically explain my plan.

I tell him every step it’ll to take to turn the ranch around and into the epic vision I’ve laid forth.

My voice is strong and confident, and as I speak, I watch the boredom sweep across his face.

That’s when I realize that he has no intention of giving me a chance here.

None. This was all for nothing. So much for the small-town bank slogan of helping out the locals.

It’s all a lie. He never intended to help me.

I finish speaking and sit back in my chair, folding my hands in my lap.

Sterling leans back and sighs. “Miss Kendrick,” he says dryly as if he’s searching for the words to say.

“Just give it to me straight,” I say, crossing my legs, nerves threatening to take over, but I shove them deep down and stay focused.

“That’s… one impressive plan. And I’m curious as to who came up with this plan for you?—.”

“I did,” I interrupt. “I wrote the plan.”

The insinuation burns. Like I’m just some clueless woman who needed a man to swoop in and draw a roadmap for me. But I don’t take the bait. I shove the fury down deep, keep my chin high, and stay locked in, cool, steady, unreadable.

His eyes widen as he nods, surprised. A sliver of hope fills me that he could still actually help me. I worked so hard on that plan. Hours and hours went into it, and I left no stone unturned for my family’s ranch, taking it from red all the way to black. I know my plan will work.

He continues and explains it to me in the same tone he’d use if I were a child.

“We’ve given your mother every grace period possible for the ranch.

I’m sorry, but there can be no more extensions.

We’re all out of time here.” He slides a thick folder across his desk, and the pages that slip out are highlighted in bright red with PAST DUE stamped across the pages.

“If we could just...” I stammer, desperately grasping at straws.

Sterling interrupts me with a deep sigh like I’m exhausting him.

“Miss Kendrick, your ranch sold off the livestock and equipment and even attempted to lease out your land. I see that you even held a little fundraiser. You’ve made attempts, but…

it’s simply not enough to make up the past due amount, catch up on the taxes, and sustain the ranch moving forward.

I am truly sorry, but we must move forward with our buyer. ”

My heart drops and shatters on the floor into a million pieces, but I give no outward sign of emotion. “Mr. Atwood, this ranch has been in my family for generations. I just need a little more time, please. I really need your help with this. I can fix this. Really, I can.”

He shakes his head and stands, guiding me to the door. “I’m sorry, but we have run out of time.”

“Who is the buyer?” I ask frantically, searching his face as it hits me that this might really be it. It’s over. He knows the fate of my ranch and what will become of it.

“I’m sorry, but I’m not at liberty to share the details at this time,” he replies firmly.

I clear my throat, hold my head high, and try not to cry as I turn and walk out, not bothering to say anything more. He was never going to hear me out or give my plan a chance .

I have to figure something out. Because no one is coming to save me. I won’t just give up my family’s ranch. I’m going to figure this out. Just like I always do.

How? No clue. Maybe there’s a Hail Mary pass out there somewhere. I rack my brain, trying to think quickly of another idea to present to him. There has to be something.

Teresa, my mom, already moved to town, leaving me to deal with the fallout.

Her grand plan was to just give the ranch to the bank after she sold off whatever she could.

Ollie, my brother, I love him, but he’s out, too.

For them, the ranch holds weighted memories that haunt them.

For me, it holds a possibility for future memories.

Good memories. And ones with my grandparents I refuse to give up.

I can’t blame Ollie. He helped out as much as he could. He’s a full-time firefighter here in Bridger Falls, and even he couldn’t fix what he didn’t break. I get it. It’s not their dream. It’s mine.

My mom is a full-time nurse at Bridger Falls Memorial Hospital and has been all my life.

I’m still so angry at her about all of this.

She could have told me that the ranch was circling the drain before it was too late, but she didn’t.

She continued to take the money that I gave her to help the ranch, never paying any bills like she said she would.

When she ran out of time, she just packed up her stuff, leaving me to deal with the fallout.

This was her parent’s ranch. She was raised here.

After my grandparents passed away, my dad turned our world upside down in that house.

He did his best to strip away every good memory he could of the ranch and our childhood.

Broke everything he could, including us.

Then, he did the best thing he could have ever done: he left.

But really, it’s only a matter of time before he’s back again.

And my mom will give him chance after chance, despite the chaos he’s caused.

I glance back to Satan in a suit aka Atwood who smiles at me as if he won, raising his hand and waving at me. I walk out of the bank with my head held high. Screw that guy. Good luck getting your coffee somewhere else, pal. Asshole.

I’m not ready to go home, so I head to my coffee trailer, an old Airstream I gutted and turned into Steamy Sips.

A local artist painted the name in big, swooping letters with my logo on the side, and every time I see it, I feel a flicker of pride.

It might not be much, but it’s mine. I source my beans from a roaster a few towns over, and if you ask anyone in Bridger Falls, they’ll tell you, I serve the best damn coffee around.

I park my beat-up red truck behind it, unlock the door, and slip inside. The second it closes behind me, I lose it. Full-blown, ugly cry. I wish it helped. It doesn’t.

Once I’ve cried myself out, I rage-clean the already spotless trailer, wiping down counters that don’t need wiping, restocking cups that don’t need restocking. Anything to feel like I’m doing something .

Because if I stop moving, if I let myself sit still, I’ll unravel. And I don’t have time to fall apart. Not when the ranch is slipping through my fingers.

Not when everything I’ve ever loved is on the line.