2. Cami
Cami
Better Man by Little Big Town
A fter I pull myself together, I head to the Black Dog Saloon, the local watering hole with good food, drinks, and people. I take a deep breath, sighing as I lean back in my seat and struggle to find the energy to get out of the truck after all my crying.
When I finally make it in, I slide onto my favorite stool at the end of the bar.
Cash, the bartender, slides a soda in front of me. “Rough day?”
“You could say that,” I say as I nod in gratitude at the drink.
“Well, I hope your day gets better, Cami. I sure hate to see you down.” Cash smiles and heads off to help another customer.
Cash and his wife Codi are amazing people and have become great friends of mine. And that new little baby boy of theirs is just the sweetest.
I stare into my glass, watching the carbonation when Jack Jessop slides onto the stool beside me. His familiar scent of pine and leather envelops me. I close my eyes. He smells so damn good. Why does he smell so good?
And of course, this day ends with the cherry on the top with Jack here.
It seems he’s always around these days. He’s best friends with my brother, so that doesn’t help.
And his ranch is next to mine, and he always seems to find a way to join me on my morning rides with my horse.
So, I guess it’s fitting he’s here in my space.
It’s not just that he’s always there, it’s that he constantly teases and taunts me that irks me.
He loves to get under my skin. And sometimes he does that by simply existing.
He looks and smells amazing, and boy does he know it. His arrogance drives me crazy.
“Cami,” he says softly as he looks over at me and gives me a smile. “I like your dress.”
“Thanks, I dressed up to look like you,” I affirm, not bothering to look back at him.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he tilts his head, amused.
“A walking red flag,” I say as I finally gather the courage to glance at him. I’m in no mood for Jack Jessop and his antics today. Or any other day. I have bigger problems on my plate.
He throws his head back and laughs. It’s a deep, gravelly sound. Hearty and real, like he threw his whole body into the joy of it. As my mortal enemy, I find it super annoying. But as a woman with needs, it’s captivating. “Jesus, Cami.”
The humor fades as I stare back down at my drink, defeat pouring through me. I say quietly, “What do you want, Jack?”
Jack says nothing back, and I have no idea what he’s thinking because I’m afraid I’ll start to cry if I look at him. And I will not be crying in front of him.
I sip my drink and wonder what Jack’s angle is here. Did he come to gloat? I’m sure word is getting around that my family’s ranch is officially done.
Only when I finally look over, there’s no humor in his expression. Instead, he looks at me with an unreadable expression. One that frustrates me because, normally, I can read Jack like a book.
He says softly, “I don’t want anything. We’re just two old friends having a drink…”
“Funny, because we’re not friends, and I’m not old,” I say, too tired to fight him tonight. “Bet you’ll be happy to have new neighbors,” I mutter.
I can feel his gaze on me when he says, “What?”
I can’t stop at this point. I’m so mad about everything that has happened today.
“The bank will probably sell Wilder Ranch to some big-deal developer. Maybe you’ll get your very own Costco next door.
Just imagine all the people lining up for free samples while you’re out branding your cattle.
Or better yet, a hippie-dippie patchouli farm.
I bet they’ll host full moon drum circles right up against your fence line.
They’ll just love your methane-producing herd ruining their sacred air.
Maybe they’ll even stage little protests with cardboard signs and everything right outside those ridiculous Jessop iron gates.
Which, by the way, look like the entrance to a villain’s ranch in a bad western. ”
Jack stares at me and blinks. Then, he slowly drags a hand down his face and mutters, “I swear, talking to you is like arguing with a raccoon hopped up on caffeine.”
I smirk. “That’s rude to raccoons.”
Jack reaches over and places his hand under my stool and drags me closer to him. I glare at him but have no energy to protest the closeness. And it’s also rude how well he can read me and know that I probably needed to be close to someone right now.
And it’s honestly unfair how good he looks.
He’s a grumpy cowboy snack. His blond hair, tousled like he just ran a hand through it after taking off his hat, catches the light, a little messy, a little perfect.
His jaw is wide and strong, the kind that looks like it’s clenched more often than not, and right now, it ticks like he’s holding back words or something else entirely.
He usually keeps his beard neatly trimmed, but it looks like he needs a shave.
His sharp, mossy green eyes are the kind that don’t just look at you.
They look through you. Like he already knows what you're about to say and is halfway to calling you on it.
There's a weight to him, a presence, like he was born in boots and battle-scarred denim, carved straight out of the land he works.
Not loud. Not showy. But when Jack walks into a room or steps into your space, everything else just fades out.
But I know that Jack has a heart he keeps under lock and key and a soft spot he’d rather die than admit to having. I’ve seen it. It’s rare, but I’ve seen it.
And right now, that whole six-foot-something frame of his is way too close, casting shadows over me, making me feel things I don’t want to admit to when it comes to Jack.
I need us to get back to our status quo.
I can’t handle him being nice to me. It’s not normal.
I like it better when we argue back and forth.
It’s what we do. This version of Jack makes me nervous.
“Cami…” His voice is low, rough, and dangerously steady. His eyes don’t leave mine, not for a second. And when I don’t immediately back down, he leans in closer. He’s so close I can practically taste the cedar and soap on his skin and the lingering hint of hay and sweat.
“Maybe it won’t come to that,” he murmurs, reaching up, slow and deliberate, brushing a loose piece of hair behind my ear. His knuckles graze my cheek, and it feels like being touched by a live wire. “Maybe it’ll all work out. Maybe I could help you… ”
My brain short-circuits. I forget how words work. Why is he being nice to me?
“Help me?” I manage the pitch way too high. “I don’t—no, I don’t need—your… help.”
God. Smooth.
Jack leans in, his mouth a breath from mine, and he’s so smug about it. “You sure?”
My spine stiffens, and I lean back. “You’re not worthy enough to be my knight in shining armor,” I snap, praying he can’t see the blush blooming up my neck.
I hate when he makes me the butt of his jokes.
I’m just an amusing game to him. A way to entertain himself by purposely making me stumble when he flirts with me.
“Give me time,” he says, grinning. “I’m just getting started. I’ll show you that you need me.”
I stand abruptly, the stool scraping sharply against the floor, and heads turn our way. “Don’t, Jack. Just don’t. You can’t help me. In fact, I would rather burn it all to the ground than you help me.”
He stares at me for a beat and then offers a short nod, his face grim.
As I head for the door, a cowboy with the emotional range of a beer can steps right into my path. Tall. Grimy. Drunk. Clearly unfamiliar with the concept of self-preservation. I don’t recognize him, and he’s not from around here.
He grins at his buddy like I’m something to poke at. “She looks mean,” he drawls.
My eyes snap up, razor sharp. “That’s because I am. Move.”
He hesitates, like his one remaining brain cell is debating whether to test me. Then I see Jack go still, silent, and give this guy a look that could salt the earth.
That’s all it takes.
The cowboy mumbles something under his breath and steps aside. I push open the door into the cool night air, my spine still tight with irritation.
I’ve had enough bullshit today.
My black heels sink into the grass and gravel as I make my way to the barn.
I kick them off and pull on my worn boots I left inside the door, tossing my blazer onto the dirty barn floor without a second thought.
Nothing matters anymore. Now it’s time to figure this shit out.
The gloves are coming off, so to speak. Only for me it's expensive shoes and clothes. It’s time to fight dirty.
Figure out a plan. And the best way I know to do that is to go for a ride and clear my head with my favorite boy.
I saddle up Mouse, my horse that has been my best friend for six years now. The only male I can count on these days to not let me down.
My Mouse.
Love, my trusty blue heeler cattle dog, watches from the barn door, tipping her head. Her warm brown eyes are alert, and she’s always ready to follow me wherever I go.
I didn’t name her that. I picked her up at a shelter a few years ago, and the name just stuck.
Someone left her and her puppies tied to a dumpster in the next town over.
Her puppies all got adopted, and she was set to be put down that Friday at four because nobody wanted her. I found her at the shelter at three.
I brought her home, and it turns out that the name Love suits her just fine.
I’ve never met a more loyal and loving dog.
I’ve been told our personalities match. I don’t mind.
Love is loyal, full of heart, and mean as hell when she needs to be.
I’ve seen her go toe-to-toe with a black bear.
It was not something I’d ever like to witness again, but she chased the bear off to protect Mouse and me.
I love that dog so much. Her and Mouse are all I have at the ranch now.
I hike up my dress since no one is around and swing onto my well-worn saddle. This dress will be ruined, but I’m beyond caring. This whole day is ruined. This dress is just a reminder of what I lost today. Maybe I’ll even burn it later.
The sun dipping below the mountains casts shadows over the land, but the calmness doesn’t do shit to loosen the pain coursing through my chest. My world is falling apart.
And this time, I’m afraid that no amount of determination or hard work can fix this.
The ranch is slipping away for good, and I’m supposed to just stand back and watch it all fade away one moment at a time.
Hot tears flow steadily as I ride, not bothering to wipe them away. They just streak down my face and neck. My arms are cold, but I don’t care.
Out here in this pasture is the one place where I can feel everything. Always have. My safe place. I think about what things will be like a month from now and wonder where I will go. What will become of the ranch?
Moving back to town and renting a place isn’t an option. I just can’t. Living in town isn’t for me. Our small ranch is about thirty minutes outside of town, and I love the quiet. That white picket fence life was never for me. I was always made to be wild and free.
This place is my anchor. My future family’s legacy. It’s not the biggest ranch in Wyoming, but it’s home. I ride through the back pasture, and no matter how far I go, I can’t chase away the ache that fills me.
I bring Mouse to a stop, the wind tugging at my hair that’s starting to fall out of the pins. I rip out the pins and fluff it out. I dismount and walk for a while, stroking Mouse’s neck. “Good boy. That’s my boy. ”
I reach down and bury myself in Love’s fur, grounding myself in her warmth. “They can’t take this from us,” I whisper, my voice hoarse. “I’m going to find a different way to keep us here.”
Mouse whinnies, and I lean forward, pressing my forehead to him. Tears flow faster, and my body shakes with sobs as I wrap my arms around his neck and cry. He stands there and rests his head on my shoulder.
I cling to this moment. The only moment of the day that feels real. The only moment I want to carry from today.
When I finally head back to the barn, the weight of the world feels a little lighter. But reality smacked me across the face today. As I put Mouse to bed for the night, my determination is back. I might be losing everything that matters to me, but I won’t be going down without a fight.