4. Cami
Cami
Fall In Love by Bailey Zimmerman
T he cool and crisp mountain air swirls through the valley as I get ready to head out for my morning ride to watch the sunrise over the mountain range.
I live for these rides with Mouse and try to take them as often as I can because I don’t know how many of these I’ll have left when the ranch is gone.
It’s the best time of day to clear my head and take in the fresh mountain air.
I pack a thermos of coffee, apple treats for my favorite boy, and meat bites for my favorite girl.
I make my way to the barn and throw open the door, wondering where Love is.
And then I freeze. Something feels off. Like someone has been here.
Or is still here. I swing my shotgun up to my thigh and cock it, holding it to my shoulder.
I clear the barn, one stall at a time, until I get to the last two stalls and tilt my head when I realize that it’s Pesto, not Mouse.
Then I look over and see Mouse looking happy as if he’s proud that his buddy is here .
“What are you doing here, Pesto?” I coo as I reach over and stroke his head.
I turn and look around through the barn, so confused. Why is Jack’s horse in my barn? I look up when I see movement, and it’s Love’s sleepy head popping up over the loft. What the hell?
I wondered where she went last night. Usually, she comes inside, but last night, she refused, and I figured that after everything that went down, she was keeping a closer watch on things.
“What are you doing up there?” I whisper as she makes her way down the side steps and wags her whole body, happy to see me. I reach down and give her a scratch and then slowly make my way up the loft stairs, shotgun ready for whatever I’m about to find up there.
I lower the shotgun with an irritated sigh when I spot the oversized sleeping bag. The messy, too-perfect-for-his-own-good blond hair peeks out from under it. And then I see the boots sticking out.
He’s sprawled out like he’s in a damn Marlboro ad, flannel shirt half open, long legs tangled in the sleeping bag, his stubble catching the early light like he rolled straight out of a romance novel and into my barn.
His chest rises and falls in a slow, steady rhythm, and his snores are just soft enough to be annoying. Peaceful. Relaxed. Smug.
I narrow my eyes and nudge his side with the toe of my boot. “Up, cowboy.”
His sharp green eyes fly open, disoriented, and he bolts upright with a rustle of nylon. “Shit. I overslept.”
His voice is gravely, and I hate how my stomach flips like he didn’t just spend the night uninvited not far from my own bed.
I cross my arms and pretend to be annoyed. “What the hell are you doing here, Jessop?”
I try to make it sound sharp. But it comes out breathless. Because, of course, he looks stupidly good just waking up, with his hair all tousled and his voice still wrapped in sleep.
Focus, Cami. Focus.
He blinks up at me, lips twitching like he knows exactly what he’s doing to me.
“Watching out for you,” he mumbles and stretches. “I smell coffee. Please tell me I can have some.”
“Not doing a good job of it if you’re sleeping.” I scoff. “I can look out for myself. And why do you have my dog?”
I turn and glance down at my traitor dog, and her head tilts as she looks up at me.
“I love that dog,” he says with a grin as he reaches over and scratches her ears, and she leans into him, closing her eyes and enjoying the affection.
“Get your own dog.” I glare, doing my best to narrow my eyes and pretend I’m not staring at his body.
He does nothing but give me a sexy, lazy grin in return as he stretches, and his shirt rides up, exposing his abs that also should be illegal. Dickhead.
He picks up his sleeping bag, throws it over one of the rafters, and heads past me, down the stairs.
“Take your sleeping bag, Jessop. You’re not staying in my barn,” I huff as I follow him down the stairs.
“Come on, Cami. We’re going for our ride.”
“No, we’re not. You’re going home. I’m going for my ride.”
“Hurry up, Wilder! You’ll miss the sunrise,” he says cheerfully as he ignores me as usual and heads over to Pesto, murmuring something to him.
Damn him. And I hate that I love the nickname he calls me. Wilder. It was my grandpa’s last name, and I miss him terribly. He knows I hate the name Kendrick, so Wilder has always been an endearment. Or it was. But not anymore. I’m trying not to love it.
I lean forward, petting Mouse, and watch the sunrise, my favorite part of the day.
The Wyoming sunrise doesn’t just rise, it owns the sky.
The horizon glows with a soft, golden blush that spills across the wide-open plains.
Then, in an instant, the sun punches through the sky like a flame cracking open the dark and igniting everything in sight.
The shades of rose gold, amber, and orange will stop you in your tracks. There’s nothing like it.
I slide out my coffee thermos and pop off the lid, taking a sip, savoring the bitter but crisp coffee with a hint of cinnamon mixed with fresh milk from our dairy farmer up the road.
My gaze sweeps over the land that I’ve called home my entire life.
The rolling hills, endless sky, and it’s all still mine… for now.
A hand reaches over, and I roll my eyes as I pass the thermos over to him. He takes a few sips, putting his lips right to where mine were before handing it back. He gives me a grin that makes me shake my head.
I give an exaggerated eyeroll just to make sure he knows he’s ridiculous and impossible.
But inside, my heart flutters and I feel something else entirely. I refuse to let Jack see how much he affects me.
Mouse flicks his ears and reminds me he hasn’t had his treat yet. I reach into my bag and pull one out, him leaning to take it. “Good boy,” I murmur as I hand one to Jack to give to Pesto.
We move along the perimeter of the ranch, just like we always ride. Lost in my thoughts, Jack interrupts them with, “Got any sharp objects or firearms on you other than that shotgun?”
I sigh and say with exasperation, “Leave it to you to ruin my morning ride, Jessop.”
“That’s not an answer to my question,” he quips as Pesto falls in stride with Mouse .
I sigh, shooting him a sidelong glance. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
“I would. Because you riding out here with no protection isn’t safe,” he says sternly.
I roll my eyes at him. “Did you not see me handle myself yesterday? I think I handled that just fine.”
He just gives me a look.
“What?” I glare.
“You can’t just shoot at people, Wilder,” he says softly, looking worried. “They might shoot back.”
“That’s what happens to trespassers, Jessop. Take note,” I warn as I scan the horizon. “And I missed on purpose. Next time, I won’t.”
“Well, I hope there isn’t a next time,” he says.
We ride in silence for a while, the horses falling in step together.
I couldn’t tell you how many morning rides we had when we were kids.
And since he's been back, most mornings, I run into him out here. It’s kind of something we’ve been doing off and on for months now.
None of us really say anything or call it what it is. It just sort of happens.
Jack looks over at me, the sun reflecting his green eyes. “Don’t you think it’s interesting that our horses get along so well?”
I grip my reins. “Not really. You’re an asshole and Pesto is not. You’re the enemy.”
“That’s not true,” he says, his voice softer. “We’re not enemies.”
I glance over at him and say, “All I know is that I can’t trust anyone. You made me believe that I could trust you once and look where that got me. I don’t know what’s true anymore.”
He opens his mouth to respond, but I don’t wait to hear it. I click my tongue and guide Mouse back to the ranch, Love trotting faithfully beside us. As I ride away, I see her pause for a moment and glance back at Jack with longing. “Come on, Love,” I call firmly.
Of course, we give each other shit, but it’s nice to know he’s around. But I’ll be damned if I tell him that.
There’s no time to wallow. I have responsibilities and shit to take care of. I make my way back to the house, shower, and quickly get ready for the day.
Sliding on my jeans and stepping into my boots, I pull my hair back into a quick braid before grabbing my keys off the counter. I’ve got to get to town and give the people what they want: delicious baked goods and coffee.
My coffee trailer, Steamy Sips, has been a lifeline for me for the past few years. It started out as a way to bring in some extra income to help out with the ranch, marrying my love of coffee with business.
At first, I took my trailer to festivals, fairs, food truck events, concerts, and anywhere else that would have me.
Now, I rent a space in a parking lot and keep it there for the locals.
Bridger Falls is a small town, but they love their coffee just as much as I do.
I pride myself in giving them the best they’ve ever had.
I’ve even been baking for the past year, and while I’ve gotten better, I’ll admit I wasn’t very good at it at first, but now I’ve got sourdough bagels and scones down.
I’m proud of my latest pumpkin scone that I can’t seem to keep in stock.
It doesn’t even matter if it’s autumn or not, they’re best sellers.
I grab my baked goods, which I stayed up late into the night baking last night, and load up. The drive is long, but it’s something that relaxes me. The views are stunning, and I take this time to reflect and think about how I can figure out a way to keep the ranch.
As I drive through town, the streets are already bustling with trucks and cars.
Word has spread that a film crew is setting up in town, but I’m not sure what they’re doing here yet.
Everyone has been tight-lipped about it.
I’m hoping I’ll get it out of someone today who is willing to trade secrets for treats.