12. Cami
Cami
Pretty Little Poison by Warren Zeiders
W hen I see my mother's car pull up at Wilder Ranch again, I groan and roll my eyes, not sure what she could possibly want this time.
She steps out, looking around like the very land that her family has owned for generations that she stands on offends her, arms crossed over her scrub top, and sighs in great disappointment like she’s about to deliver me another lecture.
"Oh, Cami," she says, her voice already sharp with disapproval as she slams the car door shut. "Ollie says I owe you an apology. I guess I should apologize."
I exhale, gripping the reins of my horse, Mouse in my hands and say dryly, “Nice apology, Mom.”
I stopped trying to get her approval when I was in high school. And I definitely stopped taking her crap here recently.
She walks up, surveying the now mostly empty ranch, and then she gives me that look—then says, "You’re really doing this?” she asks, gesturing vaguely. “Still playing pretend out here with the Jessops?”
I stiffen. “It’s not pretend, Mom. This is our family's home.”
She lets out a dramatic sigh, stepping closer. “Cami, honey. You’re working yourself to death on a ranch we don’t even own. Cut your losses. Get out of here. Do something real with your life. Your brother has a real job. I don't know why you don't at least try.”
A real job. Wow. A low blow, even for her. As I watch her, she really believes this.
The words hit way too hard, although I’ve heard some version of them my entire life.
I turn to her, crossing my arms. “I am doing something with my life. And I do have a real job.”
Mom lifts a skeptical brow. She's either heading to work or coming off a shift at the hospital, where she works as a nurse. When she left the ranch and moved to town last year and let the ranch go, we stopped talking as much. Not that we’ve ever been close, but lately it’s been downright contentious.
She doesn’t even try to hide her disappointment.
I feel my frustration boil over. “You wouldn’t know that, though, would you? Because you’ve never even come to get coffee from my trailer. Not once.”
A beat of silence.
And then she shrugs and looks away like I don’t matter.
And that’s it. I’m done. That hurts. I don’t argue.
I don’t try to convince her that the business that I’ve built is amazing.
I just let her stand there in her judgment while I turn on my heel, throw my leg over my horse, and ride off into the pasture.
I leave her standing there in the driveway in front of the barn, and I don't care.
I know we haven't seen eye to eye for a long time.
Probably most of my life. I've always been closer to my grandparents, and when we lost them, things got really bad between my mom and my dad.
That's when he tried to take over the ranch, and he ran it into the ground.
He was selling off the ranch's equipment, embezzling money, and draining the bank accounts.
But for me, it has always run deeper. I love this place deep in my soul, and it's the only place I've ever truly felt peace. While riding in these pastures, I keep up with my grandmother's garden behind our house. It's gotten smaller in recent years, but I still keep it going.
The sun is just starting to dip below the mountains, stretching golden light across the fields, casting long shadows over the land I know better than my own reflection.
I ride slowly, letting my horse take me wherever it feels right. The familiar rhythm of his hooves against the dry earth steadies me, grounds me.
To anyone else, Wilder Ranch is a mess. The fences need fixing. The barn leans slightly like it’s trying to decide whether to hold strong or give in. Same, barn. Same.
The pastures could use attention, more time, and more care than I can give on my own.
But to me? This is home. I see what it was, what it is, and what it could be.
And my vision for this place is something I get so excited about every time I think about it.
I can’t help but feel giddy when I think about where I see this place five years from now.
Now that the Jessops own the ranch, I’m not sure where everything stands.
Maybe Jack will let me be a business partner or something like that.
When I think of the future here, I see kids riding horses and going on trail rides for the first time, their laughter spilling across the hills.
I see families gathering for fall festivals, hayrides, and bonfires with steaming mugs of cider warming cold fingers.
I see our community, the kind that doesn’t give up on people just because they’ve had hard years.
They've proven time and time again that they can be forgiving and supportive of our neighbors.
I see a future here. One that isn't finished yet. And maybe Jack Jessop was crazy to take on this mess. This land? This ranch? It’s in my bones.
And I’ll be damned if I let anyone, even my mother, convince me it isn’t worth fighting for.
A sharp breeze sweeps across the fields, cooling the dried tears on my face, and that’s when I hear the faint sound of hooves behind me. I don’t turn around. I already know who it is.
Jack rides up beside me, silent as ever, his horse Pesto keeping an easy pace beside mine.
We don’t say anything. We just ride.
The quiet between us feels less like distance, more like understanding. Like maybe he knows that I need a minute, that maybe for once, we don’t have to fill the space with bickering or jabs or stubborn pride.
I sniff, wiping my sleeve across my face, embarrassed to have been caught crying.
Jack doesn’t say a word about it. Just keeps riding. And for some ridiculous, infuriating reason, that makes my throat burn all over again.
I finally break the silence. “My mom thinks I should leave.”
Jack doesn’t react, doesn’t even look at me, just scans the horizon as we ride. “Sounds like your mom has a lot of opinions.”
I let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “That’s an understatement.”
Another stretch of silence. And then, quietly, he asks, “Do you want to leave?”
I turn my head toward him, the words instantly, fiercely there before I can even think. “No. ”
Jack finally meets my gaze, his eyes steady, like he already knew the answer before he even asked. He gives a small nod, then looks back out over the land.
We keep riding.
For a while, there’s nothing but the sound of hooves, the wind, and the occasional creak of leather as one of us shifts in the saddle.
Maybe it’s the way the sunset hits his profile, or maybe it’s the fact that he’s here, riding beside me, but I suddenly feel like I need to lighten the mood before I start sobbing again.
I clear my throat, tilting my head at him. “I assume you’re here to offer some grand, wise, life-changing advice?”
Jack snorts. “I was actually just here to make sure you weren’t planning on burning the place down out of spite.”
I huff a laugh, shaking my head. “Not today. Don’t worry, your new ranch is safe.”
“Well, that’s a relief. Would’ve been a damn shame," he says, looking at me.
I glance over at him, squinting. “Careful, Jack. People might hear you and think you care.”
Jack sighs, dramatic as hell. “Don’t make it weird.”
I grin, the tightness in my chest loosening just a little. “Too late.”
Jack smirks, shaking his head. “See, this is why I usually just stick to pissing you off.”
“Oh, trust me, Jessop, you’re still pissing me off.”
“Good,” he says easily. “Wouldn’t want you getting soft on me.”
I roll my eyes, but things feel lighter now between us. The weight of the day, of everything, isn’t gone.
But it’s easier to carry with Jack riding beside me. But I’ll be damned if I tell him that. I steal another glance at him, watching the way he looks out over the ranch, the way he rides like he belongs here, like maybe he always has.
And then, because I can’t help myself, I smirk and say, “Hey, don’t you have a wife to go find?”
Jack smirks, eyes glinting with something dangerous. “You keep talking like that, Cami, and people might start thinking you’re jealous.”
I grin. "What? Isn’t there a whole group of women arriving soon to fight for the honor of becoming Mrs. Jack Jessop, Jr?"
Jack arches a brow. “That’s cute. Keep talking, and I’ll sign you up for the show.”
My stomach does something stupid, a little jolt, a flicker of something annoyingly close to panic.
Because for half a second my brain supplies the image of me standing on that ridiculous show, wearing some frilly dress, lined up with a bunch of women while Jack, smug, infuriating, too-damn-good-looking Jack Jessop stands there judging us like some prize cattle auction.
Nope. Absolutely not. I force a casual shrug, even though my ears feel too hot, and I suddenly can’t look directly at him. “Wow, Jessop. Didn’t know you were so desperate to marry me.”
Jack just smirks, slow and easy, like he knows exactly what he’s doing, like he can see right through me, and that only makes me want to kick him off his horse. “You’ve always hated your last name. You can have mine.”
So, I do what I do best. I double down. I tilt my head, all mock innocence. “Wait, does this mean I’d get to be your wife in the end?” I clutch my chest, gasping. “Jack, are you proposing?”
Jack groans, dragging a hand down his face. “I should’ve just let you cry in peace.”
I grin, victorious, but deep down, my pulse is still kicking up dust .
I laugh, letting the sound fill the air between us, and for the first time all day, I feel like I might actually be okay.
After a long afternoon of baking, I’ve showered and taken a two-hour nap that still wasn’t long enough to erase today's annoyance of my mother coming by and acting toxic, so I grab my phone and dial Violet.
She picks up before the first ring even finishes.
“Oh, thank God,” she breathes. “I was just about to call you. Are we in damage control or denial?”
“I guess both. I need a girls’ night,” I say, my voice flat, exhausted, done.