15. Jack
Jack
Worst Way by Riley Green
T here are few things I hate more than what I’m doing right now, standing around in a freshly pressed shirt while a producer named Kyle, who has never stepped foot on a ranch tries to fix my damn cowboy hat like it’s a prop.
I swat his hands away. “Touch my hat again, and we’re gonna have a problem, Kyle.”
He scurries off, looking scared, and I sigh, turning to look at the lodge.
The Jessop Lodge. My father’s pride and joy.
The place where he made deals, drank too much, and single-handedly destroyed our family’s reputation.
It's not a home, it's a prop. It has always been, even before this ridiculous reality show.
And I suppose it works well as a prop for that purpose.
But it's not a home that you come home to and relax. Wilder House is a place to go to relax.
Instead of working my ranch and knocking out my endless to do list, I’m standing here in the shadow of the past, pretending I give a damn about “finding love” on national television when all I really want to do is get my hands in the dirt, fix fences, and forget I share a name with my father, the criminal.
But then Cami stomps into my line of sight, and suddenly, my day gets a hell of a lot better.
She’s wearing tight jeans, boots that have seen actual ranch work, and her hair’s tied back in another complicated braid that makes me itch to pull it loose.
But that’s the thing about Cami. She gets under my skin in ways I don’t even have words to describe. I can be irritated with her, frustrated, pissed off even, but the second she’s near, all of it turns into something else. Something that scares me, but I can’t get enough of.
“What’s wrong, Jessop? Too much TV romance?” She grins, leaning on the fence post beside me.
“You say that like you don’t already know the answer,” I grunt out, grumpy at the world.
“Oh, I do. But watching you suffer is my favorite pastime.”
Of course, it is.
I roll my shoulders, forcing my attention back to the contestants gathered by the barn, each one of them dressed in brand new cowboy boots, stiff jeans, and hats that probably still have the price tags on them.
I rub my temples. “I can’t believe this is my life. I have a ranch to run. I don’t have time for this.”
“Cheer up, cowboy,” Cami says, nudging my arm. “Maybe you’ll find true love today.”
I scoff. “Pretty sure the closest I’ve come to love is my horse.”
Cami smirks. “Well, I’d say that explains a lot.”
Before I can fire back, my traitorous sister Jenna strides over with Kylein tow, her eyes locked onto Cami with the kind of determination that makes me instantly suspicious. I know that look. She has something she's planning. And I probably won't like it.
“Cami,” Jenna says sweetly. Too sweetly. “You know the ranch better than anyone. Want to help us out?”
Cami blinks and gives them a deer in the headlights look. “What?”
Kyle, the hat toucher chimes in. “We think having a real-life cowgirl assist in challenges and help Jack run things would really add authenticity.”
Cami tilts her head, confused. “Are you saying this reality show about ranchers… lacks authenticity?”
Kyle clears his throat. “I mean…”
Jenna cuts in. “We’d write you in as a ranch hand or an assistant or something. It’d be good for TV. It’ll be paid, of course.”
And then the worst thing happens. Everyone turns to look at me. Like I’m the deciding factor. Like I have any kind of say in this madness.
Cami, smirking like she just won the lottery, raises a brow. “What do you think, Jessop? Want me hanging around while you woo the ladies?”
But I don't miss the look in her eyes. She doesn't like that last part of her sentence. I can tell. And watching her mouth twitch when she says it tells me that she probably won't like doing the show and she thinks I'll say no.
Oh, for the love of?—
I open my mouth to argue. To say absolutely not, under no circumstances, over my dead body.
But my brain short-circuits because suddenly, all I can picture is Cami, always near, always close.
Always watching while I pretend to find a wife.
I wonder what happens when I don't find a wife in the end. Because I don't plan on finding a wife. Maybe Never. Unless it’s to a certain braid- wearing rancher and talented baker. And since she’s not interested in me the same way, I might never have a wife.
I grew up in a family where my dad was a terrible husband and an even worse father.
He and my mom fought like crazy up until she died of cancer.
And during her cancer, he wasn't there for her.
I remember me and my siblings taking care of her and watching her die.
What kind of husband would I be with that as a role model?
I'm scared as hell of turning out like him. I’m not taking that chance.
Worse, I look over and find Camiwatching me. And by the look on her face, it feels like she has some idea of what I'm thinking right now and that freaks me out even more.
My silence drags on too long.
Jenna grins. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
Cami beams, clapping me on the shoulder. “Can’t wait, partner.”
And just like that, everything got even more complicated.
Tonight, The Black Dog is packed with the usual small-town mix of ranchers, locals, and people who pretend to know how to ride because they likely bought new boots online last week and decided to visit Bridger Falls. Also, all the tourists who came to get a glimpse of the reality show being filmed.
Apparently, Walker’s been handing out flyers with directions on them to the Jessop ranch so they can get coffee and buy locally-raised meats. I mean, that part I’m not mad about. But this is crazy.
The locals keep me on my toes. The crowd that drinks cheap beer like its holy water and talks shit like it’s their second job. I shouldn’t be here.
I should be back at the ranch fixing fences, checking cattle, and doing something useful with my time.
Instead, I’m here, trapped in the middle of this town-wide spectacle that is The Rancher Finds a Wife , listening to people place bets on whether I’ll “make a fool” of myself on national television.
It’s fine.
I’ve had people talk shit about me for years. It comes with the territory with the last name Jessop. It's why all of us left this ranch and town as soon as we could, and we didn’t come back when my father was gone.
Most of the town saw our family as nothing but crooks, liars, and cheats, thanks to my father. The man who ran our family name into the ground so deep, I’m still trying to dig it out. But the show seems to be helping people forget that, so there's that.
I tell myself I don’t care. I’ve told myself that for years.
And then Cami steps into the fire for me. I don’t hear the start of it, but I catch the tail end.
Violet murmurs next to me, her beer halfway to her mouth. “Oh, hell.”
I turn toward the bar just in time to see Cami squaring up against a couple of out-of-towners, her hands planted on her hips, her chin tilted high, her expression looking dangerous like I've only ever seen when she’s about to win a fight. My stomach tightens.
One of the men, some slicked-back haired bastard with too much cologne and not enough common sense, chuckles, swirling his drink. “I’m just saying, the guy’s old man was dirty as hell. Why the hell would anyone trust a Jessop?”
I don't recognize him; he must be from out of town. Why he thinks he knows my family is beyond me.
Cami doesn’t even hesitate. “You want to run that by me again?”
My brows lift. Interesting.
The man shrugs. “Look, I don’t know what this little Rancher Finds a Wife show is trying to prove, but it sure as hell ain’t making any of the Jessops look any better.” He laughs, nudging his buddy. “I mean, come on. You really think he’s different than his crooked old man?”
I expect Cami to roll her eyes. To smirk, take a sip of her beer, and let it go.
She doesn’t. Instead, she steps closer. I know that stance.
It’s the same stance she had at seventeen, when she punched a guy for calling her trash because of her own father and the reputation he left his family with when he was acting similar to my father.
We've always had that in common. The shitty father club.
It’s also the same stance she had at sixteen, when she walked into that rodeo and took first place on a horse everyone said couldn’t be ridden.
It’s also the stance of a woman who could tear someone apart with nothing but words and a sharp enough glare.
And I’m rooted to the floor, breath locked in my chest, watching her do it.
Because it's always magical and a sight to see.Never argue with a woman whose mom was her first bully. They will dissect you in ways you’ve never imagined.
She’s been defending herself from a grown woman since she was a child. No one stands a chance against her.
“I don’t think he’s different,” she says, her voice steady, smooth, lethal. “I know he is.”
Oh, shit. And here it is.
The man snorts, shaking his head. “That right? What are you, fucking him?”
Cami ignores the jab and leans in, slow and easy. “I know for a fact that if you have something to say about the Jessops, you’d better say it to their faces. Not sit here running your mouth like some coward too scared to say it to someone's face.”
He laughs and spits when he says, "And apparently he needs some bitch to fight his battles for him. What do you like work for him or something? "
She looks at him and says, "Getting real tired of men resorting to calling women bitches when their brain can’t supply them with anything slightly witty. Keep it up, buddy and you’ll have a battle of your own."
His jaw tics. “That a threat, sweetheart?”
She gives a slow smile. God help me, she actually smiles.
“Oh, honey.” She reaches for his glass, dumps his whiskey out onto his lap, and sets it back down like nothing happened. “It’s a promise.”
Silence.
Thick, heavy, buzzing silence.