19. Jack
Jack
Devil You Know by Tyler Braden
I pause halfway down the lodge hallway, carrying a broken latch I'm repairing and a bad attitude, and narrow my eyes when I hear Cami laugh at something. That laugh was a flirty one. The “I’m flirting or at least thinking about it” laugh.
I follow it and stop when I see some dude in my kitchen with Cami.
Flannel sleeves are rolled up, forearms dusted in flour, and his hair is pushed back like he is some celebrity chef. And Camistands beside him, grinning at a bowl of dough.
“What's going on?” I say coolly.
Cami doesn't even flinch. She just turns with a spatula in one hand and one hip cocked like she’d been waiting for this moment.“Well, hey there, Jessop. Didn’t see you sneak in while we were baking .”
“Storm is coming. I was getting everything ready," I tell her as I watch them work side by side, hating every second of it .
She smirks, "Do you mean the weather or is that just your mood entering the chat?"
"Very funny, Wilder," I reply, glaring at the dude next to her.
Beau clapped flour off his hands and gave me a nod that was just polite enough to make me want to throw something. “Morning, I'm Beau.”
He said it like he expected we were going to be friends .
“We’re making cinnamon rolls,” Cami announces proudly. "Beau is going to help me with the baking."
I nod at Beau because I’m not a total asshole.
“Why do you need more help?” I ask, keeping my voice neutral. “Thought you had Mack.”
Cami rolls her eyes like I’ve missed something obvious. “Because Beau has skills, Jessop.”
“Mack’s great in the trailer, she helps prep dough, does the early shift, but she still has school. And I can’t do it all alone anymore.” Her eyes flash. “I need both of them. Not that it’s any of your business.”
I open my mouth, then close it.
Beau doesn’t say a word. He just slides a pan out of the oven with the confidence of someone who’s done this a hundred times. Like he belongs here.
The smell hits me like a punch to the chest with the warm sugar, butter, cinnamon. It floods the kitchen like a memory I didn’t ask for. My mother used to bake cinnamon rolls in this same kitchen. Sunday mornings. Before things got complicated. Before everything cracked wide open.
I swallow hard and look away. It’s stupid.
It’s just cinnamon rolls. But the longer I stand here watching Beau move around the kitchen like it’s his, the tighter my chest gets.
I know it’s irrational. I know Cami can hire whoever the hell she wants.
But something about him in this space with her, makes my skin itch .
She glances over at me like she’s waiting for another smartass comment.
I stay quiet.
Because if I open my mouth right now, it won’t be about Beau. It’ll be about the fact that the kitchen smells like home. And this place hasn’t smelled like home since my mother died. And now the only thing that feels even close to home for me is Cami. Wherever she is, that’s where home is for me.
Cami looks over at me and when she catches my eyes, she softens, "What do you want, Jack?"
Because I'm feeling all the feels today, I tell her, “Didn’t realize we were holding auditions for Husband Material in the kitchen today.”
Cami smirks.“Oven’s hot. Gotta strike while the dough is rising.”
Beau looks confused and also like he'd prefer to be anywhere but in this kitchen right now.“Should I... go stir something?”
I mutter,“Yeah. Preferably away from her.”
Cami licks frosting off her finger, slow, sinful, like she knows exactly what she’s doing. Her eyes lock on mine, full of mischief and absolutely no shame.
Okay, so she wants to play dirty. She has no idea what she's about to unleash if she wants to take it to that level.
“Jealousy’s not a good color on you,” she says sweetly, her tone a little too smug for a woman committing dessert-based crimes.
My breath catches, and my heart does something violent in my chest. Jesus. That mouth. That look. The way her tongue sweeps over her fingertip, like it was the most natural thing in the world, I felt it all the way in my dick.
I shift my stance, trying to ignore the very real and obvious reaction in my pants. No such luck .
“You keep doing that,” I say, my voice low and rough, “and I’m going to forget there’s anyone else in this room.”
Her eyes flare, just for a second. There’s a flicker of surprise, heat, challenge.
“Oh?” she asks, cocking her head, finger still halfway to her lips again.
I step closer, my body practically buzzing with the need to touch her. “Yeah. And if you think I seem jealous now, wait until I show you what I do when something’s mine.”
The air between us snaps. She freezes, breath hitching, frosting completely forgotten.
Cami bites her lip, cheeks pink, eyes dancing as she smirks at me, saying nothing.She doesn’t have to.
We lock eyes across the kitchen like two people about to either kiss or body slam each other. Honestly? Probably it could go either way. This is why she gets under my skin. She’s my kryptonite.
“Fine,” I say, stepping closer. “Bake with him. See if I care.”
“Already am,” she smiles up at me with murder in her eyes. “And guess what? He's nice to me.”
“You don't think I'm nice to you?” I challenge.
“Oh no, you are. So nice." She rolls her eyes, and it makes me want to spank the sass right out of her.
“Good,” I say, leaning in a little closer. “Glad we agree.”
We stood there, toe-to-toe, eye-to-eye, and probably one cinnamon roll away from setting the whole place on fire with tension.
Beau clears his throat behind us. “Uh… should I give you two some space?”
“No,” we snap in unison.
I stalk out of the kitchen, feeling murderous.
Ollie sits in the living room, coffee in hand, watching the whole disaster unfold like it’s reality TV.
“I take it Beau showed up for baking duty?” he asks, grinning.
“Beau’s making cinnamon rolls.” I say dryly.
“And that’s a problem because…?” Ollie shakes his head, confused.
“Because he has a smug little grin like he invented frosting. And she laughed, Ollie. She laughed like she likes him.”
Ollie sips his coffee. “You’re adorable when you’re jealous.”
“I’m not jealous. I’m just right . ”
He smirks. “So, what’s your next move, loverboy? You gonna bake her a pie and share your feelings?”
I exhale, dragging a hand down my face. “I hate him.”
“No, you don’t.”
“I hate that she’s smiling at him like that.”
“You love her,” Ollie says bluntly.
“I’m not talking about that right now.”
“Right. Because feelings are scary, and cinnamon rolls are the enemy.”
I point at him. “Exactly.”
Ollie grins like he’s been waiting all morning for this exact breakdown. “C’mon. Let’s go tear something up. Burn some energy before you explode with your emotions.”
I sigh. “What’re we tearing up?”
“Don’t care. Fence post, old shed, rusty tractor, hell, I’ll let you punch the hay bales if it keeps you from beating up innocent Beau.” Ollie laughs.
It’s the way she laughed with him. The way she looked up at him like he belonged there, elbow-deep in flour like he was some missing piece she hadn’t realized she wanted until he showed up with a damn spatula and a smile.
And maybe I’m losing my mind. Hell, maybe I already have.
Because every time she smiles at someone else, it feels like getting kicked in the chest. And that scares the crap out of me .
I’ve spent years keeping my head down. Running from my problems, hiding from this ranch.
And now I'm back, facing everything head-on, and it's a lot. And now she's here, loud, infuriating, messy-as-hell Cami, and she’s set up camp in the middle of my life like it’s hers to claim. The worst part? It is.
I’m on a barstool after a twelve-hour day of wrangling cows, fixing a busted gate, and pretending I don’t care that the woman I’m not supposed to be in love with spent the afternoon baking with another man.
Then add in filming a staged date at a lake for that damn reality show with one contestant who referred to hay bales as “crunchy couches,” and yeah, I earned this beer.
Ollie slid a fresh bottle in front of me with a knowing look. “You look like a man who got trampled by his big feelings today.”
“It was a shit day,” I mutter, peeling at the wrapper on my beer.
“Ah yes, the holy trifecta of emotional breakdowns.”
We clink bottles and take a long drink. The Black Dog is busy tonight; low music, clinking glasses, that cozy hum of small-town people settling in.
The kind of place where everyone knows everyone, and no one could mind their business if their life depended on it.
Tonight, it's busier than usual, with more tourists coming through with the show filming.
People stop by to see if they can glimpse any filming or find out any gossip.
Ollie gives me a side glance. “Avoiding my sister tonight?”
I hesitate and stare down at my beer. I don’t like seeing her with Beau.
He smirks. “Ah. That’s a no.”
“Things were weird earlier. ”
He raises an eyebrow. “Weird like… romantic tension? Or weird like she almost set you on fire?”
“A little column A, little column B.” I shrug.
Ollie takes a swig of his beer and laughs. “I heard that you called him ‘Gluten Hercules.’”
“He flexed while kneading dough, Ollie. He knew what he was doing.”
“So, how’s it been going with you staying at Wilder Ranch in the barn?”
I groan. “I've been sleeping in your old room. On the floor. In a sleeping bag.”
Ollie winces. “Ooof. Sure you don’t want to stay at the barn? The hay bales up there are probably softer. Cami's less likely to kill you in the barn. The dog might even protect you.”
“I’d rather take my chances and sleep on the floor. And the dog does sleep with me.”
He barks out a laugh. “Well, now you're just punishing yourself. I can help you move a bed from the lodge over."
“That would be great,” I add, dropping my voice. “I still don’t trust Granger or Jace. They've been too quiet.”
Ollie’s grin fades slightly. “Yeah, I heard Jace picked up some job out in Casper. Ranch work or construction or something.”
I raise an eyebrow and sigh with relief. “Good riddance.”
“Still doesn’t mean Granger’s not planning something. You’re right—they’re too petty to just let it go.”
I nod, but my attention shifts as a crowd comes through the front doors.And in walks chaos.
Cami, laughing at something Poppy says, hair in a messy braid that makes her look too damn cute for her own good. Jenna trailing behind, already scanning the bar and waving at someone. And Beau—towering, annoyingly tall, walks in behind them. And all the contestants came filing in behind them.
I immediately grumble and glare.
Ollie follows my line of sight and snorts into his beer. “Dude.”
“What?” I exclaim.
“You’re burning holes in him again with your laser eyeballs.”
“I am not.” I object.
“You’re one eye-twitch away from a full-blown aneurysm,” Ollie says with a grimace.
Cami looks over, spots me, and raises her eyebrows like oh, you exist.
I raised my beer and gave her a half-assed nod. Smooth, Jessop. Real cool.
“She’s gonna figure it out eventually,” Ollie says, watching me like I’m a live soap opera. “Everybody knows it but her, man.”
“Shut it.”
“You’re head over boots in love,” Ollie singsongs.
“ Shut it, ” I grit.
He leans over and whispers, “You’re like a barn cat who hisses every time someone else pets her.”
“You know I will punch you in the throat, Ollie."
“Wouldn’t even blame you,” he says cheerfully, tipping his beer back.
They come over to our side of the bar, pulling tables together. Jenna makes a beeline for some poor guy by the dartboard and gives him a hug, knowing him from somewhere. Poppy gives Ollie a mock salute and sits down across from him. Beau leans on a chair, all easy charm and polite nods.
And Cami?
She slides onto the stool next to me like we hadn’t fought earlier. Like she hadn’t nearly made me combust with our tension.
“Jessop,” she says .
“Wilder.”
She orders a hard cider, settles in beside me, and throws me a lazy glance.“You look like someone who’s one beer away from making a scene.”
“And you look like someone who wants to be the reason I do.”
Her lips twitch. “What can I say? I’m a giver.”
“Careful,” I murmur, “I bite.”
“Even better.” She winks and clinks her glass against mine.
But before I could say something smart, Beau turns toward her with some joke about baking and offers her the last of his fries.
I hate him.
Cami laughs. Genuinely. And leans in, brushing his arm as she takes a fry.
I hate him more.
Ollie leans over. “You’re doing the eye twitch again.”
“I’m not,” I protest.
“You are. It’s like watching a sad country song in real life.”
“I will bury you under the pool table,” I tell him.
“You need to say something to her.”
I glance over at Cami again. She’s still smiling at someone next to her, but then her eyes slide to mine. Like she feels me watching. And she holds my gaze for one long, loaded second.
Maybe I don’t have to say anything.
She hops off her stool and comes over. “Want to shoot a game of pool? Or are you going to sit here glaring until your beer cries?”
I shrug. “I’ll play. But don’t cry when I win.”
“You haven’t beat me at anything since we were fifteen, and I let you win at horseshoes because you looked like a sad cowboy whose horse ran away.”
“I did lose my horse that week. ”
“I know. That’s why I let you win,” she says with annoyance.
She grabs a pool cue and walks toward the table like she didn’t just rip open an old wound for sport. That's the thing with Cami. We have so much history. Some good, some bad, and some new. The new stuff is what's been hard to navigate.
I follow her. Of course I do.
We line up for the break. She leans over the table, and I definitely do not stare. I absolutely do not lose focus when she looks over her shoulder and smirks.
“Eyes up, Jessop.”
“Not my fault your aim is shit . ”
She cracks the break, balls scattering like my rational thoughts.
We play. She trash-talks. I trash-talk back. Beau and the others cheer her on, which makes me extra obnoxious on purpose, which only makes her laugh more.
And by the end of the game, we’re toe-to-toe again. Just like always. One breath away from too much.
She leans in, close enough for me to almost taste the cider on her breath.
“You still mad about earlier?” she whispers.
“Nope.”
“Liar.”Her eyes sparkle. “I like it when you’re jealous. You get all grumpy and broody and say dumb things.”
“I never say dumb things.”
“Yeah,” she whispers. “You do. But they’re kind of my favorite.”
And then she just… walks away. Left me there holding a cue and my pride in pieces.
Ollie passes by, slapping me on the back.“Head over heels,” he says.
And you know what?I can't even deny it.