32. Cami #2
Because I do.
The bank conference room is cold and sterile, like it’s designed to make people feel small.
I used to feel that way in here, small, and out of place.
I used to have to wear a business suit to amp myself up with confidence.
Now, I'm sitting here in jeans, a button-down shirt, and scuffed boots. I'm more confident than I've ever been.
Today I walked in with Jack on one side, Weston and Tucker flanking us like a damn cowboy SWAT team, and I take a seat at the long, polished table like I belong. My boots scuff the tile, and my back is straight, with my pulse thundering—but I don’t let it show.
We sit and wait.
And when Sterling Atwood walks in, holding a sleek leather portfolio and a fake little customer-service smile, he freezes when his eyes jump from Weston to Jack to Tucker, and then to me.
Finally, he tenses.And for the first time, Atwood's gaze doesn’t drop to my chest. He doesn’t leer. He looks nervous.
Good.
“Gentlemen,” he says with a stutter-step and then adds, “And Miss Kendrick.”
I arch a brow.
Atwood clears his throat and takes a seat at the head of the table, clearly thrown off by the testosterone in the room, and the fact that I’m not alone.
Weston leans forward, resting his forearms on the table, voice calm and razor sharp.
“Let’s not waste time. We’re here because we know you’ve been talking to a few investors around Bridger Falls. Quiet little backroom chats about opening up a business venture on the edge of town. A boutique farm stay experience. Horse rides. Dinners under the stars. Guest cabins.”
My stomach turns to stone. That’s my plan.
Atwood starts to object, but Weston lifts a hand, casual and terrifying. “Don’t insult us, Sterling. We know. ”
Jack and Tucker both fold their arms across their chests like synchronized cowboy bodyguards. The energy in the room shifts—like a thunderstorm just rolled in and decided to join us at the table.
I stare at Atwood, jaw clenched so tight it hurts. “You stole my business plan?”
He stammers, “Now, I would say there were some good ideas there, but Cami, you didn’t have the?—”
“Don’t.” My voice slices through the air.
Everyone goes quiet.
I feel rage bloom in my chest, hot, full, and old. “This is a small town. We’re supposed to support each other. Lift each other up. But you? You’ve done nothing but dismiss me, belittle me, and now steal from me?”
His face reddens. He tries to gather his composure, but I’m not done.
“You’re a thief, Atwood. And if you think I’m just gonna let this slide—” I lean forward, locking eyes with him, “—you picked the wrong woman to screw over.”
He opens his mouth. I beat him to it. “I’ll be looking into litigation. And today, right now, I want all of my money withdrawn. Every account. Every cent. I want all my accounts closed.”
I feel Jack go still beside me. Then he nods in approval.
Weston lifts his chin. “Ours as well.”
Tucker adds, “We’ll find a new bank. One that doesn’t get in bed with crooks.”
Weston looks right at Atwood. “As of this moment, Wilder and Jessop Ranch have no ties to you or this institution. And we will be pursuing legal action against you for sharing confidential client business plans with other businesses.”
Sterling looks like he’s been sucker-punched. “Now wait, I—this can be resolved. We don’t need to be rash?—”
“No,” Jack says quietly, deadly. “We do. You messed with one of us. ”
Tucker leans forward, glare sharp. “You messed with all of us.”
There’s a long beat of silence. The kind that makes grown men sweat.
Atwood shifts in his seat. “There’s no need for threats.”
Weston tilts his head. “We’re not threatening. We’re stating facts and consequences.”
Jack leans forward slightly. “Did you have anything to do with Granger and Jace who were messing with Cami and her property?”
Atwood stiffens. “Absolutely not.”
Judging by the surprised look on his face, I don’t think he did. But I am glad that Jack thought to ask.
Then, Weston rests his hands on the table, calm and composed as ever. “And one more thing. I know you’ve been to visit our father.”
Sterling freezes again.
“That’s not our business,” Weston continues, “but it is… interesting. That you’re associating with a convicted felon. Of grand larceny, no less. Something the board of this bank will be made aware of. Immediately.”
Sterling opens his mouth. Nothing comes out.
I sit back slowly, my heart thudding.
I should be shaking. I should be crying. But all I feel is clarity.
Because for the first time, I’m not fighting alone. I’m not clawing my way to respect. I have it.
And not just because of the men beside me, but because I finally believe I deserve it.
My chest pulls tight. I nod once, swallowing down the lump in my throat. This time, I don’t cry in the bank parking lot. This time, I walk out with my head high .
Tucker breaks the silence with a low whistle. “Damn, Cami. I'm glad we have you on our team.”
I snort. Jack grins, proud and flushed.
“But seriously,” Tucker adds. “You were scary. Like… impressively scary.”
Jack leans over, voice low. “We fight right. And for the right things.”
And three cowboys walking right beside me.
My heart’s still racing, and my adrenaline’s still high. But underneath all of it is this strange, steady hum in my chest.
I didn’t cry or crumble. I stood up for myself—for my ranch, for my name—and the men beside me didn’t speak for me.
Nope. They stood with me.
Jack’s hand brushes mine as we walk, and it’s warm, solid, familiar. But the second we round the corner of the building—out of view of Weston and Tucker—he stops.
“Come here,” he says, voice low and rough.
Before I can say anything, he pulls me toward him, arms wrapping around my waist, and kisses me.
Hard. Like he’s been holding it in all morning. Like kissing me is the only way to say what he’s feeling.
My fingers dig into the front of his shirt as he deepens it, one hand sliding up to cup the back of my neck, his thumb brushing just behind my ear. His body is all heat and tension, every line of him pressed against me like he can’t get close enough.
When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against mine, breath warm against my lips.
“Do you have any idea what you just did in there?” he whispers, voice wrecked in the best way. “You were fire, Wilder. You were… damn.”
I groan, a little breathless. “I thought I was going to lose it on him.”
“You held your own.”
I search his eyes—green and steady and filled with something that makes my chest ache.“Was it too much?”
“Not at all.” He kisses the corner of my mouth, slow and soft. “You fight with your whole heart. You make people want to be better.”
I blink fast. “I didn’t think anyone would ever say that to me. Not really.”
“Well,” he says, tilting my chin up, “get used to it. Because I’m gonna say it every damn day.”
My heart flips. Fully, stupidly flips.
“You were so calm in there,” I whisper. “So steady.”
He smiles, brushing his thumb across my cheek. “Only because I knew you had it handled. I’ve never been so proud in my life.”
“You’re gonna make me cry, Jessop.”
He kisses me again, gentler this time, like a promise. “Then let me distract you.”
“Hmm.” I grin against his lips. “What’s the plan? Carry me off to the barn like some cowboy romance fantasy?”
“I could.” His hand slides just a little lower. “But I’d rather take you home. Make you lunch. Kiss every freckle on your body. And tell you a hundred times over that you’re the best damn thing that’s ever happened to me.”
I melt. Fully. Into him. Against him.
Because that’s what Jack Jessop does.
He holds the fire and the softness. The loyalty and the heat.And he gives it all to me.All of him.