Epilogue
Wild As Her by Corey Kent
T he sun climbs over the eastern ridge, painting the Wilder Ranch in soft gold, and the morning air carries the scent of wild sage, fresh dirt, and something sweet, my cookies, and breads on the racks outside the micro bakery stand.
Kids’ laughter floats up from the meadow where Jack’s setting up archery targets with Weston, both of them wearing t-shirts with Wilder Ranch Nature Camp in bold green letters on them.
We’re wrapping up the first week of our summer-long nature camp, and I already know this is going to be one of those things people talk about for years.
The show aired several weeks ago, and it really put Bridger Falls on the map.
We’ve been flooded with tourists who want to catch a glimpse of Jack and me and our ranch.
We can barely keep up with orders, we’re booked solid for horse training, and we’ve already got reservations into next summer and our B&B isn’t even open yet.
Jenna and the producers did a great job on the show.
The executives loved the twist in the ending.
We did interviews in New York City with Good Morning America and The Today Show.
Jack hated it but we did it for the ranches.
Well, I guess just the ranch now. Everything’s combined and flowing great.
It’s been so much fun, and it feels good.
Much to the producers’ dismay, we turned down a second season as did Weston and Tucker.
We had our fifteen minutes of fame, and now we’re set to just live life. Happy and content.
Every week when a new episode would air, Maggie set up a projector and everyone joined in for a watch party.
Jack and I went, but it was painfully, hilariously hard to watch ourselves on television.
We both agreed that we’re terrible at it.
But we had fun. Mack and her friends set up a concession stand and made an event out of it.
One thing’s for sure, it definitely brought the town together and the Jessop name doesn’t feel like a foul word in anyone’s mouth anymore.
Nobody can forget Jack Sr and the things he’s done, but he’s a thing of the past and everyone is talking about new things now.
Every morning starts with a line of dusty trucks and SUVs weaving up the road.
Every evening ends with s’mores, sunburns, and stories around the fire pit.
Parents come early just to sit in the grass and listen to their kids talk about feeding goats or learning about soil health or riding a horse for the first time.
It’s pure magic. We’ve even talked about somehow including the parents more because they seem to want to be a part of this, too.
And it’s saving us.
The camp tuition goes straight into finishing the B&B, our dream project turned real-life construction site just beyond the main barn.
The bones are done, the porches are being painted and stained.
Inside, the rooms and bathrooms are all getting a complete remodel, and if we keep up this pace, we’ll be ready by fall.
Just in time for flannel season, leaf-peeping tourists, and my dream of serving cinnamon rolls at sunrise in our great room.
Honestly? It’s working.
The garden is bursting this year. Heirloom tomatoes bigger than the size of fists. Rows of basil and lavender and carrots so sweet they taste like candy.
And then there’s Steamy Sips. It’s busier than ever and I have a few employees running it full time.
Our roadside produce stand and now bread stand, is officially busier than ever. Jack joked that I’ve become some kind of frontier food influencer after someone from Denver drove three hours just to get one of my jalapeno cheddar sourdough loaves and take a photo with it.
The meat and dairy store at the old Jessop Ranch, now new Wilder Ranch, is thriving as well, and they can barely keep up. Weston added online orders, and we’ve hired a few dozen more workers.
But the best part?
We’ve partnered with local dairies and ranchers, and now people drive in from three counties over to get produce, meat, cheese, and bread, all grown and baked right here.
Sometimes I walk through the aisles, and watch people point at my sourdough like it’s something worth making a trip for. It knocks the air out of me.
There’s a chalkboard sign by the door that says Welcome to Wilder Ranch in swoopy, hand-lettered paint. Underneath, Jack added, in tiny letters: Home of the best damn bread in Wyoming.
Tucker’s thinking about going back on the circuit, at least for a few months.
Says he’s got the itch and needs to chase some adrenaline before settling back down.
But he’s still around enough to teach rope tricks to the campers and tell tall tales during story hour like he’s got his own live podcast.
Weston finally moved down from Montana for good. He pretends like it was a practical choice—closer to family, the ranch expansion, all that. But I know better. He’s running from something, and he’s been broody and moody. I’ll get to the bottom of that sooner or later.
And me?
I’ve never felt more like myself. Not since I was a kid running barefoot through the fields behind Wilder Ranch, pretending I was queen of my own tiny country.
Now I get to build it.
Kids run past me, heading toward the riding arena, all chatter and freckles and summer joy. I wave them on, then tuck my basket of fresh cookies under my arm and walk toward the hill to restock the microbakery.
Jack is leaning against a post, arms crossed, a smudge of dirt on his jaw and a grin that’s pure trouble.
“Wilder,” he says. “You come bearing treats?”
“Always,” I say, handing him a still-warm basket of cookies. “Your reward for being Wyoming’s most patient camp counselor.”
“I knew marrying you would come with perks.”
He pulls me close, right there in the middle of camp chaos, and kisses my temple like we’re in our own quiet universe.
We stand there for a moment, watching the mustangs grazing beyond the fence line.
“I still can’t believe this is ours,” I whisper.
“It was always going to be,” he says. “You just had to be patient.”
I glance at him. “What are you guys cooking up next?”
He grins. “Fall guests, cinnamon rolls, trail rides through the leaves. Maybe even a glamping tent or two if Weston gets his way.”
“And the wedding?”
Jack kisses the corner of my mouth. “Whenever you want. I’d marry you right now in the middle of the goat pen.”
“Tempting.”
A camper runs up to us, breathless. “Miss Cami! There’s a goat loose again!”
I laugh. “On it.”
As I jog off in the direction of the goat pen, Jack calls after me, “Don’t forget the campfire tonight!”
“Wouldn’t miss it.”
That night, the meadow glows with fairy lights strung from tree to tree, and a crackling fire draws kids and parents and volunteers like moths. Everyone’s bundled in sweatshirts, sticky from roasted marshmallows, smelling like smoke and sugar.
Weston passes out mugs of cider while Tucker leads a cowboy singalong that’s mostly off-key but charming as hell. Someone breaks out a guitar. Maggie twirls in her boots, glittery as ever, dragging Mack into an impromptu dance near the fire pit. Jenna rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling.
Jack finds me on a log with a flannel blanket draped over my shoulders, the stars bright above us and the fire flickering low.
He sits behind me, wraps his arms around my waist, and rests his chin on my shoulder. “Hey baby,” he murmurs. “Someday we’re going to have our own kids running around here.”
I smile and lean into him. “I can’t wait.”
We sit like that for a while, warm and quiet and content.
Then he says, “What do you think about starting with elopement this fall? Just us and the mountains. And maybe a big ol’ party after the new year.”
I twist to look at him. “You serious? ”
“Dead. I don’t need anything fancy. I just need you.”
I kiss him, soft and slow. “Let’s do it.”
Someone hands us s’mores. Fireflies dance around the trees. A kid falls asleep next to his mom in a camp chair. It all feels so good, it hurts.
Later, after the fire dies down and the stars stretch wide above the ranch, Jack and I walk back to the house barefoot through the dewy grass, hand in hand.
The porch light glows, warm and steady. The farmhouse smells like coffee grounds and lilacs. My sourdough is cooling down on the counter for tomorrow’s deliveries.
Jack pulls me into the porch swing and tucks me against his side. The crickets sing. The moon hangs low. The ranch is quiet now, but alive in a way I’ve never felt anywhere else.
“This is everything,” I whisper.
Jack kisses the top of my head. “And it’s just the beginning.”
And he’s right.
Come fall, the B&B will open. We'll welcome our first guests and tell stories under this same wide sky.
Come winter, the campfire will become a fireplace, the garden will sleep under snow, and we’ll still be here building a life, day by day.
The future’s not just a plan anymore.
It’s Wilder Ranch. It’s home. And it’s ours.