Wild Country – Till the Thunder Roars

Chestnut Ridge

Fixing up Amy’s cabin turned into a full‑time job before I even realized I’d taken it on.

Every morning that week, once the kids went off to school, I’d swing by after chores, tools in the truck, coffee in hand, telling myself I was just being neighborly. Just helpin’ out a newcomer. Just makin’ sure she didn’t fall through a rotten floorboard and die.

And every morning, she’d be there on the porch of that ruin she called a house, hair in a messy bun, wearing some city‑girl sweater that had no business being within a hundred miles of Chestnut Ridge, smiling like she was genuinely happy to see me.

Which was becoming a problem.

Because I was startin’ to like that smile.

Amy tried. Lord, she tried. But she had the instincts of a housecat thrown into a cattle drive. She’d spent her life livin’ in that fancy way and it showed.

On Monday, she stepped straight into a gopher hole and face‑planted into a patch of mud so deep I had to haul her out by the elbows. She had to change and shower.

On Tuesday she tried to “help” by handin’ me nails — she didn’t know a roofing nail from a finish nail, and kept passin’ me the wrong kind ev’ry time, no matter how I explained the difference. After the fifth mix‑up, I just took the whole box from her and told her to steady the ladder for me that didn’t need steadyin’, but she braced it like she was keepin’ me from fallin’ off the side of a skyscraper, watchin’ every move I made like she was responsible for my continued survival.

On Wednesday, she tried to sweep the porch and somehow managed to fling half the debris onto the roof. Still ain’t got that one worked out in my head. But if someone ever tells ya they don’t know how to clean, believe ’em.

Thursday she watched me board up one of the two busted windows out back, and when I took a break and came back, she’d done gone and nailed the other one shut like a rabid coon with a hammer. Stood there lookin’ proud as a peacock, too. Couldn’t for the life of her understand why I said we still needed to fix it — not till I reached up and pulled the whole damn thing clean off with one hand.

By Friday before I showed up she’d decided she was gonna “learn to mend fences,” which apparently meant watchin’ a ten‑minute YouTube video and then marchin’ out there like she was fixin’ to rebuild the Alamo single‑handed.
I pulled up right as she took her first swing, she missed the post entirely and damn near took out her own knee. I caught the hammer mid‑air before she could do any real damage, and she let out this long, put‑upon sigh. “I used to have a maintenance guy.”
“Yeah,” I said. “I can tell. Yer tryin’ to use a hammer with a screw. That ain’t doin’ nobody and nothin’ no good, darlin’.”

And every time she messed up, she’d look at me with those big, embarrassed eyes, and I’d feel something in my chest twist.

She leaned on me more each day — asking so many damn questions, asking if she was doing things right, looking for approval, trying so hard to impress me, please me, appease me, asking if I’d be back tomorrow — and I felt myself slipping. Fast.

One day, when she tripped over her own feet and grabbed my arm to steady herself, laughing breathlessly, I panicked.

I stepped back. Too fast. Too sharp.

“Careful,” I snapped. “Ain’t got time to babysit.”

Her face fell like I’d slapped her. She jerked back like I was high current electricity.

“Oh,” she said softly blushing. “Right. Sorry.”

And just like that, the light went out of her.

I hated myself instantly.

But instead of fixing it, I doubled down — kept my distance, kept my voice flat, kept my eyes anywhere but on her. Because if I didn’t, I was gonna fall for her, and I couldn’t do that again. Not after Briar Rose. Not with a woman who’d already had her heart stomped on. And not another city girl. My heart really, REALLY couldn’t do Bri 2.0. No Sir, no Ma’am.

By the time I left that afternoon, she barely said goodbye.

The next morning, she was waiting for me on the porch — but not with a smile.

She held out an envelope.

“For you,” she said. “For all your help.”

I frowned. “What’s this?”

“Just take it.”

I opened it just enough to see the stack of bills inside, then slid it right back into her hands. “No.”

“Jackson—”

“No,” I repeated, firmer. “Ya need that a hell of a lot more than I do right now. How’d you even get this? Thought you said you were runnin’ out in a hurry.”

She swallowed. “I was. So, I sold all my jewelry. And the few designer bags and shoes I still had. Not like I am ever gonna need any of that again.”

That hit me harder than I expected.

Because suddenly I was back in that moment couple days ago — the day I’d taken her into town to show her where everything was. Not a big place, just a scatter of buildings along the main road that wrapped around the big arena in the middle: the western‑wear clothing store, the little general store, the café that that doubled as a post office on Tuesdays, Earl’s feed‑and‑tack shop, the volunteer fire station, Beckett’s Bowling BARn, and farther down the road Boot Scootin’ Hall where folks let loose to live music, drink, and dance. The diner sat near the arena with its rental stables, horse‑exercise pens, and a parking lot big enough for trucks, trailers, and whatever else rolled in on event days. Folks came in their trucks or rode into town on horseback, so half the time you never knew when you had to dodge a fresh pile of horse apples in the road. She’d come out wearin’ some fancy city outfit, soft fabric and delicate heels, hair curled up real pretty, makeup done like we were headin’ to a damn wedding instead of trompin’ around a dusty Hill Country town.

And I’d told her that made no damn sense and she needed to go change into something practical.

I hadn’t meant it harsh. Just… honest. Those shoes wouldn’t have survived ten minutes on our roads, not with the dust, the gravel, and the horse‑apple minefields folks left behind ridin’ into town.

But she’d gone pale, eyes fillin’ fast, and at the time I figured she was overwhelmed by the heat and the dust and the fact that “town” was basically few couple buildings and a prayer. It wasn’t until way later it hit me — she might’ve tried lookin’ pretty on purpose. For me. And I’d bulldozed right over it, shoved her straight into comfy clothes like a damn fool.

Jeezus.

She’d been unusually quiet that whole time, walkin’ beside me with that polite little smile that didn’t reach her eyes. Didn’t ask me any of her usual hundred questions, just nodded at whatever I pointed out like she was goin’ through the motions. When I offered to take her to lunch at the diner, she turned me down real gentle, even though I’d heard her stomach growl twice before.

By the time I dropped her off at her place, I could tell she just wanted to get away from me real bad. Normally she’d have invited me in — and normally I’d have declined ’cause I still had a ranch to run — but this time she didn’t even ask. She didn’t even give me the chance to get out and open her door like I always did; just thanked me quick, jumped out, and headed for the cabin.

Left me standin’ there feelin’ like a damn jackass, knowin’ I’d caused it and not knowin’ how to fix it.

Standing here now, back in the moment, envelope trembling in her hand, I felt that same punch of guilt. Takin’ it would have been easier, but I knew she needed this money bad and there was no way to give it back to her later without makin’ matters worse yet.

“Amy,” I said softly, “I ain’t takin’ this.”

Her chin wobbled. “I feel like I am using you and I don’t like it. I don’t want to owe you.”

“You don’t,” I said. “Not a damn thing.”

She looked away, blinking hard. I didn’t know it then, but she was tryin’ to cut me loose then and there. But I’d figure it out before long.

The next day, she wasn’t on the porch.

Or the next.

Or the next.

Her car was gone. The cabin was locked. No note. No text. No nothing.

Table for One

I told myself she needed space. I told myself I’d done the right thing. I told myself she’d come find me if she needed help. I told myself I was too busy to be babysittin’ her anyway. And I hated myself for having pushed her away like all that. Her leanin’ on me didn’t hurt nothin’. Me and my damn pride and my issues. Briar Rose, I blame you for this. Funny thing with pointin’ fingers is that several always point right back at yerself.

Every night, I found myself staring at the ceiling, wondering if she was okay. Wondering if she’d fallen through the floor. Wondering if she’d left town entirely.

Wondering why the hell I cared so much.

On Sunday, I went to the diner for lunch. Savannah was off with a bunch of other kids for a birthday party and sleepover, Beau was off with his girlfriend and their friends, and I didn’t feel like sitting home alone thinkin’ … things.

I walked in, took two steps, and froze.

Amy was standing behind the counter in a little apron, hair pulled back, taking orders like she’d been doing it her whole life.

My heart damn near stopped.

She looked… different. Tired. Guarded. But steady. Like she’d built a wall overnight and bricked me out of it.

She saw me.

Her smile flickered — then vanished.

“Hi,” she said coolly. “Table for one?”

“Amy—”

“Sorry, I’m working. You can sit wherever you like, I will come take your order in a minute,” she said, handing me a menu, already turning away.

That stung more than I wanted to admit.

I sat. I didn’t eat. I watched her move around the diner like she belonged there, chatting with locals, avoiding me like I was contagious.

When she passed my table with a pot of coffee, I reached out and touched her wrist.

“Amy. We need to talk.”

She didn’t even look at me. “I’m on the clock. The boss agreed to let me work here for a trial period to see if I am cut out for waitressing, so I can’t stand around chatting. Let me know when you are ready to order.”

That was it. That was the moment something in me snapped.

I stood up, ignoring the eyes of half the town on me, and followed her toward the kitchen. She tried to slip through the swinging door, but I caught it with my boot and stepped inside after her.

“Jackson,” she hissed, “I’m working—”

“Then take a break.”

“I can’t just—”

I took her elbow gently but firmly. “Come on.”

The cook raised an eyebrow, I nodded a greeting at him and he just resumed his task, shaking his head. A couple of regulars craned their necks. Chestnut Ridge loved a spectacle, and I wasn’t about to give them one.

So, I guided her out the back door, around the corner, behind the building where no one could see.

She yanked her arm back. “What do you want?”

Her voice wasn’t angry. It was hurt. And that was worse.

I swallowed hard. “I was an ass.”

She crossed her arms. “Yes. You were. And I was a clingy bitch. Guess we’re even.”

“I didn’t mean to be.”

“Neither did I.”

I looked away, jaw tight. “Amy …”

Silence stretched between us, thick and heavy.

“Look, I was tryin’ to keep some distance,” I admitted. “Didn’t want to… complicate things.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Complicate what?”

I didn’t answer. Couldn’t.

She let out a humorless laugh. “Right. Got it. Message received. Small town, people talk and I am an embarrassment. Don’t want to be seen with the new girl. Got it. Well, I gotta get back inside …”

“Amy—”

“No, it’s fine. Really. I get it. I leaned too much. I asked too many questions. I needed too much help. I was too much. I am a burden, a nuisance and good for nothing. I’ve heard it before. You’d think I’d have learned. Guess not.”

That hit me like a punch to the ribs.

“You ain’t too much,” I said quietly.

She looked away, blinking fast. “Doesn’t matter. I’m learning. I’ll figure things out on my own.”

I stepped closer before I could stop myself. “Amy, I ain’t him!”

She froze.

I froze.

The air between us tightened, charged, dangerous.

For one wild second, I almost kissed her.

But not here. Not behind a diner. Not like this. Not when she was hurt and I was confused and half the town was probably listening through the walls if not tryin’ to peek through ev’ry lil hole in the walls they could find.

So I stepped back.

“We gotta talk,” I said. “Properly. Not here. Not like this.”

She swallowed. “Jackson, no thank you. Let’s not make this worse than it is, and please let me keep what tiny shred of dignity I have left.”

“I wasn’t askin’. I’ll come by. Tonight. After your shift. When do ya get off?”

She hesitated — then nodded once. “Jackson, please. There is nothing to talk about. Please don’t put me on the spot like that.”

I remembered from the rollercoaster ride I had with Bri that pushing too hard now did nobody no favors so I just nodded and tried to ignore how much it bothered me. At least we were talking again. Somehow.

Lessons in Falling

I showed up at Amy’s cabin the next morning telling myself I was just checking on the roof. Just making sure the downpour the night before hadn’t caved anything in. Definitely not because I’d spent half the night replaying every damn word we’d said behind the diner.

She was already outside, brushing Juniper with slow, careful strokes, mimicking what I had shown her, like she was trying to prove something to herself.

When she saw me, she straightened. Not smiling. Not cold. Just… guarded.

“Morning,” she said.

“Mornin’,” I answered, tipping my hat. “I was out ‘n about, hope ya don’t mind me stoppin’ by for a sec, just wanted to check how that roof’s been holdin’ up.” It was a lie. I had come straight here from the ranch, no runnin’ about needed.

“Still there,” she said. “Mostly.”

A beat passed. Then she squared her shoulders.

“I want to learn how to saddle her,” she said. “Properly. Would you show me?”

I nodded, relieved. “Sure thing. Let’s do it.”

It started fine.

Then it went straight to hell.

First, she put the saddle pad on backward. I corrected her gently.

Then she put it on sideways. I corrected her again.

Then – despite me offerin’ to help and when she refused – my warnings – she underestimated how heavy saddles are, and I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing when she did a 180 and launched the saddle against the water trough, sending even patient as a saint Juniper running.

Once I reined in the spooked and almost offended mare, had her back in position and helped Amy gauge the right momentum to get the saddle on the horse without hurting or spooking the animal, Juniper just stood there like a long‑suffering saint, ears flicking, eyes half‑closed, as if she’d accepted her fate that saddling her would take half a day from here on out.

“All right,” I said, “let’s try the bridle.”

“She has that on already.” Amy said, pointing.

“That’s a halter. It’s different. This,” I reached over and pulled it up handing it to her. “This is the bridle.”

Amy lifted it like it was a puzzle missing half the pieces. “This goes… where?”

“In place of the halter,” I said. “Bit goes in her mouth.”

Amy nodded, determined. Then she dropped the reins, tangled the cheekpieces, and somehow — I still don’t know how — got her own hair caught in the bit.

“Hold still,” I said, trying not to laugh as I untangled her. “You’re fightin’ the equipment more than the horse.”

“I’m trying,” she muttered.

“I know. This is a reason girls usually got their hair tied up when ridin’.”

By the time Juniper was finally saddled, Amy was sweating, I was sweating, and Juniper looked like she was reconsidering her life choices.

Normally Amy and I would have been in tears from laughing so hard by now. But now there was that awkwardness between us that I hated but didn’t know how to make better without risking making it worse instead.

“There,” I said. “Not bad for a first timer.”

Amy beamed. “Really?”

“Sure,” I lied. “Now get on.”

Her smile vanished.

“What?” I asked, wondering what the holdup was.

She looked at me like she was trying to tell me she ran over my dog, blushing, then looked down.

“Jackson,” and I couldn’t help noticing how much I enjoyed hearing her say my name in that San Myshuno lilt. She looked up at me, blushing deeper. “I don’t know how. I have never sat on a horse. And those … umm … thingies look awfully high.” She pointed at the stirrups.

“Ah,” I said. “Okay, it’ll take some practice to get the right momentum, but ya’ll get there. Put your left foot in the stirrup and swing yer right leg over.”

She stared at the horse like it was a cliff face. “Left first?”

I blinked. “Yes Ma’am.”

She tried. I got in position to hoist her up. I didn’t get the chance.

She missed.

Her foot slipped, she grabbed the saddle horn, her hands slipped, Juniper snorted, and Amy ended up face down in the dirt with a startled shriek.

 “Oh hell! Ya okay?” I offered her my hand. She took it but wouldn’t look at me. I could see her ears where burning red.

“Bruised ego and squashed my dignity but what else is new?”

As I pulled her up, she ended up closer than either of us expected — breathless, dusty, hair full of hay, eyes bright with frustration and something else I didn’t want to name. It did something to me I felt I might not be able to control.

I stepped back fast.
Too fast.

Her face shuttered. Damn me!

“Sorry,” she said quietly, tears welling in her eyes. “I am hopeless!”

She rushed off before I could say a damn thing.

And I stood there, watching her go, feeling like the world’s biggest fool. The way Juniper snorted at me I had a feelin’ she agreed.

I was frustrated, with the situation, with myself. Every damn time I tried to keep my distance, be a gentleman about it, knowin’ she was still hurtin’ from all that happened to her before she got here, I ended up hurtin’ her more. And every time I tried to get close, I felt like I was tryin’ to take advantage of her and ended up hurtin’ myself – and her.

And I had no idea how the hell to stop doing both. Couldn’t win for losin’.

I unsaddled Juniper, then left.

Things Left Unspoken

I spent the whole damn day thinkin’ about her.

About the way she’d looked at me behind the diner — hurt, guarded, bracin’ for rejection like she expected it. About the way she’d just about run off after the mounting mishap, shoulders tight, chin trembling like she was holdin’ herself together with thread.

By the time the sun dipped behind the ridge, I was pacing my living room like a caged bull, wearin’ a path in the floorboards.

I told her at the diner we had to talk, and I meant it. So I went over to her place again.

Her cabin was lit from inside, warm yellow spillin’ through those warped old windows. I knocked once, twice.

She opened the door slow.

Her hair was down. Her face was tired. And she looked at me like she wasn’t sure lettin’ me in was a good idea.

“Jackson,” she said softly. Blushing faintly.

“We gotta talk,” I told her, soft but determined.

She stepped aside. I walked in.

The place was still a ruin — leaning walls, patched roof, floorboards complainin’ under every step — but she’d tried. A blanket over the couch. A candle on the table. A mug half‑finished beside a stack of job applications. She was tryin’ so damn hard.

She sat on the edge of the couch. I stayed standing for a moment, then sat across from her, elbows on my knees.

Silence stretched between us, heavy as wet wool.

Finally, she said, “So… talk.”

I exhaled slow. “I owe you an apology.”

She didn’t say a word. Just watched me, waitin’.

“I was short with you,” I said. “Snapped at you. Pulled back when you were just tryin’ to learn. And that wasn’t fair.”

Her eyes flickered. She looked down.

I rubbed the back of my neck. “Look, I was tryin’ not to… complicate things.”

She let out a small, humorless laugh. “You keep saying that. But you never explain what it means. What’s so complicated?”

I looked at her then — really looked. At the woman who’d lost everything, who was tryin’ to rebuild her life with grit and stubbornness and not much else. At the woman who trusted me enough to ask for help, and who I’d hurt because I was too damn scared to admit the truth.

“It means,” I said quietly, “that I like havin’ you around more than I should.”

Her breath caught.

“And that scares the hell outta me.”

She blinked, stunned. “What? Why?”

“Because, like you, I already lost someone I cared about,” I said. “Someone I had loved a very long time and it took me forever to get over her, if I even am. So I ain’t lookin’ to do that again, which is nonsense, I know that, but I can’t help that feelin’ remindin’ me how much it all can hurt. And I know you been there too. You probably still are there, seein’ how it just happened to ya. So it’s complicated. And I don’t want to make your life harder than it already is.”

Her voice was barely a whisper. “But you’re not. You are helping me so much. I don’t know where I would be without all your help.”

“Maybe I haven’t yet, but I am sayin’ I could,” I said. “If I’m not careful.”

She looked down at her hands. “I wasn’t trying to make things complicated for either of us. I just… needed help. And you were so kind. And then suddenly you weren’t. And it felt like—”

She stopped.

“Like what?” I asked gently.

She swallowed. “Like I was too much. A burden. A nuisance. Again.”

My chest tightened. “Amy…”

“I know you didn’t mean it,” she said quickly. “But it still felt like that. And I panicked. And I didn’t want to owe you anything, so I tried to pay you back, and that made everything worse, and now I don’t know what to do, and—”

“Amy,” I said again, softer this time.

She finally looked up.

“You ain’t too much,” I said. “Not for me. Not ever. And ya ain’t no burden and no nuisance neither.”

Her eyes shone, but she didn’t cry. She just breathed, slow and shaky, like she was lettin’ herself believe it for the first time in a long while.

I leaned back, givin’ her space. “I’m sorry I hurt you. I was tryin’ to protect myself, and I ended up hurtin’ you instead.”

She nodded slow. “I’m sorry I ran off. I just… didn’t want to be a burden. Again. I know you said I wasn’t but I didn’t think I was one with him either, until he told me I had been nothing but a liability.”

“You’re not,” I said. “You never were. Not to me.”

Silence settled again — but this time it wasn’t sharp. It was soft. Warm. Somethin’ new.

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “So… what now?”

“Now,” I said, “we take it slow. We fix yer cabin, like we been doin’. I’ll teach ya how to ride without breakin’ your neck. And you will learn that everyone falls down now and then, what matters is how often ya get back up. And we try not to drive each other crazy.”

A small smile tugged at her lips. “That sounds… nice.”

“It does,” I said.

She hesitated. “Are we okay? I mean, really?”

I nodded. “Yeah. We’re okay.”

She let out a breath she’d been holdin’ for days.

The room softened around us. The air eased. And for the first time since the diner, she didn’t look like she was bracin’ for impact.

Which is exactly when I asked:

“How’s the diner goin’, by the way? You never told me how your trial shift ended up.”

Her face fell.

“Oh God,” she groaned. “Jackson… I didn’t cut it.”

“What happened?”

She sighed. “I got fired. On day one.”

I blinked. “That was fast.”

“After you left I was everywhere but present mentally. Add that I am naturally clumsy, at least of late, so I tripped. Like—went airborne. Felt like slow motion. And dumped an entire tray of milkshakes and root beer floats on a customer.”

I winced. “All of ’em?”

“Every last one. It was like a dairy apocalypse. She screeched so loud I thought the fire alarm was goin’ off. Evidently everyone knows her and she’s some sort of regular.”

“Oh boy.”

“Jackson, it was horrible. She didn’t even stand up — just sat there covered in whipped cream and shrieked like I’d set her on fire. Like a scene straight out of Carrie. My boss came over all panicked and was like, ‘Oh Taylor, I’m so sorry, she’s new, blah blah blah—’”

I froze. “Hang on, didcha just say Taylor?”

“I think that’s what he called her.”

“Say, what did that Taylor look like?”

Amy shrugged. “Blonde. Very blonde. Big hair, big lashes, sparkly sleeves, floral shirt, tight jeans, big belt buckle. She looked like she’d just come from a rodeo photoshoot and walked in like she owned the place.”

I stared at her.

Then I burst out laughin’.

Hard.

Gleeful.

Couldn’t stop.

Amy looked alarmed. “It’s really not that funny, Jackson.”

I was already doubled over. “Oh, darlin’, you ain’t got no idea how funny that is. You milkshaked Taylor McCoy Walker?”

“Who? Is that supposed to mean something to me?” she wondered, confused.

“Maybe not to you,” I said, still laughin’. “But it does to me. That was Taylor Walker, from the McCoy family. Let’s just say she and I used to… well… we’ll call it datin’.”

Amy’s mouth fell open. “Wait. I doused your ex in dairy?”

I nodded, wipin’ my eyes. “Yup. And don’t ya go feelin’ one bit bad about it, ain’t few people more deservin’. She’s the type who thinks she’s queen of Chestnut Ridge. Been ridin’ barrels and stirrin’ drama since she was fifteen. Her family owns half the damn county, that’s the only reason she gets away with all her nonsense.”

I shook my head, still grinnin’. “And before you go thinkin’ there was somethin’ real there — there wasn’t. I don’t like her neither. Never did. She’s two‑faced as they come. Only reason I ever messed around with her was ’cause I knew it’d get under my ex‑wife’s skin… and, well, I had some urges needed dealin’ with.” I shrugged. “And the only reason she bothered with me was ’cause I was somethin’ she always wanted to own but never could. Still can’t.”

Amy looked horrified. “Oh my God. I milkshaked some Southern Desperate Housewife with land rights.” She groaned and buried her face again. “I’m a disaster.”

I grinned. “Nah. You’re a legend in my book, and I reckon in a lot of other townfolks’ too.”

The Storm

Few days later the storm rolled in like a living thing.

By late afternoon the sky’d gone that ugly bruised‑steel color, clouds sittin’ low and heavy over Chestnut Ridge like they were fixin’ to crush the whole damn county. Air felt wrong — thick, electric, the kind that makes horses pace their stalls and puts a knot in your gut.

I was standin’ on the porch with Beau and Savannah, watchin’ the wind tear across the pasture. Ranchhands were already out there hustlin’, tyin’ down tarps, checkin’ fences, makin’ sure nothin’ could blow loose and take somebody’s head off.

Then a gust slammed into the porch hard enough to rattle the windows.

“Enough!” I hollered over the wind. “Y’all get home! Now! Storm’s gonna rip this place apart — go on, get while the gettin’s good!”

They didn’t argue. They scattered fast, sprintin’ for their trucks, hats flyin’, jackets flappin’ like flags.

I turned to Beau and Savannah. “Inside. Both o’you.”

Savannah hesitated. “But Pa—”

“Inside!” I snapped, louder than I meant to. “This ain’t no normal storm. Go!”

They ran in, and I followed, slammin’ the door against the wind. Beau and I had to lean our whole weight into it just to get it shut.

But my eyes kept driftin’ toward the ridge.

Toward Amy.

Toward that damn cabin that wouldn’t survive a stiff breeze, let alone whatever monster was crawlin’ over the horizon.

“Pa,” Beau said quietly once we were inside, “that one’s gonna be bad.”

“Yeah,” I muttered. “Real bad. We need to reinforce more. You two stay here.”

“Nah, Pa, I’m comin’.”

“Me too,” Savannah said.

We moved fast — tyin’ down tarps, lockin’ gates, movin’ the horses into the reinforced stalls. Savannah stuck close, wide‑eyed but steady, helpin’ where she could. Wind howled through the metal siding, and thunder cracked so loud it shook the ground under our boots.

Twice the wind hit hard enough to knock her clean off balance — little thing nearly went tumblin’. First time she grabbed my leg on instinct, clingin’ like a barnacle while the gust shoved at both of us. Second time it happened, she damn near lifted off her feet, and I had to snatch her by the back of her jacket to keep her upright.

That was it for me.

“Alright, that’s enough,” I shouted over the storm, arm around her shoulders as another gust tore past. “We’re done. Inside, both of you. What ain’t secured now ain’t gettin’ secured. Fool’s errand stayin’ out here.”

Beau didn’t argue. Savannah clung to my leg again as we pushed our way back toward the house, wind fightin’ us every step. We stumbled inside, slammed the door, and leaned into it until the latch caught.

Inside, the noise dulled — not quiet, but survivable. My heart was still poundin’, adrenaline buzzin’ under my skin.

And all I could think about was the ridge.

Amy.

That damn cabin.

Then, off toward the ridge — where Amy’s cabin sat — lightning split the sky clean in half.

A heartbeat later, a massive cottonwood snapped like a toothpick and crashed to the ground.

My stomach dropped.

I couldn’t stand still another second.

“Beau,” I said, already grabbin’ my coat, “stay with Savannah. Keep her inside. I gotta go check on Amy.”

Beau’s head snapped up. “Pa, I’m comin’ with you! You ain’t goin’ up there alone!”

“No!” I told him. “Storm like this? I need you here! Watch yer sister!”

Savannah tugged my sleeve. “I’ll be good, I promise. I’ll stay right here.”

Beau shook his head, jaw set. “Pa, if her place is up there in that mess, you’re not goin’ alone.”

Another crack of thunder. Another flash toward the ridge.

“Fine,” I growled. “Savannah, stay inside. Don’t go outside for any reason, ya hear?”

She nodded, eyes huge.

Beau grabbed his coat and we ran for the truck.
The drive up the ridge was hell.

Rain hammered the windshield so hard the wipers couldn’t keep up. Road was half‑washed out, mud slidin’ down the embankments. Branches everywhere. Wind shoved the truck sideways more than once.

“Pa!” Beau yelled over the roar. “You think she’s okay?”

“I don’t know!” I yelled back. “That’s why we’re goin’!”

But the truth was crawlin’ up my throat.

I’d seen her cabin. I knew how flimsy it was. One good gust could peel the roof clean off. One fallin’ tree could flatten the whole damn thing.

And she was up there alone.
When we rounded the last bend, my heart damn near stopped.

Her cabin was half‑collapsed — right wall caved in, roof saggin’, shingles scattered like confetti. Rain pourin’ straight into the livin’ room. Porch gone — ripped clean off.

And in the middle of all that chaos, Amy stood in the horse pen in that downpour, soaked to the bone, tryin’ like hell to calm Juniper, who was rearin’ and screamin’, eyes rolled white with terror.

“Amy!” I shouted, fightin’ the wind. “Get away from her! It ain’t safe!”

She didn’t hear me — or she didn’t care.

Lightning cracked overhead.

A sheet of metal roofing — torn loose from her porch — whipped through the air like a blade.

“Amy!” I roared. “Down!”

She turned too late.

The metal clipped her shoulder and sent her crashin’ into the mud. Not deep, not deadly — but hard enough she cried out, clutchin’ her arm as she tried to push herself up. She wasn’t standin’ — just on her hands and knees, dazed, soaked, storm shovin’ her sideways every time she tried to get her feet under her.

My heart stopped.

I sprinted.

Beau sprinted.

Juniper reared again, hooves slicin’ the air inches above Amy’s head.

“Amy, move!” I yelled, voice raw.

She tried — too slow, too shaky.

I reached her in the same heartbeat Juniper came down, my arm lockin’ around her waist as I yanked her back, draggin’ her outta the mud just as the mare’s front hooves slammed into the spot she’d been scramblin’.

She gasped, shiverin’ hard, rain mixin’ with the blood runnin’ down her arm.

“You’re hurt,” I said, breathless.

“I’m fine,” she insisted, teeth chatterin’. “She was scared — she needed me—”

“She needs someone who knows what they’re doin’,” I snapped. “You coulda been killed!”

Juniper screamed again, rearin’ high.

Beau stepped forward, calm as stone. “Pa. Let me.”

I hesitated — then nodded.

Beau moved in slow, steady, talkin’ low, hands open. Juniper recognized him — or maybe she just recognized someone who wasn’t losin’ their head — and she dipped just enough for him to grab a handful of her mane, steadyin’ her. He used that moment to slip the reins over her head quick as a blink.

“I got her!” Beau shouted over the wind. “I’ll take her home!”

“Ya sure?” I hollered against the storm.

“Yeah! You get Amy in the truck!” he shouted back.

He swung onto Juniper’s bare back and took off down the ridge.

I turned back to Amy.

She was tremblin’, soaked, blood streakin’ down her arm, starin’ at what was left of her home.

“My cabin…” she whispered — the storm finally quiet enough around us for her voice to slip through. “It’s… it’s gone. My home…”

I stepped closer, lowered my voice. “Amy. Look at me.”

She did.

“We’re gettin’ you outta here.”

Her lip quivered. “I don’t have anywhere to go.”

“Yeah,” I said, takin’ her uninjured hand. “Ya do. Yer comin’ with me. And in a hurry!”

I led her to the truck, helped her climb in, slammed the door against the wind.

And as I ran around to the driver’s side, one thought hit me so hard it damn near knocked the breath outta me:

I’d almost lost her tonight.

After the Storm

The storm passed sometime before dawn, but none of us slept worth a damn. The wind had howled against the ranch all night, rattlin’ the windows, shakin’ the siding, makin’ the horses scream in their stalls. Every crash had sounded like the world endin’.

By morning, the air was thick and heavy, soaked through with the storm’s leftovers. But the sun rose like nothin’ had happened — soft gold spillin’ over a landscape that looked like a war zone.

Branches everywhere. Fences down. Half the chicken‑coop roof peeled back. Mud so deep it could swallow a boot whole.

I stepped toward the side window with a mug of coffee, Beau and Savannah trailin’ behind me, all three of us bleary‑eyed and exhausted. Had been a long night.

“Looks like hell,” Beau muttered.

“That’ll take forever an’ a day to clean up,” Savannah added, rubbin’ her eyes.

I told ’em we’d start cleanup after breakfast, turnin’ toward the stove, Beau already at the coffeemaker, when the front door burst open behind us.

“Oh my GOD, finally! Why does nobody in this house ever answer their phones?!”

Briar Rose swept in like a hurricane of perfume and blonde hair — and right behind her, Briony, both lookin’ like they’d stepped out of a San Sequoia boutique ad. Perfect blowout, glossy nails, designer athleisure, not a single hair outta place.

Savannah squealed. “Briony!”

“Hi little sis,” Briony said, instantly softenin’ as she bent to hug Savannah tight. “Oh my God, I was so worried. You okay?”

Savannah nodded into her shoulder.

Then Briony straightened — and Beau was already there, grabbin’ her in a hug so tight she squeaked.

“Beau! Oh my God, you’re crushing me!” she laughed, smacking his arm. “You could’ve at least texted me back!”

“I didn’t get no text. I was kinda busy keepin’ the ranch from flyin’ away,” he shot back, but he didn’t let go.

They bickered, but neither stepped back an inch.

“Oh, thank GOD you are okay,” Bri breathed, bear‑huggin’ our son next, then showerin’ his face in kisses. “My poor, sweet baby! We saw the stormfront on TV — the images were awful — I nearly had a heart attack! I called and called but nobody answered.”

Then she turned and threw her arms around me.

“Jackson Kershaw, don’t you ever scare me like that again!”

I stiffened, then hugged her back because this was still Bri and I was still me. There was a time for distance, but it wasn’t now. She squeezed me tight, face buried in my shoulder.

“I’m so glad you’re all right,” she murmured. “God, you had me worried, you big goof. Never do that to me again.”

“Bri—” I started, but she hugged me again, even tighter, kissin’ my cheeks, then snuggling her head into my shoulder.

And then she froze.

Her eyes slid past me.

Bri’s grin spread slow and wicked.

“Jackson Kershaw, you dawg,” she whispered. “Who is that?”

Before I could answer, Savannah piped up, bouncin’ on her toes.

“That’s Amy, Bri! She’s the new neighbor up at the Wilkes place!”

Bri’s eyes widened. “The Wilkes place? Not that old crooked cabin barely holding on to life—”

“Not anymore!” Savannah cut in. “Cabin’s flat as a pancake now. Her horse was so scared but she’s fine. Blaze is protecting her. Did ya bring Brad?”

Amy flushed, tuckin’ a strand of damp hair behind her ear. “Hi. Um. Sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“Yes honey, Brad drove us, he’ll be right in, had to take a call,” Bri told Savannah, then pointed her finger at me “And you be good, you hear or I will knee you in the balls.” she told me, brushing past me with that warm, disarming smile she’d perfected years ago. She crossed the room toward Amy, hand outstretched. “You’re not interrupting anything. I’m Briar Rose. Beau’s mom. And this is Briony, his twin sister. Briony…”

“Uh—yeah, hi,” Briony said, now glued to my side like she thought I’d been knockin’ on heaven’s gates last night. She shot Beau a glare sharp enough to cut wire.

“Amy,” she answered softly, shaking Bri’s hand. “Nice to meet you.”

And it was painfully obvious Amy was comparin’ herself — her damp hair, my oversized sweater hangin’ off her, her bruised arm and cheek, she must have fallen on a rock — to the stunning blonde and her mini‑me hangin’ off me like they owned the place. And the man.

Before the awkwardness could thicken, the front door opened again.

Brad stepped inside like the night before hadn’t shaken the whole damn county — tall, calm, balanced as ever, carryin’ two trays loaded down with fancy coffees and some upscale breakfast that smelled way too good for a morning after a storm like that. Not a drop spilled. Not a hair out of place. His curls were neatly contained, his shirt pressed crisp, his whole presence annoyingly perfect in that doctor way of his. Kind blue eyes, steady hands, the whole damn package.
Dr. Bradford Cunningham.
Bri’s husband.
The man who’d given her the life she deserved — the kinda life she wanted and needed and never had with me.

“Thank God everyone’s fine. Good morning, everybody,” he said, bright and steady. “We brought coffee and breakfast.” He smiled at me, then the kids — and when his gaze landed on Amy, it shifted just a touch, that polite, professional curiosity of a man who’s walked into a thousand rooms and instantly clocked the one face he doesn’t recognize. “And good morning to you,” he added gently, not pryin’, just respectful. “Rough night, I take it.”

He didn’t hover or crowd her — just offered that warm, steady acknowledgment only a man who’s spent half his life calming patients knows how to give — before setting the trays on the table, the scent of fresh, upscale coffee and baked goods, breakfast meats and eggs filling the entire house instantly.

Savannah and Beau were already hoverin’ like hungry barn cats when Savannah tugged on his sleeve.

“Braaaad?”

He turned to her, smiling. “What is it, honey?”

“Did ya bring yer doctor stuff? Amy got real hurt last night, was bleedin’ all over the place, real bad. Daddy patched it up but you’re a doctor…”

Brad’s attention snapped to Amy.

“Oh—no, it’s fine,” Amy said quickly. “Just a scrape.”

Brad was already movin’ toward her. “May I take a look anyway?”

“You really don’t have to—”

“Amy,” I said gently, “let him. Purdy sure he came here thinkin’ he’d be doin’ some patchin’ up. Surprised Connor didn’t show up yet.”

“Oh, he was gonna,” Bri said, shootin’ me a look, “but when we told him we were going, he let us. He figured you’d be too busy with cleanup to try… well, being you again.”

I knew damn well she meant me and Brad’s knack for rumblin’ over her. We traded glances that said everything without sayin’ a word.

Amy hesitated, clearly uncomfortable, then nodded.

Brad led her to my couch, settlin’ her where she could rest her arm on the armrest without havin’ to lift it. He eased the collar of my sweater down off her shoulder — careful, slow, like he’d done this a thousand times — makin’ sure the fabric wasn’t pullin’ on the injury. Then he tugged the sleeve back, crouched beside her, and peeled away the bandage. His expression tightened the second he saw the wound.

“This isn’t a scrape,” he said, voice dropping into that calm, clinical register. “It’s a laceration. Deep enough that it needs sutures. And given the metal and mud involved, I want to irrigate it thoroughly before I close it.”

Amy blinked fast. “Stitches? Really? I—I’m okay.”

“No, you’re not,” Brad said gently. “Jackson cleaned it well for field care, but this won’t close on its own. And I’m not stitching anything until I’m sure there’s no contamination. It’ll sting, but it’s important. I’ll give you something for the pain and I will numb the area.”

Before he could ask, Briony straightened. “I’ll get your bag,” she said, already headin’ for the door in her spotless sneakers.

Bri dove into her designer purse like she was searchin’ for buried treasure. “I have hand sanitizer!” she announced triumphantly, pullin’ out a tiny gold bottle. She pressed it into Brad’s hand, then kissed his cheek, then his jaw, then his lips. “You’re amazing.”

Brad smiled, used to her theatrics, and turned back to Amy.

Briony swept back in a moment later, holdin’ his medical bag like a nurse in a commercial. “Here,” she said, breathless but proud.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” Brad said, takin’ it from her and immediately diggin’ for what he needed — gloves and all that doctor stuff.

I sure as hell hadn’t used gloves last night. Power was out, rain comin’ sideways, and I was workin’ by candlelight and flashlights. Only gloves we keep on the ranch are the heavy‑duty workin’ kind, and those ain’t worth a damn for patchin’ up a person.

Briony beamed, then drifted right back to my side, slippin’ her arm around my waist like she needed to feel me solid and breathin’. Like a reflex, I kissed the top of her head.

And Bri, still buzzin’ with adrenaline and worry, wrapped herself around my other side.

Two blondes. One on each arm.

Amy relaxed under Brad’s care — Brad had that effect on people.

While he worked, Bri decided we should get breakfast set up. It gave the kids somethin’ to do and Amy and Brad some privacy.

After breakfast I took out the trash — normally Beau’s job, but he was busy tellin’ his sister about last night — and when I headed back, Bri was waitin’ outside, nudgin’ me with her elbow.

“I like her,” she whispered. “And I really like her for you.”

I groaned. “Bri—”

“Much better than that nasty‑ass Taylor,” she added with a smirk.

There it was — the Cameron in her. Didn’t matter how elegant or put‑together she looked these days, that family’s got a mouth on ’em when they want to.

“Ain’t nothin’ goin’ on,” I muttered. “Jus’ a neighbor. Stayed over ’cause her house is gone and she was hurt. Ya saw — she came outta the guest room, not what yer thinkin’.”

“It’s no longer my business where she slept — on top of you, under you, diagonally across you, whatever,” Bri said, waving a hand. “But I have eyes, Jackson. I saw you lookin’ at her.”

“I look at ev’rybody. It’s polite when they’re talkin’ to ya.”

Bri turned fully toward me, grabbed my face in both hands, and made me look at her.

“Jackson Kershaw, quit fucking around like that.”

I blinked. “Jeezus, Bri—”

“I’ve told you before,” she said, her voice softening just enough to sting, “I love you. Always will. But not like that anymore. We are not getting a re‑run. Not this time.”

I pulled back, awkward. “I know that.”

“But obviously, I care about you enough to fly across the damn country after some wrath‑of‑God storm almost wiped this dustbowl off the planet and nobody answered their damn phones! Not you, not my son! You can’t do that to a mother.” She jabbed a finger into my chest. “The only reason I’m not kicking your and Beau’s asses into next month is because Brad said cell service out here is garbage on a good day, so it was most certainly practically non-existent during a storm. I’m getting you a satellite phone. And you will answer it.”

“I lived forty‑some years with none of them fancy gadgets. Don’t need ’em now. But thank ya for… carin’.”

“You’re welcome.” She crossed her arms, all Cameron judgment and maternal fury. “But really — she’s new, she’s sweet, and Beau and Savannah like her. That’s not always guaranteed. So what the hell are you waiting for with Amy? And don’t deny it. I know you, Jackson. I’ve seen how you look at her.”

I opened my mouth to blow her off, but… yeah. I knew better. Last thing I needed was another can of worms, especially one with Bri’s name on it.

“It’s too soon,” I muttered. “Jus’ met her not even two weeks ago. She ain’t even had time to hang her hat yet, and ya want me courtin’ her already? Besides, she got baggage and that ain’t purdy, not one bit. I don’t think she’s lookin’ for romance right now.”

“Obviously she has baggage.” Bri lifted a brow. “Those highlights and that balayage? That’s not a local job. That’s a few hundred dollars in a real salon somewhere with actual civilization. I can see she’s slumming it for a reason, but she took care of herself before. And she sounds educated. The way she carries herself, even when this whole circus just descended on her with zero warning? Yeah, she’s not some wallflower from the boonies.”

She flicked her hair back, assessing Amy through the window like she was reading sheet music.

“She’s running from something — I know that look. I wore it a million times. Someone really broke her heart for a girl like that to want to come hide out here.”

Then she pointed at my sweater hanging off Amy’s shoulders.

“And she trusts you. She wouldn’t be wearing nothing but your old sweater, staying overnight in a stranger’s house, if she didn’t. All the more reason to show her what a good man looks like. Now more than ever, before her heartbreak festers into her never wanting to trust a man again. Ripping off her Band‑Aid while it’s still fresh hurts less.”

“Bri—”

“Jackson, I get what you’re saying, and if you lived anywhere else I might even agree. It is fast. But this isn’t normal civilization. Things work differently here.” She gave me that look — the one that saw straight through me. “You didn’t wait with Boone. Didn’t wait to jump back in bed with Taylor. So what’s the holdup here?”

I scowled. “Bri—”

“You like her,” she said simply. “A lot. And she likes you. That look she gave us when I hugged you? Honey, that told me everything I need to know.” She moved her index finger up and down in front of me like I was a slab of prime rib. “She wants some of that.”

Despite myself, I smiled. “Ya think?”

“I know,” she said, poking my chest. “Oh yeah, she wants to tap that, cowboy. Seriously, Jackson, listen to your wife for once in your life.”

“Ex‑wife,” I corrected, grinning.

“There you go!” she said brightly, giggling and nudging me. “That’s the spirit. Now you’re gettin’ it. So, what are you waitin’ for? You need somethin’ else under you to get that awful Taylor outta your system.”

“Hell, Bri!” I sputtered. “I don’t know that I’m real comfortable talkin’ like that with my ex‑wife. I’m barely over ya…”

“A‑ha!” she crowed, pointing at me with a victorious grin. “I knew it! I so friggin’ knew it. You are over me, finally! Finally I don’t have to constantly be on edge about you and Brad getting into another one of those stupid cock fights. And you like her. You wanna tap that too. So do it! Get the taste of that hoe outta your mouth, and Amy is someone I can actually get behind bein’ around my kids. If not her, hell knows what you’ll pull outta the pond to date next. Yuck.”

“Hey now…” I muttered, somewhat amused.

“What? I mean, your taste in women is dubious at best. Taylor over and over again, and then Boone? Umm… yeah… enough said.”

“Can I remind ya I was married to you — not once, but twice?” I smirked.

“Yeah, and I was constantly torn between you and Brad, for a whole whopping twenty-five years. Really great taste in women, cowboy.” She laughed, nudging me, makin’ me laugh too.

Gawd, I would always love that woman. How could I not? But she was right — somethin’ had shifted. Her smoochin’ around on Brad didn’t even hurt no more, and she was out here talkin’ about me rollin’ between the sheets with another woman. Maybe we’d evolved to — hell, I don’t even know. Friendship?

I looked through the kitchen window — Amy at the table, Brad makin’ her laugh, Savannah chatterin’ her ear off, Beau gesturing wildly while Briony’s eyes went wide.

She looked delicate somehow. And brave. And like she belonged here more than she realized.

“I don’t know,” I said quietly.

Briar nudged me again. “I don’t either, so quit waiting and make a move. Before someone else does. Honestly, what do you have to lose? You’re single. If she — against all odds — isn’t interested, which would REALLY shock the shit out of me, then you’re still single. Nothing changes. It’s a zero‑risk situation, Jackson.”

She paused, eyes narrowing just a touch — that sharp, knowing look she got when she was about to say something I didn’t wanna hear but needed to.

“Jackson, this is Chestnut Ridge.” She lifted one hand, palm up, as if presenting the entire town for judgment. “The dating pool here is… well, ‘limited’ is the polite word.” A delicate flick of her fingers. “Real word is tragic.”

She tapped her manicured nails lightly against her own chest, then pointed toward the kitchen window. “A pretty girl like that shows up single in a place like this? Every cowboy within ten miles is already sniffing around like somebody dropped a steak on the floor around a pack of hungry dogs.”

Then she snapped her fingers once — sharp, decisive. “You drag your feet, someone else is gonna scoop her up before you even finish thinking about it and Mr. Kershaw is left holding his own again.”

I snorted. “Ain’t no worry o’ mine. Amy got her heart broke bad, if she wants to mend it messin’ with some horny cowboys, then fine by me.” Lie.

Her words made a lot of good sense and hearing them did worry me a great deal. She was right. I wasn’t the only rodeo in town, and if I waited too long, some other fella might make her a better offer. Then I’d end up with two good women likin’ another man better than me in the end. I really wasn’t lookin’ for a repeat of how it felt to lose Bri to Brad.

“You should be worried. And why can’t that horny cowboy be you?” she said simply. And she knew she was right too.

She grabbed my chin again, turning my head toward her. “Jackson, all joking aside, I am serious now. I want you to be happy. I’ve told you this a million times. You and I were great together, but when we weren’t, it was abyssal. Horrid. My heart broke so many times—”

“Thanks for the refresher…” I grumbled.

“Jackson.” Her voice softened. “I’m not placing blame. I’m saying you and I weren’t each other’s forever. Like it or not, Brad is mine. Maybe she is yours. You won’t know unless you try. Nobody knows. But it’s a chance worth taking.”

“Isn’t that the title of your last song?”

“The one before last,” she said, smiling, “but I love you for knowing that. I know my music isn’t quite your gear, cowboy, so it means a lot that you keep up.”

She let her hand fall to my chest, smoothing the front of my shirt like she used to when we were young and so much in love it hurt. Old habit. Old love. Different shape now.

“You deserve something good, Jackson,” she said quietly. “Something easy. Something that doesn’t tear you apart just to put you back together again. And from where I’m standing, it looks like Amy’s trying to start over. She chose Chestnut Ridge of all places for some reason. Blank slate. Fresh ground. Make your mark, and the two of you might build something incredible from it.”

I swallowed, lookin’ past her toward the kitchen window. Amy laughed at somethin’ Brad said, her shoulders finally loosening, Savannah leanin’ into her like she’d known her forever. Damn if that didn’t do somethin’ to me.

Bri followed my gaze. ’Course she did. She always saw more than I wanted her to.

“She’s not your past,” she murmured. “That’s the point. She might be your future. I just have a good feeling about you two. Call it female intuition.”

I didn’t answer. Couldn’t. My chest felt too tight for words, like everything she was sayin’ was hittin’ places I’d boarded up years ago.

Briar Rose reached up, pressed a soft kiss to my cheek — not romantic, not nostalgic. Just… sweet. The kind of sweet that made somethin’ old in me ache.

“Don’t be afraid to let go of what hurt you,” she whispered. “Sometimes that’s the only way you make room for what heals you.”

She stepped back then, smoothing her hair, sliding right back into that effortless grace she carried like a second skin. Always had.

“Now,” she said, bright again, “go inside before Brad steals her away with his doctor charm. You know how people get around him. And clearly, she isn’t from this area — she sounds and acts like she’s more our crowd.”

I snorted. “Yer right. Born and raised in San Myshuno.”

“I knew it,” she said, eyes sparkling. “And good. You don’t need a country bumpkin, Jackson. You are country enough. You need an educated woman or you get bored, and then all that remains is going to be sex and ranch work.”

“And that’s bad how?” I joked, makin’ her laugh.

“You are too smart,” she said, tapping my chest. “I know you too well. I’ve known you for twenty‑five years. Since we were barely teens, at Connor’s backyard parties and your dad dragging you out there every holiday so you would know what family really feels like. You’d get bored and unhappy with a local girl. Boone was as country as they come, and that failed gloriously. And Taylor—fine, she’s pretty, I’ll give her that, but I never once heard you even consider putting a ring on her.”

I smiled, because she wasn’t wrong. She never had been when it came to me.

When it came to that deep, stupid, heart‑first kind of fallin’…

I’d never been able to do it with any local girls or women.

Not like I had with Bri. And not like I was doin’ with—

I stopped myself. Didn’t let the thought finish. Didn’t dare. Felt like sayin’ it out loud might make it real.

She nudged me once more with her elbow — the same way she had when we were sixteen and she’d dared me to sneak away with her to make out— then headed inside, leavin’ me on the porch with the sun warm on my shoulders and a truth I wasn’t ready to name sittin’ heavy in my chest.

Somethin’ in the Air

Once Briar Rose, Brad, and Briony left again, my ranchhands finally showed up, and with their help, Beau, Savannah, and I started cleanin’ up. Amy had been banned from helpin’ — not just ’cause of the stitches, but ’cause Brad had given her the stronger pain meds and warned me she’d get good and loopy once the adrenaline wore off. One arm out of commission and her head floatin’ wasn’t exactly a safe combination around busted fences and scattered sheet metal. Since they were flyin’ back to the Bay, Brad suggested takin’ her along for my usual bi‑weekly trip to San Sequoia with Beau to see Briony this upcomin’ weekend, so Connor could take another look at her shoulder.

During a break to hydrate, I went to check on Amy — and she looked like someone had run over her dog and backed up to make sure. Eyes red. Shoulders tight. Not pain — something worse.

I figured maybe her arm was flarin’ up again, so I brought her pills and some water. She shook her head, jaw locked, walls slammed back up so fast I damn near heard ’em.

So I asked.

At first she tried to brush me off, but then she looked straight at me — really looked — and something in her cracked.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Tell ya what?”

“Your ex‑wife is Briar Rose Cameron?! Are you kidding me right now?”

I blinked. “…Does it matter?”

“Does it matter?! Does it matter, he asks.” She let out a humorless huff, pacing like she was trying to outrun her own thoughts.

“I don’t get it,” I said. “What’s all this now? Ya knew I been married before.”

“Yes, but not to Briar Rose Cameron! Oh my God, on a day I look the worst I EVER have, you let me walk right into you snuggling it up with a literal superstar, then I end up sitting on your couch being treated by Dr. Bradford Cunningham himself! Were you trying to give me a heart attack? Because you almost succeeded!”

I frowned. “I still don’t get it. Bri’s married to Brad now. ’Course they travel together most of the time.”

“Jackson, first of all, when a man tells me they have an ex‑wife, I assume they’re barely civil for the sake of their children — not smooching around like they’re still together. I mean, good for you, but a little heads‑up would’ve been nice.”

She ran both hands through her hair, pacing faster.

“And most of the women I used to think were my friends — including myself — have been to several of her concerts. She’s huge. And the company I used to work for? Their biggest account is Cunningham Medical. I never met him, obviously, cos I wasn’t important enough, but I’ve seen him arrive for meetings. They treated him like royalty. And you just let me walk into all that blindly, looking like this — like a homeless person, which I literally am, sleeping in your spare room.”

I rubbed the back of my neck. “Okay, well… had I told ya I was married to her, would that have changed anything?”

“Yes. I would have not—”

She stopped. Mid‑sentence. Like she’d almost stepped off a cliff she didn’t know was there.

Her eyes went wide. Then she blushed. Then she looked down, shoulders curling in like she was tryin’ to make herself smaller.

“Jackson, I… I can’t… I can’t compete with a world like yours.”

“Didn’t know we was competin’.”

“You know what I mean.” Her voice cracked. “I come from a world like that. But clearly, I’m not that anymore. People like me are… trash to people like that. Like I was. Like the man who ruined my life was. Was that right? No. But when you’re part of that world you just become a different person. I don’t even want to know what Dr. Cunningham and Briar Rose were REALLY thinking of me.”

“Well, I can tell ya. ’Cause Bri told me.”

“You talked about me? Oh God.”

“Yeah. She liked yer hair, said it was done in a nice salon. Knew you were from the East Coast — that’s where she and Brad grew up. She just moved West after college ’cause her parents followed her brother. Ya’ll meet him, by the way — Brad said to take ya with me this weekend when Beau, Savannah and I go see Briony at her grandparents’ house so he can look at yer injury. And, like him or not, Brad ain’t dramatic. If he says it needs more lookin’ at, then that’s that. I ain’t lettin’ ya lose an arm or whatnot on my watch just ’cause yer stubborn about who ya think my family is. Yeah, we’re divorced, but we’re still close, and her family’s still my family. I like it that way. And we wasn’t smoochin’. We just deeply care ’bout one another.” Felt weird standin’ there regurgitatin’ Bri’s words but she was right.

“Jackson, I can’t go to those people.” Her voice was barely a whisper now. “Do you not know who Briar Rose’s dad is? When I was a teenager I had the biggest crush on Chase Cameron. I know every line to every song 2Dark 2C ever released. Maybe back when I looked like I used to, but not like this. Do you not understand the situation I’m in? I have nothing left, Jackson. Literally NOTHING. I can’t go to their house looking like I am there to clean their toilets.”

“Ya got me if ya want me.”

She froze.

“What?”

She looked at me like I’d grown a second head — like she couldn’t decide if I was joking, pitying her, or flat‑out insane. And hell if I knew how to explain it. Everything Bri had said was still rattling around in my skull, knocking loose things I’d kept nailed down for years.

Words weren’t gonna cut it. Not for this. Not for her.

So I stepped closer.

Slow at first — giving her room to back away if she wanted — but she didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Didn’t blink.

Her eyes were wide and wet and scared and wanting all at once, and something in my chest just… gave.

I leaned in and kissed her.

Not gentle. Not testing. Not polite.

A real kiss — the kind that came from somewhere deep and stupid and honest. The kind that said everything I didn’t know how to say out loud.

She gasped against my mouth, hands twitching like she didn’t know whether to shove me away or hold on. For a second — one long, awful second — she went still.

And my stomach dropped.

Shit. I’d misread it. Bri had misread it. I’d scared her. I’d ruined everything.

I started to pull back.

But then—

She grabbed the front of my shirt with her good hand and yanked me right back in, kissing me like she’d been drowning and I was the first breath of air she’d had in weeks.

It hit me so hard my knees damn near buckled.

Amy — quiet, careful, skittish Amy — kissed like a wildfire. Like she’d been holding herself together with duct tape and prayer and finally let go. Like she had something to prove to herself, not me.

And for a split second, it hit me — not a comparison, not a ghost — but a memory of that feeling I thought I’d never get again. That inner fire. That spark. That thing Bri and I had when we were young and stupid and fearless.

Except this wasn’t that. This was different. New. Sharper. Hotter.

Amy kissed me like she was trying to climb inside my ribs and set up camp.

I wrapped an arm around her waist, careful of her injury, and she melted into me with a soft, broken sound that damn near undid me.

Her fingers curled in my shirt. Her breath hitched. Her lips parted like she was giving me permission she didn’t know how to say out loud.

And I kissed her back — slow this time, deep, steady — letting her set the pace, letting her feel every ounce of what I hadn’t been able to say.

When we finally broke apart, she stayed close, forehead resting against my chest, breathing hard like she’d run a mile.

She didn’t pull away.

Didn’t apologize.

Didn’t run.

She just held on.

And for the first time in a long damn while, I felt something settle in me instead of break.

For a long moment after we broke apart, neither of us moved.

Amy stayed pressed against me, forehead on my chest, breathing like she’d sprinted through a storm. My hands were still on her waist, not holding her tight, just… steady. Her fingers were still curled in my shirt like she didn’t know how to let go.

The room felt different. Quiet. Charged. Like the air itself was waiting.

“Jackson…” she whispered, voice trembling.

“Yeah,” I murmured. “I’m right here.”

She swallowed hard, then finally lifted her head. Her eyes were glassy, cheeks flushed, lips kiss‑swollen. She looked wrecked in the softest, sweetest way.

“This is so fast,” she breathed. “Too fast. I barely know anything about you. I shouldn’t feel…” She shook her head, frustrated with herself. “…like I’ve known you forever.”

That hit me square in the chest.

I brushed my thumb along her cheek, slow. “Ain’t nothin’ wrong with somethin’ feelin’ right.”

She let out a shaky laugh that wasn’t really a laugh. “I don’t understand any of this.”

“Well,” I said, smiling a little, “Bri told me somethin’ earlier. Said we ain’t got nothin’ to lose. And if we don’t try, we’ll never know.”

Amy blinked, surprised. “She said that?”

“Yup. And she also said the datin’ market in Chestnut Ridge is thin as a scarecrow. If I don’t move fast, some other cowboy might swoop ya up.”

That finally pulled a real laugh out of her — soft, breathless, but real.

“Oh,” she said, wiping under her eyes, “good point. Maybe I should shop around the cowboy section a bit. Just to make sure.”

I raised a brow, slid a hand to the small of her back, and tugged her gently closer.

“Hey now,” I said, low and warm. “Ain’t nobody shoppin’ while I’m standin’ right here.”

Her breath caught — that tiny, involuntary sound that went straight to my ribs.

She looked up at me, eyes shining, lips parting just a little.

“Jackson…”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t stop.”

So I didn’t.

I leaned in again — slower this time, deeper, letting her feel every ounce of what I couldn’t say yet — and she met me halfway, kissing me like she’d finally stopped running from herself.

And for the first time in a long damn while, something in me settled instead of broke.

We stayed there for a long moment, breathing the same air, her forehead against mine, the world finally quiet.

Then—

A soft thunk against the window.

Amy flinched. I frowned. “What in the—”

Another thunk, followed by Beau’s muffled teenage groan:

“Savannah, stop it! You’re gonna break the glass!”

Amy blinked up at me. I turned toward the window.

And there they were.

Savannah and Beau, smashed flat against the glass like two raccoons at a bakery window. Savannah’s palms cupped around her eyes for maximum visibility. Beau’s nose squished sideways.

The second they realized we were looking, they jerked back like they thought they’d been invisible. Savannah dove a hand straight into her brother’s back pocket.

“HEY!” Beau yelped, straightening so fast he smacked his head on the window frame. “Savannah! Gimme back mah phone!”

She bolted, and he shot after her.

“Give it back!” Beau lunged, but she was small, fast, and slippery as a greased piglet.

“What the heck you need my phone for?!” he demanded, trying to grab it while she zig‑zagged around him.

Savannah grinned, wicked and proud.

“To call Bri! She promised me twenty bucks if I catch ’em kissin’ and call her right away!”

Amy made a strangled noise. I covered my face with one hand.

Savannah, meanwhile, was already sprinting across the yard, phone in hand, Beau chasing her with all the grace of a newborn foal.

Amy looked up at me, frowning. “Is… is that normal?”

I sighed. “’Fraid so.”

She laughed — soft, breathless, beautiful — and leaned into me again.

And that’s how the moment ended: with my heart full, my kids feral, and Bri’s voice in my head goin’, “Finally listened to his (ex)wife!”