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N o matter how hard I try, I can’t forget the image of Jensen seconds away from kissing me this morning. Despite the distraction, I still managed to paint a wall in the living room, though the memory of our almost -kiss played on repeat in my head.

I can’t explain why, but a part of me wanted him to kiss me—to find out what it would feel like to have his lips on mine. Thinking about him gazing at me with those green eyes as he traces my jawline makes my pulse quicken.

I blame those damn panties.

They’ve opened a door I’m afraid can’t be closed.

Until now, my attraction for Jensen had been set to a simmer, and I’ve tried everything to stop my desire from boiling over.

It made it easier when I assumed his occasional flirting was a product of loneliness and isolation on the ranch.

But now, our almost- kiss has upended that theory, and I fear I won’t be satisfied until he kisses me.

The problem? It could unleash a whole host of complications we’re better off avoiding, but I’m unsure if I can pretend it didn’t happen .

After a trip to Tinker Toys, Jensen and Caleb spent the afternoon at the ranch house with Mama Julie and Pops.

Caleb’s obsessed with the craft room, especially the dinosaur paint-by-number set they got him.

He hasn’t been in Bluebell long, but he’s already getting the grandparent treatment.

They already adore him as if he were their own.

They invited me to dinner, but I politely declined.

Instead, I stayed in my room until the boys got home, and once Jensen went to put Caleb to bed, I slipped out to sit on the front porch.

I love the peace that comes with quiet nights on the ranch, including the rustling grass, the chirping crickets, and the distant lowing of cattle settling in for the night.

My favorite part about living here is the slow pace. We all work hard but always make time to enjoy the little things.

My phone buzzes repeatedly, and of course, it’s the girls blowing up the group chat.

Backroads & Bad Decisions Group Chat

Charlie: Ran into Mr. Grady at Lasso & Latte.

Charlie: He’s got half the coffee shop convinced someone’s out to sabotage his chicken farm because they’re bitter over losing to his wife in the pie contest last year.

Charlie: Even showed Sheriff Matterson a photo of a boot print like it’s CSI: Country Chicken Edition.

Birdie: Oh. My. God. We might actually go to jail this time!!

Briar: For rescuing a chicken? Highly doubtful.

Wren: Technically, it was a bird-napping.

I shake my head, amused with their concerns.

Charlie: I can’t go to jail. Do you know what orange does to my complexion?

Wren: Montana’s state prison issues dark green uniforms.

Charlie: Whew. I was worried I’d clash with the walls.

Birdie: You’re worried about matching your cell?!

Birdie: Did you miss the part where WE COULD GO TO JAIL?!

Wren: I promise to write you letters weekly.

Charlie: Birdie, stop panicking. Your dad’s the sheriff—he’d never arrest you. Me and Briar? Different story.

Briar: We saved a chicken from being slaughtered. That has to count for something.

Birdie: Shh! Keep the murder talk to yourself. Nugget is still processing.

Wren: I still can’t believe you named the chicken.

Birdie: Of course I did. She’s part of the family now.

I smile. Her fierce loyalty to animals never ceases to amaze me.

Charlie: She better not expect a phone plan.

Birdie: Too late. She already picked out her ringtone.

Briar: We need to lie low. No more rescue missions for a while, okay?

Birdie: Copy that.

Charlie: Why do I get the feeling Birdie’s version of “lying low” means a herd of sheep on her porch by sundown?

“Looks like someone’s enjoying their conversation.” I lift my head when I hear Jensen’s voice. He’s propped against the doorway, watching me. “Maybe I’d stand a better chance of getting your attention if I text you, too.”

“Depends. Are you any good with emojis?”

“Nope, but I have some pretty good pickup lines that’ll make you laugh.”

“Go ahead, hit me with your best shot,” I challenge.

I lift a brow, puzzled when he pulls out his phone and starts typing. A second later, mine buzzes with a new message. We exchanged numbers on my first day nannying for Caleb in case he ever needed to get in touch while we were out.

Jensen: Are you a parking ticket? Because you’ve got “FINE” written all over you.

I shake my head, fighting a grin. He was right. Funny but ridiculously cheesy.

Briar: If I’m a ticket, you’re about to get fined for that terrible pun.

Jensen: I deserve a redemption line, don’t you think?

Briar: Well?

Jensen: Do you have a Band-Aid? I just scraped my knee falling for you.

Briar: I have a Band-Aid, but it’s not enough to patch up your delivery.

Jensen: You wound me.

Briar: Your pickup lines started it.

I steal a look at him, his mouth twitching as he holds back a smile while typing a reply.

Jensen: How about this one…

Jensen: If you were a vegetable, you’d be a cutecumber.

I burst out laughing, an unladylike snort escaping my nose. “It’s official. You’ve entered your dad-joke era, and I fear all hope for redemption is lost.”

Jensen tucks his phone into his pocket and comes to take a seat next to me on the porch swing. “Hey, I got you to laugh. That’s a win in my book.”

“If that’s what you call winning, I’m afraid you’re more out of practice than you think.”

He smirks. “Guess I should thank you for tolerating my lack of humor, then. Maybe you should share what you thought was so funny on your phone when I came outside. Could be something I could learn from.”

He’s good, I’ll give him that—steering the conversation back to the question he wants answered .

“I was checking texts from my friends’ group chat. We mainly gossip and plot our next questionable decision,” I respond, staying light on the details.

“Like?” Jensen presses.

I bite my bottom lip, contemplating how much to tell him. It’s totally irrational, but a part of me still worries he’ll judge me or decide I shouldn’t watch Caleb after I admit that I committed poultry-related breaking and entering.

I face him, offering a look that’s all business. “Promise you won’t judge or call the sheriff?”

Jensen tilts his head, a playful smile curving at the corners of his mouth. “Now you have to tell me, or I’ll assume the worst, like you getting in a bar fight or cow tipping.”

I gasp in mock horror. “Birdie would never tolerate us messing with them. When Charlie suggested riding cows in high school, Birdie didn’t talk to her for a month. She’s all about protecting the animals at all costs.”

As a kid, she was devastated when she found out the Halsteads owned a cattle ranch, and it took her years to come to terms with the idea that my family’s ranch didn’t mean I couldn’t also support her and her passion for animal rights.

“If that’s true, what in the world could you have done that might warrant a visit from the sheriff?” It’s obvious Jensen’s more curious than concerned.

I shift in my seat, tucking my hair behind my ear as I look him in the eye. “Remember the night we had the plumbing issue, and I was out late?”

He nods slowly.

“Well… we sort of trespassed on old man Grady’s property to steal a chicken. We being me, Charlie, and Birdie,” I say, trying to sound nonchalant.

To be fair, for us, it was a typical Friday night adventure .

Jensen blinks twice, his lips parting in disbelief. “You what ?”

“He was getting rid of a chicken for being pecked on. So, we took matters into our own hands, snuck onto his property, and rescued her from being slaughtered. Had it not been for us, the poor thing would’ve ended up on Mr. Grady’s dinner table.

” I exhale deeply when I finish, anxiously waiting for Jensen’s response.

I don’t have to wait long.

He throws his head back, laughing. “For a minute there, I thought you were about to confess to burying a body or robbing a bank. Does a chicken heist even constitute a real crime?”

I scoff, playfully swatting his arm. “Excuse me—poultry theft is serious business.”

Jensen presses his lips together, amusement shining in his eyes. “Oh, I have no doubt.”

“Birdie’s dad is the sheriff, so we usually get a warning… and a lecture that always ends with him offering us his homemade peach cobbler.”

We only had real consequences the time Charlie vandalized a minivan to create a distraction while we were saving a piglet with a limp.

Turns out it was the pastor’s vehicle used to deliver meals to homebound individuals and to shuttle the church’s senior choir to rehearsals.

That stunt bought us six months of community service, and the pastor still gives me the side-eye when I run into him at the grocery store.

“If you get hauled off to jail, I’ll be waiting with bail money. No questions asked,” Jensen states.

“My criminal career thanks you,” I tease. “Honestly, I was half convinced you’d never let Caleb see me again if you thought I was a bad influence.”

He scoots closer, his hand settling on my thigh. “By now, you should know I’d never think that, especially when you’re out rescuing animals with your friends. And besides, you’re far too important to Caleb, and—” He stops short, his eyes searching mine as if he wants to say more.

“I think we should talk about what happened this morning,” I say hesitantly.

“Oh, you mean the part where I found your risqué panties hanging on the clothesline?” He smirks. “Yes, let’s discuss that, shall we?”

I bite my lower lip. “No, the part where we almost kissed.”

His grin widens. “Ah, that part. Must have slipped my mind.”

I exhale slowly, my heart racing. “We were in the heat of the moment, that’s all.”

“Sure.”

“A kiss would have been a disaster for us both.”

Jensen nods. “The worst.”

“It’s good we stopped before it went that far.”

His gaze drops to my mouth. “Definitely.”

I sigh. “Will you stop agreeing with everything I say?”