AN: Hello dearests!

Hope y'all have had a great week! I had a fantastic week because my sweet little baby angel nephew was born! He is healthy and perfect, and I'm so excited love on him and spoil him forever:):)

Disclaimer: Ally Carter owns Zach, Cammie, and the Gallagher universe.

Happy reading!

Zach's POV

After Cammie had sent me back upstairs, I took my time getting ready. If Ryden wanted some time to catch up with Cammie, that was fine. I was totally cool with it. Totally. Cool. With. It.

So, I took a hot shower, brushed my teeth as requested, and put my clothes on properly this time.

I double-checked my reflection in the mirror and smiled. Not only was everything on properly, but I looked good. I had on a pair of dark-wash jeans, a sky-blue crew neck sweatshirt, and my hair was styled in an unstyled sort of way that I knew Cammie liked. She wouldn't be looking at Ryden with me around.

At least that was the plan.

Since when am I the jealous type? I cringed at my thoughts as I headed across the yard to the main house.

Cammie had been on a few honeypot missions since we officially joined the CIA a little over a year ago, and I had never once turned into a possessive psycho while those men ogled and groped Cammie. Of course, I might've taken a little bit of extra satisfaction when she eventually got the information we needed, nailed the guy, and had Townsend or Joe take him away to never see the light of day again. But I'd always kept my head, knowing it was another mission for her, another cover.

And, I supposed, Cammie was technically under cover. For the next week, Cammie had to pretend to be normal. I smiled, knowing she was anything but normal as I climbed the porch stairs and approached the side screen door that led to the kitchen.

"How long has he been your boyfriend?"

I stopped at the sound of Mrs. Morgan's voice, knowing I was the "he" she was referring to. Now, any normal boyfriend at this point would creep closer, stay hidden, and spy on his girlfriend, wanting to hear her answer. But I was a real spy, so I professionally creeped closer and professionally stayed hidden while I professionally spied on my girlfriend. Vastly different.

I knew Cammie was in there with her, but I couldn't hear her reply. I leaned closer; she must've been talking very quietly. Or perhaps she knew I was out here listening and refused to answer.

"You look more confused than a fart in a fan factory," the older woman said.

Confused? Why was Cammie confused?

"What?" Cammie finally said.

"Knowing the day y'all claimed each other isn't rocket science, sweetheart."

Thank goodness for that—rocket science had been one of my weaker subjects at Blackthorne. But I remembered very well the day I quite literally claimed Cammie. I remembered the stern, protective look on Joe's face when I'd told him, "I've got Morgan," that chilly day in D.C. I remembered her triumph after she shocked both Joe and I when she revealed she knew who I was (or, at least what I was). And I remembered trying to hide myself behind excessive bravado after that, but Cammie always knew me. Or, at least, she never took me at face value; she was too smart for that.

Lord knows I didn't make it easy for her, though, so I was personally very interested in the answer she was going to give. When had she "claimed" me back?

"Umm…"

"And what are you lovely ladies talking about?"

I groaned silently at the interruption, but Cammie could barely hide the relief in her voice. "Morning, Grandpa!"

"I was just asking Cammie some questions about her boyfriend," Mrs. Morgan told him.

Questions? As in more than one? What else had been said about me?

"Oh, yes," Mr. Morgan sighed, "the boyfriend."

"Why do you say it like that?" Cammie asked.

"Like what?"

"Like you disapprove."

My gut pinched and rolled uncomfortably as I was caught between wanting to hear Mr. Morgan's answer and wanting to run the other way. I'd only met the man yesterday, and I had no idea what I'd done to screw this up already.

This is what I was afraid of.

The nearing voices of the ranch hands made the decision for me. With my most natural, I-wasn't-eavesdropping smile, I pushed through the screen door. "Good morning, everyone."

Cammie's look of distress disappeared when she saw me and was replaced with a smile. It was a forced one, though. I knew Cammie's face better than I knew anyone's, and when she genuinely smiles, her whole face can't help but take part. Right then, her lips and cheeks pulled into one, but her eyes…her eyes swam with questions and doubts. And it hurt. I shoved my hands in my pockets to keep from rubbing the heel of my palm over my chest to assuage the sudden ache there.

Was she doubting us? Did her grandpa's opinion of me hold that much sway?

The next moment, though, she blinked and the uncertainty I saw was gone, and I was left wondering if I'd imagined it or if spy school had trained her a little too well at hiding her emotions.

"I see you managed to dress yourself," she said, amused.

I smiled. If she was teasing me then we were fine. Of course Cammie and I were fine.

I spread my arms. "Shirt's facing the right way and everything."

"It doesn't rightly matter whether it's facing backward, forward, or if you're using it for a hat," Mr. Morgan said. He lowered himself into a chair at the kitchen table with a grunt and poured himself a cup of coffee while I stood there holding a tortured breath, waiting for him to pass some unknown judgment. He then eyed my shirt with a look bordering on disgust. "You can't wear a shirt like that for farm work. You'll have to change."

I'd jumped out of a moving train in a tux, and I'd incapacitated five bodyguards for an arms dealer in a dress (don't ask), so I was pretty sure I could clean some stalls and feed some chickens in my upscale casual sweatshirt.

Mr. Morgan didn't know those things, but even if he had the clearance, I didn't think he would've cared. So I just said, "Yes, sir."

Mr. Morgan gave a slight nod of approval at my response, then briefly jutted his chin toward the door. "Go on then."

"Grandpa," Cammie said with an edge of annoyance. "Breakfast is almost ready. Zach can change after—"

"No time like the present, Dolly."

And even my Gallagher Girl couldn't argue with that.

I smiled at Cammie reassuringly then turned to open the door, but Ryden and the other ranch hands had finally reached us and were filing inside.

"Where you going, man?" Ryden asked as I slid past him to leave. "Breakfast is this way." He smiled wide and jerked his thumb into the kitchen.

"I'm not used to picking out farm attire," I told him. "I just need to put on more comfortable clothes."

As I walked away, I heard him murmur, "How many tries does it take for a city boy to put on some clothes?"

The resulting laughter followed me nearly half-way across the yard.

AN: Thank you so much for taking the time out of your busy schedules to read this next chapter! A thousand brownie points for each and every one of you! If it tickles your peach to do so, leave an encouraging comment or helpful critique. Feedback is always appreciated:)

Now, I know what you're all thinking: Ryden is such a jerk! I know, friends. I know. I wish I could say I regret writing him, but I don't because...drama. Just take comfort in the fact that if it came down to it, Zach could take Ryden out and make it look like an accident. Let those thoughts lull you to sleep tonight.

Much love, Rachel