Chapter 12

Steve was wrong, Camille decided as she used a manure fork to sift through the shavings. He was the un-hate-able one—he and his four abnormally sweet children.

“Are you still working on Buttercup’s stall?” Maya asked from the aisle.

“Yes. Sorry! For one horse, she makes a huge amount of poop.”

“She may be only one horse,” Maya said, “but she’s a big one.”

“True. Okay, I think I’ve finally picked out the last of it.” Camille gave the shavings a final rake with the manure fork, making sure to bank them up around the sides of the stall, and then hoisted the muck bucket, carrying it out with her.

Maya leaned on the wheelbarrow handles, making the wheel pop off the ground a few inches. “Go ahead and dump it in, and I’ll take it out to the compost pile.”

“Thanks.” Camille emptied the muck bucket into the already half-full wheelbarrow. “What other stalls need to be cleaned?”

“None. I did the rest.”

Frowning, Camille said, “Now I feel really slow.”

“You kind of are, but it’s okay. You’ll get faster.” After giving Camille a commiserating pat on the arm, Maya grabbed the wheelbarrow handles again and pushed it down the aisle, leaving Camille unsure of whether to be amused or offended by the critique. She snorted a laugh and went to switch out her manure fork for a broom.

By the time Maya returned and put the now-empty wheelbarrow away, Camille had finished sweeping the aisle clear of dust and bits of hay.

“Thanks!” Maya grinned at her. “Sweeping is my least favorite.”

“Really? You’d rather clean stalls?” They walked through the quiet barn. All the stalls were empty, the horses either turned out in one of the pastures or, in Buttercup and Harry’s cases, at work towing trees and giving rides to excited kids. Camille loved the quiet peace of the barn, the cold, late-morning sunshine streaming through windows and the open top of the Dutch door, and everything smelling of pine shavings and hay. She’d willingly spend the whole day in the barn, rather than join the busy crowd at the store or in the lot, but she reminded herself of her pledge to help out however possible, even if that meant putting her scant customer-service skills to work.

Maya considered the question carefully before answering. “Yes. I don’t mind cleaning stalls that much, and I hate sweeping the aisle. All the dust, and I just get it done when someone walks through the barn with muddy boots or carrying a bale of hay—or worse, Tollie drags a pine branch in here, so there are pine needles everywhere…” She swung her arms out in huge circles.

Camille giggled at Maya’s dramatic gestures, and Maya joined in, and by the time they left the barn and walked down the path toward the store, they were laughing their heads off for no reason except that the other person’s snorts kept setting them off again.

“Hey, beautiful ladies,” Ryan said, and Camille quickly sobered. It was the first time she’d seen him since he’d dropped her off at Steve’s after the fire, and he was a visceral reminder of why she hadn’t been laughing much over the past day and a half. “What are you two up to?”

“We just finished cleaning the barn,” Maya said, and Camille gave an agreeing bob of her head, thinking about how handy it was to have Maya around. If she planned it right, she might never have to speak to anyone she didn’t want to ever again. At the thought, she mentally scolded herself. As pushy as Ryan had been before the fire, he’d been concerned and helpful that night, even offering to let her stay with him in his cabin—not that she would’ve taken him up on his offer. Holding on to that thought, she gave him a smile, which he quickly returned.

“Where are you headed?” Camille asked, doing her best to make an effort to be friendly.

“Harry pulled a shoe.” He grimaced. “It’s lost somewhere between the lot and the trees, so I doubt we’re going to find it before spring. I’m going to grab Harry and meet the farrier by the barn. Just what we needed on one of our busiest days of the year.”

See, Camille lectured herself. He’s perfectly nice when he’s not trying to get you to go out with him. “Can we help with anything?”

“Check with Steve. He’s in the store,” Ryan said over his shoulder as he headed toward the lot, where Harry was tied to the hitching post. A crowd of people swarmed around the horse, making Camille cringe. It had been a long time since she’d had to interact with so many people at once. “He’ll give you a list, I’m sure.”

Maya jogged ahead of her toward the store, and Camille pretended that she wasn’t moving at a turtle’s pace to try to delay the inevitable. The gift shop wasn’t that far away, though, and she reached the entrance far too quickly. Even getting inside was tough, with families and couples crowding the doorway as they walked in and out.

By the time she reached the register where Will and Steve were working, Maya was already busy refilling the coffee maker and cider warmer, and Camille was doubting her decision to stay at the ranch. How bad could staying with Mrs. Lin really be? Immediately, her inner voice assured her that it could’ve been very, very bad.

A man examining the wreath display stepped back, almost running into Camille. Although she managed to dodge, the closeness of all the people pressing in on her made her breathing speed up and her skin prickle with discomfort. Just as she decided to bolt, Steve looked up from the register and saw her. He lit up, a smile stretching across his face, making the corners of his eyes crinkle and erasing all of his habitual sternness. His welcoming look woke the butterflies in her stomach, and they swooped and darted around as she looked back at him, unable to hold back her own broad smile. Suddenly, being in the crowded, noisy store seemed a little less awful.

“Hey, Camille!” Will greeted her as he wrapped a glass star-shaped tree topper in tissue. “We’ve sold two of your sculptures already this morning. I’m so glad they didn’t burn.”

“Will,” Steve scolded, giving her a worried look, but she just choked on a laugh.

“I agree.” She shifted behind the counter to stay out of the customers’ way. Her new position had the secondary benefit of putting her very close to Steve. “I’m also glad that your dad knows how to break into a 1979 Buick Electra so we could get to those pieces.” Peeking up at him through her lashes, she saw that he was giving her one of his stern-but-trying-not-to-laugh looks. It was quickly becoming one of her favorites.

Unlike his dad, Will just laughed outright as he slid the wrapped star into a bag and handed it to the waiting customer.

“Camille, if you’re not too busy telling my son about my less-admirable skills, would you mind taking over packaging?”

As she watched Will bag up a box of bulbs, she gave an internal sigh of relief. Packaging didn’t look so bad. She had plenty of experience from shipping her artwork, and the only customer contact was taking the items and handing them back when they were wrapped and bagged. “I can do that.”

“Great. Thank you.” Steve sounded almost as relieved as she felt. “Will, did you want to work the tree lot or the register?”

“Tree lot.” Judging by the lack of hesitation, it seemed that Will needed a break from the store. Camille could fully empathize with that. “C’mon, Camille. I’ll show you were you can hang up your coat.”

He led her into the small office at the back of the store. “Just throw it on any of these hooks.”

She slipped off the coat she’d borrowed the day before. Even though she had bought a new one at Target, she kept wearing Steve’s, telling herself that she didn’t want to get her new one dirty doing barn chores. The truth was that she loved his. When she was feeling sad or overwhelmed or shaky, she’d bury her nose in the collar and inhale the faint traces of his scent. It calmed her down and made her feel safe, just like his unexpected, comforting hug in the fire marshal’s office the day before. She’d turned his coat into a warm security blanket, and she didn’t want to give it up.

Stuffing her new stocking hat and mittens into one of the coat pockets, she tried to smooth her hair, but she knew it was hopeless. Glancing at Will, she saw he was smirking as he pulled on his coat.

“I know.” She flattened her hands on either side of her head, trying to hide as much of her hair as possible. “I broke the cardinal rule: once the hat goes on, it has to stay on for the rest of the day.”

“Nah, it’s fine. Take out your ponytail.” A little warily, she tugged off the hair band, not sure where he was going with this. “Bend over so your head’s upside down, and shake it out.”

Now she really thought he had to be messing with her.

“Hurry up,” he urged. “Dad’s having to ring things up and wrap, and he’s horrible at wrapping. If he had his way, he’d roll everything up in newspaper, slap some duct tape on it, and throw it into a plastic garbage bag.”

She did what Will said, amused despite herself by the silliness of it all.

“Okay, stand up and flip your hair back.”

Her hair flip was only semisuccessful, so curly strands hung in her face. She shoved them out of her eyes and looked at Will expectantly.

“Nice, just…” He reached toward her head and then paused. “If it’s okay?”

“Go ahead.”

After he quickly adjusted a few strands, he stepped back and eyed the end result before giving a satisfied nod. “Check it out.”

Glancing at her reflection in the small window, she frowned. It was hard to see much, since the sun was shining outside, but from what she could tell, it looked a little…wild. “It’s not too…?” She blew out her cheeks and flicked her fingers in an explosive gesture.

“Nope.” He grinned at her before dashing out of the office. “It’s perfect.”

She hesitated for a few seconds before deciding to trust Will. Leaving the office, she slipped behind the counter, taking the spot next to Steve, who was in the middle of wrapping a fat candle, his face screwed up in a mixture of frustration, concentration, and panic.

A laugh bubbled out of her. “Will wasn’t kidding,” she said, taking the candle and fifty sheets of tissue paper he seemed to think he needed to wrap it in. “You’re really bad at this.”

“I am,” Steve readily agreed. With his attention no longer fixed on the candle, he looked at her, smiling. His expression froze, his eyes widening.

“What?” she whispered. Now she was the panicked one. With her hands busy wrapping up the candle, she couldn’t even pat her hair to see what was wrong. Had Will been messing with her after all?

“Oh. Uh…nothing. Just your hair. It…uh, looks nice.” He finally yanked his attention off her and turned back to the register, but Camille was not convinced, especially since his face was brick red, and he seemed to be having issues hitting the right button on the register screen.

“It’s horrible, isn’t it?” She tucked the candle into the gift bag, forcing a smile for the woman who’d just purchased it. She, at least, didn’t seem horrified by the mess on Camille’s head. “Will talked me into it, and the window in the office is a terrible mirror. You’re going to have to help me think of a good way to get him back. No! I’ll ask Maya and Zoe. They’ll know what to do, and they’ll help me pull it off. They’re awesome like that. Where’d Maya go?” She spotted the girl on the other side of the store, helping a mom with young children pick out a tree stand. “As soon as she makes her way back over here, I’m going to ask her to brainstorm revenge strategies.”

By the time she finished rambling, Steve’s face had almost returned to its normal color, and he looked like he was holding back a laugh. “First of all, please don’t ask Maya or Zoe to help plan your revenge, since they’ll come up with something much more creative and excessive than necessary, like an ejector seat in his new car or a trapdoor in front of the toilet or something that explodes.”

Camille thought that two out of three of those ideas sounded genius, but she stayed silent as Steve handed her a small wreath to bag.

“That’ll be thirty-one forty-four. Thank you. Second, Will didn’t do anything wrong. I’ve just, uh, never seen your hair down before.” He was flushing again, ears going red at the tips. “I like it.”

“Thanks. I… Thanks.” She flushed too, keeping her head down so he wouldn’t see how red her own cheeks had gotten. Emotions churned in her chest—excitement and gratitude and nervousness, the usual combination she felt when she was around Steve. Her thanks seemed to hang in the air, feeling incomplete, so she blurted out, “I like yours, too.” When he gave her a sideways look and offered a dry thanks, she became even more flustered. “Your face, too. It’s nice.” She waved a hand, indicating his whole form. “There aren’t any not-nice parts of you, in fact. You’re pretty much nice all over.” She had to stop saying nice. In fact, she had to stop talking, period, but there seemed to be a delay between her thoughts and her mouth, because words were still pouring out of her. “So, basically, I like all of you. A lot. A whole lot. A whole, whole—”

Stop. Talking. Now.

She closed her mouth and pressed her lips together.

He cleared his throat. “Thank you?”

Camille instinctively opened her mouth to say “You’re welcome,” then decided not to risk speaking again, just in case. Instead, she gave a wordless grunt and focused on wrapping.

Thrilled and still embarrassed by the exchange, she concentrated on work, and they soon fell into an easy rhythm. It was a surprisingly enjoyable time, especially when she wrapped three of her own pieces after they sold.

“That reminds me,” Steve said as she tucked a metal donkey into its cloth bag. “If you need to finish some orders, feel free to work in our workshop. There’s welding equipment and tools you can use, and Joe has a collection of junk cars he keeps for parts. He already offered to let you have whatever you need.” Steve concentrated on the order he was ringing up as he made the offer, and Camille was relieved for that, since he couldn’t see the thankful tears that had welled up in her eyes at their generosity. Even Joe, cranky Joe, was letting her raid his junker stash. As a metalworker, she knew what a precious gift that was.

Blinking hard, she forced the tears back, but she couldn’t resist giving Steve’s arm a grateful squeeze. She felt him glance at her profile, but she kept her own gaze on the bag she was handing over to the customer. If she met his eyes and saw the sympathy and kindness she knew they held, she’d break down and cry all over everyone’s purchases, and tears would completely ruin the tissue paper.

It felt wrong to stay silent, though, so she cleared her throat. “Thank you. My Christmas orders are all done, but there are others lined up. It’ll help a lot to be able to work again.” She remembered the piece she’d planned out the night of the fire. The sketches were ash now, but the details were still clear in her mind. She was suddenly antsy to check out Joe’s old cars. “That’s so kind of Joe. I love old vehicles. They have so many parts and pieces, and I can cut shapes out of the hoods, and…”

Steve’s laugh cut her off. “I was going to say that Zoe feels the same way, until you started talking about chopping up the body.” A customer approaching the register stopped in his tracks. Camille eyed him curiously, not sure what the problem was until Steve chuckled again. “Chopping up the car body,” he clarified loudly.

Camille snorted a laugh, trying to hide it in a cough.

“You two are having too much fun,” Nate said as he slipped between customers to join them behind the counter. “Especially for people who haven’t had a lunch break. It’s almost two. Go. Eat.”

“Go ahead,” Steve said to Camille. “I’ll help Nate until you get back.”

“I already have a helper lined up,” Nate said, giving Steve a light push away from the register. As if that was his cue, Micah approached, his best scowl in place.

“Micah?” Steve moved around the counter, wrapping his arm around his son’s shoulders and giving him a side hug. “Thank you for helping out. I know this isn’t your idea of fun.”

After a few seconds of letting his dad squeeze him, Micah wiggled out from under his arm and took Camille’s place behind the counter, giving her a lift of his chin in greeting.

“Hey, Micah,” she said, relinquishing her position happily. Now that she knew how long they’d been working, she could feel the tiredness in her legs and back…and in her brain. She’d interacted with more than her share of people and could use some alone time—or at least some alone-with-Steve time.

“Wrapping wasn’t so bad.” She kept her voice low so only Micah could hear her over the chatter of customers. The crowd had grown since she’d walked in, and people of all ages filled the space. Everyone seemed happy and excited to be there, filled to bursting with Christmas spirit. “I only scared a dozen or so customers. See if you can beat that record.”

His expression lightened to an almost smile as he snorted. “Piece of cake.”

After grabbing their coats, she and Steve headed toward the door. She looked around, not seeing a ten-year-old shop assistant anywhere. “Where’d Maya go?”

“She left an hour or so ago. From her hand signals, I think she was going to get some food and then either help with the tree sales or go ride her pony.”

“Oh, I missed that.” She had a feeling that she’d been so preoccupied with Steve for the past few hours that Maya could’ve ridden her pony in the store and she probably wouldn’t have noticed. As they reached the door, Camille slipped through it, dodging a large group of people crowding in.

Outside, the air was cold and bracing, and she sucked in a deep breath. It wasn’t until she’d stepped outside that she’d realized how warm she’d gotten, thanks to a combination of the crowds and Steve’s proximity.

He caught up to her after holding the door for a few more customers. “After lunch, we’ll help with the trees. Ryan can do gift-shop duty this afternoon.” His voice was grumbly, and she glanced at him in surprise.

“Don’t you like working in the store?” she asked. He’d been so patient and unrelentingly polite that she’d assumed he hadn’t minded the endless waves of Christmas shoppers.

His face scrunched into a look of distaste that was so un-Steve-like that Camille had to laugh. “No. I’d rather clean five hundred feet of mildewed fire hose than be inside all day. On tree duty, at least, I get to work outside with the horses, and it’s just one customer—or family, which is fine. I get along with most kids.”

“Really?” They passed the lot, where Maya was holding Buttercup’s lead rope while Zoe took a picture of her with a family. At just the right moment, the mare turned her head toward the camera and pricked her ears forward. Camille smiled, impressed at the horse’s modeling skills.

“Really what?” Steve asked, drawing her attention back to him. “You’re surprised that I get along with kids? Why? I do have four of them to practice on, after all.”

“That’s why.” They followed the path toward the house. “I’m not an expert, but I’ve met enough kids to know that yours are not the norm.” When he whipped his head around, eyes narrowed, looking for all the world like a papa bear ready to defend his cubs, she raised her hands in a soothing gesture and swallowed a laugh. She was beginning to really love his protective side. “No, it’s not a bad thing. I meant that they’re abnormally interesting and nice to be around. When you’re with other people’s kids, aren’t you a little, well, horrified?”

It obviously took him a second to switch gears and absorb what she’d said. Once it had sunk it, his expression softened and he barked out a laugh. “Just between us,” he said quietly, leaning in close enough to send a line of shivers down her back, “yes.”

Despite the flush of heat running through her at the touch of his warm breath against her cheek, Camille let out an amused snort. Immediately, she was appalled at herself. He was leaning close, very possibly flirting, and she’d snorted? She had to have the least game of anyone who’d ever existed, and that included Steve’s brother Joe.

Crazily enough, Steve didn’t seem to mind. Instead of moving away, he just chuckled and stayed close enough for their arms to brush as they climbed the porch steps. She reached toward the doorknob, opening the door as he ushered her through with a light touch on her lower back. She’d noticed he tended to do that—put a hand at the low curve of her spine—and she was surprised by how much she liked that little bit of contact. It was comforting, that tangible sign that he was there, quite literally at her back. The past few days had been hard, but his constant presence and support had helped her get through them without breaking down. That was yet another thing she was grateful for.

As she stripped off her coat, she caught a whiff of something spicy and delicious. “Micah’s been cooking again,” she said.

Steve sniffed the air before shaking his head. “That’s Joe’s chili. Usually, Nate and Micah are the cooks around here, but I imagine Joe made it since he’s feeling guilty for hiding from the customers when we’re so busy.”

Although Camille could empathize with Joe’s distaste for nonfamily human interaction, she felt a little superior since she’d survived a long shift in the gift shop, of all places. She remembered sitting in her car, afraid to even walk into the store when she was delivering the first batch of her sculptures. Now, she’d not only managed to walk into the crowded shop, but she’d stayed for hours. Pride flushed through her, and her chest warmed with affection for Steve. He’d been so accepting, so matter-of-fact, as if he’d had no doubt that she could handle herself. It felt good to have someone who didn’t dismiss her—who, perhaps, had more faith in her than she had in herself.

Her stomach gave a hollow pang at the mouthwatering smell, pulling her out of her thoughts, and she hurried to pull off her boots so she could go eat something. “I didn’t realize how hungry I was.”

“Me either.” He followed her into the kitchen. Lucy eyed them from the top of the fridge, making Camille smile. The cat hadn’t lost any time making herself at home. Camille couldn’t really blame her—it was easy to do with the Springfields.

She moved toward the big slow cooker on the counter, but Steve stopped her with a hand on her arm. “Thank you for your help today, Camille. Working in the store isn’t my favorite thing, but you made it bearable.”

“Of course.” She met his eyes and couldn’t look away. His gaze had an intensity that turned his gratitude into something more. Her pulse jumped and stuttered as she tried to keep her words casual. “It’s the least I could do, since you’re letting me live here. Besides, it wasn’t as bad as I thought it’d be.”

“I’m glad you’re here.” The fingers on her arm were gentle, but his touch burned like a brand. She wouldn’t be surprised if his fingerprints were etched into her skin. “Even with my brothers helping out, I still feel like I’m floundering. Having you around makes it easier, somehow, like I have an ally. Not that my kids and I aren’t on the same side.” He grimaced slightly. “I’m explaining this wrong.”

Camille looked at him, her head tilted as she tried to understand what he was saying. It was almost nice to see the stoic and perfect Steve Springfield scramble for words like she always did. He seemed more human…and attainable. “Well…good. I like being here,” she said a little uncertainly, her face warming at the thought of “attaining” Steve. “I like your kids, too.”

His expression turned devilish. “And you said earlier that you like all of me.”

Instantly, her face went hot, and she was tempted to duck her head, but it was impossible to look away from his warmly teasing gaze. “Well, yeah. I do. I mean…” She waved a hand at him. “Look at you. Of course I like all of that. Not that you’re just your body or anything, of course. Your brain is pretty good, too.” Stop, Camille, she ordered herself. Just stop now.

“Thanks for noticing my brain.” He chuckled, but she knew he wasn’t laughing at her. Instead, the sound was filled with a kind affection and something else, something rough and hot that made her shiver. “Just for the record, I like all of you, too.”

He stepped toward her, and Camille stared at him, knowing something was happening between them, something both wonderful and scary. The urge to start babbling again, to fill the charged silence, pushed at her, but she swallowed the unsaid words, not wanting to stop him—not when he was getting so close.

His hand on her arm slid down to her wrist and back up, his fingers blazing hot even through her long-sleeved shirt. She glanced down at where he touched her and then back up. Their gazes caught, and she swallowed hard as he leaned closer. Even when their lips were just an inch apart and she could feel his breath warm against her lips, she still couldn’t believe that this was happening.

Steve Springfield is going to kiss me.

The front door banged open. “Steve? Camille? You in here?”

Startled, Camille jerked away from Steve and took a few backward steps on shaky legs until she felt the counter behind her. She leaned on it, using it for support as Ryan walked into the kitchen, still in his coat and boots.

He looked back and forth between her and Steve with an odd expression. “You are in here. Why didn’t you answer when I yelled?”

Steve glanced at the floor by Ryan’s feet, where chunks of snow had fallen from his boots and were now melting into dirty, icy-cold puddles. “You didn’t really give us a chance. What’s the emergency?” Since she was still dazed and breathless, Camille was glad that Steve had the wherewithal to answer. He even sounded fairly composed, although his face looked flushed and the heat in his eyes hadn’t faded completely. There was an unusual snap to his voice that wasn’t normally there, either.

“No emergency.” Ryan looked at Camille, and she dropped her gaze to study her socked feet. It wasn’t that she was embarrassed about almost getting caught making out with his brother. The heat between her and Steve felt new and fragile and wasn’t anyone else’s business—especially not Ryan’s. “Just need to know where you put the extra bags for the shop. Micah’s running low.”

“They’re not in the store supply closet where we usually put them?” Steve asked.

“Let me text Nate and ask if they’ve checked there.” Ryan fiddled with his phone for a few minutes, while Camille did her best not to catch Steve’s gaze. If she did, she was sure she’d stare at him like a lovesick idiot. “Huh,” Ryan grunted, finally breaking the stiff silence. “They were in there. Micah must’ve just missed them the first time he checked.”

“Right.” Steve sounded irritated. “Now that that mystery’s solved, are you headed back out, then?”

Pulling off his hat, Ryan eyed the slow cooker—and then Camille—with a tiny smile. “As long as I’m in here, I might as well get something to eat.” He turned his oddly satisfied grin on Steve, who muttered something under his breath. Although Camille couldn’t make out the exact words, she had a feeling the comment was something derogatory about his brother’s timing—and lack of tact.

“Clean up your mess first,” Steve snapped, gesturing at the wet, dirty boot prints and growing puddle around Ryan’s feet.

With an affirmative shrug, Ryan headed back into the entryway. Steve glared at his retreating back before turning to Camille. His expression softened even as his eyes flared with renewed heat. “We’ll finish that later.”

She stared at him, nerves and anticipation and desire fighting for dominance. “Okay,” she finally said, cringing a little at how breathless she sounded. Steve seemed satisfied, though, as he headed for the bathroom to wash up. As she watched him go, her eyes ran over him. She was fascinated by the way his muscles moved. Her gaze drifted lower, and she felt her cheeks flush with heat. Later, her mind echoed, and a small smile bloomed on her face.

I can’t wait.