Chapter 17

The farmhouse was dark, except for the light in the room where Camille was staying. He stayed in the shadows along the back of the store, watching as she looked out the window, her cat cradled in her arms. The night was clear and cold, the moon bright, making him feel exposed.

Headlights panned over the pasture as a truck turned into the driveway. He stepped back, his coat brushing the siding, wanting to disappear even more in the darkness. The truck rumbled past, heading for the pole barn. Although the vehicle didn’t slow, he still felt exposed as the headlights lit up the cluster of buildings.

Once the truck disappeared inside the pole barn, he glanced up at Camille’s window again, but she was gone. The kitchen window was illuminated with a buttery-yellow light, and then the porch lamp turned on. Camille stepped outside, wrapping her long sweater around her, her arms crossed over her stomach in an attempt to stay warm.

She bounced on her toes as Steve crossed the yard, his gaze focused on her as his lips turned up in a smile. He was still wearing his bunker coat, and the reflective strips lit as he bounded up the porch steps.

Their kiss was brief, their lips meeting for only a few seconds before they pulled apart and looked into each other’s eyes. Steve opened the front door, standing back so Camille could enter first, and then they were inside the house. The kitchen light went off and then, a few minutes later, so did the one in Camille’s room.

The house was dark and still, but he kept watching from the shadows, hands curling into fists at his sides.

* * *

Camille was tromping through the snow toward the workshop when fat, soft snowflakes started to fall. At first it was just one or two, but soon they were floating down in great numbers, landing on her eyelashes and the tip of her nose.

“Of course,” she said, looking up at the sky.

“Of course what?” Ryan asked, coming up behind her. He’d seemed to have gotten past his snit over the past few days, although he wasn’t quite as talkative as before he’d found out about her and Steve. Me and Steve. Even their names linked together made her shiver happily. She mentally rolled her eyes at her silly smitten self, but that didn’t stop her smile.

“Of course it’s snowing on Christmas Eve. This place is like every holiday cliché rolled into one ranch.”

“Just wait until tomorrow,” he said. “We open presents at Steve’s place and then hitch Buttercup to the cutter for a sleigh ride. It’s like a Christmas card come to life.” He winked at her, and she felt a moment of gratitude that he seemed to have come around and that he’d pretty much stopped hitting on her, so that Christmas at the ranch wouldn’t be a mess of awkwardness.

“That definitely sounds”—wonderful—“like the ultimate Christmas cliché.” She couldn’t wait. The mention of presents reminded her that the bag of wrapping paper she was carrying was getting more and more snow-covered the longer she stood there. Besides, just because he’d been behaving himself recently didn’t mean that she felt immediately comfortable with Ryan. “Better go.” She held up the bag. “My wrapping’s going to be soggy.”

Giving him a wave, she hurried the rest of the way to the shop. All four kids were there, waiting for her so they could wrap presents. They sat in a circle on the heated floor with their backs to each other so that they couldn’t see the others’ presents and possibly get a peek at their own gift.

After knocking the snow off the top of the bag, she dumped out all the wrapping paper and gift bags and scissors and tape and Sharpies for writing names. “This is everything from your house and what we ordered online.”

The kids picked through the options, scrambling to grab their favorite colors and patterns. Once everyone had the supplies they needed, they returned to their spots in their outward-facing circle. Gathering the remaining items, Camille plopped down in the spot they’d left for her between Maya and Will, resisting the urge to sneak a glance at the others’ unwrapped gifts. The kids all seemed very disciplined about not peeking at other people’s presents. It made Camille feel extra guilty about the temptation she’d felt to try to see what they’d gotten or made for her. Sometimes she felt like they were more mature than she was. Focusing on unrolling some silver wrapping paper, she shifted into a more comfortable position. A peaceful quiet settled over them, broken only by the rustle of paper or the sound of tape being pulled from a dispenser.

“You never finished your story, Camille,” Will said, breaking the silence.

“What story?” She started with Steve’s sculpture. It had turned out really well, she thought, but she was still anxious about his reaction. She was finding that giving a piece as a gift was more nerve-racking than selling it. After all, if someone was willing to pay money for it, then they obviously liked it. When she gave it to Steve, he’d have to keep it to be polite, even if he hated it. It made her antsy, and she wished Christmas would just arrive already.

“That first day I met you in the store, you said that you liked Dad the best, but Uncle Ryan interrupted before you told me why.”

Camille’s face heated as she groaned, and she was suddenly glad that they were facing away from each other so they couldn’t see her blush. “Really? You want to hear about that? How about some other story, one that doesn’t make me sound like such a sad little dorkus.”

“No, tell that one!” Maya sounded gleeful, and they all took up the chorus, as Camille should’ve expected.

“Fine,” she grumbled. “So, your dad was three years older than I was. When I was in school, they didn’t have the new, bigger middle school yet, so the high school was ninth-graders through twelfth-graders. This meant that we went to the same school for a year when I was a lowly freshman and he was a senior.”

“Quit stalling,” Micah grumbled, and the others laughed.

“I’m not stalling.” Not exactly. “Just setting the scene. The Springfield brothers were like royalty when I was growing up—the four handsome princes. Just like you four, they were just a year or two apart, so the high school was filled with them for a while. Everyone had their favorites, although most people thought that Ryan was the most handsome and Nate was the most charming. The Joe fans thought he was a bad boy rather than just crabby.”

The kids laughed.

“Not me, though. Even though Nate and Ryan were closer to my age, I was a diehard Steve groupie from the time I was twelve. I thought he was the most attractive of the four, but I was most drawn to him because he seemed so kind and steady.”

She turned over Steve’s wrapped gift and popped a premade bow on the top before adding it to her “done” pile. Next, she grabbed the box holding Maya’s present and chose another color of wrapping paper.

“So, on one side of the school social spectrum, there was handsome prince Steve, and on the other side, there was ninth-grade me, incredibly shy with clothes my grandma picked out and braces and a habit of dropping things when I was nervous…which was most of the time. I was a mess, and you know how other kids can just sense that? Like wolves that can pick out the deer with the broken leg, only there’s more mental torture involved in high-school packs.”

She paused, staring at the ribbon in her hand, suddenly back there with her fourteen-year-old self.

“What happened?” Maya prompted, bringing Camille out of her head.

“For my art class, our final project was putting together a portfolio of our best paintings from the year. I worked hours and hours outside school on the pieces for that portfolio. I was really into watercolors at the time, and I tended to overwork things. Once they lose their light—the white paper showing through—and get muddy, it’s really hard to salvage them.”

Micah gave a grunt that she took as agreement, but she sensed the others’ growing impatience.

“Sorry to go all art geek on you,” she said, “but that’s just so you see how much time went into this thing. I think I destroyed about ten paintings to every one that worked out. Anyway, the day came to turn in our portfolios, so I carefully put mine in this oversized folder and held it on my lap on the bus and carried it to every class I had before art. I didn’t want to put it in my backpack or locker in case the edges got bent.”

“I don’t want anything to happen to your paintings,” Maya wailed, “but I know something’s going to happen! I don’t think I like this story.”

“There’s a happy ending,” Camille assured her. “I’m walking down the hall, clutching my portfolio to my chest, and I’ve made it through half the day. Art class is next, and I’m really excited for my teacher to see it. Someone walks by and bumps into me. I don’t think it was on purpose, but it was hard enough to knock me off-balance, and I fell. The pictures mostly stayed in the folder, but when I started to get up, this nasty kid named Justin grabbed my portfolio out of my hands.

“He started throwing each painting up in the air, laughing as I ran after each one, begging him to stop. The hall was crowded, and I knew people would walk right over them if I didn’t get there first, leaving shoe prints and rips. Everyone saw what Justin was doing, but they just laughed or ignored it and kept walking.”

She heard Maya suck in a horrified breath and hurried to get to the happy ending.

“Pretty quickly, Justin got tired of doing it one at a time, so he decided to throw the whole thing in the air. I knew it was over. There’d be no way I could get to all of them in time to pick them up before they were stomped on and ruined. He started to toss the portfolio, this huge, stupid grin on his face, and then Steve was there. He grabbed the portfolio right out of Justin’s hands, midthrow.”

“Go, Dad!” Maya yelled, and the rest of them laughed.

“He handed me the portfolio and just loomed over Justin, staring him down until that dumb grin of his disappeared and he ran off, his tail between his legs. Steve didn’t have to threaten him or hit him or anything. He just looked at him with that stern expression he gets.”

“I know that one,” Will said ominously, and the others made sounds of agreement. “It’s why his ‘serious talks’ are worse than his punishments.”

“I hate when he does the ‘I’m disappointed in you’ face, too,” Zoe said.

“Well, he must’ve been born with the ability, because he was doing it before you guys even existed,” Camille said.

“What’d Dad say after he chased away Justin?” Maya asked.

“He asked if I was okay and then helped me put the paintings I’d just picked up back in the portfolio. Only one had a shoe print on it, and it was on the back, but Steve still did his best to wipe it away. Then he said, ‘You’re a really talented artist,’ and walked me to my classroom.”

“What grade did you get?” Micah asked.

“An A, and two of my paintings went into the school showcase.”

His grunt sounded approving.

“So Dad’s always been really nice,” Zoe said.

“Yes. He’s the kindest man I’ve ever met.” Camille concentrated on lining up her piece of tape exactly square so she didn’t start getting all mushy and teary-eyed over Steve. “All those kids just walked by, but Steve didn’t. He stopped and helped, and that one moment made a huge difference in my life.”

The kids were quiet, as if processing, and Camille decided she needed a distraction.

“How can we be wrapping presents without Christmas music playing?” she asked, keeping her voice intentionally light as she found a station on her phone.

Will groaned dramatically. “I’m so sick of Christmas songs from working in the store.”

“Too bad.” Camille unrolled the gift wrap and centered Micah’s present on it. “We’re going to be filled with Christmas spirit while we wrap, and you’re going to like it!”

They chatted about other things as they finished wrapping and only ended up having one crumpled-paper fight. As they stacked up their presents on the “gift-transport sled” that Zoe had made just for this purpose, Maya gave Camille a quick, unexpected hug.

“I’m glad he’s with you now,” she said quietly enough that just the two of them could hear. “It’s like it’s supposed to be. You love him for what’s on the inside, not just because he’s handsome.”

“Thanks.” A little overwhelmed, especially by the mention of love, Camille gave her a shaky smile. “You have to admit he is really handsome, too, though.”

“Gross.” Maya made a face. “He’s my dad.”

Camille laughed and hugged her back.

* * *

After they stacked the gifts under the tree, Camille stepped back and eyed them. “That’s a lot of presents.” Lucy sauntered over to investigate the presents but was sidetracked by a dangling ornament, which she started to bat. Camille moved the temptation higher on the tree, even though she knew that Lucy would just climb up to get it.

“I know, and Dad and the uncles haven’t added theirs yet,” Maya said, sounding delighted.

“Maya,” Steve called from the entryway. “Come here.” At his serious tone, she and Camille glanced at each other and headed into the kitchen, the other kids following.

“Are you in trouble?” Zoe asked in a whisper.

“I don’t think so, unless he knows about the hay thing.”

Camille blinked, but she didn’t get a chance to ask about the “hay thing” before they reached the entryway where a grim-looking Steve was standing. He didn’t have the exasperated-but-loving expression that he usually wore when the kids had gotten into some mischief. Instead, he looked serious…and concerned. Camille’s chest tightened with worry as she wondered if someone was hurt—maybe one of his brothers?

“What’s wrong?” Camille asked, bracing herself for bad news.

“Q is showing signs of colic,” he told them, his voice serious but calm. Maya sucked in an audible breath, her face paling as he continued. “I’ve already called the vet, but I could use your help.”

She hurried to jam her feet into her boots, and Camille and the other kids followed suit. In worried silence, they yanked on their coats and hats. Everyone looked upset, reminding Camille that Q wasn’t just Maya’s pony. All of the kids had learned to ride on him, and they were all obviously torn up with concern.

In a solemn group, they trooped down to the barn. As they got close, Maya hurried ahead, sliding open the barn door and rushing down the aisle to Q’s stall. Camille followed, her stomach tightening with concern when she got a glimpse of him. The pony looked miserable, his coat dark with sweat and his head low. Steve and Maya went into his stall with him, while the rest of them stayed in the aisle, looking in.

“Poor Q.” Maya’s voice was shaky, but she wasn’t crying. Camille was impressed, knowing she wouldn’t be nearly as calm if it’d been her horse. After Maya slid a halter on Q, Steve took the pony’s temperature. Q nipped at his side before hanging his head again.

“No fever,” Steve said. “Maya, what else should we check before the vet gets here?” He asked the question in a patient, teaching tone.

“Um…temperature, pulse, gut sounds, the gum thing—”

“Capillary refill,” Will offered, and Maya nodded. As she listed and then checked her pony’s vital signs, she grew steadier, and Camille began to understand why Steve had asked for her help. If she’d stayed inside, she would’ve worried, but now she had something to focus on and a feeling that she was doing something, rather than being powerless.

“How serious is this?” Camille asked Micah in a quiet voice.

“Hard to tell,” he said, raising one shoulder in a shrug.

“Isn’t colic just gas pain?” She felt a little silly for the question, especially when Steve answered.

“It can be, but it can also be impaction colic—kind of like constipation—or even a twist in the intestine causing the block.”

She winced. That sounded so painful. “What happens if he has that?”

“He’d need surgery.” Maya had gotten pale during their discussion, and Steve gave her a glance before saying, “I doubt it’s that serious, though.”

Camille didn’t want to see what a serious colic situation looked like, if this wasn’t one, since poor Q was obviously in a miserable condition.

“Should we walk him?” Maya asked.

“Can’t hurt. Let’s cover him up first so he doesn’t get a chill. He’s still sweating a lot from the pain.” Steve moved out of the stall so Maya could lead her pony into the aisle, and Micah hurried to grab the fleece blanket and buckle it on the pony. Their small group huddled together, watching as Maya and Q made their slow way down to the other end of the barn.

“Were you just saying that so Maya wouldn’t be scared?” Zoe said quietly. “About it not being serious?”

Steve wrapped his arm around her and pulled her against his side. “No. I wouldn’t lie to her. Once the vet gets here and gets some pain meds and mineral oil into him, he’ll feel a lot better really fast.”

After twenty stress-filled minutes, the vet arrived. “They always seem to decide to get sick on a holiday, don’t they?” she said as she headed down the aisle toward them, bundled up in insulated coveralls and a stocking cap. As she examined Q under Maya’s anxious supervision, Camille ran inside to make some coffee for Steve and the vet. While it was brewing, she filled two travel mugs with warm cider for the kids.

Being in the warm house made her realize how cold she’d gotten, and she worried about the kids getting chilled. She grabbed a couple of fleece blankets and carried them and the hot beverages back to the barn.

“If it doesn’t pass in a few hours, you might try taking him on a short trailer ride. The motion sometimes is the best thing for an impaction.” The vet peeled off her gloves and tossed them in a nearby trash can. “I need to go to Ebba for a mare having some trouble foaling, but call me if anything changes.”

“Coffee for the road?” Camille offered the vet one of the travel mugs.

“You’re a goddess,” she said, accepting the coffee before hurrying out of the barn to her truck.

“I just gave away one of your mugs,” Camille said as she handed the second coffee to Steve, who took it with a grateful smile. “Sorry about that.”

He waved away her concern. “Don’t worry about it. I accidentally steal my share of travel mugs when I’m on calls, so it all works out.”

“What’s the verdict?” she asked, handing one of the ciders to Zoe after noticing that she was looking pinched with cold. Micah and Will both looked more comfortable, so she wrapped one of the blankets around Zoe’s shoulders, getting a grateful smile in return.

“The vet agreed with Dad.” Maya was the one who answered from her spot by the open stall door where she was watching her pony. “He does look a lot better now.”

“Drugs are amazing things,” Camille said absently, handing the other cider to Maya before wrapping the second blanket around her. When Steve cleared his throat, she realized what she’d said. “Oh. Um…just prescription drugs are amazing, and only when used legally and responsibly.” Glancing at Steve, who looked amused, she asked, “Okay?”

“Good save.” A smile snuck out that he hid behind his coffee mug.

“You guys are going to have to share the cider,” she said, taking up a spot next to Steve where she could see into Q’s stall. “I ran out of carrying hands.”

“That’s fine. We’ll share.” Will snuck the travel mug from Zoe before she knew what he was doing.

“Hey,” she complained, although she didn’t try to take it back. “Sometimes I think it’d be nice to be an only child.”

“Eh.” Camille gave in to the urge to lean against Steve, needing the reassurance of his strength and steadiness. It’d already been a long day, and she had a feeling it’d be a while before it was over. He rested a hand on her back, making her wonder if he needed some tactile comfort, too. “Being an only child isn’t all that it’s cracked up to be. Besides, who’d test your inventions if your siblings weren’t around?”

“Good point,” Zoe said, drawing the blanket more tightly around herself.

Steve frowned. “You three should go inside and warm up. Maya, you too. I’ll watch Q for a while.”

“No.” Maya didn’t take her eyes off of her pony. “I’m fine. Camille brought me cider and a blanket. I want to stay with Q.”

“I want to stay, too,” Will said, and Micah gave his trademark short nod.

“Me, too.” Zoe stole her cider back and took a drink.

Steve’s frown deepened, but he didn’t argue with them. He turned his head to eye Camille.

“Don’t look at me,” she said, leaning more heavily against him. “You’re keeping me warm, and I just had some house time getting the drinks.”

With a small huff that Camille thought was meant to sound more irritated than it actually did, Steve pulled her closer against his side. “Fine. Now we all wait.”

“Um…” Camille knew she was going to sound like the ignorant one again. “What are we waiting for?”

Maya gave a little giggle, her first one since she’d learned her pony was sick. “Q needs to poop.”

Camille blinked. “We’re waiting for poop?”

There was a chorus of snickers from the other three kids as a slow smile curved Steve’s lips. “Better settle in. Looks like no one’s leaving until the pony poops.”

Settling in as she’d been told, Camille nestled closer to Steve and rested her head against his shoulder, thinking of how sideways her life had gone. Even a month ago, she’d never have expected to be sitting in a cold barn with Steve Springfield and his kids on Christmas Eve, waiting for a pony to poop.

Honestly, she wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.