Chapter 6

“This is my room,” Maya said.

“Mine, too.” Zoe slipped past them to bounce on the lower bunk bed. The room wasn’t huge, but it was cute and tidy, with lots of books lining the shelves.

Camille walked over to the closest desk. Drawings of mechanical things were held down by metal parts and a stack of equipment manuals. “I bet this is yours, Zoe.”

“Yeah.” Zoe gave a slightly sheepish smile and a half shrug, as if she was bracing for teasing. Camille remembered the feeling of having interests that none of the other girls at school shared, and she hated that Zoe was caught in the same position.

“Are you back to working on the flying luge, or are you sticking with the all-terrain wheelchair?” she asked, not sure of the best way to reassure Zoe that being passionate and brilliant and different were good things.

“I can’t decide,” Zoe said with a groan, falling back on the bed dramatically. “While I was grounded from the shop this week, I did a bunch of research, and I’m moving away from the idea of a hovercraft and more toward a jet pack.”

Camille studied the top drawing on Zoe’s desk as she considered that. “That seems like a good idea. The size of a jet pack would fit what you need it to do better than a hovercraft. If you want your friend to use it inside, though, you’re going to have to be careful about the kind of emissions it produces.”

“That’s true.” Sitting up again, Zoe got the look that Camille was starting to recognize as her thinking expression. “My research also changed my mind about the all-terrain wheelchair.” When Camille gave her an interested eyebrow lift, she continued. “I’ve been too stuck on the idea of a chair with a motor. If I want something that can handle stairs and go over rough ground, I need something that moves like people or animals do—on legs, rather than wheels.”

“Like a robot?” Micah asked from where he was leaning against the doorframe.

“Yes and no.” Zoe bounced a little on the mattress, her whole face alight. “I don’t need the processing power of a robot, just the ability to move. It’d be more like a robot suit, or robot stilts, even.”

“So, two prosthetic legs connected to a body brace?” Camille asked, trying to picture Zoe’s idea in her head.

“Maybe? I don’t know. I’m just starting to research what’s out there, and I really want to make something soon, so Wyatt can visit the ranch.” Zoe grimaced. “If he has to wait until I build him a jet pack or robot legs, it could be years.”

“Can I try out the jet pack when you make it?” Maya asked, her eyes huge with anticipation.

“Sure, but only after the prototypes stop blowing up.”

Camille couldn’t hold back an amused snort. “How do you know the prototypes will blow up?”

“Everything blows up at first,” Zoe said matter-of-factly. “I just need to get through that phase without freaking out Dad too much.”

Even as she laughed, Camille had to wince at that. “And without losing any fingers.”

“Well, yeah. That’d be good, too.” Zoe blew off that restriction as if it wasn’t of any consequence, and Camille felt her laughter rise again at the girl’s matter-of-fact tone. Swallowing her amusement, she moved to examine Maya’s desk as a distraction.

The younger girl’s workspace was more varied, with drawings mixed with what looked to be handwritten stories and some homemade jewelry, but Camille quickly spotted a common theme: horses. On the wall behind the desk, Maya had pinned up pictures of her and her pony at shows and on trail rides and just playing around—including one of her pony wearing a Santa hat. A rainbow row of ribbons underlined the pictures.

“What’s your pony’s name?” Camille asked, noting that it was the same adorable gray in all the photos.

“Quibble, but I call him Q.”

“I like that name.” She bent to get a close look at the pictures. “He looks like a sweetheart.”

Zoe burst into laughter as Micah gave an amused huff.

“He is sweet.” Maya defended her pony. “Usually. Just…occasionally naughty.”

With a scoffing sound, Zoe said, “He’s naughty about ninety percent of the time.”

“Not that much!” It was obvious that Maya was trying to hold on to her offended expression but was having a hard time not laughing along with her siblings. “And when he’s good, he’s really, really good.”

Camille scratched her nose to hide her own smile. “But when he isn’t…?”

“He’s really naughty,” Maya admitted. Micah burst out with a laugh, the first Camille had heard from him.

“What’s so funny?” Steve’s voice brought Camille’s attention to the doorway, where he was standing behind Micah. His mouth was already curling up at the corners, as if he was prepared to laugh along. She was suddenly struck once again by how attractive Steve was. Before he’d returned to Borne, Camille had figured she’d exaggerated his handsomeness in her memory, but the real-life Steve was even better. When she’d known him in high school, he’d had the boyish good looks of a teenager. Somehow, he’d managed to improve with age. His rugged, square features were softened by the kindness in his eyes, making him seem strong without being harsh, and his muscled, powerful body made her feel uncomfortably warm. When he met her gaze and held it, she realized she was staring and quickly turned her head. Just those few moments of eye contact made her heart flutter.

Camille, the little voice of reason in her head warned. You’re in so much trouble.

“We were telling Camille how naughty Q is,” Zoe said, giggling.

Grimacing, Steve said, “He’s a…challenging ride.”

“He’s good sometimes!” Maya argued plaintively, and he gave her a smile.

“Even when he’s not being his best, you ride him very well,” Steve said, and Camille was impressed by his diplomacy. “Let’s go downstairs and eat.”

“But I haven’t shown Camille my drawings yet,” Micah protested.

“After lunch,” Steve said, turning his son around by the shoulders and pointing him toward the stairs. “Will and I need to eat so we can get back to work. Nate’s all by himself in the store right now, and things start getting busy by one on Sundays.”

Maya and Zoe followed Micah out of the room, and then it was Camille’s turn to slip past Steve as he stood sentry in the doorway. Although there was enough room that she didn’t brush against him, her heart still beat quicker as she got near enough to catch a whiff of his intoxicating scent. Steve waited until she’d passed to fall in behind her, resting one of his broad hands lightly on the small of her back.

The unexpected touch almost made her jump, but she managed to stay calm—externally, at least. Inside, she was enjoying every moment his warm, strong palm pressed lightly against her spine. His hand was so big that his fingers nearly touched her side. Although she was short, she wasn’t waiflike in any way. Even with her plentiful curves, though, she felt tiny and fragile when he was near. Her growing need to have him close was both addictive and a little frightening.

“Good tacos, Micah!” Will said with his mouth full as they entered the kitchen.

“Manners,” Steve said sternly, only then dropping his hand from Camille’s back. She noticed that Will eyed the movement, but he didn’t look at all bothered by the fact that his dad had just been touching a woman. If anything, he seemed pleased.

This time, Will swallowed his mouthful of food before speaking. “Sorry. Good tacos, Micah. Sorry I didn’t wait, but Uncle Nate’s on tree sales and watching the shop until one of us gets back to help him.”

His brother gave an abrupt dip of his chin as he headed to pull foil-wrapped tortillas out of the oven. Camille took a turn washing her hands in the bathroom off the kitchen before rejoining them.

“Can I help?” she asked as Micah transferred food into serving dishes and the girls started pulling shredded lettuce, cheese, and other taco toppings from the fridge.

“I think we’re set.” Steve looked up from pouring water into glasses. As he passed behind Micah, he gently squeezed the boy’s shoulder. “Looks good, Son.”

Maya pulled out a chair. “Sit here, Camille.” Her excitement made Camille smile, even though she felt a little unworthy of such enthusiasm. She settled into the chair Maya offered, only realizing when everyone else took their seats that she was right next to Steve. He was so broad across the shoulders that his arm was within brushing distance of hers, and a warm buzzing started in her belly. Maya was on her other side, grinning at her as though Camille’s presence at lunch was the greatest thing that had ever happened. Camille was rather baffled by their enthusiastic welcome, since she didn’t think she was interesting or amusing enough to deserve their eager, focused attention. With a mental shrug, she decided to just accept and enjoy it. They’d figure out soon enough that she was quirky, odd, and not really all that fascinating.

As they filled their plates, passing the dishes around the table, the kids filled Will in on his superpower. Camille wondered if she would’ve turned out differently if she’d grown up with such a big, noisy family. Over the chatter, the sound of the front door opening and closing again caught her attention, but she couldn’t see into the entryway from her seat. She hoped it wasn’t Ryan and then immediately felt a little ashamed of the thought. He was just so persistent that he made her feel uneasy and guilty, and then resentful that he’d made her feel uneasy and guilty, and then even guiltier that she felt resentful. Everything seemed so much more comfortable and relaxed when it was just Steve and the kids, even with the way Steve seemed to set off sparklers in her chest every time his muscular arm brushed lightly against hers.

When Joe walked in, she felt her shoulders drop slightly in relief. It wasn’t Ryan after all. Joe, however, didn’t look as thrilled with her presence as she felt about his. As soon as he spotted her, he stopped abruptly in the doorway and scowled. Instead of being offended, Camille found it hard not to smile. His expressions were so close to Micah’s.

“Who’re you?” he barked.

Before she could answer, Micah spoke. “This is Camille. The horse artist. She’s having lunch with us.”

Joe’s grumpy expression changed to one of surprise as he looked at Micah, and Steve let out a cough that sounded suspiciously like a strangled laugh. Without another word, Joe got a plate and glass from the cupboard and took the empty chair next to Zoe.

“Where’s Ryan?” Camille asked as Joe started to fill his plate. She wanted to be prepared if he was going to join them. “Is he off the ranch today?”

“Disappointed?” Steve’s tone had an uncharacteristic edge, and she glanced at him in surprise.

“Ah…” She floundered a little as she tried to think of a truthful, yet tactful answer. When enough seconds ticked by that things were becoming awkward, she tossed the idea of being polite and just blurted out, “Not really. I just noticed he’s gone, since we’re all here except for him—and Nate, but he’s by himself in the store—so I wanted a little warning…uh, not a warning, since that sounds kind of rude, so just curiosity, maybe? Mild, very mild curiosity, though.” As she trailed off, she kicked herself for reverting to babble when she’d been doing so well with the Springfields, even talking in whole coherent sentences. She wished she hadn’t brought Ryan up in the first place.

“Oh.” Steve grimaced slightly, looking abashed. “He’s in Ebba, at the ranch-supply store.” When he went silent, no one spoke for a solid minute, and Camille realized that all of his kids were eyeing him with the same surprise she’d felt. Joe, on the other hand, was focused on his food.

“Okay,” she said, more to break the silence than anything. The kids were now exchanging looks that she couldn’t interpret, but they were making her a little antsy. She mentally hunted for a topic, any topic that would make everyone stop being weird. Finally, an idea popped into her head. “Will!” When his eyes widened as if she’d startled him, she realized she might have said that a little too enthusiastically. She was just so relieved to have thought of something to say. “What kind of car are you thinking about getting?”

He immediately lit up. “I’m not set on anything for sure, since I don’t want to pass up something good just because it doesn’t match what’s in my head, you know?”

“That’s smart,” she said, grateful for the easy transition. The kids made normal conversation so easy. She wished it were as simple with other adults. “What are you hoping for, though?”

“Wellll…” He drew out the word while flicking a teasing look at Zoe. “There was a red Ford Mustang that we went to look at in Denver, but somebody told me that I couldn’t get it.”

Zoe groaned dramatically. “It was a 2006, Will. A 2006! I told you how many problems the Mustang had that year, but if you want to have to deal with the engine stalling or the spark plugs breaking off when you try to remove them, then—”

“Okay, okay!” Will interrupted her, laughing. “That’s why I bow to Zoe on all car-buying decisions.”

“You were lucky to have someone along who knows her stuff,” Camille said. “Even if she did destroy your dream of owning a Mustang.”

“Nightmare, more like,” Zoe grumbled, although she couldn’t hide her pleasure at the compliment.

“Yeah, he is lucky,” Steve said with obvious pride, and Zoe beamed at him.

Will’s phone beeped several times in a row, and he pulled it out.

“William.” Steve’s eyebrows drew together, and Camille’s stomach clenched in reflexive pleasure. She wondered what was wrong with her that she thought his stern look made him even more attractive. “No phones at the table.”

“Sorry, Dad, but it’s Uncle Nate.” Standing up, Will took his empty plate over to the sink. “Things got busy early. He has a bunch of customers wanting to get trees, and he can’t leave the store. I can tell he’s freaking out, ’cause he sent about five texts, and the last couple don’t make any sense.”

“All right, then. I’ll follow you in just a minute,” Steve said. Will gave him a nod and the rest of the table a quick wave before heading into the entryway. Steve gave Joe a wry look. “Don’t suppose you want to take some customers out to get trees?”

“No.” Joe blinked quickly. “I…uh…I need to fix the Chevy. It’s been running a little rough.” He seemed so relieved to have thought up an excuse that Camille had to hold back a snicker.

Steve had obviously been expecting Joe to wiggle out of the job, since he just grimaced slightly as he stood. His expression sweetened when he looked down at Camille, and she couldn’t stop herself from beaming back at him. “I’m glad you had lunch with us,” he said simply. It was another long moment before he tore his gaze away from hers, and she discovered that just that extra bit of eye contact had her breathing a little too quickly.

“Thank you for inviting me,” she said, grasping for an easy platitude to tide her over until she could organize her thoughts into sentences that made sense. She didn’t want Steve to know how easily he could set her head spinning. Even though she suspected he was interested, she couldn’t tell for sure. She mentally cursed both her own inexperience and the fact that people didn’t just blurt out their feelings. It would make social interactions so much easier if she didn’t have to figure out every subtle cue. She turned her gaze away from Steve with some effort and focused on Micah. “The tacos were great. Thank you for cooking.”

He responded with a grunt and a slight dip of his chin, but his face reddened enough for Camille to know that he was flustered by her appreciation.

“Micah,” Steve said, a touch of gentle reprimand in his voice.

“You’re welcome.” Micah’s words were almost inaudible, just a low grumble as he stared at his plate. Steve moved around the table, giving all three of his remaining children a kiss on the head and a gentle shoulder squeeze in farewell.

“Dad, can I work with Uncle Joe on the Chevy?” Zoe asked, and then beamed when he nodded. Joe gave her a sideways smile that made him look a thousand times more approachable than usual.

“Help Micah and Maya with kitchen cleanup first,” Steve said. “If you’re ready to go, Camille, I can walk you to your car.”

As appealing as that sounded, she had a promise to keep first. “Micah said he’d show me his drawings. I’d like to see them.” A pleased expression flashed across Micah’s face, and he immediately pushed back his chair and stood up.

Steve gave her an approving nod. “Mind stopping by the shop before you go?” He rubbed at the back of his neck, and she wondered what was making him uneasy. The thought occurred to her that she might make him nervous, just as he made her, but she quickly dismissed it. He was always so stalwart and steady. There was no way that she, Camille Brandt, socially awkward semi-hermit, could throw Steve Springfield off-balance.

“Sure.”

“Good.” He hesitated a second too long, and she wondered again if he was as confident as he always appeared to be. “I’ll…see you later, then.”

Maya started giggling, drawing Camille’s attention away from Steve. All three kids appeared amused, even Micah. Steve gave Maya a look that was probably supposed to be stern, but the effect was ruined by a slightly sheepish smile that tugged on the corners of his mouth.

“Behave,” he grumbled, heading for the entryway. With a shake of his head, Joe followed. As soon as the kids heard the front door close behind them, all three started laughing.

“What’s so funny?” Camille asked, puzzled. The sound of their amusement was contagious, and she found herself smiling, even though she still didn’t know what was going on.

“Dad,” Zoe said, although it wasn’t really an answer. “You, too, a little bit, but mostly Dad.”

“Me? What’d I do?” she asked, but the kids just waved her off as they got control of their giggles.

“C’mon,” Micah said, his face settling into its usual serious lines as he headed into the living room.

When she realized she wasn’t getting an answer out of Zoe or Maya, Camille gave up on trying to understand and followed Micah upstairs to his room.

“You and Will share?” she asked, noticing that the setup—two beds and two desks—was similar to the girls’ room. Micah gave an absent nod as he dug through a stack of notebooks and loose paper piled on his desk. “How do you like that? I’m an only child, so the only time I shared a room was for one semester at college, and that was horrific.” When Micah paused his search to give her a surprised look, she waved a hand, dismissing her words.

“I’m sure that was only because my roommate wasn’t the most…considerate or hygienic of people, so don’t take that as me saying that no one should go to college. Plus, I was really homesick the whole time, and my grandma wasn’t doing well, so…” She cleared her throat. “Anyway, I’m just curious how you like sharing with your brother.”

“It’s fine,” Micah said after a pause, as if checking to see if she was done babbling. She squashed the urge to make a face at herself. It was a little unsettling to realize that all four of Steve’s children were often more mature than she was. “Sometimes he bugs me, but most of the time he’s nice. He’s pretty much always happy, and he doesn’t like to start fights.”

Camille pulled out Will’s desk chair and sat. “That’s good. He does seem really easygoing. It must be nice to have your brother and sisters around, especially after moving. You can take your friends with you.”

“Usually, yeah.” He pulled a sketchbook from the stack and leafed through it. “It’d be nice to be alone once in a while, though. Here.” The drawings must’ve passed muster, because he thrust the sketchbook at her.

“Thanks.” Accepting it, she flipped it open to a drawing of a log cabin in the mountains. As she slowly paged through, she grew more and more impressed. Stopping on a drawing of Steve in his bunker gear, looking soot-stained and weary but satisfied, she resisted the urge to trace the pencil lines of his face. “Wow. Micah, you’re so talented. You really capture the feeling of a moment.” Turning the sketchbook page out so he could see which one she was looking at, she added, “This is like a scene from the end of a battle. I can tell he’s exhausted, but the fire’s out, so the drawing has this sense of weary triumph. Has your dad seen this?”

“Yeah.” Micah’s face was bright red, and he couldn’t seem to stand still, shifting from one foot to the other. Camille had a good idea of how he was feeling. Whenever someone looked at her work, she was torn between bashful pleasure at their praise and the need to rip it out of their hands and hide it from any possibly critical eyes. “He liked it. He keeps offering to have my stuff framed and hang it up downstairs, but I don’t know…” Shrugging, he glowered at his socked feet. “I don’t want everybody to see it.”

“It’s scary, isn’t it? Both times when I brought a new batch of pieces for the store, my stomach was a twisted-up mess.” She finally flipped the page and laughed at a sketch of Maya’s pony, a roguish expression in his eye, trotting along in full tack but without a rider. “This is right after he dumped Maya, isn’t it?”

Moving next to her so he could see the sketchbook too, Micah gave an amused huff. “It was Zoey, but yeah. We all had to ride Q when we were first learning. He taught us how to stay on.”

“I’ll bet,” Camille said dryly, flipping to another sketch, this one a woman that Camille didn’t know, although she looked a bit familiar. She glanced at Micah, intending to ask, but his expression, combined with how the set of his mouth resembled the woman in the sketch, told her who this was. “Your mom?”

“Yeah.” Tearing his gaze away from the drawing, he studied his feet again. “I did that off a photo, since my memory’s getting…” He waved a hand, as if to dismiss his words, but it only gave them greater weight. “She’s getting blurry around the edges.”

Camille studied the picture. “She was beautiful. Is this Will?” She pointed to the chubby baby his mom was holding in her lap.

“Yeah.”

She smiled. “He was cute…all that dark hair.” As she looked at the woman’s features, she grew curious. Although it was a pencil sketch, it was obvious that the kids’ mom had light-colored hair and eyes. “Was Will adopted, then?” she asked and immediately realized the question was probably rude. “If that’s too nosy, you don’t need to answer. Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Micah said. “Everyone in Simpson—where we used to live—knew. It’s just because we’re new here that people gossip about why Will’s browner than the rest of us, but they never ask.”

“That’s because most people aren’t as rude as I am,” Camille said dryly.

Micah gave her a quick smile before returning to a more serious expression. “Will’s dad was a soldier in Iraq. He died before Will was even born, and then Mom and Dad got married when Will was just a baby.”

“Ah.” Camille was itching to ask so many questions, but she managed to keep her mouth shut. It really wasn’t any of her business, and there was something shady about trying to get the details out of a thirteen-year-old. She refocused on the drawing. “Was your mom blond?”

“More of a light red.” He grabbed a framed photo off the bookshelf and brought it over to her. “This is the picture I used to draw from. I’m going to do a painting someday, but I’m not good enough yet. All I do is wreck my drawings.”

“Have you tried pastels?” Camille suggested. “That’d let you play with color, but they feel more like sketching to me, so you might like those more than paint.”

“Not really. Aren’t they just crayons for adults?”

She snorted a laugh. “Sort of, but they’re less waxy.” Leaning over so she could see the picture, she made an admiring sound. “Micah, you did a great job capturing her. Her smile is perfect…so kind. It makes me wish I could’ve known her.”

“Thanks,” he said, the word a bit stiff with discomfort but still obviously sincere. “Her nose is off, though, and I don’t know how to fix it. Right here… See?”

“Hmm…” Camille looked back and forth between the drawing and the photo. “I think the problem is that there’s really no line here between her nose and her cheek.” She pointed at the spot on the framed picture and then the matching spot on his sketch. “But you added one here. I think it’s a case of your mind telling you what should be there versus what your eyes are actually seeing.”

His forehead wrinkling in concentration, Micah looked back and forth between the two pictures. “You’re right.” He took the sketchbook off her lap and hurried over to his desk. “I’m going to fix that right now.”

Happy that she’d been able to help, Camille stood up. “I’m going to give your sisters a hand in cleaning up from lunch. Your drawings are wonderful, Micah. They’re technically very good, but they’re also very evocative.”

He looked up from his sketch, frowning. “What does that mean?”

“Evocative?” When he nodded, she said, “It means that I feel strong emotions when I look at them. That’s good. It’s what art is supposed to do.”

Although he flushed a little, he held her gaze. “Your sculptures make me feel things. When I look at the horse Dad got for us, it makes me remember what it was like when my mom was alive, safe and…” His voice trailed off as he dropped his gaze to the paper in front of him.

“Thank you,” Camille said softly, touched. “That’s the best compliment I’ve ever gotten. I’m glad the horse stayed here with you, since it gives you that.”

Micah kept his head down, his attention fixed on the sketch, although he didn’t move to draw anything.

“Thank you for showing me your drawings.” She cleared her throat, still a little emotional. “I’ll see you later, okay?”

“Bye.” The word was more of a grunt, and Camille bit back a smile that was shaky around the edges. His surly, Joe-like exterior hid an emotional, creative soul, and she felt lucky she’d gotten a glimpse of the real Micah. She slipped out of his room, closing the door silently behind her.

When she reached the kitchen, everything was clean and put away, and Maya and Zoe had already left the house. Even with everyone except her and Micah gone, the house still felt warmly welcoming, as if the Springfields’ personalities had already left a mark on the place, as if their laughter and squabbles and chatter had soaked into the walls, bringing the house to life. It was hard to leave, especially when she thought about spending the rest of the day in the quiet solitude of her workshop. She loved her house, but even when her grandma was alive, it had never felt as much like a home as this place already did. Shaking herself out of her reverie, she pulled on her boots and coat and let herself back out into the chilly outdoors.

As she started toward the store, Camille heard the jangle of sleigh bells and saw Steve jogging toward her, a draft horse that wasn’t Buttercup trotting next to him. She stopped, struck yet again by his rugged beauty and the picture-perfect scene of his strong form next to the huge chestnut horse, their breath turning to steam in the clear, cold air. Even the sunny day seemed to exist just to be a perfect backdrop for Steve in this moment.

“Hey,” he said, not even breathing hard after his jog. “Glad I caught you before we had to head out to get another tree.”

The horse lowered his head to her shoulder and breathed puffs of warm air onto her neck, making her giggle. “Who’s this?”

“Harry. He’s green, and we need to work on him respecting people’s boundaries, but he means well.”

“Oh, I don’t mind him breathing on me.” She rubbed the horse’s cheek as he lipped at her collar. “He’s very handsome.” But not as handsome as Steve, a wicked voice whispered. She firmly ignored it, knowing that she couldn’t focus on thoughts like that if she wanted to be able to have a conversation without blushing.

“He knows it, too. He’s like Ryan that way.”

When Camille let out a surprised laugh, Steve winced, rubbing his neck with the hand not holding Harry’s lead rope. “Sorry. That was rude.”

“Maybe,” she said, still amused, as Harry nosed at her pockets, probably checking for treats. “But it was also true.”

“Hey,” he said to Harry, giving the lead rope a sharp tug so that the horse backed up a few steps. “Quit trying to mug her for carrots.” He shot her a quick glance, looking uncharacteristically uncertain. “So…you and Ryan really aren’t…?”

“Aren’t what?” she asked, confused by the half of a question. As soon as she said it, though, she realized what he’d meant. “Oh! No. We’re not doing anything. I mean, he’s asked, a bunch of times, actually, which surprised me, since he’d pretty much looked right through me until you found me at the scrapyard—not that I was lost, of course—and he walked back with me and Sasha. Anyway, whenever he tries to drag me somewhere for lunch, I run away or tell him I can’t because I need to feed my cat.”

Steve gave his rare, booming laugh. “You turned him down because you needed to feed your cat? No wonder he’s so touchy when it comes to you.”

“He’s touchy about me? Why? I don’t think he’s all that interested.” Not really interested, the way she was in Steve. “I know he’s been persistent about trying to get me to go out with him—well, for the last few weeks, at least—but I figured he asks out everyone he runs into, and most people don’t reject his offers, so I’m just a challenge.”

“It’s true he’s not used to being turned down.”

She shrugged. “He’ll need to get used to it with me. I’m just not interested.”

“Good to know.” Steve’s gaze seemed several degrees warmer than usual, and Camille found prickles of sweat beading under her coat as she tried to puzzle out his meaning. Why was it good to know that she wasn’t interested in his brother? The way he was eyeing her made her almost think that Steve was actually attracted to her.

Her breath caught at the thought, but she immediately doubted herself. Beautiful, kind, and strong Steve Springfield had to have just as beautiful, kind, and strong women falling at his feet on a regular basis. Why would he be interested in an almost-hermit who answered almost every question with a nervous monologue? Despite all that, she knew she wasn’t imagining the heat in his eyes when he looked at her.

Suddenly tired of not knowing what was going on in his mind, she blurted out, “Why is it good to know?”

He shifted closer, nudging Harry back when the horse took the opportunity to try to nibble on Camille’s coat again. With Steve this close, she could smell his evergreen and peppermint scent. His coat was unzipped slightly, showing his insulated flannel shirt underneath, and the urge to press her face against that soft-looking fabric was so strong that her breath caught. She jerked her gaze back to his. There was no missing the heat in his eyes now, especially as he tipped his head down so their faces were even closer. Her heart thrummed in her chest at his nearness, making it almost impossible for her to hear his words. “I wanted to ask y—”

“Steve!” Nate’s yell drifted from the store lot, cutting Steve off midword and smashing the perfect, crystalized moment between them. Closing his eyes for a moment, he let out a hard breath that stirred the strands of hair on her forehead before he turned toward his brother.

“What?” he called back, his voice a little growly.

Blinking as reality returned with a rush of cold air, Camille shifted back a step, needing some distance from Steve to get her thoughts working again. Even as she tried to tell herself that she’d imagined that moment, that he’d been about to ask her a normal, not-at-all-sexy question, she couldn’t keep the butterflies from tumbling around in her belly. Stop, she told them firmly. She should know better than to think that he’d be interested in her, and she needed to knock it off before she ended up embarrassed and hurt.

Despite the internal lecture, she still wanted to throw a pinecone at Nate’s head. Why did he have to shout right when Steve was getting to the interesting part? Now she was going to die of curiosity if she didn’t find out what he’d been about to tell her. She liked Nate well enough, but right now she wished he’d fall in a hole.

“You’re up!” Nate gestured toward a family clustered together by the edge of the lot. Even at a shout, Nate’s words sounded testy, and Camille felt a rush of annoyance. Couldn’t he have helped the family? Even as she thought it, she knew she was being unreasonable. This was why she shouldn’t indulge in daydreams about unobtainable firefighting ranchers. It stole all of her good sense.

Steve gave Nate a wave of acknowledgment before turning back to Camille.

“Duty calls,” he said with a slight, rueful grimace. His gaze lingered on her face for a charged second before he sighed and turned Harry around, being careful the horse’s oversized rump didn’t knock into her. As he started leading the gelding away, Steve glanced over his shoulder at her. “We’ll talk soon.”

With that completely unsatisfying ending to their conversation, he jogged back toward the family waiting in the lot. Realizing that she was staring after him like a lovestruck idiot, Camille forced her feet to move. She followed more slowly, watching as he greeted the parents and their three kids, tying Harry’s lead rope to the hitching post. As he put on the horse’s harness, he explained each step to the customers, letting the kids touch each piece with curious hands. When the smallest child toddled too close to one of Harry’s oversized hooves, Steve swept him up with the ease of long practice before handing him off to the boy’s dad.

Camille loved how he worked around the horse and the kids, calm and easy, but with a careful firmness that showed he wouldn’t put up with any nonsense. Although she wished they’d been able to finish their conversation, she enjoyed being able to stare at Steve to her heart’s content without him noticing. He stroked Harry’s thick, fuzzy neck absently as he listened to one of the kids, and she was transfixed by the movement of his hand, so firm yet gentle. As stupid as it was, she couldn’t keep her mind from dwelling on how that hand would feel against her skin.

As if he’d heard her thoughts, he looked straight at her, the corners of his mouth tucked in as if he were holding back a smile. Heat rushed to her cheeks, and she knew she had to be bright red. If he hadn’t guessed the direction of her thoughts before, her vivid blush had to be giving her away now.

Completely flustered, she lifted her hand in an awkward wave. His smile stretched more widely, and Camille lost what little ability she had to act normally. It was time to retreat. Turning away from the tempting man in front of her, she hurried the rest of the way to her car, not allowing her gaze to stray in his direction. Once she got into the old Buick, she closed her eyes and shook her head at herself. Why couldn’t she have even a smidgen of game? Why had she given Steve that goofy wave?

Carefully backing out, she ran through their brief encounter in her mind. What had he been about to say before Nate interrupted? From the way he’d prefaced the question, it had felt as if it was going to be important. She huffed out a breath. Between thinking about this, her spying neighbor, the creepy night noises, and the industrious mice who shared her home, she’d never be able to sleep that night.