Chapter 1

Steve Springfield had been a Borne firefighter for less than five minutes when the missing-person call came in.

“Grab some of the spare gear and let’s go,” the chief told him. “Search and Rescue will meet us there.”

Steve was moving toward the equipment room before the chief even finished speaking. As he yanked on his borrowed bunker gear, a trickle of adrenaline warmed his blood. This was what he lived for. It’d been too long since he’d headed to a scene without a sense of dread weighing him down. The past couple of years had held too many tragedies and betrayals.

Borne would be different. He’d be able to go back to helping people, rather than cleaning up after it was too late.

Pushing away memories of his past two towns, Steve jammed his feet into a pair of boots and headed for the rescue. Swinging up into the passenger side of the cab, he turned to the chief, who was firing up the engine. The radio lit up as various people called in, giving their ETAs, and Steve grimaced slightly. He had a lot of names to learn. Starting over for the second time in less than two years wasn’t much fun.

“Who’s lost?” he asked. He’d deal with this call and then worry about the rest. Someone was missing, and that took priority.

“Camille Brandt, our local eccentric artist,” the chief said, easing the rescue out of the station and into the swirling snow.

“Camille? She still lives in Borne?” Steve was surprised. He’d figured that the dreamy, shy girl he remembered would’ve escaped the small Colorado town as soon as possible to live in New York or California or some artists’ paradise. As much as Steve loved his childhood home, Borne wasn’t kind to those who marched to their own beat.

The chief gave him a quick sideways glance before refocusing on the road. Although the snow wasn’t too treacherous yet, a strong north wind had picked up, tossing the inch of powder around and messing with visibility. “You knew her growing up?”

“Yeah.” That didn’t feel like the complete truth, though, so he added, “Sort of. She was three years younger than me, but I saw her around. Borne High School’s pretty small.”

The chief gave a laugh. “True.”

“You didn’t go there, did you?” As Steve asked the question, he looked out the window, noting what had changed and what had stayed the same since his last visit home. A few houses had been painted, and what used to be a taco shop now sold coffee. Other than that, it was still the Borne he’d always known.

“Nope.” The chief turned onto a side street, careful not to bump a car parked at the curb. “Moved here fifteen years ago.” A wry expression crossed his face. “Still a newcomer, according to most people.”

Steve gave an amused grunt. That was Borne, all right. “Who reported Camille missing?”

“Mrs. Lin, Camille’s neighbor,” the chief said as he rolled up to the curb in front of Camille’s grandma’s house. No, Steve mentally corrected himself, Camille’s house. The older woman had died a decade or so ago.

Reaching for his door handle, Steve said, “Hopefully, she’s just at a friend’s house, safe and warm.”

The chief snorted as he opened his door. “Friend’s house? I thought you said you knew Camille.”

Before Steve could ask what he meant by that, the chief slammed the door shut. Climbing out of the cab, Steve ducked his chin into the collar of the borrowed bunker coat as the wind spat a handful of sharp snow pellets against his exposed neck. If Camille really was in need of rescue, they had to find her soon. It’d be dark in a couple of hours, and the weather would only get worse.

Jogging across the street, Steve caught up with the chief on Mrs. Lin’s doorstep just seconds before she opened the door.

“Well, come in, come in,” she fussed, stepping back so they could both enter. “You’re letting the heat out.”

Steve closed the door behind them, but Mrs. Lin didn’t look any happier. Then again, he’d never seen her look happy about much of anything.

“Steve Springfield?” she asked, and he gave her a nod of greeting. “Does this mean you’re finally back for good then? ’Bout time you stopped traipsing around the world and came home. Your poor parents will finally be able to relax and enjoy their retirement.”

Steve set his molars to keep from telling Mrs. Lin that rather than “traipsing around the world,” he’d only been a few hours’ drive up into the mountains, that his “poor” parents were happily basking in the New Mexico sun, and that none of that was really her business anyway.

The chief must’ve guessed some of what Steve wanted to say, because he cleared his throat and flicked an amused glance at him. “Mrs. Lin, what time did you see Camille leave?”

“Like I already told the dispatcher, it was at ten forty-eight yesterday morning. I know that because I was on the elliptical downstairs, watching out the front window. I always go a full sixty minutes, from ten to eleven, and the display showed forty-eight minutes. Camille walked outside—without locking her door, even though I keep telling her she’s going to be brutally murdered if she’s not careful—and went into the woods across the street.”

“You haven’t seen her return?” the chief asked, scribbling in his small flip notebook.

“She hasn’t gotten back yet.” Mrs. Lin’s tone was certain. “She’s been gone for a day and a half. Her car hasn’t moved. I even checked the snow for footprints by the garage and on the front walk. She’s still out there, probably freezing to death, unless she’s been kidnapped to be sold into sex slavery.”

Steve blinked. “Doubt there’s much of a risk of that around here.”

“You’ve been gone for years,” Mrs. Lin scolded. “Things have changed in Borne. It’s not the sleepy little town you left.”

“It’s still pretty sleepy,” the chief said as he wrote.

“There’s been a huge jump in crime.” Mrs. Lin folded her arms over her narrow chest and glared.

The chief didn’t seem to feel her laser-like stare burning holes in his downturned head. “Not really,” he said.

“There is crime, Chief Rodriguez.” Mrs. Lin’s voice was frosty. “What about the felon who took Misty Lincoln’s lawn furniture?”

“That was her ex-husband.” The chief finally looked up from his notes. “And I believe he’d been awarded it in the divorce.” Mrs. Lin huffed, but he spoke again before she could start rattling off any other local crimes. “Do you know where Camille was headed?”

Although she held her glare for a few moments, Mrs. Lin finally let it go. “Probably to find all sorts of trash for her…things.” Mrs. Lin gestured vaguely in the direction of Camille’s house.

Her…things? Steve opened his mouth to ask for clarification when the chief flipped his notebook closed. “Did you try calling her?”

“Of course. It goes to her voicemail—her full voicemail, so I couldn’t even leave a message.”

The chief moved to open the door. “Give the dispatcher a call if you spot her or if she calls you back.”

Mrs. Lin gave them a tight nod as they left her house and walked toward Camille’s. Steve kept an eye out for any footprints, but he had to concur with Mrs. Lin on that. The only things he spotted were some blurry indentations leading away from the house. He assumed they were from when Camille had left. Her elderly car was parked on the street, covered by a light blanket of fresh snow.

“I’m still not sure why you’re so certain she’s not with a friend,” Steve said as he climbed the front steps and pounded on her door. There was just the silence of an empty house on the other side.

“Camille’s not really the drop-in-on-friends sort,” the chief said absently, peering into a window. “The few times I’ve seen her out in public have been at odd hours, times when she didn’t think many other people would be out and about, I’m assuming. She’s not exactly the town hermit—that’s your brother Joe—but she’s pretty close to earning the top spot.”

Knocking one final time, Steve considered that. It didn’t seem to fit the Camille he remembered. Sure, she was shy, but she’d been sweet, too, and pretty enough to stick in his head, even though she’d been three grades below him. When he thought of a hermit, he pictured someone cranky and sour. Camille Brandt had either changed a lot since high school, or the chief was exaggerating.

As they knocked on the side door that led into her workshop, Nate’s pickup pulled up behind the rescue. His brother climbed out, and Steve waved him over. He noticed Nate’s slight limp as he hurried to join them and felt a twinge of concern that he kept to himself, knowing his brother wouldn’t appreciate the fussing. Nate had twisted his ankle while turning horses out into the pasture a few days earlier, and he’d refused to have it checked out. Ryan, another of Steve’s brothers, climbed out of the passenger side of the truck and followed Nate. Even though Ryan wasn’t officially a member of Search and Rescue or the fire department, Steve wasn’t surprised to see him. Ryan always loved being where the action was.

“Camille’s missing?” Nate asked as he reached them, zipping his coat a little higher. Steve couldn’t blame him. The wind was vicious today.

“According to Mrs. Lin, she headed into the woods yesterday morning and hasn’t returned,” the chief summarized, waving toward the trees across the street. More vehicles arrived, and deputies, firefighters, and Search and Rescue members joined their growing huddle. As he hunched against the stinging assault of snow and wind, Steve eyed the trees, antsy to start searching.

The chief handed the scene over to a woman from Search and Rescue that Steve didn’t recognize. She introduced herself as Sasha and quickly divided everyone into teams. Steve, the chief, Ryan, and Nate were together.

“Betsy will be here in about ten minutes with her tracking dog,” Sasha said in a loud, clear voice that managed to carry over the wind. “I don’t want to wait for them to arrive before we start searching, though…not with dusk approaching and the temperature dropping like it is.”

Steve was glad for that. He was antsy enough with the delay as it was. Every search reminded him of when his two girls had been lost in the mountains, and the memory of those horrifying hours still hit him like a punch to the gut at times like these. The idea of someone—especially shy, sweet Camille—being caught in the frozen night, alone and afraid, made his stomach churn with worry. He needed to get out there and start searching for her. With the temperature dropping and the wind picking up, each minute could be critical.

The teams spread out and started making their way through the trees, calling for Camille. Their voices were quickly snatched away, dulled by the thick forest and the now-roaring wind. The trees creaked ominously, threatening to drop thick branches on their heads, and Steve moved a bit more quickly.

The sun was slipping toward the mountain peaks, and the light cast strange shadows. Steve’s pulse kept leaping every time he caught a glimpse of a promising shape, and disappointment caught him after each false alarm. The searchers spread out, the space between the chief, Steve, and his brothers gradually increasing until the only sounds were the crunch of snow beneath his boots and his voice calling for Camille in the gathering dusk.

He held an image of her face in his mind from when they’d both been teenagers. She’d been so delicate-looking. It was hard to imagine her surviving a few hours in the snowy wilderness, much less a whole night. A fresh sense of urgency pushed him to move faster.

“Camille!” he called, raising his voice so it would carry over the wailing wind. He paused to listen, but there was no response—at least none that he could hear. Steve pressed on, tromping around trees and through snowy brush that threatened to trip him. Evergreen branches scraped against the heavy fabric of his borrowed bunker gear, showering him with their layer of snow. He drew a breath to yell for Camille again, but a distant yelp made him whip his head around as he realized the muted cry of pain had come from Nate. Steve turned and hurried through the trees to his brother’s side. “You okay?”

“Fine.” He didn’t sound fine, and his face was drawn with pain. “Just took a bad step.”

“Do you need to head back?” Steve asked, watching closely as Nate lowered his foot to the ground. As soon as he put weight on it, he grimaced but waved Steve off.

The chief joined them. “Everything okay?”

“His ankle’s bothering him,” Steve said. “I’ll help him back to the staging area.”

“No, he’s fine and going to continue searching,” Nate gritted out, limping away.

“What’s up?” Ryan called through the trees. “Something wrong?”

“We’re good!” Steve called back, even as he exchanged a concerned look with the chief. He knew there was no point in fighting Nate on this. His brother was stubborn and took his search-and-rescue duties too seriously to give up without a fight—something that, in this case, would waste precious time.

So instead, they spread out again and continued to search. Although Steve knew that Nate was doing his best to push through, he’d slowed considerably, and Steve was torn between hurrying to find Camille as soon as possible and refusing to leave his obviously hurting brother behind. The tree branches clacked and groaned, snow whipping into Steve’s face and shoving his shouts for Camille right back down his throat. The light was quickly fading, the thickening storm clouds and heavy evergreen branches around the searchers blocking most of the remaining sunlight.

Reaching to turn on his headlamp, Steve gave an annoyed grunt when his fingers only found his helmet. That was the problem with starting over at a new fire department, especially as a volunteer. Until he’d proven that he was there to stay, he was stuck wearing leftover equipment that definitely wasn’t set up the way he liked it. He patted the pocket of his bunker coat and was relieved to feel the heavy cylinder of a flashlight. At least he wouldn’t be stumbling blindly around the woods once the last of the light disappeared.

“Camille!” he yelled, his voice rough from repeatedly calling for her. His mind was busy running through all sorts of possibilities—what if she’d fallen off a ledge or had a seizure or encountered a bear or stepped in a ground squirrel’s hole and broken her ankle? If something had happened, how many hours had she been stuck in the freezing temperature, possibly unconscious?

He moved more quickly, and Nate dropped even farther behind. Steve couldn’t let that affect his speed, though. The priority was to find Camille. Nate was upright and moving. Despite his injured ankle, he was fine.

Camille might not be.

The trees thinned, and Steve shoved aside an evergreen branch as he stepped into a clearing. With the sun setting, it took him a moment to recognize where he was—the old scrapyard. The spot was familiar, a favorite place to search for treasure as kids, but it was also slightly menacing in the dim light. The scrapyard had grown as more and more people dumped junk cars and other metal trash, the piles mounded even higher with a solid layer of snow. It had been an exciting, almost magical place when he’d been a kid, but now he saw it through a parent’s eyes, and there was danger everywhere. All of the worst-case scenarios he’d thought up while searching came back to him in a rush.

“Camille!” he bellowed, jogging through the snow, feeling his boot catch on uneven footing. So many parts and pieces were buried under sheets of white, just waiting to trip him up and send him flying. Considering the condition of the metal he could see, whatever he landed on would be sure to give him some mutant, vaccination-resistant strain of tetanus, too.

The wind roared, sending a piece of rusted sheeting flying end over end until it struck the remaining back half of an old Chevy van with a clatter. Glancing behind him, Steve saw Nate emerge from the trees, and a new urgency hit him. They needed to find Camille before Nate hurt himself even worse trying to stubbornly navigate the uneven terrain.

“Stay there!” he shouted, but Nate slogged through the snow, either not hearing or ignoring him. Knowing his brother and how he’d disregard his own pain if someone else was in trouble, Steve figured it was the latter. Biting back a growl of worried frustration, he moved even faster through the piles. “Camille!”

There! Had there been movement over by the ancient washing machine off to his left? He headed toward it but was forced to slow as he picked his way between an old piece of farm machinery and the remains of a bed frame. “Camille! It’s Steve Springfield! Yell if you can hear me!”

A head suddenly popped up above the pile right next to him, seeming to appear from nowhere. “Steve-freaking-Springfield?”

Startled, Steve lurched sideways and barely avoided tripping over the junk surrounding him. He peered at the small figure, his eyebrows flying up as he took in her safety goggles and Elmer Fudd hat. “Camille?”

“Yes?” She drew the word out tentatively, and Steve felt a rush of relief—and the slight annoyance that followed on the heels of worry. It was a familiar sensation, since his kids were too smart and adventurous for their own good.

“Are you hurt?” he asked, focusing on the parts of her that he could see. Between her heavy layers of clothes and the junk hiding her bottom half from view, it wasn’t much. “Do you need help?”

“No?” Again, she said the word slowly with an upward incline at the end.

“Good. A lot of people have been worried about you.”

“They have? Why?” She stared at him, her brown eyes wide behind the clear plastic of the safety goggles. Blond wisps of hair had escaped the hat and curled around her face. Eyeing her rosy cheeks and full pink lips that were parted slightly in confusion, Steve was transported back to high school, where he’d surreptitiously eyed her in the hall, feeling guilty for his interest in a freshman but unable to keep his eyes off her. Even then, there’d been something about the shy loner. They’d only talked a few times, but she’d had a way of looking at him that made him feel like he could move mountains. If she’d been closer to his age, he would’ve been tempted to ask her out.

“Mrs. Lin called and said you left yesterday morning and never returned,” he explained. “Did you spend the night out here?”

Her eyes rounded, and her pink cheeks darkened even more. “What? No! I went home last night and came back out this morning. Why’d she call you?” she asked on a squeak.

“Not me specifically,” Steve said. “She called dispatch. I’m here because Fire and the county deputies respond to all search-and-rescue calls.”

All the color left her cheeks, and Steve’s smile slipped away. “Search and rescue?” Her voice was barely audible above the wind. “Looking for me? Everyone’s here trying to search and rescue me? Are they all coming here? I’m not lost or hurt or anything. I don’t need to be searched and rescued!” Looking more and more horrified, she ended on what could only be described as a wail.

“It’s okay.” Steve took a step closer, trying to soothe her. “Most searches are false alarms. We’re used to that.”

“I’m not used to it!” His reassurances didn’t seem to be having much of an effect. “I’m not used to it in any way. Oh, geez Louise, everyone’s been searching for me. They’re all going to be running over here, aren’t they?” The wind settled for a few seconds, and a dog’s excited barking could clearly be heard. Camille winced at the sound. “Dogs? Dogs are leading people toward me? I’m not lost! I’m right here, where I usually am. There was just so much to pick up yesterday and today, since I need extra pieces for the Christmas orders, and it took me a little longer than I’d planned, but I didn’t think there’d be search and rescuers and dogs and cops and Steve-freaking-Springfield…”

“Hey, now. Take a breath.” Hiding his amused bafflement over how she kept adding freaking to his name, he kept his voice gentle but firm enough to cut through Camille’s building panic. “Things will be fine. Everyone will be relieved to see that you’re safe. The medics will check you over, and then we’ll all go home.”

“Medics? Plural? As in more than one? They’ll check me out in front of everyone, while people watch?” She seemed to alternately pale and flush, as if torn between horror and embarrassment. “No. No, no. That’s not good. I’m fine. I don’t need checking out. All my parts are where they should be, and I even wore my warmest hat, so my ears aren’t even cold. I’m fine.” She took a step back, her boot bumping against a sled piled with pieces of metal scrap. Steve wondered what she needed the parts for. There didn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason to the items she’d collected.

Shaking off his distraction, he focused on the panicked woman in front of him. If he didn’t do something, she was going to bolt, and then things would get messy—and even more embarrassing for her as the well-intentioned rescuers gave chase. Steve really didn’t want that to happen. For whatever reason, he had an overwhelming urge to make things better for Camille. He just wasn’t sure how.

“Springfield!” the chief called, circling a scrap pile some distance away. “Did you find her?”

“Oh no.” Camille’s eyes grew wider and wider as the chief approached. “Here they come. All the people and medics and questions and staring…”

“Don’t worry,” Steve said, and Camille whipped her head around to look at him, wild-eyed. “I’ll fix this.”

He just needed to find the right… There!

“Oof!” Steve fake-yelled as he jammed his foot between the piece of farm machinery and the old bed frame he’d just skirted. He pinwheeled his arms dramatically for effect.

“What’s wrong?” The chief jogged up to them, his face furrowed with concern. “Is Camille hurt?”

Steve straightened with exaggerated care. “Camille’s fine. Mrs. Lin had it wrong. Camille went home last night.” He gestured toward his foot. “I’m the one that’s in need of a rescue. Give me a hand out?”

As he had hoped, the chief’s attention instantly turned to his predicament. After examining the metal surrounding Steve’s boot, he asked, “How’d you even manage to do this, Springfield?”

Pulling out his portable radio, the chief sighed heavily enough to be heard over the wind. “We found Camille in the scrapyard. She’s fine, but the new guy got himself stuck.”

Steve felt a twinge of annoyance at the amused condescension in the chief’s tone, but then he glanced at Camille, who was looking just slightly less like she wanted the earth to swallow her. The mocking that was sure to follow this incident was worth it if his supposed clumsiness took some attention off her.

Ryan hurried toward them, took the scene in at a glance, and started laughing. “Oh, how the mighty firefighter has fallen.”

Steve glowered at his brother. Of course Ryan took pleasure in his predicament. He’d always been the most competitive of all the Springfield brothers.

“Hey, Camille.” Ryan turned his attention to the petrified woman, who gave him a dorky wave that made Steve smile. Her awkwardness was still incredibly endearing. “You okay?”

“Fine. I’m good. Nothing wrong here.” She shifted back another step as if she was worried that Ryan would insist on checking her over, and Steve let out a grunt of pretend pain.

“A little help?” Steve asked Ryan, trying to pull his brother’s attention away from Camille before she bolted.

“Nah,” Ryan teased. “I’d rather help Camille. She’s much prettier than you are.”

Camille turned bright red and made a slight choking sound. Annoyed, Steve grabbed a handful of snow and tossed it at his brother.

“Hey!” Ryan brushed off his coat. “Careful there. You don’t want to start a snow war. I’m not the one who’s stuck.”

The rest of the Search and Rescue members, firefighters, and cops trickled in, including Betsy and her tracking dog—a shaggy, excited mixed breed of unknown parentage.

“Camille, there you are. You need to get checked out.” Nate started determinedly in her direction, but Steve reached out and snagged a handful of his brother’s coat before he could pass. Knowing Nate’s predilection for rescuing damsels in distress, he’d make a big fuss over her, and she very clearly did not want the attention.

“Hang on, Nate. I need you to pull back on this piece here.”

“But…” Nate turned back toward Camille, who scooted farther away from them.

“Nope. She’s fine. I’m the one who needs help right now.” He wasn’t a big fan of being the center of attention, either, but he was willing to make the sacrifice. After all, sometimes saving people didn’t involve anything as dramatic as burning buildings. “Are you going to leave your favorite brother trapped?”

Although Nate gave him a suspicious look, he bent and yanked at the metal frame. Ryan watched in amusement, clearly unwilling to help. Well, no surprise there. At least he was distracted by the show.

Steve scanned the growing crowd of first responders and spotted the Search and Rescue scene commander. “Sasha,” he called, hooking the toe of his boot a little more firmly under the piece of metal it was wedged against. “Camille’s fine, and Nate, Ryan, and the chief can help me with this. No reason for everyone else to stand around getting cold.”

Sasha studied the awkward-looking Camille and then Steve for a long moment before giving him the slightest wink. “Agreed. Okay, everyone! Head back to staging, and don’t forget to check out with Boris. If you do forget, we’ll be searching the woods for you, and no one wants to do that again!”

“Shouldn’t someone do a medical check on Camille?” Nate asked as everyone else started heading back toward the trees. Steve wished his foot was free so he could kick his brother with it.

“She declined medical attention,” Steve said quickly, and Camille looked confused for just a moment before she started nodding.

“Yes. I declined that. I do decline it. It has been declined.”

Steve coughed to hide a laugh, settling for a smile that instantly gentled the moment their eyes met. “Why don’t you walk back with Sasha? I bet she’d be willing to let Mrs. Lin know that you’re safely home.”

Sasha grimaced. “Sure, stick me with Mrs. Lin duty. I’ll get you back for this, Steve Springfield. C’mon, Camille.”

Meeting Steve’s gaze, a flushed Camille mouthed thank you before following Sasha back into the woods. Steve felt a warmth in his belly as he watched her walk away, towing her collection of found items on the sled behind her. Ryan gave him a long, calculating look before turning and hurrying after them, and Steve swallowed a groan. He’d made his interest in Camille—as innocent as it was—too obvious, and now his brother’s competitive spirit had kicked in. When they were younger, Steve hadn’t been able to look twice at a girl without Ryan trying to elbow in.

The trio was swallowed by the darkening woods, and Steve looked away. There wasn’t anything he could do about that now.

When he glanced down, he saw Nate eyeing him with a knowing look. “Found a new way to be the hero, huh?” he asked in a low voice. Apparently, there was no fooling this brother.

A string of muttered curses brought Steve’s attention back to the chief. “This isn’t budging,” he said. “I’m going to have to call someone to grab the tools from the rescue and haul them in here.”

“Hold on,” Steve said when the chief reached for his radio. “I felt it give. Nate, pull back just like that…” He contorted his face as he pulled out his foot, trying to make it look like a huge effort and not something that he could have easily done for the past ten minutes or so. “There! I’m free. Good work, team.”

From the chief’s suspicious scowl, he knew something was up, but he didn’t challenge Steve’s miraculous rescue. “Fine. Let’s head back. It’s only going to get colder.”

Steve fell in behind the chief, careful not to move so quickly that Nate couldn’t keep up—and being even more careful not to let on that he was doing anything of the sort. Now that everyone else was gone, an eerie quiet spread over the snow-covered mounds. The wind whipped against his skin, and Steve tucked his chin into the collar of his coat, thinking about Camille and how glad he was that she hadn’t been trapped in the icy dark all night. Even as the trees groaned and creaked around him, he smiled slightly, holding the picture of her in those goggles and that earflap hat in his mind.

He barely knew her, but for some strange reason, the thought of Camille Brandt, all grown up, was keeping him warm.

* * *

Why did this keep happening to her?

Camille flattened herself against the toilet paper display, resisting the urge to thump her head against the rolls. There was a reason she only came to the Borne Market early on Sunday mornings, and that was because she didn’t want to be forced into awkward conversations with any of her neighbors. It helped that sixteen-year-old Kacey Betts worked the checkout on Sunday, and her focus stayed glued on her cell phone the entire time. Camille could slip in, buy what she needed, and slip right back out without having to make polite chitchat with anyone. Today, however, she and Kacey weren’t alone.

Steve-freaking-Springfield was there.

The last time she’d seen him, he’d sweetly helped her escape her “rescue.” She still hadn’t forgiven Mrs. Lin for sending everyone and their brother on a search for her. The whole situation had been mortifying, and that was with Steve’s help. If he hadn’t been there, it could’ve been so much worse. Camille’s stomach churned and her cheeks flushed at the thought of all that attention—and the potential additional humiliation.

Now, though, she was in a whole new pickle.

Why, today of all days, did Steve have to need groceries? Why did she have to have the urge for peanut-butter blossoms? She glanced at the bag of chocolate stars in her hands and sighed. If she’d just eaten a spoonful of peanut butter and called it good, she wouldn’t be in this mess.

Come on, Camille, she scolded herself, grow up already. Just because Steve was here didn’t mean they couldn’t have a normal conversation. It wouldn’t be awkward unless she made it that way. Sure, she might have had a huge crush on him as a teenager, and his gallant actions at the scrapyard might have revived that crush to its full, painful glory, but she was a mature adult, capable of casual social interactions.

Camille winced a little at the mental lie. Okay, maybe not. New plan: she was going to sneak past his aisle and get to the checkout without him even noticing that she was in the store. Resolved, she peeked around the corner of the display and saw that he was focused on the products in front of him. Refusing to let her gaze linger on his rugged profile or broad shoulders, she forced herself to concentrate on her goal—escape.

Now!

She shot forward, but her knee caught the edge of the display, knocking down a column of toilet paper. Time seemed to slow as the rolls tumbled down, hitting the floor in a series of dull thuds.

She scrambled to pick up the packages, her heart thumping fast in her chest, still hoping that she could pull off her escape. The horrible awkwardness could still be avoided if she hurried. Maybe he hadn’t heard her. The falling rolls hadn’t been that loud. Not like cans of peanuts or unpopped popcorn or…a cylinder of ball bearings or—

“Camille?”

She stopped abruptly, keeping a death grip on the toilet paper. That wonderful voice was just a shade deeper than she remembered from high school, but the thrill that rushed up her spine at the sound of it was all too familiar. Turning her head, she met Steve’s eyes before dropping her gaze to her armful of Charmin. She replaced the last of the fallen rolls, feeling her hairline prickle with sweat as her thoughts twisted into useless tangles.

Why, why was she always embarrassing herself in front of this man?

“Camille. How are you?” His voice was certain now, and as friendly and calm as it always seemed to be. The Springfield brothers had all been sought-after in high school—even snarly Joe’d had a fan club—but Steve had always been Camille’s favorite. No matter how popular he’d been or how handsome he’d gotten or how many girls had been crushing on him, he’d always stayed so steady and kind.

Now he was waiting for her to speak, though, and she needed to focus on the conversation. “Fine.” Good. Great. She’d managed an answer, and it’d actually made sense.

“No issues after your time out in the cold?”

“No.” He didn’t respond right away, looking expectantly at her instead. She knew that meant she was supposed to add to her one-word answer, and she scrambled to think of something, anything she could say. “I was wearing clothes.” Ugh. That didn’t sound right at all. “I mean, there was no chance I’d get frostbitten since I had multiple layers on, plus my boots are waterproof. That’s important… Keeping dry, I mean. Since, you know, wet is cold.” Her voice trailed off at the end as she resisted the urge to wince. Why was it that she could put words together in her head, but they always came out all wrong?

“True.” He sounded amused, and now she couldn’t keep from grimacing. Of course he was amused. She was being ridiculous. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

“How about you?” That’s good, she praised herself. Turn the attention back on him. He’ll talk, and you can just nod and stay quiet and everything will be okay. “Is your foot all right?”

His smile widened, one corner tucked in wryly. “Yeah. It was always fine. I just thought you might want everyone’s focus on someone else.”

She knew it. His dramatic fuss had been so unlike the Steve Springfield she’d sort of known in high school. It had been so obvious to Camille that he’d been faking that she’d been surprised when Nate, Ryan, and the chief had fallen for it. “I did. Thank you.” There. That was normal-ish. “I owe you one. I mean, it’d be hard to duplicate that situation with our roles reversed, but if you ever need to be saved, then I’m your man. Well, I’m your woman. Not that I’m your woman in that way, of course.” Closing her mouth so firmly her teeth clicked together, she swallowed a groan. Why did she never stop at normal-ish?

Steve was silent. When she managed to get up the nerve to peek at his face, he didn’t look amused or offended or even baffled. Instead, he seemed…thoughtful. “Actually, I could use your help right now.”

Taken off guard, she blinked. “My…help? Now? Here? At the grocery store?”

His mouth pulled down in a grimace as he waved a hand at the products lining the shelves. Dragging her gaze off him, Camille actually noticed what he’d been examining so intently.

“You need my help with…feminine hygiene products?” She wasn’t sure why she’d used the technical term, but it was such an odd situation. Steve had reappeared out of the blue after sixteen years. He’d saved her from what could’ve been a horribly humiliating event in the woods, and he was now standing in front of the tampon display. She was just happy she was capable of talking at all.

“If you don’t mind.” He gave her a slight smile, not wide enough to create the charming creases in his cheeks she so vividly remembered. “This is an area I… Well, I don’t really know what I’m doing.”

“Okay.” She cautiously moved closer, drawn by him as she’d always been, even as a gawky fourteen-year-old. “What kind of help do you need? Is this for your wife?” She remembered when she’d heard about his marriage, just two years after he’d left town after graduating from high school. Even though she and Steve had only exchanged a handful of words, Camille had still felt a painful twist in her chest at the news.

“No.” He focused on the boxes as he tipped his head from side to side, the motion drawing Camille’s attention to the way the rounded muscles of his shoulder angled to meet his neck. In his time away, Steve had not slacked off in the working-out department. “She died eight years ago.”

“Oh.” Jerking her attention off his body, she stared at the familiar line of boxes, not knowing the right response, as usual. “I’m so sorry.”

He accepted her words with a tight nod.

Camille mentally scrambled to think of something to say. What could possibly follow “My wife’s dead”? Camille hadn’t known her, so she couldn’t say something like “She was a wonderful woman,” since she had no idea what his wife had been like. She didn’t even know her name. Anything unrelated to his wife’s death, on the other hand, felt so silly and blasé, as if she was blowing off what had happened to him as something small and casual and not the hugely devastating event it surely had been.

“So.” He cleared his throat. “This is for my daughter.”

“Right.” Of course Steve was the wonderful kind of dad who went to the store to get tampons for his kid. Camille was not surprised at all—impressed and even more smitten, but not surprised. “What does she usually use?”

He rubbed his neck—it was like he was trying to get her to focus on his excess of muscles—and twisted his shoulders in an uncomfortable shrug. “She doesn’t…not yet. I know it’s coming, though. Zoe’s almost twelve, and she’s living in a houseful of guys, except for her little sister, Maya, and I want her to have”—he waved at the tampon display—“whatever she needs on hand when the time comes. It’s been hard enough for her to grow up without her mom. The only thing I can do is to hopefully make things a little easier for her.”

With a frustrated grunt, he turned to face Camille. “Unless this is just going to make it worse? Should I bring her here and let her pick out what she’ll need instead?” Before she could answer, he groaned and scrubbed a hand over his face. “I’ve been a parent for fourteen years, and it didn’t used to be this hard. Now that they’re growing up, it feels like all the rules are changing, and I don’t know what I’m doing anymore.”

Camille’s mind went blank. She was horrible at thinking of the right words in the moment—at three the next morning while lying sleepless in bed, sure, but in the moment, never. As the silence stretched, Steve’s shoulders began to sag, and he looked so defeated that Camille couldn’t stand it.

“My grandma raised me,” she blurted out, horrified at the words that were leaving her mouth. Was she really going to tell Steve-freaking-Springfield this story, of all stories? What was she doing? Despite the impending humiliation, though, she kept talking while focusing on a box of panty liners. If she met Steve’s warm hazel eyes, she knew she’d stumble over her words and it’d all come out sounding even worse. “I’ve always been shy, so I didn’t have many friends.” Or any.

“When I got my period, I was eleven. I panicked. My grandma was long past having to use any of this, so there wasn’t anything in the house. Since I didn’t know what to expect, I didn’t know if tissues would be enough, so I used one of Grandma’s dish towels, emptied my piggy bank, and came here.”

She grimaced at the memory and at the fact that she was actually sharing this traumatizing story with anyone, much less Steve. Freaking. Springfield. “It wasn’t an early Sunday morning like this, though. It was Saturday afternoon, packed with everyone doing their weekly grocery shopping, including the prettiest and meanest girl in sixth grade, Hayden Larchmont.”

Her cheeks burned as red as they had two decades ago. “There I was, Grandma’s embroidered dish towel stuffed in my underwear, feeling like everyone could take one look at me and just know, lurking in the candy aisle as I waited for Hayden’s family to leave so I could grab what I needed and run. Finally, this lane was clear, and I hurried over—and I stood right here, in this very spot, staring at all this helplessly. I had no idea what to buy. Hayden and her mom came around the corner, and she stared at me standing in front of the tampon display and started to giggle, like she knew about the dish towel and everything, and I realized that soon everyone at school would know every humiliating detail, too. I was so flustered and embarrassed that I just grabbed a box at random and ran.”

Now that the story was out, her word vomit spewed all over poor Steve, she had no choice but to leave before she melted into a puddle of liquid humiliation. She plucked two types of tampons and a box of pads from the shelf and piled them into Steve’s arms. “Here. She can start with these. It might take some time for her to find out what works best for her, but one of these should get her through the first period.”

Steeling herself, she turned and met Steve’s wide eyes. His mouth was open slightly, but he didn’t say anything.

“And for the record, I think you are a very good dad.” Turning, she marched to the checkout counter, not looking back at him, even when he called out a thank-you. As Kacey rang up her chocolate stars, Camille stared at the debit card reader, trying very hard not to think about what she’d just done.

I told Steve Springfield the story of my first period.

There was no other option. Camille was going to have to move.

* * *

“How many times do I need to say this?” Steve frowned at his two girls. “No more blowing things up—especially not in the house.”

“But, Dad…” Maya gave him the sweet smile that worked a little too well when it came to getting out of trouble. “It was only a tiny explosion. Just a little pop.”

“I didn’t mean for it to blow up.” Zoe frowned at the blackened parts in her hands as if she could read what had gone wrong from the bits that remained. “It wasn’t an intentional explosion. I’m not sure what happened… Maybe a leak in the fuel line?”

“That shouldn’t cause an explosion. A fire, maybe, but…” His eyes narrowed. “No. You aren’t distracting me this time. Both of you know the rules. No working on combustible, explosive, or otherwise dangerous projects without an adult present. You”—he pointed at Maya—“are on stall-cleaning duty every day until Christmas.” Ignoring her groan, he turned to Zoe. “You are cleaning out the shop. Once that’s done, you’re helping your sister with the barn chores.” Although she grimaced, she accepted the punishment absently, and he knew her mind was still on the cause of the explosion. “No more working on this engine unless I’m directly supervising—or Joe, if I’m not available.”

“What? No!” That had gotten her full attention. “Uncle Joe isn’t around this close to Christmas. He’s better at hiding from the customers than Micah is, and Micah’s, like, invisible this time of year. I’ll never get to work on my engine.” Her big brown eyes, so painfully reminiscent of her mother’s, widened as she pleaded with him.

“Fine.” He knew he was too big a softy when it came to his children, but he couldn’t help it. They were good kids—just a little too smart and creative for their own good sometimes. When they were little, it’d been easy to know the right thing to do, but parenting grew harder and harder the older his children got. Now, he often felt as if he were trying to put together one of Zoe’s engines without a manual—and with a good chance that everything would blow up in his face. “No working on your engine unless it’s in the shop and one of your uncles is supervising or I’m there.”

“Or Will or Micah?” Zoe added hopefully.

Steve snorted a laugh. “You know more about mechanics than either of your brothers, so no. Besides, they just encourage chaos.” He turned his stern glance on Maya. “As does your sister, so she doesn’t count as supervision, either.”

Maya grinned. “This wasn’t even close to making it into Zoe’s top ten.”

Closing his eyes, Steve groaned. “Go ride your ponies. At least they don’t blow up.”

“You should make a mechanical horse,” Maya said as the two girls headed for the door, stopping to pull on boots and coats. “No, a whole mechanical cavalry! That would be a-maz-ing.”

“That’d take a lot of raw materials,” Zoe said, although her thoughtful tone told Steve that she was considering the idea. He squeezed his eyes closed, making a mental note to tell his brothers to let him know if any large pieces of machinery suddenly disappeared.

“Before you create a robot army,” Steve suggested dryly, “why don’t you focus on designing a solar stock-tank heater for the back horse pasture.”

Zoe’s face lit up with excitement at the idea of a new project, and he looked at his two girls, marveling that they’d be teenagers soon. That reminded him of what he’d picked up at the store earlier that morning, and he frowned uncomfortably. There was no sense in putting it off. Camille had said she’d gotten her period when she was eleven, and Zoe would be twelve in a month. She could get it at any time, and Maya probably wouldn’t be far behind.

“Girls.” They must’ve caught a different note in his voice, because they immediately turned toward him. “I got something for you at the store.”

They both lit up, and he tried to wave away their anticipation.

“It’s nothing exciting.” He felt his neck heat and mentally scolded himself as he rubbed it. This was basic biology, and the girls needed to know that it wasn’t anything to be embarrassed about. He wanted them to ask questions and tell him what they needed. He hated the thought of them going through the unnecessary humiliation and discomfort that Camille had experienced.

“What’d you get us?” They’d moved closer. His long pause must’ve intrigued them; he had their full attention.

“You’re getting older.” He cleared his throat, reaching for the grocery bag. He’d tossed it on the kitchen table when he’d gotten home just in time to witness Zoe’s explosion. “I wanted you to have these when the time came. I’ll put them in the bathroom closet. There are instructions, and you can ask me questions if you have any.” He remembered how he couldn’t even pick out the right products without Camille’s help. “If I don’t know the answer, we’ll…Google it or something.”

Opening the bag, he held it out to show the girls what was inside. They both peered into the bag, and Zoe’s eyes went wide. She jerked back, as if she could catch something from the contents, and her face flushed brick-red.

Maya looked puzzled. “What are they?” she asked.

Without answering, Zoe turned and hurried toward the door. Steve took a deep breath, trying to think of the best way to answer. Before he could say anything, Zoe called, “C’mon, Maya.”

“But what are they?” she asked, moving obediently toward her sister.

“Tampons,” Zoe whispered, yanking open the door.

“Oh!” The confusion cleared from Maya’s young face. “For when we get our periods!”

Steve didn’t think it was possible for Zoe’s face to get any redder, but somehow it happened. She seemed so embarrassed by just the sight of the bag’s contents that Steve knew his vague plan for having a father-daughters open discussion about puberty was not going to happen anytime soon. Zoe couldn’t run away fast enough.

“We’ll talk about it later,” she said to Maya under her breath, before basically shoving her sister through the door and following her outside.

Steve’s gaze stayed on the door after it closed behind the girls, a creeping sense of failure enveloping him. How had he managed to fumble that so badly? It seemed to be happening a lot lately, especially with Zoe and Micah. Until recently, he’d always taken pride in being a competent dad, but now he seemed to be missing more pitches than he was hitting. He wondered if once she was an adult, Zoe would tell the story of when she was eleven and her dad completely humiliated her by buying her tampons. He silently cursed, wishing for the thousandth time that Karen had lived and was part of their children’s lives. She would’ve known what to do. Unlike Steve, she wouldn’t be failing their kids.

The door swung open, jerking him out of his mournful thoughts, and Zoe stuck her head back inside. Her cheeks were still red, and she didn’t meet his gaze.

“Thanks for getting those, Dad. Love you.”

She quickly disappeared again, shutting the door behind her. After a few shocked seconds, Steve smiled. Maybe Camille had been right. Maybe he was doing okay after all.