Chapter 13

Camille discovered that working outside was much more fun than in the store, especially since she was teamed up with Steve. He was very good at getting the customers talking, which filled any potentially awkward silences. For the entire afternoon, she helped take families out to cut their own trees, leading Buttercup or walking next to her, making sure the smallest riders didn’t fall off her broad back. To her surprise, Camille’s favorite job was working the tree shaker. There was something viscerally satisfying about knocking loose any dead bugs or loose needles or anything else that might be in the small evergreens.

The motor on the machine was loud, too, removing any opportunity for small talk. Bonus.

As the afternoon waned, and the parking lot gradually cleared of cars, the sun sat low on the sharp edge of the mountain peaks. Reddish-orange rays lit the mostly empty lot, illuminating Steve’s strong form as he unharnessed Buttercup. There was a peacefulness to the moment, a feeling of satisfaction that a day’s work was done. Camille didn’t usually have that sensation. For her, there were always more orders to fill, more ideas that wanted to be given shape. Steve lifted the heavy collar off Buttercup’s neck, his movements careful and smooth with the ease of long practice. Camille was unable to drag her gaze off him until Maya leaned against her, giving a full-body shiver.

“Why don’t you head up to the house?” Camille suggested, wrapping an arm around the girl’s shoulders to give her some extra warmth. The lights in the store windows went dark. “I overheard Nate and Micah talk about making Swedish meatballs for dinner tonight.”

“I usually help Dad with the night feed,” Maya said, although her gaze shifted to the house, its windows warm and gold, tempting after an afternoon working in the snow.

“I’ll help him.” Camille bumped the girl lightly with her hip. “You’ve been outside longer than we have. You must be freezing.”

Maya nodded, her teeth chattering together in an exaggerated way that made Camille laugh. “Okay. Thanks!” She ran toward the house and its beckoning warmth. Camille’s side felt chilly in her absence.

Ryan emerged from the store, locking the door behind him. “Here to the bitter end, huh?” he asked as he walked over.

Camille shrugged, not wanting to admit that she didn’t want to go inside until Steve did. Her time at the ranch would be short, and she wanted to take advantage of all the moments—especially peaceful, golden ones like this—that she could get. “It’s not bitter. The longer I’m out here, the better it’ll feel when I go into the house.”

“Guess that’s true.” He tugged his hat down over his ears. “I’m about to go bring the horses in. Want to help?”

“Sorry. She’s going to give me a hand out in the trees,” Steve said from right behind her, making Camille jump. She looked over her shoulder and then tilted her head back to see him. He’d climbed onto Buttercup’s bare back and was holding the lead rope attached to her halter. “We’ll give you a hand when we get back.”

Ryan gave a snort, but Camille couldn’t tell if he was amused or annoyed. She was grateful for Steve’s save. Although she’d told Maya that she’d help with feeding, Camille hated the thought of doing anything alone with Ryan. Although she wasn’t really afraid of him, his constant come-ons made her uncomfortable.

“Ready?” Offering a hand, Steve smiled in a way that set her pulse to thrumming. Hoping that the fading light hid her blush, she locked wrists with him, placed her boot on top of his, and swung onto Buttercup behind him. She wiggled into a better position and then hesitated, not sure how she should hang on. Steve reached back and pulled her hands around him, latching them about his waist. Despite all the layers of clothes between them, Camille still felt heat suffuse her entire body. She didn’t want to think too hard about the cause of that warmth, so she concentrated on staying on the horse. If she lost her hold on Steve and slipped off, it’d be a long way down to the ground.

As Buttercup ambled toward the trees, Camille remembered Ryan. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw him watching them, and she gave him a small smile in farewell. The dimming light made it hard to see his expression, but he lifted one hand in response before turning toward the barn.

Refocusing on Steve’s back, she tried not to shift too much. She was already hyperaware of the feel of him. Her thighs lined up with his, and her pelvis was tucked right against his butt. In fact, her entire front was plastered against his back. Despite his coat, she could feel the movement of his chest as he inhaled, and she found herself matching him breath for breath.

Except for the faint thuds of Buttercup’s hooves hitting the ground, all was quiet. Usually, silence was her friend, but everything seemed so…intimate at the moment that she couldn’t take one more second of it.

“What are we doing?” she asked, and then immediately thought of all the ways that simple question could be misinterpreted. “I mean, out in the trees. What do we need to check on, since it’s not like the trees need to be fed or tucked in for the night?”

Steve’s soft chuckle vibrated through her, and Camille swallowed hard. “We’re just going to do a sweep, make sure all the saws are put away and we don’t have any lost mittens or anything like that.” He paused. “It’s just something I like to do, like taking a final walk through the house right before I go to bed. It’s reassuring to know that everything is where it’s supposed to be. It helps me sleep.”

“I get that.” Camille kept her voice low as they entered the first row of trees. The sun had almost dropped all the way behind the mountains, and the shadows stretched far across the snow. It was different being in the trees without the noisy clusters of customers, without the barking of Joe’s dog, Tollie, or the excited shrieks of kids sitting atop Buttercup. It would’ve been lonely, almost eerie, if she hadn’t been plastered against Steve’s strong back with steady Buttercup plodding underneath them.

Now, here with them, it was almost…magical.

They moved through the rows of trees in a pattern that Camille could tell was familiar to both the horse and the man. Steve’s warmth and the easy rhythm of Buttercup’s walk relaxed Camille, and she felt the stresses of the past day—past weeks—slip away. She knew the nightmares would return, as would all the hassles and sadness of losing her childhood home, but for now, she was content to lean against Steve and let Buttercup carry them both.

For the moment, she’d let herself be at peace.

* * *

Satisfaction rolled through her as she looked at the fillet weld she’d just finished. It had turned out surprisingly well, considering she was using borrowed equipment. The miniature metal ladder she was working on was only a small part of the piece, but it was just so square and gratifyingly even.

“Whoa.” Maya’s voice was much too close for safety, and Camille turned to see the girl leaning over her shoulder, eyeing the incomplete sculpture. “I wasn’t sure what it was going to be before, but now I’m starting to see it. Dad’s going to love that!” She paused. “It is for Dad, right? I won’t tell him about it if it is, I promise.”

Shoving her borrowed welding goggles to the top of her head, Camille gave Maya her best chiding frown. It was hard to hold it, though, since the girl was so happy and bubbly. “If you keep leaning so close, you’re going to get a spark in your eyeball or light your hair on fire, and both of those things would be extremely unpleasant.”

“Sorry.” Despite the apology, Maya didn’t retreat. “You’re done using the torch right now, though, right? I’m okay here?”

“You’re fine for now.” Camille stretched, feeling the usual resistance from muscles that had been held in place for hours. She smiled. It’d only been five days since she’d last worked with metal, but it felt like longer. She was happy to be back at it.

“Is it Dad’s present?” Maya repeated the question, and Camille dropped her arms to study her carefully.

“You’ll keep it a secret?” She had the impression that most kids were terrible at keeping secrets, but Maya seemed trustworthy.

“She’s good,” Will said from his spot on the other side of the workshop, sprawled in an old office chair with a tablet on his lap. “Best secret keeper out of all of us…well, except for me.”

“Hey,” Micah grumbled. He’d set up his sketch pad at a workbench a safe distance from Camille and any flying sparks. Apparently, he was more safety-conscious than Maya. “I don’t blab.”

Will leaned back in his chair, looking thoughtful. “Yeah, usually, unless you think it’s wrong not to tell. Remember when Zoe and I rigged up that homemade hang glider? You couldn’t tell Dad fast enough.”

“Yeah, ’cause I knew you were both going to die, otherwise.”

Waving a hand, Will said, “We would’ve been fine. Probably. Anyway, my point is that Maya keeps her mouth shut, no matter what.”

Privately, Camille wondered if that was a good thing, but it did mean that her secret was safe. “What about Zoe? Can’t she keep a secret?”

“She’s good, except if you catch her when she’s in the middle of working on something,” Will said. Micah and Maya agreed loudly.

“Dad knows that, too, so he waits until she’s putting an engine back together before he’ll ask her something. That’s how we got caught when we were planning to sneak onto this militia guy’s property when we lived in Monroe.” Will looked disappointed and impressed by his father’s ingenuity at the same time. “He knew we were up to something, but he didn’t know exactly what, so he told her the truck was losing power when he pushed on the gas. As soon as she had the hood up, he started with the questions, and she totally spilled.”

“We got in so much trouble,” Maya said. “I’ve never seen Dad that mad.”

Camille’s respect for Steve’s patience and fortitude had doubled since the start of the conversation. “Can’t really blame him. I mean, sneaking into a militia compound? No offense, but that sounds really dangerous, and not in the fun way that homemade hang gliders are dangerous.”

“It was a dumb idea,” Micah agreed without looking up from his drawing. “If Zoe hadn’t told, I would’ve.”

Tossing a balled-up piece of paper at his brother’s head, Will stretched his arms out in an exaggerated gesture of exasperation. “See? That’s why Maya gets the award of best secret keeper.”

“Nice.” Maya grinned and then turned to Camille. “So, that sculpture you’re working on is Dad’s Christmas present, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” she said without hesitation. After what she’d just heard, she’d trust Maya with the secrets of the universe. “It’s going to be an old horse-drawn fire wagon.”

Micah’s face lit with interest. Putting down his pencil, he walked over to Camille’s other side to look at the unfinished piece.

“Let me see.” Will stood behind Maya, since he was tall enough to see over her head. All three of them studied it for a few minutes before Will admitted, “I don’t get it.”

“Here.” Camille reached for the sketchbook that she’d begged off of Micah. Pulling out the sketches she’d redrawn after the fire, she laid them out on the table around the sculpture in progress.

“See?” She pointed to a drawing of the side of the fire wagon and then picked up the metalwork she’d completed so far. “This will be this part here.” Shifting to another sketch, she added, “The horses will be harnessed to the wagon like this, so—”

“Oh!” Comprehension lit Will’s eyes. “I get it now. That’s going to be really great.”

Maya was almost dancing with excitement. “Isn’t it? I told you, Dad’s going to love it.”

More focused on the sketches than the sculpture they detailed, Micah traced over a line on one of the horses. His finger hovered over the paper, close but never touching. “Why did you draw it this way?”

“What way?”

His brow knit as he considered the picture. “It’s like it’s just the… I don’t know. Like, you drew the idea of horses, rather than what they actually look like.”

“I always sketch out my ideas for sculptures like that,” Camille said, speaking slowly so she could figure out how to put her process into words. Normally, she didn’t talk about her art; she just did it. “I think it’s to make it easier to find or cut the right part for each area. See, like this is going to be the middle horse’s cheek.” She dug through the box of smaller metal scraps that she’d salvaged from Joe’s heavenly field of junk cars. If it hadn’t been so cold, she could’ve spent all day harvesting parts behind Joe’s cabin.

Pulling out an old washer, she held it up. “If I stick to general shapes and impressions in my drawings, I don’t get stuck trying to find something to exactly match, which I’ll never find.” She looked around her small audience, trying to check if she was making sense to them. She’d never had to explain her process before. It was both intimidating and exhilarating.

Micah looked from the drawing to the washer and back to the sketch again. “So you draw the idea of a horse because your sculpture is just the idea of a horse?”

“Yeah.” She smiled at the rightness of what he’d just said. “That’s exactly it.”

He didn’t say anything else, but she could tell by his expression that his mind was still working things through.

“Why three horses?” Maya asked, taking Camille’s attention off Micah. “Aren’t there usually two or four in a team?”

“Or eight, like in those beer company ads?”

Pulling out more sketches, these more preliminary than the others, Camille put two sheets next to each other. On the first, she’d drawn two horses pulling the wagon, while on the second piece of paper, she’d drawn her current plan of three abreast. “I went back and forth between a pair and three horses for a while. When I did an internet search for old photos of fire wagons, most had one to three horses pulling it. I decided on three, since I like the wild, urgent look to it. There’s a sense of barely controlled chaos.”

“Chaos?” Steve’s voice had them spinning around to see him in the workshop doorway. Camille rushed to flip the drawings upside down, and the kids, clearly experts in hiding the evidence, moved to block Steve’s view of her section of the workbench. “Should I be worried that you’re talking about chaos?”

“No,” Maya said a little too quickly, and Will jumped in.

“What Maya means is that if we’re talking about chaos, we can’t be creating chaos.”

Staying quiet, Micah just nodded.

“Hey, Steve.” Now that Camille had all the pictures facedown and the completed portion of her sculpture tucked out of sight under the bench, she slid off her stool. Her welding goggles slipped down onto her forehead, and she yanked them off, mentally cringing at the messy state her hair had to be in. He always seemed to see her at her most disheveled.

After their mostly silent ride through the trees, they hadn’t had a second alone. Between dealing with her insurance company and helping around the ranch and trying to squeeze in some metalworking, Camille felt like she was constantly running at full speed. There were always people around, too. As wonderful as spending time with Steve’s kids was, she wished that the two of them could have just a few minutes—or, better yet, a few hours—to finish what they’d started. She felt like she was walking around with a low-grade fever, and her temperature spiked every time she caught a glimpse of Steve or their eyes met across the breakfast table for a charged moment or she remembered how his breath had felt as it warmed her lips. Things were getting desperate, and she was a little worried about the lengths she’d be willing to go to in order to get Steve alone.

“Hmm…” Despite his clear suspicion, he seemed to let their odd behavior go for now. Turning to Camille, he asked, “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

Or maybe he wasn’t letting it go. Maybe he thought she was the worst secret keeper of all of them, and he was going to interrogate her. She was worried, since she knew she’d be helpless to resist if he touched her or hugged her or even whispered in her ear and warmed her skin with his words. There was a very high likelihood that Steve was right—she was the weakest link. “Uh…sure.”

The kids must’ve been thinking the same thing. As she passed them, Maya whispered, “Don’t tell,” as Will muttered, “Be strong.” Camille bugged her eyes out at them in a not helping! expression, which made Micah snort and Maya dissolve into muffled giggles. Camille made her way to where Steve stood in the doorway, feeling his gaze on her the whole time. It made her feel both hot and weirdly guilty, even though the only secret she was planning to keep was his Christmas gift.

He stepped back, giving her room to pass by him into the office before closing the door behind them. Once they were alone, she expected him to say something, but he stayed silent. He looked unhappy, and as soon as his hand came up to rub the back of his neck, she knew for certain that something was bothering him—and it was more than a silly Christmas secret.

“What’s wrong?” She moved toward him automatically. By the time she realized what she was doing and came to an abrupt halt, they were only a half step apart. She looked up at him, so aware of how close he was that it was hard to think of anything except how it would feel if he pulled her against his broad chest and kissed her breathless.

“It’s Zoe.”

Her thoughts about kissing and touching came to a screeching halt. “Zoe? Is she okay?” His worried expression fueled her concern.

“I don’t know.” He grimaced, pivoting to pace away from her a few strides before returning. “I think I screwed up. When I picked her up after her robotics club meeting, I could tell she was upset. I asked her what was wrong, and she burst out crying. She’s been sobbing like her heart’s breaking or her leg has been ripped off or something even worse, and I’m getting more and more worried. I finally got her to admit that her friend’s moving away, and I was so relieved that it wasn’t something more serious that I just blurted out the first thing that came to mind.”

When he paused, Camille made a keep going motion with her hand. “What’d you say?”

He strode away again, pacing back and forth between her and the conference table. “Something like ‘Is that all?’”

Camille winced.

“I know. And when she stared at me like I was a monster, I just made it worse.” His hand rubbed the back of his neck again. “I said, ‘Haven’t you only known each other for six weeks? You can’t be that good of friends yet.’”

This time, Camille actually groaned out loud.

“She wouldn’t talk to me after that, and she ran to her room when we got home.” He stared at Camille. “How can I fix it?”

He was looking at her as if he wanted—needed—her help, and instinctive panic began to well up inside her. She didn’t have kids. Even when she was a kid, she wasn’t particularly normal. How was she supposed to figure out how to fix Zoe? Steve was the dad. If he didn’t know what to do, what chance was there that Camille would?

But the thought of sweet Zoe being so sad broke her heart. “After you got home and she ran into her bedroom, did you try to talk to her?”

“Yeah. I knocked, but she yelled at me to go away.”

Camille frowned. “Do you think she’d talk to Maya or one of her brothers?”

His mouth tightened into a grimace. “Probably not. When Zoe’s upset, she tends to want to be by herself. Not that I blame her. As much as I love them, none of her siblings are especially…tactful.”

“Should we let her have her space, then? Let her stay in her room until she decides to come out and talk to us?” The last word popped out so naturally, with no hesitation. It was true. Sometime over the last few weeks, it had happened. She and Steve had started to become an us.

Steve looked startled for a moment before giving her a slight smile. “I like having you on my team.” Before his words had a chance to sink in, his frown returned. “Could you talk to her?”

“Me?” The panic that had mostly retreated rushed back to the forefront of her brain. “I’ve never… I mean, that’s not something I’m going to be good at. What if I just make things worse?”

“You won’t. You get Zoe.” As if Camille had actually agreed to something, he grabbed her hand and tugged her to the door that led outside. Still rattled by his suggestion, she allowed him to tow her through the door and halfway to the house before the cold air brought her out of her head.

“Wait!” She put on the brakes, and he stopped when she pulled back. He turned to face her, although he didn’t release her hand. “Hang on. Let’s think about this first. I don’t want to just burst in there and do something wrong and completely break your child.”

“You won’t,” he said with complete assurance—something she did not share. “Where’s your coat?”

Already off-balance, she answered automatically. “Your coat.”

“Fine. Where’s my coat, then?”

“Um…it’s still in the workshop.”

Steve shucked his jacket and dropped it over her shoulders. This one was even better than her other borrowed coat, since it was warm from his body heat and smelled even more like him. Catching her hand again, he led her toward the house. “I’ll text Will to grab it when he comes inside.”

She just nodded. Now that she was warm again, her abandoned coat was the last thing on her mind. “I really think this will go badly,” she warned as they reached the porch.

“She might not even want to talk,” he said, sounding like he was back to his confident, even bossy self now that there was a plan in place. Steve, she was finding, hated to be helpless. “If she is willing, then you’ll do fine. Just listen to her. You’re good at that. You always know what’s wrong, even when they don’t come right out and say it. Besides, Zoe—and all the kids—already love you.”

“I don’t know…” Despite feeling that it was very likely she’d make a bad situation worse and quite possibly feature in future Zoe’s therapy sessions, she followed him into the house. At this point, refusing to even try to talk to Zoe seemed churlish. Still, her stomach churned with nerves as she stripped off her boots and second borrowed coat. “Do you really think—?”

“Yes.” Steve didn’t even let her finish. “You’ll do great. Go up there and knock.”

“Have you always been this bossy?” She gave him an annoyed glare that hopefully hid her apprehension. It was silly to be so nervous about talking to an almost-twelve-year-old, but that thought didn’t help settle her stomach. Deep down in the most insecure corner of her brain, she acknowledged that she really liked Steve’s kids, and it was important to her for them to like her. She was just worried that saying the completely wrong thing would make Zoe—as well as Steve and the rest of his children—realize what a socially backward outcast Camille actually was. If they dismissed her from their lives now, it would hurt—a lot. It would be all the pain of a breakup times five, because she’d lose the kids, too.

But Steve needed her. The bossiness was fueled by worry for his daughter. How could she turn away from that? Especially now that there was an us.

Pretending that she wasn’t trembling in her socks, she marched up the stairs with as much confidence as she could muster. The sight of the closed bedroom door was a bit intimidating, and she glanced behind her to see that Steve had followed. He gave an encouraging nod, and she frowned at him. She didn’t want Zoe to refuse to talk to her because Steve was there. “Stay downstairs,” she mouthed.

He gave another short nod and headed back down the stairs. Raising a hand, Camille knocked.

“Dad, I told you that I don’t want to talk to you right now.” Although Zoe’s voice was a little shaky and watery, she sounded a lot more coherent and less hysterical than Camille had feared.

“It’s me,” Camille said. Silence fell on Zoe’s side of the door, and Camille held her breath.

Finally, there was a heavy sigh that was clearly meant to be heard outside the room. “You can come in.”

Turning the knob, Camille cautiously opened the door just far enough to stick her head in. “Hi.”

“Hi.” Zoe was a pitiful sight sitting slumped on the edge of the bottom bunk bed, her eyes and nose red and the rest of her face pale. She was stroking Lucy, who was curled up on her lap. When Camille didn’t move any farther into the room, Zoe asked, “Why aren’t you coming in?”

“Just checking to see if you were building a revenge bomb or something before I put myself in the blast zone.” When Zoe didn’t laugh, instead just stared at her with sad eyes lined with wet, spiky lashes, Camille suppressed a wince and slipped inside, closing the door behind her. “Sorry. I know that you’d be a lot more creative about getting revenge if you needed to. In fact, your dad was just telling me last weekend how ingenious you can be when it comes to getting your siblings back, and how I shouldn’t ask you to help me prank Will, since things would get out of hand.”

Zoe blinked at her, looking confused. At least she’d distracted the girl from the thought of her friend leaving—for a moment, anyway. “Why do you need to get revenge on Will?”

“I thought he’d pranked me. Want to hear the story?”

“Sure.” Zoe’s breath hiccupped, and Camille felt her heart squeeze in sympathy. Instead of sitting in the desk chair, as she’d originally planned, she moved to take the spot on the bed next to Zoe.

“This okay?” she asked, perching on the edge of the mattress when Zoe nodded.

There were a few seconds of silence, broken only by Lucy’s rumbling purr and another residual sob-hiccup from Zoe, before she asked, “What’d Will do?”

“It was on Saturday, after I cleaned stalls with Maya. I went right from the barn to help at the gift shop, and I’d been wearing my hat all morning, so I had a pretty sad case of hat hair.”

“Yeah.” Another hiccup caught the last part of the word. “I hate that about winter.”

“Usually, only Lucy sees me without my hat, so I haven’t had to worry about it.”

“Until you worked in the shop.” Zoe was starting to sound a little less shattered, and a knot in Camille’s chest started to release.

“Exactly. So, Will showed me where to put my coat, and he was there when I took my hat off. He told me to take out my ponytail and bend so my head was upside down.” Standing, she demonstrated each step as she recounted it. “Then, he had me flip my hair back as I stood up.” She did a better flip this time, not having any strands hanging in her face. “I couldn’t see my reflection in the window very well, so I had to trust him that it looked okay. He promised me it was fine and then left. I walk out of the office, and Steve sees me…” She trailed off, suddenly unsure how to tell the next part to Steve’s young daughter.

“Then what?” Zoe looked at her with interest. Some color had returned to her cheeks, and some of the redness had faded from her eyes.

Camille knew she had to finish the story, so she cleared her throat, mentally trying to edit out the flirty parts. “He saw me, and made this face.” She bugged out her eyes and let her mouth drop open a little. It was exaggerated, but not by that much, and it made Zoe giggle.

“Why? Was it that bad?”

“I don’t know!” Camille flung out her hands dramatically before plopping down next to Zoe again. “I started talking about getting revenge on Will, and Steve said it didn’t look bad, and he was just surprised, since he’d never seen it down.” There was no way she was going to mention that Steve had admitted he’d liked it.

“Really?” Zoe looked skeptical, which was understandable since Camille was leaving out large chunks of the story. “That seems like a weird thing to be that surprised about. What’d you say to Dad after he said that?”

“Well…nothing for a while.” When Zoe gave her a sideways glance, she added, “It was busy on Saturday! Later, I told him that I liked…” Too late, she realized that it could be a potentially awkward thing to say. Knowing Zoe would never let her leave that unfinished, Camille cleared her throat and then said the whole thing in a rush, wanting to just get it out and over with. “I told him that I liked his hair too. And that I liked his face…and pretty much all of him.”

“What?” Zoe’s eyes widened as she started to giggle. The giggles multiplied until she was laughing uncontrollably. “I can’t believe you told my dad you liked his face.”

“I know!” Camille flopped back on the bed, part embarrassed, part happy that she’d gotten Zoe to laugh. “I can’t believe I said that. I’m such a dork.”

“Do you really like his hair?” Her giggles finally fading, Zoe lay back next to Camille. Lucy snuggled in between them. “He’s not Rapunzel or anything. His hair is really short and brown. It’s kinda boring, actually.”

“I do like it.” In a burst of honesty, she admitted, “There’s really nothing about him I don’t like. I mean, I even like how hopelessly bad he is at wrapping things in the gift shop.”

Zoe snorted. “He’s horrible. Just wait until Christmas. He’s even worse at wrapping our presents.”

“I believe it.” They were both quiet for a moment before Camille spoke again, turning to look at Zoe’s profile. “He’s worried about you. He feels really bad about saying the wrong thing.”

“I know he does.” Zoe’s voice got that watery tone to it again, and Camille cringed, hating that she’d made her sad. “He just doesn’t get it. He and Will and Maya all make friends really easily. I don’t…not usually. When I met Wyatt on my first day here, it was like…instant. I felt like we’d been friends forever.” She let out a quavering sigh. “Now Wyatt’s moving to Texas, and school is going to suck so bad. I won’t have anyone to eat lunch with, and no one will pick me as a biology partner, and it’s going to be like the first day all over again, but worse.”

“Oh.” Camille didn’t know what to say that would make Zoe feel better. It wasn’t really something she or Steve could fix, no matter how much they wanted to. “I’m sorry, Zoe.”

“I didn’t have a chance to finish his rocket pack or his robotic legs.” A fresh tear slid down the cheek closer to Camille. Still not knowing how to console Zoe, she reached out and gently wiped the moisture off her cheek. With a choked sob, Zoe rolled over and buried her face in Camille’s shoulder.

For a while, Camille let her cry, rubbing her back lightly and staring at the ceiling, racking her brain for something helpful to say that would somehow lighten the hurt Zoe was feeling. When her sobs started to taper off, Camille said, “You know, just because he’ll be in Texas doesn’t mean you should stop working on your projects. He could still come visit and try out the jet pack or the robotic legs.”

Zoe turned her head so her cheek was resting on Camille’s shoulder. “I guess.”

“It’d be like a movie.” Camille stared at the ceiling as the possibilities played in her head. “You’ll design these amazing robotic legs and change a bunch of people’s lives. Then, when you go away to college to…MIT?”

“Colorado School of Mines,” Zoe corrected. “It has one of the top twenty robotics engineering programs. Besides, it’s closer to the ranch, so I can come home to visit a lot.”

“Okay. When you go to your first class at Mines, Wyatt walks through the door using his robotic legs…the design you invented. He sits down next to you, and you start talking, and it’s like you never were apart. The two of you build a jet pack together. When Will, Micah, and Maya come to visit, all five of you test out the jet pack, but you don’t tell your dad, because he’d huff and puff and pace until you were all safely on the ground again, because that’s what good dads do.”

With a small giggle, Zoe wiggled closer. Lucy made a small sound of complaint before moving to another section of the bed to groom herself. “I like your stories. Tell me more about me and Wyatt in college.”

Camille complied. In just a few minutes, she heard Zoe’s breathing deepen to a soft snore. Raising her head slightly, she saw that the girl was asleep. Carefully lowering her head back to the mattress, Camille stared at the ceiling. She was stuck. If she moved, Zoe might wake up, but what if she slept until morning?

She heard a light tap on the door and turned to see Steve stick his head in. When he saw the two of them, he smiled. “When it got quiet, I figured one or both of you had fallen asleep.”

“What do I do?” she whispered. There was an itch behind her right knee, and she couldn’t scratch it without disturbing Zoe. “Am I trapped here for the night?”

He muffled a laugh behind his hand as he walked over to the bed. “No,” he said softly. “Once Zoe’s out, she’s dead to the world.” He gently lifted her, and Camille scooted out from underneath, immediately scratching the itch on her leg with utter relief. Steve turned Zoe so she was lying the long way, her head on the pillow. Stroking her hair back from her still-damp cheek, he gave her a kiss on the temple and then ushered Camille out of the room.

As he closed the door softly behind them, Camille started to move toward the stairs, but he caught her hand. Surprised, she allowed him to gently tug her toward him, not stopping until they were almost touching.

“Thank you,” he said, raising their clasped hands and brushing his lips against her knuckles. “You’re such a kind person.”

“Oh…” The kiss and unexpected compliment—as well as Steve’s proximity—threw her off-center, and it took a second for her to recover her ability to speak coherently. “Zoe’s easy to be kind to. Did you hear any of that?”

“Yeah.” He grimaced in sympathy. “I didn’t realize how close she was with Wyatt, but I should’ve guessed. She’s always had a tough time making new friends. The moves have been hard for her.”

The guilt that flashed in his eyes made Camille bold enough to reach up and cup his jaw with her free hand, running her thumb over the slightly bristly skin next to his mouth. “From what you and the kids have told me, you had good reasons for moving. They’ll always have three built-in friends in each other, too.”

His smile stretched wide enough to reach her thumb. “Yeah, I heard. They have friends who will help Zoe test her rocket pack while I huff and puff.”

“And pace.” With the corner of his mouth right there, she couldn’t resist the urge to run her thumb over the fullness of his bottom lip. “Don’t forget that part. Oh, and you rub the back of your neck when you’re upset or worried.”

He sucked in a breath at her touch, his lips parting slightly. She moved her fascinated gaze from his mouth to his eyes, and she was instantly caught by the smoldering heat she saw there.

“Camille…” His voice was so low and guttural that it was almost a growl. The sound of it vibrated through her, melting her, turning her insides into molten heat. Her hand slipped from his face to his chest, and she knotted the flannel fabric of his shirt in her fist, needing to hold on to something and feeling not quite brave enough to grab a handful of him.

He released her fingers and cupped her face in both hands, his burning gaze flicking back and forth between her eyes and her mouth. Camille went still, unable to believe that this was actually happening. If she hadn’t felt his gentle, callused hands or the warmth of his breath against her lips, she would’ve thought it was yet another daydream.

This close, she could see the heavy sweep of his lashes and the light laugh lines at the corners of his eyes. She inhaled deeply, taking in his peppermint and evergreen scent, tucking it firmly into her memory so that she’d never forget this moment with Steve.

He shifted closer, and her breath caught, her heart pounding like a jackhammer in her chest. Finally, finally, he closed the last inch between them. With a low groan, his lips pressed against hers.