Chapter 5

He waited in the deep shadows of the trees, the howling wind and creaking branches covering the sound of his breathing as his eyes fixed on the neighbor’s bedroom window. At exactly ten, just like every night, Mrs. Lin left her perch and went to bed. Still, he waited. After the window stayed quiet and dark for another half hour, he finally moved, crossing the road and cautiously approaching Camille’s house.

The wind whipped at him, plastering his bunker coat against his body and making his eyes water from the cold. He blinked away the moisture, his eyes fixed on the one window—the kitchen, he knew from previous visits—that was illuminated. Even though he was sure she was in her workshop, he still approached the window cautiously, staying in the shadows next to the house and avoiding where the light drew golden rectangles on the snow.

Creeping closer, he eased alongside the window, his heart thumping from the surge of adrenaline. He peeked into her kitchen, relaxing slightly when he saw it was empty except for her cat sitting by the workshop door. Although he’d known she’d still be working, he felt a lurch of disappointment. It was always such a thrill when she was in the house where he could watch her.

The cat stared in his direction, its yellow eyes narrowing as its ears flattened. He shifted back so the darkness would hide him, not wanting the cat to make noise that would draw Camille’s attention. Still, the cat’s focus on the window didn’t waver as its back arched and its mouth opened in a silent hiss.

He tensed, ready to disappear back into the shadows of the trees, but the workshop door stayed closed. Whatever sound the cat was making wasn’t loud enough to draw Camille into the kitchen. Some of his readiness trickled away as he settled in to wait.

Sooner or later, Camille would emerge from her workshop. When she did, he’d be there.

* * *

“I’m calling it.” Camille picked up the horse sculpture and eyed the two demon riders. “You are officially beyond saving and will always be a monstrosity that no one else should ever be subjected to. Time of death…” She glanced at the clock and winced. “Oof. Two twenty-three. It’s past time for bed.”

Plunking the sculpture down, she turned off her music and flipped off the light above the workbench. Her spine popped as she stood and stretched out the kinks that came from bending over a piece for way too long. She made a face, thinking of those lost work hours.

“Let it go,” she told herself, her voice echoing in the space. “It’s a good lesson: Never try to do any work after an hour with Mrs. Lin. The unfurled rage is too obvious.” Grabbing the failed horse, she started to toss it into her scrap bin, to be taken apart and the parts reused, but then she hesitated, taking another look at the piece. There was something about it that made it so awful it was almost…endearing? No, she was just so tired that she was getting punchy. Despite those logical thoughts, she carefully placed the horse and its riders back on the bench, deciding to give it another look in the morning.

“Later in the morning,” she said, giving the clock another glance. She needed to find her bed immediately, or she was going to be a wreck when she brought the latest batch of metal sculptures out to the ranch.

She snorted, the sound loud in the silence. Who was she kidding? No matter how much sleep she did or didn’t get, she’d be a wreck going out to the ranch. The thought of seeing Steve made her stomach churn with a mixture of anticipation, excitement, and nerves, which she just made worse by thinking of all the possibilities of what might happen if she did see him. There were so many ways she could embarrass herself in his presence, and she was pretty sure her imagination had run through every humiliating scenario at least twice.

“Stop,” she told herself firmly as she turned off the overhead lights and let herself into the kitchen. “Everything seems scarier in the wee hours. It’ll be fine.” If she let herself daydream about possible future encounters with Steve, she’d just get worked up and she’d never sleep.

A meow pulled her out of her circling, anxiety-producing thoughts, and she glanced down to see Lucy doing figure eights around her ankles. “Hey, LuLu. Did I forget to feed you tonight?”

A plaintive mew answered in the affirmative, although Camille wasn’t too concerned. After all, Lucy had four meals a day, so waiting an extra few hours for her bedtime snack wouldn’t hurt her, no matter how much Lucy thought it would. After she fed the cat, Camille headed upstairs, debating whether she was too tired to shower. As she moved to turn on the bedroom light, she hesitated, remembering Mrs. Lin’s photos. Her neighbor might not have her night-vision binoculars yet, but she surely had the regular kind.

Camille could picture her neighbor cozily snuggled into a comfortable chair by the window, using binoculars to peer through the cracks between the closed blinds into her bedroom. With a groan, she left the light off, making a mental note to buy heavy curtains for every window that faced Mrs. Lin’s house.

“It isn’t like I have much of a life to spy on,” she grumbled, using the faint moonlight to make her way across the room. The effort was only partially successful, since she banged her leg painfully on the edge of her cast-iron footboard. As she dug in her dresser drawers, trying to find pajamas by feel, she heard a slight rustling on the other side of the room.

She froze, just as the noise stopped. After a good half-minute of holding her breath, she heard the light pattering sound start up again. Trying to stay quiet, Camille slid the dresser drawer closed, pajamas gripped in her hand, and tiptoed across the room. The ancient wood floor betrayed her, creaking loudly, and she went still.

It took longer this time for the sound to start up again. When it did, it was in the other corner of the room, close to the floor. Camille had a sneaking suspicion that she knew what it was, and she moved toward the door, fumbling for the light switch. She flicked it on, not caring if Mrs. Lin saw her. If she was going to stalk a mouse, she needed to be able to see, even if that meant she’d be Mrs. Lin’s entertainment for the night.

Camille stared at the corner where she’d last heard the noise, but there was nothing there now. As she waited for the rodent to either show itself or make some sound, Lucy padded into the room.

“You’ve been slacking on the job, LuLu,” Camille said, but the cat ignored her and jumped on the bed. “You’re just lucky I’m a lenient boss, or I’d write you up for this.” Curling up into a ball, Lucy closed her eyes, apparently not concerned about their small, furry, probably pestilence-carrying roommates. After a few minutes when the mouse didn’t bother to reappear, Camille headed for the bathroom.

This is why I should be living in a condo in LoDo Denver, rather than a hundred-year-old house in Borne, she thought as she turned on the shower, stripping as she waited for her ancient water heater to deliver. No mice, new appliances, no nosy Mrs. Lin as a neighbor… It sounded heavenly.

No workshop, no Springfield ranch, no more Steve… That didn’t sound as fun. Despite the anxiety that flared to life at even the thought of an encounter with Steve Springfield, the idea of not running into him during her visit the next day made her feel flat and let down.

She shook her head. “You’re a mess, Camille Brandt…worse than that atrocious horse sculpture.” After a moment, she made a face. “No, nothing else is that big of a mess.”

Sick of obsessing about Steve, she stepped into the shower, even though the water hadn’t fully warmed yet. She flinched as the chilly spray hit her, but she figured it was for the best. Ever since she’d encountered Steve in the grocery store, she’d been in fairly constant need of a cold shower.

After her shower, she dried off and put on the pajamas before wrapping her wet hair in a towel. As she padded toward her bedroom, a light scratching sound made her huff an exasperated breath.

“It’s like the mice know that Lucy’s lazy and I’m too softhearted to set traps.” Maybe she’d get some humane traps and release the mice she caught in the scrapyard. There were plenty of good hiding spots for a mouse there.

In her room, she paused, listening. The scritching sound came again, but it wasn’t coming from her bedroom. Frowning, she followed the faint noise downstairs. At the bottom of the stairs, she reached for the light switch and then paused. It wasn’t just the thought of Mrs. Lin peering in through the windows that made her leave the living room in darkness. Anyone could be watching. The memory of Mrs. Lin’s picture, that menacing figure standing on her porch, ran through her mind, and she felt goose bumps lift on her arms.

The sound came again, making her jump. She laughed at herself for being so easily scared, but even her huff of amusement came out shaky. Trying to force away her nervousness, she crossed the living room, ignoring the shadows that pooled around her furniture, creating dark hiding places for all sorts of bogeymen.

“Stop it,” she muttered, pausing again to listen. The noise was close. She moved toward the window, reaching for the string to open the blinds. Her hand trembled on the cord, and she tried to mock her fear, but it didn’t help. She still didn’t want to look out into the dark night.

Gritting her teeth, she gave the cord a sharp pull. A pale shape appeared right in front of her, flashing across the glass when she jerked back in fear. Her heart pounded loudly in her ears, and her breath froze in her chest as she forced herself closer to the window. It wasn’t until she peered into the empty darkness outside that she realized that she’d been startled by her own reflection in the glass.

Giving a nervous huff of a laugh, she leaned closer, trying to see outside. A part of her wished that she’d just assumed the sound had been a mouse. If she’d done that, she’d already be in bed, not scaring herself silly for no reason.

The scratching sound came again, and she saw the evergreen branch that was brushing against the window. All the air inside her came rushing out in one long exhale.

“Stupid,” she said, feeling almost light-headed with relief. “Scared by a tree branch.”

She started closing the blinds again, but then paused when she saw an odd smudge on the outside of the glass. Curious, she tugged the blinds back open just in time to see the last of the smudge disappear.

“That’s weird.” Leaning in, Camille peered more closely at the spot where the smudge had been, but nothing was there. Her breath fogged the glass, making it harder to see, and she gave up trying to figure out what the magically disappearing mark had been. Her imagination was apparently working overtime tonight.

As she moved away from the glass, the condensation from her breath quickly evaporated. She froze, staring at the spot. That was exactly what the smudge—on the outside of the window—had looked like. As the image of someone standing outside her window, so close that their breath fogged the glass, ran through her mind, she jerked on the string, abruptly closing the blinds.

“You’re just freaking yourself out,” she said firmly. “It was from your breath on the inside of the glass. There’s no random monster outside breathing on your windows. Go to bed.”

Despite how much she knew her practical side was right, she still had a hard time falling asleep that night.

* * *

“Camille!”

Steve’s shout made her turn around, clutching her box of sculptures to her chest. It really wasn’t fair. She’d braced herself for seeing him, for possibly running into him in the store or in the tree lot, but this… How was she supposed to keep herself together when he was like this?

He was riding a leggy bay gelding through the snow with the easy grace of someone who’d been tossed up onto a horse before he could walk. His face was flushed from the cold, and he had a wide, welcoming smile that made Camille a little dazed. He just looked so happy and rugged and warm, and her stomach was doing a loopy little flip at the sight of him.

“Hi! You’re Camille? You knew my dad when you were kids? Will said you’re going to tell us stories about him.”

The barrage of questions yanked Camille’s attention away from the vision that was Steve and onto his riding companion, a girl who looked to be about ten. She was mounted on the fuzziest, cutest gray pony that Camille had ever seen. Trotting alongside the pair was a large, shaggy mixed-breed dog, his tongue hanging out and snow balled in his fur all the way up to his belly. Behind him was a…goat?

“Yes, I’m Camille. Are you riding with a goat?”

“That’s Maybelle.” Despite her darker hair and more pointed features, the girl clearly shared genes with Steve and Zoe. “She thinks she’s a dog, so she likes to go on walks with us.”

As if giving a demonstration, Maybelle bounced over to the shaggy dog and bumped into him, clearly trying to get him to play. The dog, however, was too busy sniffing at Camille’s boots to do more than give the goat an absent wave of his tail in response.

Shifting the box to her hip, Camille offered her hand to the dog and then scratched his neck. He leaned in to her and groaned in appreciation.

“Let me get that,” Steve said, dismounting with relaxed ease—impressive, since his horse’s back was almost taller than she was. As he led his horse across the lot, she noticed something.

“You ride English?” she asked. That didn’t really fit the Colorado cowboy image she always had of the Springfield men. The girl appeared to be sitting in a jumping saddle as well.

Steve gave a half shrug as he patted his horse’s neck. “I go back and forth. Freddy here goes better in English tack.”

“He used to only ride Western,” the girl said, hopping off her pony. “I wanted to learn how to jump, but the other kids I used to ride with made fun of me, since they all rode Western, so I told my dad I was thinking about quitting. He told me he’d start taking lessons with me if I stuck with it. When my dad started riding English, all the other kids shut up about it, because no one would dare to make fun of him.” She grinned at Camille. “Since he’s really big.”

Camille glanced at Steve—who appeared just a little more flushed now than he had a minute earlier—and then back at his daughter. “I think you have a very kind dad.”

“Yeah, I like him,” the girl said, making Camille laugh.

“Can you please take Freddy back to the barn with you?” Steve asked. He was definitely redder than could be attributed to just the cold air.

“Sure.” The girl hopped back onto her pony, and Steve handed her Freddy’s reins before taking Camille’s box. Although it was nice not to be holding the heavy weight, Camille missed having it as a barrier. She felt a little exposed without it. “You can’t leave until I get back to the store, though,” the girl said to Camille. “I have lots of questions for you.”

Leaving Camille wondering what sort of questions she had and if she should be worried about the upcoming interrogation, the girl turned her pony toward the barn, Freddy walking politely next to them. The goat and dog took off ahead, running toward the barn.

“That was Maya,” Steve said, bringing her attention back to him.

“She’s not shy,” Camille said. “I wish I’d been more like that at…ten?”

“Yeah, she’s ten, and you’re right… There’s not a shy bone in her body.” He held the box in one arm and waved her ahead of him toward the gift-shop entrance with the other. As she walked in front of him toward the door, Camille felt a flash of self-consciousness, knowing that he was watching her. The thought made her move a bit stiffly, and she was grateful for the bulky winter coat that helped to hide her awkwardness.

The problem, she decided, was that Steve had been occupying her thoughts too much. It made her feel like everything she said and each gesture she made might give away that she was a tiny bit obsessed with him, and she had no idea how he felt about her. His poker face was too unreadable for her peace of mind.

She opened the door, and he caught it over her head, holding it for her.

Things like that, she thought, are making it worse. He’d always been polite, with ingrained gentlemanly manners. She was worried that she was seeing more in those simple acts than he intended. The problem was that she didn’t know how to discover if he was interested in her as more than just a childhood acquaintance turned art vendor. Ryan was obvious to the point of aggravation, but at least Camille knew where she stood with him. She didn’t like where they stood, but there was no room for misinterpretation, unlike with his brother.

For just a moment, she wished they were back in junior high, when the whole thing could’ve been settled by a simple passing of notes, but then she immediately retracted her wish. The negatives of junior high had been much more numerous than the positives for her. She liked being an adult much better than being a teenager. There was no way she’d ever want to go back to that misery.

“Hey, Camille!” Will greeted her, his face lighting up with a smile.

“Hi, Will.” Relieved to be pulled from her rather depressing thoughts, she moved to the register, noticing with relief that the shop was fairly empty, with just a small family browsing. She’d hoped that Sunday morning would be quieter than Saturday. “You’re working again?”

“I had last Sunday off to go to an Avs game, so I wanted to get more hours in before Christmas. I’m saving for a car.”

“A car?” She eyed him more closely. Although she wasn’t the best at guessing kids’ ages, she didn’t think he looked sixteen. “Already?”

“I’ll be able to get my license in one year, three months, and three weeks,” he said, and she tried not to smile. “Zoe and Dad said they’d help me fix a car up, so we can work on it here until I turn sixteen. I can already legally drive on the ranch property.”

“What are you thinking about getting?”

His face brightened even more, but before he could tell her, a couple of kids ran over to the register with some candy canes, so he turned to help them.

“What’d you bring us this time?” Steve asked, setting the box carefully on the floor between the front counter and Camille’s feet. As he straightened, she expected him to take a step back and put some distance between them, but instead he stayed close enough for her to smell his distinctive scent of peppermint and horse and clean outdoors.

“Uh…I brought some pieces of…um, animals? Just different sculptures of…things?” Her thoughts were completely taken up by his nearness and the way he tipped his head down toward her. As close as he was, it felt like he surrounded her, enveloping her in a bubble of safety and warmth. Her mind blanked, and she was unable to think of a single piece that she’d worked so hard on over the past week. Scrambling for words, she settled for saying, “I’ll show you.”

Crouching, she tugged open the folded-over cardboard flaps and pulled out a smaller box containing one of the angels Ryan had requested. She looked up, meaning to hand the piece to Steve, but she realized that he’d squatted down next to her. When she raised her head, their faces were just inches apart.

Camille froze. This close, she could see the greenish-brown of his irises and the way his pupils dilated as she stared. Her gaze dropped lower, taking in the fullness of his lower lip, the way his mouth had dropped open the slightest bit, and how his flannel-covered chest beneath his unzipped coat expanded with each breath—faster than she expected. As Camille moved her gaze back to his, she realized that she was breathing just as quickly, her heart pounding hard, as if she’d run all the way from her house to the ranch.

“Let’s see the new stuff!” Will’s cheerful voice broke through her daze, and she stood abruptly, moving so quickly that she lost her balance. Reaching out, she caught Steve’s shoulder, holding on to it as she steadied. When she realized that she’d just grabbed him, she could feel her face warm, and she knew she was most likely turning bright red. He straightened up more slowly, his gaze never leaving hers, and there was the smallest hint of a teasing grin on his face.

She busied herself with taking the angel from the packaging. By the time she set it gently on the counter, she’d regained most of her self-possession and was scolding herself for getting so giddy over such a silly thing. She needed to get ahold of her scattered emotions, throw a bucket of water on the smoldering fire Steve had just lit inside her belly, show them the new pieces, and get the heck off the ranch before she did something stupid.

“This is for the special order,” she said, clearing her throat when the words came out huskier than she’d planned.

“Yeah, I took that one,” Steve said, pulling out the rest of the smaller boxes and stacking them on the counter for Camille to unpack. Although he sounded perfectly normal, his gaze seemed a bit warmer than usual, making her wonder if the moment maybe hadn’t been as one-sided as she’d first thought. “Iris Peebles bought the first one, too. They’re Christmas gifts for her daughters.”

One by one, Camille unwrapped each of the seven pieces, until they were all standing on the counter. Steve and Will examined each carefully, and Camille waited for their verdicts, trying to hide her anxiety. It was always nerve-racking when people viewed her work, but she realized that she was especially on edge when Steve was the one about to give his opinion. As much as she tried to tell herself that it was just one person’s viewpoint and that it didn’t matter, deep down it really did matter to her. It mattered a lot, and she was a little worried about why that was.

“These are incredible,” Steve said, not looking away from the sculpture he was examining closely—a simple abstract of Mary holding baby Jesus. “How you take old bits of metal and make them so beautiful is beyond me.”

Relieved warmth flooded through her, and the words she’d been holding back escaped in a rush. “Thank you. I added a candleholder to the back of that one, so the flame would give a sort of halo effect, but I worried that it might be too gimmicky. What do you think?”

He eyed the bracket for the candle before turning the piece around. “I don’t think that’s gimmicky at all. People will love it.”

“This one’s my favorite,” Will said, holding up a longhorn steer with a string of multicolored lights tangled around his stocky metal body.

“Oh!” That reminded her. She dug through the steer’s box and pulled out a battery. “This goes in the spot underneath.” Will flipped over the sculpture and inserted the battery. The lights immediately started to glow. “I’m starting to add electrical elements to some of the pieces.”

Steve cleared his throat. “Electrical elements? You’re being careful, I hope.”

“Of course.” She waved off his concern. “I’m not doing any wiring. The lights and the connection to the battery are pretty simple, self-contained elements. I promise that nothing I do could electrocute me.” She paused and then added, “I’m much more likely to injure myself while welding than by messing with electricity.”

“That’s not reassuring.” Steve’s voice had a slight growl to it that Camille found oddly attractive.

Something devilish pushed her to goad him, just a little. Putting on a thoughtful expression, she pressed a finger to her lips as if contemplating a developing idea. It also worked to hold back the smile that wanted to sneak out. “Now that I think about it, fire’s really more my element than electricity. Maybe my pieces need more pyrotechnics. I could make a nativity scene that sets off tiny fireworks when the fuse is lit.”

“Yes!” Maya joined them in time to catch the last of her teasing suggestion. Glancing around, Camille noticed that the customers had left, so she and Steve’s family were the only ones currently in the store. “Do that.”

“No,” Steve said. “Please don’t do that. The last thing we need around here is more pyrotechnics.”

Camille pretended to ignore him and looked at Maya, giving her a subtle wink. “I could do a whole Fourth of July series. Maybe I could ask Zoe how to maximize the dramatic effect of my explosions.”

When Maya started to giggle, Steve’s expression relaxed. “Very funny.”

“Ooh!” Maya spotted the steer. “You added lights! I like that one the best.”

“That’s because you like flashy things.” The voice was young but had a rough, scratchy edge to it. When Camille turned toward the newcomer, she blinked in surprise. It was like traveling back in time to when she was nine and Steve was thirteen. The kid standing behind Maya, his gaze running over each sculpture, looked just like a young Steve…only crankier. He had to be Micah, the artist. Camille marveled for a moment that Steve had raised these four kids by himself since his wife’s death. The idea of being solely responsible for four children was terrifying to Camille. Sometimes, just knowing that it was up to her to keep her cat alive and happy was overwhelming.

“Yeah, I do,” Maya responded, not sounding at all offended. “I’d probably like the exploding one the best, if Camille made it.”

“Well, I hope she’s not going to make anything involving explosions, fire, or pyrotechnics,” Steve grumbled. “It’s exciting enough around here.”

As if on cue, Zoe came into the store and headed straight for the counter, her face lighting up when she saw Camille and the new batch of sculptures. “You brought more! I love our horse, but I only saw the pictures Will took of the rest of the ones you dropped off last week. They all sold in one day.”

“You made a Maybelle!” Maya had finally torn her gaze off the lit-up steer to look at the other pieces.

Camille picked a bit of fuzz off the goat’s metal ear, still a little shocked and hugely pleased that Steve had kept one of her sculptures. “I didn’t realize I was at the time, but you’re right. It looks just like Maybelle, doesn’t it? I thought people might want more animals for their nativity sets, but I made them ranch animals to fit…” She swept a hand out, indicating the shop and the whole ranch.

“No more horses?” Micah asked, sounding disappointed. His frown hadn’t lightened since he’d come into the shop, and Camille was starting to think that was just his usual expression.

“There was, but it didn’t turn out how I’d hoped.”

Micah looked away from the angel he was examining to eye her closely. “What was wrong with it?”

“It was supposed to be Buttercup, but she ended up looking like a beast from he…ck.” She changed midword, not sure if she was supposed to say hell around kids. Was it an official swear word? Steve’s children seemed so well-behaved that she was a little worried her bad habits would wear off on them if she was around too much. “The two kids riding her look like evil, possibly flesh-eating elves.”

“Flesh-eating elves?” As she repeated Camille’s words, Maya’s eyes widened with glee, and Camille shot a guilty glance toward Steve. Instead of appearing disapproving of her bad influence, though, Steve looked amused.

“Was it really that bad?” Micah asked skeptically in his rusty-sounding voice.

Camille met his gaze. “Worse. Words cannot describe how awful it is.”

He regarded her with a hint of suspicion. “Didn’t that bother you? Making something bad?”

“Of course.” She gave a small shrug. “That’s life as an artist, though. Not everything is meant to be seen by others. I’ll have lots more failures. I just have to appreciate when something does turn out okay.” She realized that all four kids and Steve were listening to her intently, and she cleared her throat, a little thrown by their attention. “You’re an artist, right?”

His face reddened as he ducked his head, suddenly looking more like a kid and less like a serious, angry adult. “I draw and paint, but I’m not really an artist.”

“You did the snow sculpture outside, right?” she asked.

He gave her a quick glance before dropping his gaze to the counter again. “Yeah.”

“It’s wonderful and so detailed. It looks like the horse is going to come to life and gallop across the yard.”

Micah looked pleased for a fraction of a second before his expression dropped into its usual grim lines. “You can come over to the house and see some of my drawings.”

Startled by the invitation, Camille didn’t respond immediately, and he started to turn away. “Oh, I’d love to, if we’re done…?” She trailed off, her voice rising in question as she looked over at Steve. Last time, Ryan had dragged her to the office for the check, but she had a feeling that he’d been extending her visit, so she wasn’t sure what the actual requirements were. So far, this product drop-off had been much more enjoyable than last week’s. If she could be promised just to hang out with Steve and his surprisingly charming children, without having to elbow her way through customers she didn’t know or fend off Ryan’s heavy-handed come-ons, she’d be willing to visit the Springfield ranch every day.

Steve was focused on Micah, looking pleased and a little surprised. He turned toward Camille with a broader smile than she’d been prepared for, and her head began to spin. “Go ahead,” he said. “I’ll bring your check to the house.” He glanced at the clock. “It’s almost lunchtime. Why don’t you stay and eat with us?”

“Oh, I…” Her mind went blank. When Ryan had asked her out, she’d just wanted to run in the other direction, but the idea of eating with Steve and his kids was surprisingly appealing.

“You should have lunch with us,” Zoe said, and Maya nodded encouragingly, bouncing on her toes in excitement. “It’s Micah’s turn to cook, and he’s really good. So is Uncle Nate. If Will was cooking, on the other hand…” She pretended to gag.

“Hey!” Will protested, making Zoe and Maya laugh.

An unsmiling Micah said, “You should stay.” Camille noticed that Steve gave his son another surprised glance before refocusing on her. Despite her worries that she was seeing interest in Steve that wasn’t actually there, she was almost certain that he wanted her to have lunch with them. In fact, everyone was staring at her with varying degrees of hope.

“Okay,” she said faintly, feeling a bit overwhelmed.

“Good.” Steve smiled at her again, and his honestly pleased expression made her insides warm. Turning to Will, he said, “I’ll help you price these. Nate should be in here soon to watch the store while we have lunch.”

“I hope he hurries up,” Will said with put-on grumpiness that quickly dissolved into a grin. “I’m starving.”

“You’re always starving,” Maya teased before she grabbed Camille’s hand and towed her toward the door. “Your superpower is the ability to eat your way out of trouble.” She squeezed Camille’s fingers.

Surprised but touched by the girl’s easy, affectionate gesture, Camille gave Steve and Will a little wave over her shoulder as Zoe asked her sister, “How would that work, anyway? I mean, the only way he could eat his way out of trouble would be if there was a volcano that spewed pudding rather than lava.”

“It’d help if someone dropped enormous pancakes on Will’s lair, too.” Maya dropped Camille’s hand and turned around so she could face the others while walking backward toward the main house.

“Maybe the supervillain is made out of food,” Micah suggested. Even now, his expression was completely serious, which made the whole thing even funnier.

Tipping her head to the side in thought, Camille asked, “Aren’t we all made out of food? Not that we’d especially want to chow down on other people, but we’re food for something.”

“Like sharks.” Maya took the turn in conversation gracefully. “Or bears.”

“So, what if Super Will could eat through anything?” Zoe suggested. “Like, it didn’t have to be food at all. That’s his superpower, that he could eat metal and wood and plastic and not die.”

“I like it,” Camille said. Their conversation was so similar to one she’d have in her head—or with Lucy—that she had to smile. Who knew her nerdy soul mates would be Steve Springfield’s kids? “That’d be an excellent superpower. No one would be able to hold him, since he could eat through handcuffs and prison bars.”

“How long would it take him, though?” Micah’s frown was still in place, but it looked more thoughtful now. “Would it be instant, like the cartoon Tasmanian Devil, or more like how long it takes a mouse to chew its way through the grain-room wall in the barn?”

“Instant might be too much,” Zoe said as they climbed the front steps. Right now, the wide porch was barren and snow frosted the railing, but Camille could picture how homey and perfect it would look in the summer, scattered with comfortable wicker chairs and a swing. “If he can eat through anything in a second, then how would anyone stop him? He’d have too much power.”

“He could be stopped,” Maya argued, opening the door. A rush of warm air flowed out, filled with a spicy food smell that made Camille remember she hadn’t eaten yet, except for a small chocolate Santa early that morning after she’d given up on sleep. With thoughts of mysterious noises, she’d had a restless night and had woken up for good before the sun was even thinking of rising. “Someone could pull his teeth out.”

“Or wire his jaw shut,” Micah suggested as they all piled into the entryway. Camille looked around with interest as she pulled off her coat and hung it on one of the wooden hooks that lined the wall. Shoes and boots of various sizes were tucked under a bench that ran along the wall, and she placed her own boots in an open spot in the row. It was such a small thing, adding her footwear to theirs, but it still made her chest warm. The conversation with the kids, the little line of shoes—they made her feel like she was part of their family, even for just a short while. All her life, she’d never really fit in anywhere outside her workshop, but this family had made a place for her.

“If his teeth and jaw are strong enough to eat through metal or concrete, it’d be really hard to pull out his teeth or keep his mouth closed,” Zoe argued, leading the way into a huge open kitchen.

“Speaking of eating things, something smells really good,” Camille said as she glanced over at Micah, who scowled and ducked his head. Despite his frown, he seemed more bashful than angry. “What’d you make?”

“Tacos.” He moved over to the stove to check the contents of a pan, and Camille fought a smile. His grumbles and grumpy manner reminded her a little of his uncle Joe. As he turned away from the stove, she quickly glanced around the kitchen so he wouldn’t guess that she’d been amused by him.

Although the room’s layout seemed old-fashioned—with the traditional window over the sink and room for a long table rather than any sort of a center island or breakfast bar—the ceramic tile floor looked like it’d recently been installed, and the colors of the walls were modern and obviously freshly painted. The appliances appeared to be newer, too.

“Did you redecorate recently?” Camille asked.

“Grandma and Grandpa had it done as our early Christmas present, right after we moved in.” Maya grabbed Camille’s hand again, this time towing her through an archway into the living room. “I’m glad. It was kind of dark and creepy in here before that. Come see the rest of the house.”

“It wasn’t that bad,” Zoe said, following them. Micah took up the rear silently. “Everything was just…old. This is much better now, though.”

The living room was large and homey, with more of an emphasis on comfort than fashion. Camille noticed her mare and foal sculpture on one of the shelves next to the flat-screen TV and felt a glow of pride. Having that little piece of her here made her feel as if she was part of their cozy home, almost one of the family.

“Dad’s office is in there,” Maya waved toward a doorway before heading up the stairs. “He hardly ever uses it, though. Most of the time he’s outside or in the shop or on fire calls. When he has paperwork stuff, he does it at the kitchen table while we do our homework.”

Camille could easily picture the homey scene of the whole family gathered around the table in the evening, and that warm glow reignited in her chest. Careful, she warned herself. This is just for lunch, and then life will return to normal. The problem was that she wasn’t sure she wanted it to. She’d always been perfectly content with her peaceful, solitary existence, with her art and her cat and plenty of precious alone time. This was just a case of the grass being greener, especially since she was already caught up in the whole nostalgic, Christmas-wonderland feel of the ranch.

And, as much as she hated to admit it, she was even more caught up in Steve.