Chapter One
This wasn’t the place.
Carl Whitfield swept his gaze across the pastures before him, took in the squat, ugly house perched close by, and shook his head over the dilapidated barns and outbuildings some distance away.
“Hilltop Acres is a bargain,” Megan Lawrence, his realtor, said. An earnest young woman, she’d inherited him as a client when his former realtor, the senior partner at the firm, had given up on ever finding him a suitable property.
“It’s small,” he countered.
“It’s a ranch. Not many of them for sale around here.”
“You’re telling me.” He’d been searching for years. Three years, to be exact. He could picture what the right place would look like. A big house perched on a rise of ground, the land sloping away to a tremendous view. Plenty of acreage for a large cattle operation.
Not a stunted little spread like this one.
A prosperous ranch like the ones featured in the movies he used to watch with his father when he was young. His dad had spent summers in Montana when he was a kid. Loved to watch westerns and chew over old times.
“If you’re not interested, we’d better leave. I’ve got another appointment.” Megan pulled out her cell phone, frowned at something on the screen and tucked it away again.
Carl adjusted his hat. Back when his father was alive, he’d never dreamed he’d amass the means to buy a ranch. Now he wished his dad was here to help him pick one out. “Someone else is looking at this property?”
“No—it’s Camila Torres. She just wants a little place in town.”
“Camila—?” Carl cut off, his chest tightening. “Camila’s looking for a house?”
“That’s right. Two bedrooms, one bath. Close to her restaurant.”
He bit back a curse. He’d blown his chance with Camila a long time ago, but he’d hoped—
Hell, he’d hoped she’d give him a little while longer to fulfill the terms of her ultimatum. He’d known since the moment he’d met her she was the one for him, and at one time he’d been sure she felt the same way, but he’d blown it on their first real date. He’d gone too far, too fast. Instead of keeping to light topics and getting-to-know-you conversation, he’d found himself talking about marriage, family, and his plans for the future.
Camila had listened gravely, and told him she had one requirement for the man she married.
He had to commit to staying in Chance Creek.
It was a simple thing. Yet he’d hesitated to say he would—for a number of reasons. He hadn’t found a spread yet, he’d still had business in California that kept him flying back there frequently—and he’d still been too new to the community to feel secure in his place here. After all, his first attempt to settle in Chance Creek hadn’t gone so well.
He’d regretted that hesitation ever since.
“Carl, I like you—a lot,” Camila had said. “But I’m serious about this.”
“I’m looking for a ranch,” he’d told her.
“Ask me out again when you’ve bought one. Then I’ll know you mean to stay.”
“I hear some women like to pick out their home,” he’d teased her.
“Feel free to ask my opinion, but I’m not taking this any farther until you’ve settled here.”
“It’s only a matter of time, I promise.” Off-balance from the turn the conversation had taken, Carl hoped they could move on and enjoy the evening, but Camila had kept a polite distance for the remainder of the date. Carl, accepting the challenge she’d laid out for him, had redoubled his efforts to find a place. God knew he wanted to live here. Had wanted it for decades, ever since his father had first described the community. His dad hadn’t summered here—he’d stayed with his great-uncle who’d had a small spread much nearer to Bozeman—but family friends had owned a much larger ranch in Chance Creek at the time. Carl’s dad had considered it paradise. When Carl came to check out the town, he did too.
Unfortunately, finding a ranch here had proved impossible. He and Camila had drifted apart, until one day he realized he was avoiding her—and she was avoiding him. Things between them had gotten uncomfortable. His lack of progress made it look like he wasn’t interested in her. That wasn’t the case, and Carl didn’t know how it had come to this.
“Is Camila dating anyone?” he asked Megan, focusing on the present.
Megan shot him a curious look. “Not that I know of. She works too much to date.”
Carl nodded. That was Camila. She’d told him she’d spent every dime opening her restaurant with her partner, Fila Matheson. She wanted to build up her savings again. She’d set down roots—and she didn’t want anything to be able to dislodge her again.
He wanted that too. Always had.
But he’d begun to feel that his hesitation three years ago had cursed him. He hadn’t confirmed his desire to stay quickly enough, and ever since, Chance Creek kept rejecting him. Every time a suitable property came up for sale, someone bought it right out from under his nose.
If Camila purchased a home, it would sink the final nail in his coffin. He’d have to admit he’d blown it. She’d have made her own home in Chance Creek.
Without him.
He scanned the property again. It was small, but it was a working ranch. The house was a hovel—but he could rebuild.
“Carl? You coming?” Megan asked, already walking away.
“Yeah. Listen, I want to make an offer. First thing tomorrow,” he added when the realtor turned in surprise. He needed to talk to Camila first.
“Really?” Megan asked.
“Really.” He was done screwing around. Done waiting to start his life as a rancher.
Done standing by while Camila moved on without him.
He’d hesitated once—and lost his chance to be with her.
He sure as hell wasn’t going to let that happen again.
This wasn’t the place.
Camila tried to hide her disappointment as Megan extolled the virtues of a kitchen so small its oven and fridge were three-quarter size. The house’s two bedrooms had been hardly big enough to hold beds. It lacked hookups for a washer and dryer. The living room faced north, gloomy as a crypt on this beautiful spring morning.
It wasn’t going to work.
“It’s in your budget,” Megan reminded her when she was done praising the scant two feet of chipped counter-top.
“I guess I was hoping for something… more.”
She was hoping for something that felt like home, but all this place did was remind her that since leaving Houston she might have started a business and made some great friends, but her situation was still temporary. Someday one of the Turners would want the cabin she rented from them. Then what would she do? She’d scraped together a down payment that would barely get her into a house like this, but the truth was, she’d pictured something altogether different when she’d thought of buying a home.
Something bigger.
Prettier.
Something she wouldn’t move into alone.
She’d never thought she’d still be single when she went house-hunting. Once she’d even thought she’d found the man she wanted to be with—
But Carl hadn’t been ready to settle down. He hadn’t even been able to say if he planned to stay in Chance Creek. For all his promises that he’d buy a ranch soon, he never had.
He had stayed, though. Camila saw him all the time, and it was like torture having him so close—and knowing he wasn’t the one for her. She knew she’d done the right thing, though, cutting off contact with him.
Leaving Houston had nearly killed her. Striking out on her own after a lifetime at the heart of her big, boisterous family had been like stepping into an abyss—not knowing where she’d land, or if she’d survive.
She’d done well for herself since. Started her own business. Found wonderful friends. She was staying right here, for good. She needed a man as committed to Chance Creek as she was.
Or maybe she needed to be alone. Camila was beginning to think that staying in Chance Creek and having a partner in life were mutually exclusive.
“Are you and Carl an item?” Megan asked.
Camila swung around to stare at her. “Me and Carl?” Had Megan read her mind?
“He asked about you this morning. I didn’t know you two were friends.”
He’d asked about her?
Camila couldn’t say why the thought left her breathless. It wasn’t like she still carried a torch for him after all this time. He obviously didn’t carry one for her. He was polite when they met. He was still living in a cabin on the Cooper spread. No closer than he’d been three years ago to buying a place of his own.
She pictured the handsome cowboy in this kitchen, bumping against the counter in the too-small space, trying to maneuver around the table she’d have to add. He wouldn’t fit.
Which didn’t matter. Carl would never be in this house.
Camila gave herself a mental shake. She had to make decisions based on reality, not fantasy, but she heard herself say, “I—uh—I don’t think this house is for me.”
Megan sighed. “Let’s see what else we can find.”
Carl’s foot tapped as he waited in line at the Chance Creek Spring Fling fair later that afternoon for a chance to talk to Camila, who was turning skewers of chicken on the grill in the food tent in front of him. Pent up energy made him restless. It was riling him up to wait rather than just put in that offer on Hilltop Acres. He’d gotten skunked not once, but several times before when he hadn’t moved fast enough to purchase a place. He wasn’t the only one desperate for a ranch around here.
He had to win out this time, but he had to talk to Camila first. While he did, he’d grab some of her delicious butter chicken nachos, which he’d been craving.
He ached to steal a kiss, too. As soon as he’d given himself leave to think about pursuing Camila again, all his desire for her had flooded back. He’d been keeping it at bay through sheer doggedness. That wasn’t working anymore.
Unfortunately, Maya Turner was also manning the booth. She’d taken to helping Camila and Fila on festival days. With the Turner/Cooper feud as hot as the eighty-five-degree temperatures that had nudged Chance Creek into an early summer, everyone knew it would only take one spark to really set off a blaze between the families. Last week there’d been a minor altercation at the Dancing Boot between Liam Turner and Lance Cooper.
He’d have to watch what he said in front of Maya. No one needed another fight on a day like this.
By the time he made it to the counter of the concession stand, where Maya manned the till under a large white canopy, Carl was starving. And hot. A trickle of sweat made its way between his shoulder blades under his black cotton T-shirt.
“I’ll have a plate of those butter chicken nachos,” he told Maya when it was his turn to order.
Fila came to deliver a plate of food to another customer, flipped her long black braid over her shoulder and said, “Hey, Carl. How are you doing?” She was sensibly dressed in a light cotton sundress.
“Pretty terrific.”
Fila raised her eyebrows at his enthusiasm. “Finally found a ranch?” she quipped.
Hell. It was no secret he’d been looking for a long time, but he glanced at Maya, hoping she didn’t know why he needed one so badly. “Actually, yeah, I did.”
Fila blinked in surprise, leaned closer and asked, “Does that mean you’ll finally ask her out?” She lowered her voice nearly to a whisper. “Camila’s wasting her life waiting for you.”
Carl winced. He wasn’t trying to waste Camila’s life. Still, if Fila thought she was still waiting for him, that was good news. Maybe all his worries were for nothing.
“Ask who out?” Maya chirped, leaning closer, too. “Who does Carl want to date?”
Camila looked up from the grill, caught Carl’s gaze, blushed and swiftly looked away.
Carl’s body reacted immediately to that blush, and he wanted to vault the table and go straight to her. Instead he cleared his throat and sent Fila a pointed look. “No one.”
Fila had the grace to look chagrined. It wouldn’t do for Maya to learn about his history with Camila—or the attraction that simmered between them still.
At least on his side.
Carl dipped his head and glanced Camila’s way under the brim of his hat. She was doing a good job pretending not to notice the conversation, but he knew she was listening. She was still flushed, her mouth pinched in a thin line. He wished like hell Maya wasn’t here—it was impossible to tell if Camila’s reaction was due to the presence of the Turner or because she’d decided she would rather Carl never found a ranch at all. After all, according to Megan, she was looking for a house of her own.
“I’ve been doing what needed to be done,” he told Fila, loudly enough for Camila to hear. “A promise is a promise.” He hoped they both understood what he meant.
Camila glanced up again. Caught his eye. Looked away with a shake of her head.
Carl’s gut tightened. What did that mean?
“A promise is stupid if you ask me,” Fila said just as loudly. “You’re lucky no one else came along to steal her heart.”
“Who’s heart?” Maya asked. “And why are you all yelling?”
Carl gripped the edge of the counter. No one had better be chasing after Camila. He was still trying to process that head shake. Was she telling him to stop talking about it in front of Maya? Or was she telling him she wasn’t interested anymore?
“It could happen, you know,” Fila asserted.
He did know. Camila was something special. He was amazed she’d waited this long for him to get it together, and sometimes he worried another man would snatch her up before he could find what he was looking for.
“Who. Are. You. Talking. About?” Maya demanded.
Carl paid for his order and stepped aside to wait for his food without answering her, and Maya let out a little huff. “Coopers,” she said derisively.
“Carl’s not a Cooper,” Fila told her.
“He might as well be. He worships them. And he acts like them, too. Stubborn as a mule.”
Carl kept his cool. He’d never understood the feud between the two families, or how someone as level-headed as Maya could fall under its sway.
But all the Turners were like that. Dead set against the Coopers. And vice versa. Had been for years.
While Carl waited, he kept his eye on Camila, but she never once looked up to meet his gaze. He knew she got a great deal on rent from the Turners and wouldn’t want to put that in jeopardy just to chat with him—not until he’d bought his ranch and made it clear he meant to stay.
When Fila delivered his meal, Maya turned to speak with another customer, and suddenly Camila straightened. She caught his eye. “Ten minutes,” she mouthed and pointed in the direction of the portable toilets set a discreet distance away from the rest of the festivities, then turned back to her grill so fast Carl thought he might have hallucinated the whole thing.
But he hadn’t. His pulse kicked up as he walked away from the booth. Camila wanted to meet with him. Talk to him.
The portable toilets might not be his first choice as a rendezvous spot, but who cared?
This was his chance to move things forward with Camila—and he meant to make the most of it.
He’d only made it about twenty paces away from the food tent, however, when something sharp prodded him in the side.
“Carl!”
“Hell!” Carl nearly dropped his nachos as a gimlet-eyed, gray-haired woman poked the tip of her umbrella into his rib cage again. He sidestepped her third attempt to spear him. “Virginia—you nearly made me lose my food!”
Carl’s anger didn’t faze her. Nothing fazed Virginia Cooper, matriarch of the Cooper clan, and his landlord at Thorn Hill. Since he’d moved onto the spread, he’d come to enjoy the younger generation of Coopers, despite their ready tempers, but Virginia was another matter. Virginia would try the patience of a saint. It wasn’t her age—her 84 years hadn’t slowed down her keen acumen, her fast stride, or her sharp tongue.
She was simply mean.
Carl had learned to stay out of her way.
“I’ve got a proposition for you!” she announced, ignoring his protest. “Did you hear about the prize?” In her three-quarter length gray skirt and flower-patterned blouse, Virginia was neat as a pin. Her gray hair was pulled back, braided and coiled into a bun. Her fingers gleamed with several large rings, but none of them circled her ring finger. Virginia had never married.
“What prize?” Carl looked back to catch a glimpse of Camila but too many people blocked his view.
“What prize? Weren’t you paying attention to the announcements? It’s only the biggest piece of news to hit Chance Creek in over a hundred years!”
Now she had his attention. “What’s going on?”
“The city’s giving up Settler’s Ridge. Giving it away to the winner—which will be us!” Virginia’s eyes shone with determination.
Carl was lost. “Where’s Settler’s Ridge? And how would we win it?”
She poked him again with her umbrella. “Settler’s Ridge is a ranch that straddles Pittance Creek to the north of Thorn Hill and the Flying W. It was given to the city by the Ridleys in 1962, and kept in trust since then. Those fools thought the town center would spread to encompass it. Must have figured Chance Creek was the next Chicago.” She shook her head to show what she thought of that. “It’s been sitting there unused ever since.”
Carl was beginning to understand the significance of the announcement. If the Coopers won it, they could double the size of their ranch.
“Think of it.” Virginia jabbed with the umbrella, but Carl dodged it. “Twice the land—and control over Pittance Creek,” she said triumphantly.
Clarity crashed over him. There was the rub. The land was one thing, but the water could be even more important. The Turners’ ranch—the Flying W—depended on Pittance Creek, too. Both ranches had wells, of course, but the creek was valuable, nonetheless.
“Virginia, you’re incorrigible. You wouldn’t deprive the Turners of their water, would you?”
“Maybe. Maybe not. Depends.”
Hell, he wanted no part of this. “Well, good luck. Hope you win.”
“That’s all you’ve got to say?” Virginia lifted her chin. “Fat lot of help you are, after everything we’ve done for you.”
Carl sighed. “What do you have to do to win it?” he asked, going along with the conversation, but promising himself his involvement would end with it. He needed to focus on Camila—and buying Hilltop Acres.
“Provide the biggest boost to civic life during the next six months. Whatever that means.”
Carl could have laughed. It meant the Coopers would have to do something good for the town at large—maybe for the first time in their lives. The family wasn’t known for its civic-mindedness. “Like I said, good luck.” This time Carl really meant it. If vying to win Settler’s Ridge motivated them to become model citizens, he was all for it. He liked the Coopers, but they were a wild bunch.
“That’s where you come in.”
“What do you mean?” Carl nearly groaned. He should have known she’d try to rope him into something. His eyes wandered to watch Camila working again. He couldn’t help it.
He yelped at a sharp pain in his ribs. “Hey!” He eyed Virginia and her pointy-tipped umbrella.
“Pay attention. This is important. Like I said, I’ve got a proposition for you.”
“Spit it out!”
“You help me win this contest, and I’ll help you get that ranch you want so badly. Must be getting old living in our little cabin. A millionaire like you,” she added.
“You’ll sell me Settler’s Ridge?” That was interesting. He tried to picture the land to the north of Thorn Hill. All he’d seen from the road was a tangle of brush and scrub. Were there any buildings on it? He couldn’t say. At least it was close to town.
Virginia bristled. “I’m not selling you Cooper land. I’m talking about another ranch. It’s not for sale yet, but it will be soon. I can get you access to the seller before anyone else even knows about it. If—and only if—you help me win.”
A ranch for sale no one knew about? That would be a miracle. Prosperous ranches in these parts stayed in family hands for generations. The ones that did come on the market were too dry, too rugged, too far from town, too one thing or another. Multiple buyers competed for them anyhow. Before today, he’d almost given up hope he’d ever find a decent place. Hilltop Acres barely qualified.
He didn’t doubt Virginia’s word, though. Despite being the nominal owner of Thorn Hill, she’d spent the last few years at the Prairie Garden assisted living facility in town, and that put her in close proximity with dozens of pensioners who might be ready to dispose of a property.
“If we get a jump on this civic stuff, no one will be able to catch us. Give my family a leg up, and I’ll see you get your ranch,” she said.
“You want me to donate money?” He supposed he could do that much. He could keep the ranch Virginia knew about in his hip pocket, in case something fell through with Hilltop Acres—or Camila vetoed it. He’d been meaning to contribute more here in Chance Creek. After all, this was his town, too.
At least, he meant it to be. He couldn’t wait for the day he’d wrapped up all his business in California for good. Sven Andersson, an old friend and key employee, had asked Carl to invest in his startup when Carl sold off his own businesses. Carl had gladly said yes because Sven had come through for him a hundred times during his journey to becoming a millionaire, but investing rapidly turned into consulting, and that had turned into a nearly full-time gig. Despite what he’d promised to Camila about staying put, he’d ended up flying out to California an awful lot these past few years. He figured Sven had helped make him rich. The least he could do was return the favor. At least the company—Andersson Robotics—was doing quite well. Carl hoped the worst of it was in the past. He had to focus on Chance Creek now.
“Not just money,” Virginia said. “The whole shebang. We need to blow all the other contenders out of the water. Which means we need a killer idea. We’ll take the town by storm and leave everyone else in the dirt.”
Carl caught sight of Camila bending over the grill. She tucked a tendril of hair behind her ear…
Virginia kicked his shin.
“Hey!” Carl focused on the old woman again.
“Anyone can donate money to the town. We need to donate something big. Something everyone will remember forever.”
“Like what?” His ten minutes were ticking away. He needed to shake Virginia.
“If I knew, I wouldn’t be asking you for ideas.” Virginia pursed her lips. “Something that goes back to our roots. We Coopers built Chance Creek’s first elementary school in 1898, and every generation since has us to thank for their education. Maybe we’ll build a new high school.”
“The town already has a high school,” Carl pointed out.
“And a sorrier piece of work I’ve never seen. The Turners were responsible for that travesty. Now the roof leaks in a dozen places, the auditorium is much too small and it’s ugly.”
Carl frowned. If Virginia tried to tear down a Turner building and replace it with a Cooper one, the two families would be fighting in the streets before construction even began. At the same time, he remembered a conversation he’d had with Sven recently about how the lack of technology in schools in poorer districts meant that kids were being left behind before they even graduated from high school. That gave him a better idea.
“Chance Creek doesn’t need a new school. It needs a way to train its students for the future. You can fix up the current high school—and offer them a better education at the same time.”
Virginia snorted. “You can gild a trash can, but it won’t smell any better.”
“Hear me out.” Carl warmed to the idea. If he was going to give back to Chance Creek, this was a good way to start. “Schools these days are changing. They’ve got 3-D printers in the computer labs, tablets in classrooms, technology everywhere. The workplace is changing, too. Not all our students are going to be ranchers. The rest need to be ready to work in an automated world—and I doubt Chance Creek High is doing much in that regard. You could do something to fix that. Launch some kind of program that really sets our high school apart from the others.”
“Like what?” Virginia sounded skeptical.
Carl thought about it. “You still need to repair the building. But once that’s done, I’d look for an idea that makes people sit up and take notice.” He thought of Sven again. “Like… robotics. That would get press like you wouldn’t believe.”
“Robotics, huh?” Virginia mused. “I like it. No one will see that coming.” She nodded as if it had been settled. “I’ll need the proposal next week.”
“The proposal?”
“That’s right.”
“Next week?” Carl laughed but faltered when Virginia’s chin lifted in anger. How had his role escalated from pitching possibilities to being in charge of the project? “Virginia, I’m just giving you ideas, remember?”
Virginia smacked her umbrella on the ground. “I thought you needed a ranch.”
“I already found one. Going to put an offer in tomorrow.” He’d like to help bring Chance Creek High into the twenty-first century, but he hadn’t signed on to be Virginia’s lackey.
Her eyes narrowed. “What ranch did you find?” she demanded.
“Hilltop Acres, over by—”
She snorted. “I guarantee you the ranch to which I’m referring is ten times what Hilltop Acres will ever be.”
“Maybe so, but I can’t wait around, because—” he remembered almost too late he couldn’t tell Virginia about Camila “—I’ve already waited long enough,” he finished lamely.
“But you haven’t bought it yet?” Virginia watched him silently for a moment, and Carl couldn’t begin to guess what she was thinking. “I have a feeling you’ll come around,” she said finally, then turned on her heel and walked away.
“I’m taking a short break,” Camila told Fila and Maya when there was a lull in the traffic at the food tent. “Be back in a flash.”
She quickly undid her apron and left it folded beside the grill, then ducked out and made a beeline in the direction of the portable toilets on the far side of the fairgrounds. Not exactly her first choice of setting for a conversation with the man of her dreams, but definitely inconspicuous. She gave a tiny wave to Carl as she passed him. He was standing with his uneaten plate of nachos in his hand, watching Virginia Cooper stalk off toward the craft stalls. Camila kept walking, hoping Carl would follow.
She still couldn’t believe he’d found a ranch. To be honest, she’d begun to think he’d stopped looking—that he’d long ago lost interest in her.
She’d almost fooled herself into believing she’d lost interest in him, too.
What a joke. Every time Carl came near, she fell for him all over again. It had always been that way, ever since he’d agreed to meet her for coffee so she could ask for his advice about the restaurant several years ago. Back then she’d been nervous around the millionaire, but she’d soon relaxed. Carl was a good listener. He never made her feel bad for asking a question. Instead, he took his time to explain everything to her, down to the smallest detail, treating her restaurant as if it was as important as the tech companies he’d once run.
She’d fallen for him during those conversations, and when he’d let her know he felt the same way, she’d been over the moon. She’d pressed him on whether he meant to stay in Chance Creek because what she felt for him could last a lifetime, and she couldn’t start a relationship with him if he was eventually going to leave.
When he’d announced to Fila he’d found a ranch, she’d barely been able to breathe.
She’d given up on Carl—but she hadn’t wanted to.
Camila picked up her pace until she was out of sight of her booth, hovering near enough to the row of portable toilets that anyone who saw her would assume she was waiting for her turn but far enough away the smell wasn’t too bad. Butterflies jittered in her stomach as she prayed he wouldn’t keep her waiting. Had he really found a ranch? Could she stay in the town she loved—and get the man she wanted?
“That Maya sure is nosy,” Carl said when he joined her. He’d made short work of his plate of nachos in the interim, and he tossed the remains in a nearby trash can.
Camila wondered how she ever thought she could move on from him. Her whole body buzzed when he was near. He was lean from working on the Coopers’ ranch every day. His muscles defined. His skin tan from being out in all weather. He was older than her but still sexy in every way. His smile and piercing blue gaze nearly undid her.
Camila was so sick of keeping her feelings to herself. Her closest friends knew about Carl, of course, but not Maya and the rest of the Turners. They’d be furious if they found out she wanted to date an honorary Cooper. Since she lived on their spread, she had to keep things under wraps—at least until she knew for sure which way her relationship with Carl was going.
“Try living with her,” Camila said. “You weren’t joking, about the ranch? You found—” She couldn’t even bring herself to say it, as if she could jinx something that had already happened.
“That’s right.”
He took one of her hands. Tugged her closer. Looked to make sure no one was watching. “I haven’t closed on it yet, but—”
“Why not?”
“I needed you to have your say.” He watched her process his words. “I’m hoping it’ll be your home, too, someday. Camila, everything I said three years ago still holds true.”
Camila’s breath caught. He’d made it clear three years ago he was looking for something serious. That’s why she’d made her ultimatum in the first place. Now that he was planning to buy a ranch, and letting her know he was still interested, he’d expect her to be ready for that serious relationship. Camila knew she was. All her doubts and worries fell away—
Almost.
She swallowed when she thought of her parents back in Houston.
“When can I see it?” she asked.
“Tomorrow. First thing. I’ve already cleared it with the realtor,” Carl said. “Meantime,” he added, “everyone’s going to be at the fireworks tonight. Go with me? Seems like a good way to celebrate. It’ll be dark,” he added with a grin. He lowered his voice. “I’ll make sure no Turners or Coopers see us.”
“It’s a date.” Camila smiled despite her worries. “I’d better get back,” she told him. “Before Fila gets overwhelmed.”
“See you in a couple of hours.” He gave her hand a squeeze and let her go, although Camila had a feeling he wanted to do more. She sure did. But they were in a public place, and there were Turners and Coopers everywhere. As much as she ached to touch him, run her hands over those delicious muscles, go up on tiptoe to meet his kiss—reluctantly, she tore herself away from him and said goodbye.
As she walked back to the food booth, her heart beating hard, Camila realized things were about to change. Fast. Carl wasn’t looking for a fling. He’d made that clear back when they’d started all this. He wanted marriage. A family.
Which meant she needed to take care of some business of her own.
It was time to give her parents a call and clear the air between them.
Tomorrow, she decided, catching sight of the food tent, relieved not to have to think about that now. She’d be far too busy the rest of the day keeping up with her customers.
Keeping them happy was her main concern these days. The restaurant she shared with Fila was everything to her. She was proud of how professional their booth looked, with Fila’s Famila emblazoned on the sign. She was proud, too, it had grown to be one of the most popular establishments in town, a real achievement after the bad start she’d made when she’d arrived here.
She’d come to Montana after fighting with her family. Back in Houston, she’d always worked in her family’s restaurant, Torres de Sabores, since she was a little girl. She’d always loved cooking, and had a flair for it, but when her father made her older brother Mateo head chef, it had been the last straw after a lifetime of taking second place. Her four other brothers and two sisters had long since moved out to take other jobs. If Mateo had taken the business as seriously as she did—if he’d lived and breathed Mexican food—she’d have gladly been his second in command.
But instead, he’d taken the position as if it was owed him, spent more time chatting with customers in the front end of the restaurant than working in the back, and tried to let her carry the load—without getting any credit for it.
When it became clear to Camila nothing would change, she’d decided to strike out on her own. Although it had torn her heart in two, she’d left her family behind and come to Montana with the backing of her uncle Gerardo, who still lived in Mexico with her aunt Ximena. She’d found a building, leased a space—
And then nearly lost everything when Gerardo backed out of the deal after her father found out he was loaning her money. Thank goodness Fila had come to the rescue. Starting her own restaurant at the same time, she’d been glad for a partner, and the two of them made a stunning debut in Chance Creek. Fila’s Familia was always crowded and busy. Camila was grateful for the success—and even more grateful for her first real friend in Chance Creek. She’d never forget the aching loneliness of her early days in the northern town.
She’d made a new home here. A home she loved.
But now she needed to repair the damage she’d left behind. For the past three years, it had been easy to put on hold. Her restaurant had taken up all her time, and she’d told herself she’d get to everything else when she had a spare moment. Now she wished she hadn’t put it off. She had an almost superstitious pang when she thought about moving ahead with Carl before she fixed things between her and her parents.
This wasn’t going to be easy. Paula expected her to move back sooner or later. She wouldn’t be happy to hear Camila meant to stay in Chance Creek, and Camila had no idea how her parents would react to the idea of her becoming serious with Carl. She wanted her parents’ approval of the life she’d chosen. Wanted them to love Carl as much as she did, even though he wasn’t Mexican.
How would they react when they found out her plans?
Would they cut off communication with her for good?
They nearly had when she moved out. Only recently had they begun to talk more frequently by phone again. She spoke more with her brothers and sisters—except Mateo. The way she’d left had made things awkward between them.
It was time to make amends. To heal the wounds before they deepened.
She only wished she knew how.
“Something wrong?” Fila asked when Camila rejoined her and Maya at the booth.
Camila tied her apron back on and shook her head. But this was Fila—her best friend in the world. “Yes,” she admitted.
“Your family?” Fila guessed.
Fila knew her too well, Camila thought ruefully.
“Maybe you should go visit them,” Fila suggested. “Patch things up face-to-face.”
“Maybe.” She’d been thinking the same thing herself lately.
“Don’t let them convince you to stay, though.” Fila prepared another plate of nachos and handed it to Maya, who passed it to a customer. “We need you here.”
Camila nodded. It didn’t need to be a long trip. She’d apologize to her parents for upsetting them, then paint a picture of how well her life was going. And then bring up Carl…
“Three days. Four at most,” Fila went on. “More than that and the whole place will come down around my ears.”
Camila had to grin. “I doubt it.” Fila was the most organized woman she knew. She had too strong a will to let anything overwhelm her.
“Oh, man. Here comes Uncle Jed,” Maya interrupted in a low voice. “Brace yourselves.”
“Maya, I’ve been looking for you,” Jedediah Turner boomed from the other side of the counter, making Camila jump. Jed was one of the orneriest men she’d ever met, but he was her landlord, which meant she had to watch her manners around him.
“Hi, Uncle Jed,” Maya said cheerfully.
“Hi, Jedidiah,” Camila echoed. “How are you today?”
“I’ll be fine as soon as we’ve won the Founders Prize.” He must have once stood tall and square shouldered, but time had taken its toll. At 85, he moved stiffly, but he was as proud as ever.
“Founders Prize?” Camila exchanged a look with her friends, but they were as mystified as she was.
“Didn’t you hear the big announcement? The winner will be announced on Halloween. A lot of land riding on that contest. Land that should belong to us Turners.”
Camila just nodded. She wasn’t a Turner, but living at the Flying W seemed to make her an honorary member of the family, which she usually appreciated. The Turners were known for being honorable, upright members of society, and for the most part, they lived up to their reputation.
Until the Coopers got involved.
Then they seemed to lose their minds.
“What land?” Maya asked.
“Settler’s Ridge.”
“Settler’s Ridge?” Maya’s eyes grew wide, and she turned to Camila to explain. “That property forms the northern boundary of the Flying W and Thorn Hill. It’s on both sides of Pittance Creek. If we own it, we control the creek, right?” she asked Jed.
He nodded.
“Of course, the Coopers will want it too. What do we have to do to get it?”
“Be the biggest contributors to civic society in Chance Creek. Which we already are and always have been. It’s a slam dunk,” he said smugly.
Camila glanced at Maya. Was it? The Turners were good people, worked hard, went to church sometimes, participated in town events, but as far as making a contribution to civic society… didn’t that require something more?
Jed must have sensed her skepticism. “We built the high school,” he exclaimed.
“Back in 1953,” Maya returned. “What have we donated since then?”
“How many high schools does one family have to build?” Jed answered huffily.
“It might be a case of ‘What have you done for me lately,’” Fila put in.
Camila was grateful to her friend for saying so. Jed was better behaved toward outsiders than he was to Turners—real or honorary.
“Bah!” he waved a dismissive hand. “I served on the town council for forty years. I’ve done my bit. I’m a shoe-in for the prize.”
“If you say so,” Camila said slowly. She didn’t like any of this. It was a set up for trouble.
Jed turned on his heel and strode off, mumbling under his breath.
“Hi, ladies. How’s it going?” said Maya’s sister, Stella, slipping into the booth from the back. “Sure looks busy.” Twenty-seven years old with dark curls and bright hazel eyes, she scanned the customers waiting for their turn.
“We’ve had a lineup for most of the day,” Camila told her.
“Uncle Jed’s on a tear,” Stella said to Maya. “I’m here to hide for a minute.”
“About the Founder’s Prize? He’ll be pissed if someone else gets that land,” Maya said. “He’s pretty sure he deserves it just for being born.”
“You really think the Coopers will try for it?” Camila asked.
“Jed’s underestimating Virginia Cooper if he thinks they won’t,” Stella said. “But I don’t know what we can do about it, either. It’s not like we have any spare cash to donate another school.” She bit her lip, caught Camila watching her and smiled. “Doesn’t matter. The Coopers are worse off than we are. Still, the next six months might get messy. This might be the right time to move out—not that I want you to go,” she hastened to assure Camila. “I’ve loved having you around the place, but didn’t you say you had an appointment with Megan Lawrence about buying a house? How did that work out?”
“Not so well, but I’m going to view a place tomorrow.” It wasn’t technically a lie, even if she was going to view it with Carl rather than Megan. She’d gotten in touch with the realtor mostly to save face, thinking Carl had lost interest in her. She’d thought maybe if she bought her own little house in town she could hold her head up even if Carl fell for someone else.
Now she didn’t have to worry about any of that.
She caught Fila’s eye. “I have a really good feeling about this one.”
“Carl, would you give me a ride? I forgot something.”
Carl was grateful when Olivia Cooper tugged on his sleeve an hour later. It was only six-thirty. Two hours to go before the fireworks finale to the fair, too long to wait for his first real date with Camila. He’d perused the vendor booths, ridden a couple of the carnival rides, and was just contemplating going back for another round of nachos when Olivia appeared. Blonde and full of energy, equal parts common sense and wildness, she was always a good distraction.
“Where’s your truck?”
“I rode in with Lance, but he’s determined to win some dumb prize at one of the game booths. He keeps plunking down change and chucking baseballs at pyramids of bottles. Waste of time and money if you ask me. So how about it? Can you drive me?”
“Sure thing.” Thorn Hill was only twenty minutes away. He’d be back plenty early enough to meet Camila if they left now. Chauffeuring Olivia around would kill time.
He followed her through the crowds to the field the town had turned into a parking lot and located his deep blue Chevy Silverado in the sea of vehicles just as his phone buzzed in his pocket.
“Sven. What’s up?” he asked when he took the call. Not another problem, he prayed. He didn’t have time to fly to California right now.
“You won’t believe it.” Sven’s excited tone stopped Carl in his tracks.
“What is it?”
“It’s Martin Fulsom. The billionaire. One of his lawyers got in touch. He wants to buy me out!”
“Holy crap.” This was big. This could make his friend rich in his own right—and could end Carl’s obligation to Andersson Robotics, freeing him to concentrate fully on his life in Chance Creek.
Carl had known Sven’s company was ripe for an acquisition deal—they’d structured the whole company with that idea in mind. But Fulsom was one of the biggest players around. The deal would either be spectacular—or not, if Fulsom thought he could force Sven into a weak position.
“That’s the good news. The bad news is he wants to sew this up fast. If we don’t get a deal done by May tenth, he’s going to walk.”
“Holy—crap,” Carl repeated, not wanting to freak out his friend with his first choice of words. “That’s a tight time frame.”
“Nine days from now.”
“Do you have his offer yet?”
“No. He said he’ll send a written offer in a couple of days. I don’t get why he’s giving me a deadline when he hasn’t even taken action yet.”
Carl’s chest tightened with concern. He’d known Fulsom by reputation for years, of course. The man regularly made headlines for his stratospheric profits and outlandish publicity events, and the television arm of his empire produced a reality TV show called Base Camp on a ranch right here in Chance Creek. Carl had never met the man personally, but he’d had a brush with him a while back when they’d both gone after the same ranch.
Fulsom had beaten him to the punch.
“He’s trying to keep you off-balance. He’ll probably use every trick in the book to make this deal go his way.”
“I figured. I need you here,” Sven said. “Can you fly out for a few weeks?”
Carl stifled a groan. He should have known that’s why Sven had called, but his timing couldn’t be worse. As always these days, he was torn between his obligation to Sven—and his desire to be here. “I’ve got a lot going on right now.”
“Man, I need you,” Sven said again. “I’ve never done this before.”
“You’ll be fine.” Carl hoped he sounded surer than he felt. Fulsom was a shark—on a whole different level from anyone Sven had dealt with so far. But as much as he wanted to help his friend, he wasn’t going anywhere until he’d closed on his new ranch. “You’re about to be a very rich man,” he added, hoping to calm Sven. “Look, I’m in the middle of something, but I’ll call you first thing tomorrow morning.”
“Fine,” Sven said dispiritedly. Carl ended the call and tried to make small talk with Olivia as they made their way out of town, but he was distracted. Deals like this took a lot of work, and judging by his tight deadline, Fulsom meant to play hardball. Sven was right; he needed Carl’s help. But Carl couldn’t leave Chance Creek now. Not until he’d secured his relationship with Camila.
When they neared the turnoff to Thorn Hill, Carl put on his signal, but Olivia said, “I actually need to go to the Flying W. Noah’s got something of mine. I just need to pick it up.”
“Noah Turner’s got something of yours?” That didn’t make sense, but Carl drove onward instead of turning off, and they crossed over Pittance Creek on their way to the Flying W. “What’s Noah got?”
“Just something I forgot.”
Carl turned into a rutted lane, drove several hundred meters, and the Turners’ house came into view. It was a large white farmhouse with a wide front porch and a green metal roof. Carl had only been here once or twice before—and he hadn’t stayed long. He pulled up in front of it and parked. Olivia flung open her door and hopped out before Carl could even turn off the engine.
“I’ll be back in a second!”
Carl watched her take the front steps two at a time. Instead of ringing the bell, she pulled open the screen door, grasped the knob of the front door and gave it a twist.
“Oh, hell.” Carl flung open his door, too, and strode after her. “Hey,” he called. “Don’t you think you should knock? Not sure Noah would appreciate us just walking in.” He followed her up the steps.
“If the Turners didn’t want us to walk in, they’d lock their front door.” She gave it a shove, and it swung wide open.
“Is Noah here?” Carl regretted giving Olivia a ride. He should have predicted trouble when a Capulet asked for a lift to the Montague house, but he owed the Coopers a lot and didn’t like to say no when they asked a favor.
“I know where it is. There’s no need to bother him.” Olivia slipped indoors before he could stop her. Carl hung outside, peering through the screen door, unwilling to trespass.
“Olivia. Come on,” he called after her. Too late. He watched her veer to the left and enter the living room, which was all wood floors and leather sofas. He could see the head of a magnificent buck hanging on the far wall, keeping a vigil over a large stone fireplace.
He pulled the screen door open and poked his head in. “Olivia!”
“Just a second!”
Something crashed to the floor inside the house.
Hell. “What’s going on in there?”
“Go!” Olivia shouted, appearing a second later. She pushed him back toward the steps, slamming the front door shut behind her, and let the screen door hit the frame with a clatter. “Go! Go! Go!” Careening past him, she stumbled on the stairs, and Carl just managed to grab her before she fell head over heels. She regained her balance, grabbed Carl’s arm and dragged him toward his truck. “Start the engine,” she yelled. She held something in the crook of her arm. A clock?
“What the hell, Olivia?” Carl dug in his heels to stop their headlong journey.
“Damn it, let’s go!” Olivia elbowed him hard in the side, and when he folded, she yanked open the driver’s side door and tried to shove him into his seat.
The house’s front door burst open again, and Noah Turner appeared on the stoop. Olivia yelped and dashed around to the passenger side of Carl’s truck.
“Olivia? Give it back!” Noah bellowed.
Carl froze. What the hell was going on here?
“Start the engine! Now!” Olivia yelled from inside the vehicle. “Carl, did you hear me?”
Noah clattered down the steps, crossed the driveway and tried to pull open Olivia’s door. A tall, lean man with dark hair, he could look stern when he wanted to—and he obviously wanted to. He rattled the handle a few times before circling around the truck.
“Out of my way, Whitfield.” Noah pushed him aside and scrambled past him into the cab of the truck.
“For fuck’s sake, Turner.” Carl stumbled back, caught his balance and reached for Noah.
Noah shrugged him off. “Give it to me, Olivia.” He grabbed for the clock.
She wrenched it back. “It’s high time it comes home where it belongs. You Turners don’t need it.”
“It belongs to us. I can’t believe you would walk right in and steal it!”
“I can’t believe I had to!”
Losing his temper, Carl reached in and leaned on the horn. Its loud blare startled the other two.
Noah jerked back, lost his grip on the clock and hit his head on the roof of the cab. With a squeak, Olivia fell back against her door. Carl cleared his throat. “Will somebody tell me what the hell is going on?”
Olivia scrambled upright. “This clock belonged to my great-great-great granddaddy Slade Cooper,” she stated. “He gave it to Ernestine Harris back in 1882 when they became engaged, to signify the time they’d spend together throughout their lives. When she dumped him and ran off with Zeke Turner instead, she kept the damn clock!” She shoved Noah. “And this reprobate’s family has kept it on their damn mantel ever since. Just to piss us off!”
“You’re fighting over something that happened more than a hundred and twenty years ago?” Carl had heard enough. They weren’t the only ones struggling with their past—or their present. He had his own problems. Real problems. Like how to fix things in California so he could focus on Camila. “Out. Both of you.”
“That’s not the only thing we’re fighting about,” Olivia said darkly.
“Out!”
Olivia unlocked her door and got out in a huff, her ponytail swinging indignantly.
Carl walked around the truck to confront her. “Hand it over,” he demanded. “You want to steal things, do it on your own time.”
Noah joined them. “I oughtta call Cab Johnson and turn you in,” he said to Olivia.
“You won’t turn me in. You never do.” But Olivia handed over the clock.
Never do, thought Carl. How many times had Olivia tried to steal the thing?
Noah tucked it under his arm. Ducked his head. Studied his boots for a minute. “I’m heading back to the Spring Fling in a minute. Just came home to check on the cattle. I could give you a ride,” he said gruffly.
“Give me a ride? That’s the least you can do,” she huffed. “You’d better buy me dinner, too, after the way you manhandled me.”
Noah straightened to his full height. “Manhandled you? You tried to steal my family’s clock.”
Olivia tossed her head, and her ponytail swung. “And your family—” She glanced back at Carl and stopped midsentence. “Let’s get going—I don’t want to miss anything.” She strode off toward Noah’s truck.
To Carl’s surprise, Noah’s mouth quirked up into a grin. “Yes, ma’am. Let me grab my keys.”
Carl watched him head back inside.
What the hell had just happened here?
“See you later, Carl. Thanks for the lift,” Olivia tossed breezily over her shoulder as she climbed into Noah’s Ram pickup.
“Okay,” he said slowly.
A minute later, Noah returned and ran lightly down the steps. He didn’t look like a man who’d almost been robbed.
Carl watched Noah open the door to his truck and begin to climb in, but he stopped with one foot in and one foot out. “Oh, hell,” he said. “Here comes trouble. Carl, you better take Olivia, after all.”
Carl immediately saw why. He recognized the truck that was just pulling in. That was Liam, if he wasn’t mistaken. And Jedidiah was with him. The coming confrontation wouldn’t be pretty. Olivia had been breaking and entering—and now she was riding in Noah’s truck.
“Olivia!” he called.
Olivia hopped out as quick as a flash and ran for Carl’s vehicle, all trace of her former cockiness gone.
“What the hell’s going on here?” Liam shouted, parking his truck and climbing out, a rough-and-tumble man who seemed to Carl to have something to prove to the world. “Why’s that Cooper on our land?”
Carl fought not to roll his eyes. Time to diffuse the situation—fast. “I brought her here.”
“And what are you doing here, city boy? Ain’t no coffee houses around these parts.”
That was Jedediah Turner climbing out of the passenger side, his movements slow but his speech as sharp as ever.
“Just paying a visit.” Carl edged closer to his Silverado, ready to climb back in. Maybe he and Olivia could still get out of here before all hell broke loose. Olivia reached the passenger side and slipped in quickly. Carl saw her lock the door the second it was closed.
“I doubt like hell that’s the truth. You tried to steal my clock again, didn’t you?” Jed pointed an accusing finger at Olivia.
Carl didn’t wait for her to open her window and answer. He hopped right into the driver’s seat, pulled the door shut behind him and revved the engine a second later.
“This means war!” Jed shouted after them as Carl hit the gas, peeled out and hightailed it down the lane.
For one awful moment, he thought Jed would jump back into Liam’s truck and pursue them. The last thing any of them needed was a high-speed chase through town. Or for the octogenarian to have a heart attack.
“That was close,” Olivia said. She didn’t seem the least bit chastened by what had happened. In fact, she looked like she’d enjoyed the whole damn thing.
“Too close.”
“Come on, sometimes you’ve got to rile things up a little, don’t you think?”
Carl didn’t answer that. He didn’t need things riled up. He needed them to calm the heck down.
“Let’s get you back to the festival” was all he said. He wasn’t going to ask her about Noah. He didn’t want to know. A glance at his watch told him there was still an hour to go until the fireworks.
He’d park the truck and find somewhere to hide until the time came to meet Camila—and if a Cooper or Turner got anywhere near him, he’d run like hell.
“I wish I could have seen them hightailing it out of there,” Stella Turner told Maya almost an hour later. Camila hovered as close as she could to the front of the booth, working on an order of burritos and straining to hear everything Maya’s older sister said. She had raced up to the booth a few moments ago, followed by Jed, who struggled to keep up with her, leaning heavily on his cane.
Why would Carl and Olivia break into the Flying W? She had no doubt Olivia was behind it. Carl wasn’t the breaking-and-entering type.
“They’re lucky Liam didn’t have his shotgun handy,” Stella said. “He would have put out their tires. They wouldn’t have gotten anywhere.”
“At least we still have the clock,” Maya said. “No harm, no foul, I guess.”
“There’s harm a-plenty where the Coopers are concerned,” Jedidiah snapped. He looked as angry as a wet hen. “I told you I should move back into the house. The whole place is going to hell since I went to the damn Prairie Garden. I’m fit as a fiddle. No need for all that fussing they do there.”
“Fit as a fiddle, huh? Then why was Liam taking you back to the house for a rest?” Stella asked.
“I didn’t need no rest,” Jed sputtered.
“You know you love all the attention from the ladies at the Prairie Garden, Uncle Jed,” Maya teased. “That’s why you moved there. Besides, Noah was at the house. Olivia didn’t get away with it.”
Camila had a feeling Maya didn’t want Jed to move back to the ranch he still nominally owned. She understood why. He would micro-manage all of them if he lived there.
“Still—”
“Come on, I want to get some ice cream before the fireworks. You said you’d treat me,” Maya told Jed.
“Ice cream. At a time like this,” Jed said disgustedly, but his eyes lit up, and soon all three hustled away.
“Let’s pack up,” Fila said to Camila. “The fireworks will start soon. I don’t want to miss them.”
They worked together to break down the heaviest equipment as dusk settled over them until Ned, Fila’s husband, arrived in his truck with their nearly three-year-old son, Holton. Ned helped them load everything in, each of them taking turns running after the toddler when Holton made a break for it, then he and Fila said good night.
“You sure you don’t want to come with us to the fireworks?” Fila asked, Holton in her arms. The little blond boy tugged her dark braid. “We’re just going to park the truck again and head over.”
“You three go ahead.” Camila waved them on.
When she was alone, she sighed, relaxing for the first time that day as the sky darkened and the first stars appeared. If it weren’t for her date with Carl, she’d probably go straight home, but when she heard a low, masculine voice behind her say, “Hey, Camila,” her heart did a little flip.
“Hey, Carl.” Then she remembered Stella’s story. “Heard you had some excitement at the Flying W.”
He looked chagrined. “That was Olivia’s idea. She told me Noah had something for her. I should have known better than to believe her.”
“What happened?”
Carl’s story echoed Stella’s. Camila couldn’t help smiling. “Olivia nearly made you an accessory to a crime.”
“She’s lucky I was there,” Carl said grimly. “Liam came gunning in hell for leather. He was looking for a fight.”
Camila’s good mood slipped a little. “We’d better be careful, then. After that trouble last week at the Dancing Boot, he’s been pretty edgy. If anyone sees us together, it could touch off another fight.”
“It’s getting dark. We’ll go grab a place on the lawn. Somewhere shadowy.”
“Sounds good.”
They dropped off the rest of the supplies at her truck, and Carl took her hand as he led her toward the field where people were sitting to wait for the fireworks. His large hand engulfed her small one, and as usual, she was aware of Carl’s strength. There was something so masculine about him. Something that always made her want to touch him when he was near.
He surveyed the wide lawn, and Camila knew what he was thinking. There wasn’t exactly anywhere shadowy here. Carl led her to the far side of the crowd.
“I guess I should have brought a blanket,” he said, nodding at the other couples and families spread out on the lawn.
“That’s okay.” Camila wasn’t dressed up; she didn’t care if her jean shorts got grass stains. She was only concerned about getting caught.
Which was ridiculous when she thought about it. She and Carl shouldn’t have to worry about what the Turners and Coopers got up to. She decided she’d enjoy her time with Carl. Soon she wouldn’t have to worry about the Turners anymore. When she left the Flying W, she wouldn’t owe them anything.
They found a spot and sat down. Carl heaved a sigh as he settled in. “Feels like I’m always running these days,” he said, plucking a blade of grass and twirling it in his fingers.
“Know what you mean.”
He tossed the blade of grass away and touched her arm. “I’m glad to be here with you, though. I’ve been waiting a long time for this.”
“To watch fireworks?” she teased.
“To watch fireworks,” he confirmed. “And to do this.”
He leaned over, and Camila sucked in a breath, closed her eyes and waited for his kiss. She’d fantasized about this moment a million times, but if she was honest, she’d stopped believing it would ever happen. Now here they were here, and—
Carl swore. “Watch out. We’ve got company.” He pulled back, leaving Camila to open her eyes again. Heat flared up her cheeks. She must have looked ridiculous waiting there for him to plant one on her.
Carl quickly shifted a few feet away from her. Camila turned and saw Maya wending her way through the crowd. Maya waved cheerfully. “Hi!” she called out.
Camila’s heart sank. She glanced at Carl, but he was looking in the other direction, as if he hadn’t been milliseconds from kissing her.
A moment later Maya plunked herself down beside Camila, balancing an ice cream cone in one hand and holding the blanket in the other. “There you are. I was looking for you.” She tossed a blanket over Camila’s legs. “Whoops! Stand up a minute, would you, and I’ll spread this out.”
Camila did as she was told and sent an apologetic glance to Carl behind Maya’s back. He shrugged. She knew what he meant; what could they do?
“Uh, Maya—” she began, still hoping for a chance to be alone with him.
“Hey, great—this is a terrific spot to see the fireworks,” Stella called out, hurrying toward them. She plopped herself down on the blanket Maya had spread. “Liam, over here!” she shouted and waved at her brother. To Camila’s horror, Liam waved back and began to thread through the crowd toward them, too. A moment later Noah joined him, leading Jed by the elbow.
Camila bit back a long-suffering sigh. Had she really thought she and Carl could find privacy in this crowd? That’s not how things worked here in Chance Creek.
“I don’t need no help,” Jed was saying as he leaned heavily on his cane and lowered himself onto the large blanket. “Don’t know why I bothered coming. Seen more fireworks than I can count in my lifetime.”
“And you always enjoy them, Uncle Jed,” Stella told him. “Here’s your ice cream.” She handed him a sundae. “Besides, you wouldn’t want to be inside on a beautiful night like this.”
Jed made a rude noise, and despite her frustration, Camila bit back a laugh. Sometimes being around the Turners made her feel better about her own family.
Still, she turned a chagrined glance toward Carl, who was pretending to be engrossed in his cell phone. He caught her eye and winked. “It’s okay,” he mouthed at her. “Later.”
She nodded—and saw Liam take notice of Carl’s proximity, then stiffen.
“Hey, Whitfield; don’t you belong on the Cooper side of the crowd?”
“Not exactly a lot of places to sit,” Carl told him and didn’t budge despite Liam’s belligerent tone. Instead he lifted a hand to wave at Lance Cooper. “Hey, Lance! Over here,” he called.
Camila could have kicked him. Didn’t he know he was playing with fire?
Was he doing it on purpose?
He was, damn him. She supposed she couldn’t fault him for it; she’d let Maya sit with her. But how could she have stopped the woman? Now Maya and the rest of the Turners were frowning as Lance approached.
Lance was thirty-two, with dark hair and gray eyes. Camila didn’t know him well, but she imagined Carl worked with the man on a daily basis at Thorn Hill. Lance dropped down on the grass near Carl, only then seeming to notice the cluster of Turners on the blanket with Camila.
He turned his back to them. “Hi, Carl.”
“Hi, Lance,” Carl said. “How goes it?”
“Good enough. Until now,” he added loudly enough for all of them to hear. Camila shook her head when Carl caught her eye, then jumped when Lance suddenly yelled, “Steel! Over here.”
Camila felt Maya and Stella straightening by her side. Steel Cooper was a notorious troublemaker, although Camila couldn’t say what kind of trouble he made. There were rumors of fights—and more. Maybe jail time. Steel’s hair was as dark as Lance’s. There was stubble on his chin, his eyes sharp and gray. He looked like a fighter, Camila thought.
Following close behind him was his sister Olivia, blond hair pulled back in a ponytail. They made their way over and sat down next to Lance. Camila felt like a rabbit among foxes as the Coopers and Turners eyed one another sideways.
“Humph!” Camila looked up to see old Virginia Cooper marching their way. “What is this, Armistice Day?”
“There wasn’t anywhere else to sit,” Lance said petulantly.
“Life is never through offering its indignities,” Virginia pronounced, but she put out a hand and allowed Steel to help her lower to the ground. She sat ramrod straight and never looked at Jedidiah. But Jed was looking at Virginia.
Interesting, Camila thought as the first firecracker exploded into the air. Then she noticed Carl watching her, too, and found it hard to think at all.