Page 57 of Rocky Mountain Cowboy Christmas
“So…?” He drew the word out, and the hint of amusement in his voice made her eyes dart to meet his, suddenly worried that the kiss had just been a joke. The still-burning heat in his gaze and his dark, aroused flush quickly destroyed that fear.
“So…?” she echoed. Now that they weren’t tangled together, she felt her awkwardness quickly flood back in, and she started hunting for something to say. Whatwasthe etiquette for getting caught by your co-kisser’s teenage son? Her gaze darted around, and she shifted her weight, her brain spinning from what had just happened. Part of her wanted to escape the uncomfortable aftermath, while another part of her was tempted to hurl herself against him again.Kids are waiting, she reminded herself firmly, clasping her hands together as if she could physically hold herself back.
As the seconds ticked past, she couldn’t stand in silence one more second. She had to saysomething. “That was nice.” She resisted the urge to close her eyes in humiliation and bang her head against the wall behind her, and instead managed to keep holding his gaze.
His eyes widened in surprise before a huge smile took over his face, and Camille was suddenly glad that she was looking at him—and even that she’d said such a silly thing in the first place. “Itwasnice,” he said, his voice low with that growly undertone she was starting to really like. “More than nice. I wasn’t really planning to do that right here and now, but I—” He broke off when Zoe’s bedroom door opened.
“Hey,” she said, blinking a little sleepily. “Sorry I fell asleep on you, Camille.”
“No problem.” She smiled at Zoe, wishing Steve had finished what he’d started to say, but also a little relieved that the charged conversation was over, and she could have some time to work through how she felt about it in her head before having to discuss it any more. “Are you hungry?”
“Yeah.” She glanced at Steve before dropping her gaze to her feet. “Sorry about earlier, Dad.”
He quickly moved toward his daughter and wrapped her in a hug. “Nothing for you to be sorry about, sweet girl.I’msorry about Wyatt leaving, though. I know he’s a good friend, and I shouldn’t have said what I did.”
“Thanks, Dad.” Her voice got tight, but she didn’t start crying again. “Can he maybe come visit, if his mom says it’s okay?”
“Sure.” Steve held her for a long moment before kissing her head and releasing her as Camille watched quietly, smiling a little. Seeing him be sweet to his kids always made her stomach warm in a completely different way than his kisses. Both were nice, though—really nice.
As Zoe hurried down the stairs in front of them, Steve caught Camille’s hand and gave it a squeeze. She held on tightly, her stomach doing a happy backflip. Whatever was happening between them, it was a good thing, and it wasn’t over. Knowing that was enough for now.
* * *
The nightmare was different this time.
The flames were the same, and the choking smoke, and she was still trapped in a dream version of her workshop—one without any doors—but this didn’t have the same feel. She knew it was a dream this time, but she couldn’t force her brain to wake up. Instead, she lay in the inferno, unable to move or even blink.
The figure in bunker gear drew closer, leaning over her in a way that should have been comforting. She should’ve felt relief that help was there, that she’d be carried to safety, but somehow she knew that this firefighter wasn’t there to help her. The dark form was backlit by red flames, shadowing the features hiding under the helmet.
The firefighter loomed over her, closer and closer until she should’ve been able to see hazy features, but there was nothing but emptiness behind the face shield. A single blackened hand reached for her and—
With a gasp, Camille jerked awake, her eyes searching the moonlit room before she convinced herself it had been just another nightmare. She could almost smell a hint of bitter smoke, and that rattled her enough to send her fumbling for the bedside lamp. The softly glowing clock next to it told her that it was almost five.
She flicked on the light and then sucked back a scream, inhaling so hard that it ripped at her throat. On the bedside table was the blackened shape of her failed sculpture. The demon horse seemed to stare straight through her as she reached out, wondering if it was real or if she’d stumbled from one nightmare to the next.
Her hand trembled as she touched the sharp edge of the horse’s ear and then jerked her fingers back at the feel of cold, sooty metal. It was real, and she was awake.
Her brain flipped through rational explanations—one of the firefighters must’ve recovered this from the wreckage of her workshop. Had Steve placed it in her room while she was sleeping? It didn’t seem like something he’d do. He’d been very considerate about not intruding, even though it was his bedroom. Maybe he’d put it in there yesterday, and she hadn’t noticed before falling asleep.
That seemed unlikely, but she clung to that theory, not wanting to let more imaginative and scarier ideas sneak in. There was no way an inanimate object had somehow found its way from her burned house to her bedside table. That was something that would happen in a horror movie, not in real life.
Despite her firmly logical thoughts, she slid out of bed, deciding to start her day early. She wouldn’t be sleeping any more that night.
* * *
At breakfast, Camille couldn’t stop sneaking glances at Steve as the kiss ran through her mind over and over again. She was grateful for the kids’ chatter but at the same time wished she could be alone with him so that they could do a real-life replay of that kiss instead.
“Any problems when you were feeding the horses this morning?” Steve asked Micah, who shook his head as he carried his cereal bowl to the sink. The other three kids followed, clearing the table and rinsing their dishes.
The mention of horses reminded Camille of her unpleasant surprise that morning. “Did you find that…?” She paused, wanting to sayhell beastbut then remembering there were children around, even though they were busy prepping for school and didn’t look as if they were listening to the conversation. “The horse sculpture. Did you find that in the remains of my house?”
Steve’s eyebrows drew together in confusion. “What horse sculpture?”
“The one on my bedside table.” She flushed at claiming his bedroom as her own, the memory of the kiss popping back into her brain. “I mean,yourbedside table.”
His expression stayed blank. “I haven’t seen it. Was it one that was in your workshop during the fire?”
“Yeah. It was a reject. An ugly thing—hideous, actually.” She frowned. “If you didn’t find it, who put it in your room?”
