Page 17 of Rocky Mountain Cowboy Christmas
Putting an arm around her shoulders, he squeezed her against his side. “Thank you, Maya.”
She leaned in to him for a moment before skipping away to reorganize the messy pine-bough display. Turning back to Will, Steve asked, “What are you planning for this afternoon?”
“Homework.” He laughed at Steve’s startled expression. “That was the deal, remember? If I want to go with Connor’s family to the Avalanche game in Denver tomorrow, I need to have everything ready for Monday before I leave.”
“Right.” Steve gave himself a mental shake. Now that the kids were getting older, their schedules were getting busier. Between keeping up with their activities, working at the ranch, and starting with the Borne fire department, he struggled to stay on top of everything. “Good. Go ahead then.”
As he watched Will head for the door, calling out a goodbye to his sister, who waved pine boughs at him in response, Steve wondered how he’d managed to raise such gregarious, cheerful children. He’d always been serious and introverted—like Micah was—and he kept waiting for Will to suffer from teenage angst, but at almost fifteen, Will continued to be blissfully sunny. Steve hadn’t expected his kids to turn out so brilliant and talented and…well, complicated, either. Rearing them had become something of a minefield as he tried to encourage them while dodging hurt feelings and sudden mood changes and—with Zoe—literal explosions.
“Do you have any more of these?” an elderly woman asked, holding up Camille’s metal angel. “I want to get these for my daughters, but I only see the one.”
“That’s the last one, but the artist will be making more.” The reminder that Camille would be coming out to the ranch with another delivery brightened his mood. His impatience to see her again surprised him. It had been a long time since he’d been this interested in a woman, and the realization both excited and concerned him. He wouldn’t be the only one affected if things didn’t work out. The kids had already experienced too much loss in their lives, and he didn’t want to set them up for more.
“When will they be coming in?” the woman asked, pulling him out of his thoughts.
“Soon, hopefully.” Despite the Ryan issue, Steve really did hope Camille would return soon. The last thing he needed was another complication in his life, but his heart wasn’t listening to reason. He was already much too eager to see her again.
Chapter 4
Camille glared at the partially finished piece on her workbench. “I hate to tell you this, but you are hideous.”
The metal horse stared back…well, with one eye, at least. The other, a repurposed bolt, wandered off in the other direction. It was just one of the things wrong about her latest attempt at sculpting—one of very, very many things. Its head was cocked in a way more reminiscent of a terrier than a draft horse, and its body twisted awkwardly to the side. She couldn’t even look at what was supposed to be the two children on its back. They looked like vicious elves from a twisted fairy tale, riding a lopsided beast.
The piece was the furthest thing she could imagine from the idyllic scene she had in her mind. Ever since she’d watched Buttercup carrying the two adorable kids through the snow, dragging a tree behind her, Camille had wanted to recreate that feeling of Christmassy goodness and wonder. This, though, was just scary and awful and monstrous and…no.Nope. Nope. Nope.
“I need a break.”
She charged out of the workshop and burst through the door, startling Lucy into bolting from the kitchen.
“Sorry, LuLu,” she called after the cat, knowing that Lucy was headed to her favorite hiding spot—the top shelf of the bookcase in Camille’s bedroom. Guilt eased her frustration, and she felt more mopey than angry by the time she plopped down on the couch with a container of peanut-butter blossoms in her lap. “I really shouldn’t be eating you for lunch.” She glanced at the clock and blinked, shocked at how much time she’d wasted. “Or dinner, I guess.”
After regarding the cookie in her hand thoughtfully for a moment, she took a bite and shrugged. Once she was finished with Christmas orders, she’d have time to do things like cook nutritious meals and grocery shop for more ingredients than a single bag of chocolate stars. She glanced around the kitchen and winced, mentally adding housecleaning to her post-Christmas to-do list.
A knock on the front door made her freeze, cookie halfway to her mouth. Her first instinct was to go perfectly still, like a deer faced with a hunter. Her next thought was to hide, but she knew it was too late. The couch—and Camille—was in the direct line of sight of anyone standing at the front door, and she could see Mrs. Lin peering through the window. Camille had already been spotted. Hiding was useless at this point. Swallowing a groan, she returned the cookie to the container and pushed to her feet. As she headed for the door, giving Mrs. Lin a wave and a forced smile, she vowed to stay in the kitchen next time, where she could hide from any well-meaning neighbors all day, if she had to.
“Mrs. Lin,” she said, opening the door. “Hi.”
“Camille. I brought an assortment of cookies.” Mrs. Lin stepped forward, using the tin of cookies in her hands like a battering ram, forcing Camille to step back before she got knocked over. A moment later, when Mrs. Lin was inside the house, looking around disapprovingly, Camille wished she’d held her ground.
“That was…nice of you,” she said lamely, closing the door. As much as she wished that Mrs. Lin would hand over the cookies and leave, she knew from bitter experience that wouldn’t be the case.
“Didn’t your grandmother teach you how to run a vacuum?” Mrs. Lin asked,tsking as she took in the state of the room.
“Yes, she did,” Camille said on a sigh. “This is my busy season, though, so I get a little…behind.” She swiped at the dust that had gathered on her stained-glass lamp. The clean streak left by her fingers just made the rest of the lampshade look dirtier.
“Busy season? People buy those things you make for Christmas? For gifts?” From her tone, it was obvious that Mrs. Lin couldn’t imagine who hated their friends and family enough to do that.
“They do, actually.”Be nice to the elderly lady, she reminded herself. Mrs. Lin and her grandma had been the very definition of frenemies. After her grandma’s death, Mrs. Lin had seemed lost, losing her sharp wit and even sharper tongue. It was just in the past few years that Mrs. Lin had seemed to rally, starting up a competitive rivalry with Mrs. Murphy, the owner of Borne Market. Camille still felt a sense of relief along with her irritation at Mrs. Lin’s trademark feistiness, since she’d been worried the woman would never recover.
Mrs. Lintsked again. It was one of her favorite sounds, Camille had discovered, along with loud, martyred sighs. “People throw their money away on the craziest things. Did you know they have spas for dogs now? Spas.” She shook her head. “For dogs.”
“I suppose that’s good for my business,” Camille said, trying to joke. Working on the hell beast of a sculpture looked wonderful now, compared to a long chat with Mrs. Lin, who gave her a sharp look as she handed Camille her coat.
“You’re going to start a dog spa? Oh, no. That’s not happening. The zoning is all wrong. Who wants to live next to all that barking? You’re starting one of those dog spas over my dead body, missy!”
“No,” Camille said faintly. “I meant my art business…” When Mrs. Lin’s glare didn’t lighten, Camille let it go. “Would you like some tea?”
“I don’t know. Is the kitchen as much of a mess as this room?”
