Page 20 of Rocky Mountain Cowboy Christmas
Mrs. Lin brushed at invisible crumbs. “Not that I took pictures of,” she finally admitted.
“So, a substitute mailman, a barn-wood salesman, and a mysterious and kind of creepy firefighter, two of which I never saw or invited in.” And one she’d never, ever date, no matter what he seemed to think.
“You might twist things around with your excuses,” Mrs. Lin said, “and I might not have any definitive evidence yet, but mark my words…I’ll get those pictures eventually. Then you can try to explain away your behavior, but everyone will know the truth.” She smiled slightly—a small, satisfied grin. “Just wait. I asked my daughter-in-law for night-vision binoculars for Christmas. She’s still desperate to suck up to me after the potato salad incident, so you know she’s getting the most expensive, high-tech binoculars that she can find.” Mrs. Lin gave an evil, cackling laugh worthy of the most heinous super-villain, and Camille held back a nervous chuckle.
“If I turn this place into a brothel,” she said, “I promise that I will pose for any and all pictures you want to take with your phone or your night-vision binoculars.”
Mrs. Lin sat back, crossing her ankles delicately, and Camille noticed that only a few scattered crumbs were left in the cookie tins. She’d sat through an entire crazy conversation with Mrs. Lin and didn’t even have any leftover cookies to show for it.
“That does not sound like something I would wish to see,” Mrs. Lin said.
Camille sputtered. “You just said—”
“The binoculars will be purely for research purposes. I need to keep an eye on this neighborhood. It’s gone downhill ever since the Murphys moved in.” Before Camille could address the many things that were wrong with her neighbor’s statements—with her entirevisit—Mrs. Lin gave her a thin, triumphant smile. “My tea has gone cold.”
Swallowing a resigned sigh, Camille stood to make more tea.
You’d better appreciate how nice I’m being to your friend, Grandma, she thought as she filled the kettle with water.I’ve only had about three homicidal thoughts the entire time.
“Do you have any more cookies? You’ve eaten all of the ones I brought.”
Okay, four homicidal thoughts.
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.
