Page 29 of Rocky Mountain Cowboy Christmas
“Hmm…” Camille looked back and forth between the drawing and the photo. “I think the problem is that there’s really no line here between her nose and her cheek.” She pointed at the spot on the framed picture and then the matching spot on his sketch. “But you added one here. I think it’s a case of your mind telling you what should be there versus what your eyes are actually seeing.”
His forehead wrinkling in concentration, Micah looked back and forth between the two pictures. “You’re right.” He took the sketchbook off her lap and hurried over to his desk. “I’m going to fix that right now.”
Happy that she’d been able to help, Camille stood up. “I’m going to give your sisters a hand in cleaning up from lunch. Your drawings are wonderful, Micah. They’re technically very good, but they’re also very evocative.”
He looked up from his sketch, frowning. “What does that mean?”
“Evocative?” When he nodded, she said, “It means that I feel strong emotions when I look at them. That’s good. It’s what art is supposed to do.”
Although he flushed a little, he held her gaze. “Your sculptures make me feel things. When I look at the horse Dad got for us, it makes me remember what it was like when my mom was alive, safe and…” His voice trailed off as he dropped his gaze to the paper in front of him.
“Thank you,” Camille said softly, touched. “That’s the best compliment I’ve ever gotten. I’m glad the horse stayed here with you, since it gives you that.”
Micah kept his head down, his attention fixed on the sketch, although he didn’t move to draw anything.
“Thank you for showing me your drawings.” She cleared her throat, still a little emotional. “I’ll see you later, okay?”
“Bye.” The word was more of a grunt, and Camille bit back a smile that was shaky around the edges. His surly, Joe-like exterior hid an emotional, creative soul, and she felt lucky she’d gotten a glimpse of the real Micah. She slipped out of his room, closing the door silently behind her.
When she reached the kitchen, everything was clean and put away, and Maya and Zoe had already left the house. Even with everyone except her and Micah gone, the house still felt warmly welcoming, as if the Springfields’ personalities had already left a mark on the place, as if their laughter and squabbles and chatter had soaked into the walls, bringing the house to life. It was hard to leave, especially when she thought about spending the rest of the day in the quiet solitude of her workshop. She loved her house, but even when her grandma was alive, it had never felt as much like a home as this place already did. Shaking herself out of her reverie, she pulled on her boots and coat and let herself back out into the chilly outdoors.
As she started toward the store, Camille heard the jangle of sleigh bells and saw Steve jogging toward her, a draft horse that wasn’t Buttercup trotting next to him. She stopped, struck yet again by his rugged beauty and the picture-perfect scene of his strong form next to the huge chestnut horse, their breath turning to steam in the clear, cold air. Even the sunny day seemed to exist just to be a perfect backdrop for Steve in this moment.
“Hey,” he said, not even breathing hard after his jog. “Glad I caught you before we had to head out to get another tree.”
The horse lowered his head to her shoulder and breathed puffs of warm air onto her neck, making her giggle. “Who’s this?”
“Harry. He’s green, and we need to work on him respecting people’s boundaries, but he means well.”
“Oh, I don’t mind him breathing on me.” She rubbed the horse’s cheek as he lipped at her collar. “He’s very handsome.”But not as handsome as Steve, a wicked voice whispered. She firmly ignored it, knowing that she couldn’t focus on thoughts like that if she wanted to be able to have a conversation without blushing.
“He knows it, too. He’s like Ryan that way.”
When Camille let out a surprised laugh, Steve winced, rubbing his neck with the hand not holding Harry’s lead rope. “Sorry. That was rude.”
“Maybe,” she said, still amused, as Harry nosed at her pockets, probably checking for treats. “But it was also true.”
“Hey,” he said to Harry, giving the lead rope a sharp tug so that the horse backed up a few steps. “Quit trying to mug her for carrots.” He shot her a quick glance, looking uncharacteristically uncertain. “So…you and Ryan really aren’t…?”
“Aren’t what?” she asked, confused by the half of a question. As soon as she said it, though, she realized what he’d meant. “Oh! No. We’re not doing anything. I mean, he’s asked, a bunch of times, actually, which surprised me, since he’d pretty much looked right through me until you found me at the scrapyard—not that I was lost, of course—and he walked back with me and Sasha. Anyway, whenever he tries to drag me somewhere for lunch, I run away or tell him I can’t because I need to feed my cat.”
Steve gave his rare, booming laugh. “You turned him down because you needed tofeed your cat? No wonder he’s so touchy when it comes to you.”
“He’s touchy about me? Why? I don’t think he’s all that interested.” Not really interested, the way she was in Steve. “I know he’s been persistent about trying to get me to go out with him—well, for the last few weeks, at least—but I figured he asks out everyone he runs into, and most people don’t reject his offers, so I’m just a challenge.”
“It’s true he’s not used to being turned down.”
She shrugged. “He’ll need to get used to it with me. I’m just not interested.”
“Good to know.” Steve’s gaze seemed several degrees warmer than usual, and Camille found prickles of sweat beading under her coat as she tried to puzzle out his meaning. Why was it good to know that she wasn’t interested in his brother? The way he was eyeing her made her almost think that Steve was actually attracted to her.
Her breath caught at the thought, but she immediately doubted herself. Beautiful, kind, and strong Steve Springfield had to have just as beautiful, kind, and strong women falling at his feet on a regular basis. Why would he be interested in an almost-hermit who answered almost every question with a nervous monologue? Despite all that, she knew she wasn’t imagining the heat in his eyes when he looked at her.
Suddenly tired of not knowing what was going on in his mind, she blurted out, “Why is it good to know?”
He shifted closer, nudging Harry back when the horse took the opportunity to try to nibble on Camille’s coat again. With Steve this close, she could smell his evergreen and peppermint scent. His coat was unzipped slightly, showing his insulated flannel shirt underneath, and the urge to press her face against that soft-looking fabric was so strong that her breath caught. She jerked her gaze back to his. There was no missing the heat in his eyes now, especially as he tipped his head down so their faces were even closer. Her heart thrummed in her chest at his nearness, making it almost impossible for her to hear his words. “I wanted to ask y—”
“Steve!” Nate’s yell drifted from the store lot, cutting Steve off midword and smashing the perfect, crystalized moment between them. Closing his eyes for a moment, he let out a hard breath that stirred the strands of hair on her forehead before he turned toward his brother.
