Page 41 of Rocky Mountain Cowboy Christmas
He waved a hand, as if brushing off her worries. “It’s fine. I’ve had that couch for years and know exactly how to avoid the uncomfortable spots.”
“Well, thank you again for letting me sleep here. Your bed was very comfortable.”
His eyes narrowed slightly, heat flaring in them again, and she shifted her weight, both delighted and a little flustered by his reaction. Despite her borrowed, ill-fitting, very unflattering outfit, he was obviously interested, and her body was responding with corresponding arousal. “Good.” His voice was deep, even gritty.
Her arms squeezed her clothes against her convulsively. “Um. So. These are all smoky and sooty and really pretty gross, but they’re my only clothes left in the world now, so I’d better go put these in…” Her nerve broke, and she darted into the kitchen. By the time she’d found the laundry room and was putting her clothes in the washer, she was already regretting not staying and seeing where her strange conversation with Steve would’ve led. It had seemed sointimate, talking to him after they’d both just woken up, with her in his house, in his bed, in his clothes…
Her cheeks felt like they were on fire. Blowing out a long breath, she added detergent and started the washer. She needed to stop thinking about it, or she wouldn’t be able to look at him, much less have a normal conversation. It was stupid to focus so many of her thoughts on him right now, anyway. Her house had burned down. There were a lot of critical things she needed to do, and they did not include mooning over Steve. Determined to act like a normal person for once, she stepped out into the kitchen.
Steve was standing at the counter, his back to her. Despite her resolution, she had to admire the way his strong form filled out his T-shirt and jeans…especially the jeans.
“Coffee?” he asked, pulling a filled mug from the Keurig and holding it out to her.
“No, thank you. I’m not a big coffee fan.” At times like these, when any normal person would have used coffee as a comfort and a brace, she wished she did drink it. “Could I have paper and a pen?”
After placing the coffee on the table, he rummaged in a drawer and pulled out a notepad. After a few more moments of digging, he offered it to her, along with a pencil, a sparkly blue marker, a black Sharpie, and a broken piece of chalk. “Will one of these work? Otherwise, I should have a pen in the study.”
For some reason, the motley assortment of writing utensils made her smile. It reminded her of how varied—and delightful—his kids were. She selected the blue marker. “This is perfect.”
She sat down at the table and immediately started making her list, writing down the essentials that had been spinning in her head since the fire. Settling into the chair across from her, Steve quietly sipped his coffee.
When she finally began running out of things to put down, she’d covered a full page and part of a second in sparkly blue words. The length of the list made her sag in her chair. It seemed enormously impossible, especially without a vehicle or a phone or any form of ID or access to her money or even a coat—
“Here.” As if he’d read her mind, Steve slid his cell phone toward her. “Call your insurance company first. When you’re ready to go, I’ll bring you into town. You can borrow a coat from me. It’ll be too big.” For a moment, his gaze darted down to her—well, his—T-shirt. “But it’ll keep you warm. We’ll go to the bank, and then we’ll drive to the Target in Ebba. You can get clothes, toiletries, and pet supplies there. There’s a DMV, too, so we can find out how to go about getting a copy of your license. Once we get back, you can use my laptop to order a copy of your birth certificate and do whatever you need to do as far as notifying your customers goes.” Gently taking the marker out of her hand, he made a mark by the first ten or so items on her list. “If you promise not to tell anyone, we’ll get Zoe to hot-wire your Buick so we can drive it to the dealership and get a new key made. That way, you won’t have to have it towed.”
She could only stare at him, so grateful she felt shaky and close to tears.
“If you’re up for it, we’ll stop by Jackie’s office. She’s the fire marshal. You can give your statement, and she has some helpful information about what to do after a fire. You’ll get through this, Camille. It won’t be much fun, but we’ll all be here, doing whatever we can to help.”
Setting down the marker, he picked up his coffee again, as calm and steady as if he hadn’t just taken her upside-down world and turned it right side up again. She was trying to focus on what she needed to do in the next few minutes or hours so that she could ignore the enormity of what had happened—how her home, her haven, had been completely destroyed. Everything had seemed so hopeless and overwhelming and impossible until Steve lined up the first steps for her.
She blinked back tears and took quavering breath after quavering breath, trying to think of the words that would express how grateful she was and how wonderfulhewas. When she could finally speak, what came out was not what she’d planned. “Zoe knows how to hot-wire a car?”
He grinned at her from behind his coffee cup, looking so mischievous and adorable that she fell in love with him a little. “It’s a handy talent.”
“Yeah, it is.” She looked down at her list again. Although it was still painfully long, it wasn’t nearly as overwhelming anymore. Even the items that Steve hadn’t checked off seemed much more possible now. Looking up at him, she said simply, “Thank you.”
He tipped his chin down in acknowledgment, falling silent as she turned back to her list. She made notes on the items he’d mentioned and added a few more things that she’d missed the first time. Now that the list didn’t feel as hopeless, it felt good to be doing something constructive.
A short time later, Camille looked up again. “There. Now I feel like I have a rough—really rough—plan for getting my life back together.”
“Good.” Steve had finished his coffee and was sitting back in his chair, stroking Lucy, who was curled on his lap. The sight of her reminded Camille of how close she’d come to losing her cat, and her eyes grew blurry yet again.
Blinking rapidly, she managed to keep the tears from falling. There was too much to do for her to collapse now. “Thank you again for saving her.”
He dipped his head in a nod. She figured he was probably tired of her thanking him, but that was just too bad, since she had a feeling she’d be doing it a lot more in the coming days and weeks. Besides, he deserved every thank-you—and so much more.
“What…” She paused, not wanting to ask since she really didn’t want to know the answer. It was important for her to find out, though, so she took a deep breath and tried again. “What’s left of the house? Anything?”
He paused before he answered, and Camille’s stomach tightened with anxiety. “Not much. We pulled a few things out that you’ll need to take a look at, see if you want to salvage anything…especially your metalwork. The house itself, though… It’s gone.” He held her gaze as he spoke, not cringing away from sharing the bad news.
Camille, however, did flinch. She’d thought she’d accepted that the house had been reduced to blackened scrap and ashes, but it still hurt to hear it said so bluntly. There must’ve been a little bubble of hope tucked way down deep that her home, her grandma’s home, could be fixed. “Okay.” The word quivered, and she straightened in her chair, determined not to break down over something she’d already known. The second question, however, was even more difficult to ask. “D-do you know…” Her mouth felt uncomfortably dry, and she swallowed hard. Steve’s sympathetic gaze was about three seconds away from making her cry, so she just blurted out the rest of it. “What caused the fire?”
As the question hung in the air, Camille felt her muscles tighten more and more with every second that ticked by. She knew that Steve wasn’t trying to torture her. He just wanted to choose the right words. Still, the waiting was almost intolerable when she was about to find out if it was all her fault.
“The fire marshal’s just started investigating,” he said, and that didn’t help at all.
“There’s a theory already, though, isn’t there?” She tried to hide that her breaths were coming in quick, shallow gasps, but Steve’s concerned gaze showed that he was aware of how emotionally fragile and on edge she felt.
