Page 42 of Rocky Mountain Cowboy Christmas
“She’s a stickler about not running her mouth before she’s thoroughly investigated and has solid conclusions,” Steve said, and Camille resisted the urge to protest. She didn’t know how long a fire investigation usually took, but her nerves wouldn’t be able to withstand waiting days, weeks, or even months for an answer. “Just between us, though, her initial impression is that it was an issue with the wiring.”
“What kind of issue?”
He raised his free hand in a slight shrug. “When fires start in an older house like that, it’s commonly because the knob-and-tube wiring gets compromised.”
“Compromised?” she asked.
“Usually by rodents.”
“Oh.” Her mind immediately went to the mice. Even though they could’ve been the reason her house burned down, she hoped that they’d managed to escape. “There were mice. Lucy didn’t seem to have much interest in catching them.” She thought of the one that her cat had dropped on her foot. It had seemed so long ago, even though it’d only been a couple of days. “Well, killing them, at least.”
Smiling a little, he looked down at the cat. “We all have different strengths and interests, don’t we, Lucy?”
She purred, seemingly not at all bothered by their new homeless state. Camille felt a little lighter, but she wanted to know for sure that Steve wasn’t protecting her feelings.
“It couldn’t have been something I did?” she asked. “A stray spark from the torch or forgetting to unplug something or…” Her brain ran over everything she’d done that night before falling asleep, but she’d been so tired and so much had happened since then that she couldn’t remember doing anything that could end up being a fire hazard. She’d been sketching, for Pete’s sake. That seemed like the safest thing she could do in her workshop. “I don’t know. Maybe an equipment short or something?”
“No.” The bald answer made Camille’s muscles go limp with relief. The vague guilt she’d been feeling since the night before drained out of her as he continued. “We do know for sure that the fire started inside the north wall of the workshop. It wasn’t anywhere close to your workbench.”
She mentally ran over everything that had been close to the north wall. All she’d had on that side of the workshop was a set of shelves holding wood and metal that had been too big or too fragile to be tossed in her scrap bin. Nothing had even been plugged into any of the outlets on the north wall.
Another wave of relief coursed through her. “Good.” The word seemed so small for the huge weight that had been lifted off her. “Stupid mice, though.”
Steve huffed a quiet laugh as he continued to stroke Lucy. “I’m surprised she’s willing to get near me,” he said, his hand continuing its regular movement, stroking Lucy’s back over and over. Camille found it mesmerizing. “She wasn’t that thrilled with me last night.”
“She’s forgiving.” Camille made a wry grimace. “When she first showed up at my house, she had pretty much every medical issue known to vets. The number of pills I’ve forced down this cat’s throat… She still lets me love on her, though. Well, if she’s in the mood.”
He chuckled, rubbing under Lucy’s chin, and the cat closed her eyes in bliss, purring loudly.
I don’t blame you one bit, Lucy girl, Camille thought. If Steve had been rubbing her, she was pretty certain she’d be purring, too. Just the thought made her cheeks heat, and she quickly ducked her head, pretending to add to her notes until she could get her reaction under control.It’s the fire. That was the reason her emotions were jumping around all over the place—from grief to hopelessness to gratitude to lust.
As much as she enjoyed staying with Steve, she hadn’t even begun to process the loss of her house. It had been the only safe shelter she’d ever known, her sanctuary since her grandma had brought her there as a child. Now, that was gone, and she felt raw and naked and utterly vulnerable. All the physical mementos of her grandma and even her mom were gone, and it felt as if she was truly alone in the world. No family, no house, no workshop…just memories.
Clearing her throat, Camille stood abruptly. “My clothes are probably ready to go into the dryer.”
After gently placing Lucy on the floor, Steve got up as well. “There’s a plastic bin in the shop that would work for a litter box, at least to tide Lucy over until we get back. I’ll go grab it. Figured we’d have lunch while your clothes are drying.” He gave her a quick up-and-down. Instead of being offensive, his almost bashful manner made the gesture seem sweet. “You can’t go outside like that. Your legs would freeze.”
Now that her spinning thoughts had been mapped out with Steve’s help, her stomach had settled down enough for her to realize she was actually really hungry. “That sounds good.”
Giving her legs a final, quick glance, he went into the entryway. As she turned toward the laundry, she heard him talking. His words were quiet, so she didn’t think he was directing them toward her. Curious if someone else was there, especially since she hadn’t heard the door, she moved to the entryway.
Steve was the only one there. His back was to her as he pulled on his boots, stomping his feet into them almost angrily. “Get yourself together,” he muttered. As Camille realized that he was talking to himself—lecturinghimself, more accurately—she started to smile. It was something she always did, and seeing strong, calm, and confident Steve exhibit the same quirk made her feel like less of a dork. “You’re not a sixteen-year-old kid. Quit talking about her legs. Quitlookingat her legs. She’s going to think she’s living with a creeper.”
Covering her mouth with her hand to keep her laughter from bursting out, Camille tiptoed backward into the kitchen. It wasn’t until she was in the laundry room with the door closed that she let her giggles escape. Underneath her amusement was a tickled sense of pride. She’d never thought about her legs much or considered them one of her outstanding features. Her hair and her full lips were her favorites, and the rest she thought to be fairly average. Steve, however, had apparently been entranced by them. She’d spent so much time getting distracted by how good-looking Steve was that it was nice to know it wasn’t a totally one-sided admiration after all.
Once her clothes were in the dryer and her pleased laughter had settled, she returned to the kitchen and headed for the fridge. One thing she’d decided while making the list was that she was going to do her best to pull her weight at the ranch, whether that meant cooking or cleaning or barn chores or even working at the store.
She cringed at the thought of the last one. Crowds of demanding customers weren’t her favorite thing, but she’d deal with them if Steve requested it.
By the time he returned from the shop, she’d fed Lucy some leftover chicken and had two cheese sandwiches in a skillet on the stove.
“That’ll be perfect,” she said, seeing that he’d half filled the plastic bin with fine wood shavings. “Thank you. Lucy thanks you, too.” The cat was, in fact, rubbing around Steve’s ankles.
“I put some stall bedding in there,” he said, tucking the bin into an out-of-the-way corner of the kitchen before washing his hands. His cheeks were ruddy from the cold, and Camille felt much better admiring how great he looked all wind-tossed now that she knew he had similar thoughts about her. “Think that’ll work? I thought about using chicken grit for cat litter, but I worried it might be too rough on Lucy’s paws.”
She was quickly finding that when Steve was sweet to her cat, her insides turned to goo. “This is perfect.”
Giving one of his short nods, he glanced at the grilled cheese sandwiches. “Smells good. Want some soup with that?”
