Page 43 of Rocky Mountain Cowboy Christmas
“Sure.” She flipped one of the sandwiches, pleased that it was a perfect golden brown. Her cooking skills were limited, but she could make a mean grilled cheese. “I was going to heat some up but didn’t see any in the pantry.”
He grinned proudly as he opened the freezer. “Micah’s our chef. He’s even better than Nate, and that’s saying something. Micah went on a soup-making binge a few weeks ago when we had that cold snap. We ate so much soup that we finally said enough and froze all that was left.” Pulling out a plastic container, he held it up so she could see. “Tomato basil.”
“He made soup? From scratch?” It had never occurred to her to even try. “I’d never thought about soup coming from anywhere except a can.”
As he popped the frozen soup in the microwave, Steve gave her a conspiratorial smile. “Me either, until Micah started putting soup bones and cooking wine on the grocery list.”
With a laugh, she pulled two bowls and two plates out of the cupboard. “Your kids are sort of amazing.”
“Yeah.” He sounded proud but baffled. The microwave dinged, and he poured the soup into a saucepan, placing it on the stove to finish heating. “Growing up, I was so average, kind of doofy, even. Don’t really know what I did to deserve such incredible kids.”
Camille gave a little snort as she flipped the sandwiches onto the plates. “Please. I was there. You werenotaverage, and you were definitely not doofy.”
“That’s because you were, what…four years younger than me? You were too young to notice the doofiness.” He leaned a hip against the counter as he stirred the soup, one corner of his mouth creeping up into a teasing half smile. Once again, she was struck by the homey intimacy of the moment, cooking together as they talked about his kids. It was wonderful and surreal at the same time.
“Three years younger,” she corrected him. “I was a freshman when you were a senior, and I was well aware of any doofy qualities in everyone else. Jeremy Dill, for example.”
Steve groaned even as he laughed. “Dilly! I’d forgotten about him. Yeah, he was doofier than I was.”
“By far, and he still is. He sells insurance in Ebba, but he still lives in Borne, and I run into him far too often.” Putting the plated sandwiches on the table, she got two bowls from the cupboard and then filled a couple of glasses with water. “I’m still not convinced you have any doofy qualities.” As she put spoons next to their plates, she realized that she hadn’t taken into account whether his brothers would be there for lunch. “I forgot to ask if anyone else would be eating with us.”
“Just us. Nate and Ryan are working the store and lot today. Weekdays tend to be quieter, so they’ll swing by one at a time when they can grab something to eat.” The soup started bubbling, and Steve hurried to lift it off the burner. “I’d be in trouble with Micah if he saw that. I’m not supposed to let it boil.” As he divided the soup between the two bowls, Camille hid a smile. It was so obvious how much he not only loved his kids, but also liked them like crazy. “What?” he asked.
Guess she hadn’t hidden her smile well enough. “You’re such a good dad,” she answered honestly.
His cheeks darkened, and he concentrated on getting the soup into the bowls. “Thank you. That means a lot. Now that they’re older, it’s gotten harder. I worry that I’m doing it wrong, that I’m going to mess them up somehow.” He sounded so sincere that she felt a tight squeeze in her chest. If she wasn’t careful, Steve Springfield could very easily put a serious dent in her heart.
Chapter 11
It didn’t matter how many times Steve had seen a similar scene; it never got any easier. Today was especially hard, since it was Camille’s house, and she was the one standing by him trying to keep it together as she took in the ruined mess that used to be her home. He thought about saying one of the usual platitudes about how good it was that no one got hurt but decided to stay silent. It was true, of course, but it was also true that losing a home and belongings to a fire was a terrible, traumatic experience. Camille didn’t need to hear once again that she was lucky to have survived. It would most likely just make her feel guilty for grieving about things, and that was nothing she should have to feel bad about.
It was killing him not to be able to do anything to make her feel better, though. She looked so pale and small and sad, huddled in the oversized coat he’d loaned her. Underneath that, he knew her hoodie and shirt had small, burned holes and smelled faintly of smoke, an odor that washing hadn’t completely removed.
He wished they were at a different point, that he could hug her and tell her how glad he was that she was okay, that he could’ve held her as she slept in his bed, wearing his clothes… He shifted his weight, uncomfortable with where his mind had gone. Once the image popped into his head, however, it was difficult to dislodge.
“I can’t believe this is what’s left,” Camille said quietly, immediately snapping his attention back to where it should be. The wind caught a pale strand of her hair, blowing it across her cheek, and she absently tucked it into her hood. “It was so fast. One minute I was safe in my home, and the next it’s like this.” She swept a hand out, indicating the charred skeleton of the house looming above the broken and blackened pieces of what remained. “Can I go in there to see if I can find anything?”
At the crack in her voice, Steve couldn’t take it anymore. He couldn’t let her stand there, looking so alone and devastated. Wrapping his arms around her shoulders, he tucked her against him. Her body went stiff at the contact, but then she relaxed into him, leaning her slight weight into his side. She felt even smaller than she looked.
“Soon,” he said, answering her question. “We need to make sure that what’s remaining won’t fall on you first.”
“I don’t mind waiting, actually.” He felt her reach behind him and grab a handful of his jacket, as if to help hold herself up. “I’m honestly a little relieved. Digging through that and finding pieces of my life—well, whatusedto be my life—is going to be tough.”
“You’re tougher, so you’ll be okay.” He tightened his grip on her shoulder, pulling her in closer against him. The worst part of being a firefighter was when he couldn’t protect people from things like this. “I mean, look at everything you did today.”
She pushed far enough away to be able to look up at him, wearing the tiniest of smiles. “I made a list and shopped—with your help. It wasn’t exactly award-worthy.”
He beamed at her, disproportionately elated by her small attempt at a joke. “You braved the DMV, Christmas-shopping-time Target, Borne Bank,andyour first visit to your house, all while talking to your insurance agent and canceling utilities. If that isn’t award-worthy, then I don’t know what is.”
Her smile grew, making him warm with pride. He’d actually done it—he’d made her feel a little better. Turning, she gave him a quick hug and a kiss on the cheek. By the time he’d unfrozen from his initial shock at the unexpected gesture and how very, very good it felt, she was already releasing him. Stepping back, she turned and headed to his truck. As warmth spread through his chest, he followed.
“Were you serious about…?” Trailing off, she looked around, as if checking for eavesdroppers. As he got closer, she finished in a loud whisper. “About the Zoe thing? With my car?”
He laughed. Something about Camille’s exaggerated attempt at keeping Zoe’s not-quite-age-appropriate skill a secret struck him as extraordinarily funny. “Yeah,” he said. “The closest dealership is southeast of Denver, so that’d be an expensive tow.”
“I know I’ve said it about a thousand times today, but thank you, Steve. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.” She grimaced, her gaze faraway, as if she was thinking about terrible things. “I do know, actually. I would’ve run back into my house and probably died.”
“No. Mackenzie would’ve stopped you. She was right behind me. I just got to you first, so she ran back for the med kit and blanket.” He opened the passenger door for her, using the movement to hide his discomfort. It’d always been tough for him to listen to people’s heartfelt gratitude. He didn’t know how to let them know that he understood how much they appreciated his help. A part of him didn’t feel like he deserved the thanks when he was just doing his job. If it wasn’t him, another firefighter or cop or EMT would’ve stepped in to do the same thing. He did his job, and he wasn’t comfortable being called a hero.
