Page 47 of Rocky Mountain Cowboy Christmas
Although Steve hadn’t been at the call, the chief had mentioned it to him the next day. His tension eased at the information that there had been a good reason for a firefighter to be at Camille’s house. He almost laughed at the way he’d immediately become suspicious.
“Okay.” Camille sounded as though she was relieved by the explanation as well. “Thank you.”
She turned again to leave and Steve followed, placing a hand on her lower back and sweeping her quickly through the outer office, so Len didn’t have a chance to ask any more questions. Even with her bulky borrowed coat, Camille felt fragile under his touch. It bothered him that he’d been the one to encourage her to come here. It almost would’ve been worth it to talk to Mrs. Lin an extra fifteen minutes so that they missed their chance to see Jackie and could wait until Monday, after Camille had the weekend to recover from her traumatic experience.
They were both silent until they were in the truck. “You okay?” Steve asked, knowing it was a stupid question even as he said it. Of course she wasn’t okay. Her house had just burned down.
“Yeah,” she said, to his surprise. “I will be, at least. It was just that I hadn’t even considered… Even when I was worried that I might have accidentally started the fire, I never thought about someone else…” She broke off again, the sheer incredulity in her voice making his heart hurt. He hated that she had to think about someone being capable of doing such a horrible thing to her.
“You know it’s very unlikely, right?” he said. Since he couldn’t erase the idea from her mind, he hoped he could at least set her a little more at ease. “Jackie has to consider the possibility for every fire, since that’s part of investigating, but there’s no evidence to support arson. In fact, everything she’s found so far points to mice making a nest in your ancient wiring.”
“Okay.” The word came out in a long gust of breath. “That makes sense. Someone wanting to set fire to my housedoesn’tmake sense, since no one could possibly hate me that much.” Glancing at Steve, she must’ve noticed his lips quirk up at the corners, because she gave an amused huff and quickly added, “Not because I’m especially un-hate-able or anything.”
That got a chuckle out of him. “Un-hate-able?”
She poked him in the ribs, right in a ticklish spot, and he flinched away, really laughing now. “You know what I mean. I hardly ever go anywhere. No one knows me well enough to build up that kind of hatred—except for Mrs. Lin, maybe, and she releases her aggression in other nearly as painful ways.” Her joking words had an undercurrent of true bewilderment, and his amusement fading, Steve again wished with everything in him that she’d never had to even consider the possibility of arson.
“You are, you know,” he said, reaching over and taking her hand. He felt her flinch in surprise before gripping him firmly, almost desperately.
“I’m what?”
“Un-hate-able.” He glanced at her quickly before refocusing on the road, and she stared at him, a smile starting as if she thought he was joking and was waiting for the punch line. When he didn’t laugh, her grip on his hand tightened. “Completely un-hate-able.”
Chapter 12
Steve was wrong, Camille decided as she used a manure fork to sift through the shavings. He was the un-hate-able one—he and his four abnormally sweet children.
“Are you still working on Buttercup’s stall?” Maya asked from the aisle.
“Yes. Sorry! For one horse, she makes a huge amount of poop.”
“She may be only one horse,” Maya said, “but she’s a big one.”
“True. Okay, I think I’ve finally picked out the last of it.” Camille gave the shavings a final rake with the manure fork, making sure to bank them up around the sides of the stall, and then hoisted the muck bucket, carrying it out with her.
Maya leaned on the wheelbarrow handles, making the wheel pop off the ground a few inches. “Go ahead and dump it in, and I’ll take it out to the compost pile.”
“Thanks.” Camille emptied the muck bucket into the already half-full wheelbarrow. “What other stalls need to be cleaned?”
“None. I did the rest.”
Frowning, Camille said, “Now I feel really slow.”
“You kind of are, but it’s okay. You’ll get faster.” After giving Camille a commiserating pat on the arm, Maya grabbed the wheelbarrow handles again and pushed it down the aisle, leaving Camille unsure of whether to be amused or offended by the critique. She snorted a laugh and went to switch out her manure fork for a broom.
By the time Maya returned and put the now-empty wheelbarrow away, Camille had finished sweeping the aisle clear of dust and bits of hay.
“Thanks!” Maya grinned at her. “Sweeping is my least favorite.”
“Really? You’d rather clean stalls?” They walked through the quiet barn. All the stalls were empty, the horses either turned out in one of the pastures or, in Buttercup and Harry’s cases, at work towing trees and giving rides to excited kids. Camille loved the quiet peace of the barn, the cold, late-morning sunshine streaming through windows and the open top of the Dutch door, and everything smelling of pine shavings and hay. She’d willingly spend the whole day in the barn, rather than join the busy crowd at the store or in the lot, but she reminded herself of her pledge to help out however possible, even if that meant putting her scant customer-service skills to work.
Maya considered the question carefully before answering. “Yes. I don’t mind cleaning stalls that much, and Ihatesweeping the aisle. All the dust, and I just get it done when someone walks through the barn with muddy boots or carrying a bale of hay—or worse, Tollie drags a pine branch in here, so there are pine needleseverywhere…” She swung her arms out in huge circles.
Camille giggled at Maya’s dramatic gestures, and Maya joined in, and by the time they left the barn and walked down the path toward the store, they were laughing their heads off for no reason except that the other person’s snorts kept setting them off again.
“Hey, beautiful ladies,” Ryan said, and Camille quickly sobered. It was the first time she’d seen him since he’d dropped her off at Steve’s after the fire, and he was a visceral reminder of why she hadn’t been laughing much over the past day and a half. “What are you two up to?”
“We just finished cleaning the barn,” Maya said, and Camille gave an agreeing bob of her head, thinking about how handy it was to have Maya around. If she planned it right, she might never have to speak to anyone she didn’t want to ever again. At the thought, she mentally scolded herself. As pushy as Ryan had been before the fire, he’d been concerned and helpful that night, even offering to let her stay with him in his cabin—not that she would’ve taken him up on his offer. Holding on to that thought, she gave him a smile, which he quickly returned.
