Page 9 of Back to You

Vi glanced up to see Cam standing at the edge of the crowd, arms crossed as he stared at the smashed-in wood and metal, before his gaze slid her way and he gave her a quick wink.

“I mean, accidents happened, but really, Ms. Angie.” He shook his head at the older woman. “Letting Captain Jack drive is just above and beyond. Even for you.”

For the first time since she’d gotten there, Ms. Angie seemed to relax a bit.

“Camden, you scoundrel. It wasn’t Captain Jack’s fault. It wasn’t like we were out and about.”

Vivian couldn’t help but wonder exactly what they were doing that the dog had access to the emergency brake, but she held her tongue. This didn’t all add up to “just polishing the sleigh” to her.

Since Ms. Angie had learned about selfies, she’d been completely out of control.

“Let’s see what we’ve got here.” He strode toward the sleigh, his dark gaze clashing with Vivian’s for just an instant as he gave her a nod. “Vivian.”

She watched, ignoring the way his jeans stretched over his rear as he did the same checks she’d just done herself, but on the damage to the woodwork along the front end and the cracking he found at the sides.

Part of her heart ached for him. Motors could be replaced, but this work… she could tell by the look he kept faced away from Ms. Angie and the way his hand gently caressed the broken angles and shattered pieces of wood that this was more personal than just the ability to drop in a new transmission.

When he straightened, he took a moment to clear his expression before turning to face their audience.

“Ms. Angie, really. This sleigh was built by Raymond Havester. His work is incomparable. I can only try to repair this in a way that respects the original. It isn’t like changing a light bulb and the Tiffany lamp still shines the same.”

The older lady flinched and Vivian only had so much sympathy for her. Like the rest of the town, she loved Ms. Angie. But the woman ran tame through everything and now she’d obviously gone a step too far.

The humor of the situation was beginning to wear off of the crowd too and Vivian was pretty sure if either she or Cam called the job impossible, there might be a revolt.

She wanted Ms. Angie to know she’d created a bad situation with her lack of care, not be tarred and feathered.

“Show’s over, folks.” Vivian clapped her hands, trying to dispel the group.

Just when she thought they’d ignore her, Skye, best friend number two and deputy sheriff, stepped through the crowd, following her example.

“That’s enough lollygagging as Ms. Angie would say. I’m sure you all"—she glanced around, giving some pointed looks—“or most of you, have work you should be doing. Let Vivian and Cam do theirs.”

She didn’t want to wait to see who fought the law since the law would win. Instead, Vivian headed back to her truck, not wanting to face either Cam or her own worry about how she’d fix… well, everything.

Especially when “everything” included Camden Ross.

4

Cam

When he’d blurtedout his undying love that morning, Cam hadn’t thought the day could get weirder… or worse.

But seeing the Raymond Havester work caved in because of a freaking dog just about pushed him over the edge.

That sleigh was the reason he did what he did. Every time they had taken it out when he was a boy, he found a detail on it that fascinated him, from the scroll work along the edges to the dipped runners that hid the wheels, and especially the little elves hidden in cracks and crevices peeking out all the way around.

The thing was more than a work of art. It was a national treasure and should be protected. The artist in him battled between “someone should call the National Register” and “functional art was made to be used.”

As soon as he had understood someone made this—that this was what they did for a living—everything had changed. First, he’d started asking for books on whittling like Mr. Crocker did down on the pier. Then knives—which his mother had absolutely no-go’d until he was nine. Then he’d discovered the library.

The library may not be where his friends expected to find him—that would have been the baseball field—but it had books filled with pictures of artisans’ work going back centuries.

He’d known, just absolutely known, these guys didn’t half-ass their way into these books. His mother had been more pleased, not to mention obscenely relieved, when the next thing he asked for was a sketch pad and some decent pencils.

He’d drawn everything he could think of to get the feel of it. Nothing was sacred. If the girl sitting next to him in fourth grade wanted flowers and bunnies, he asked what kind of flowers.

But it was the sleigh he came back to over and over again.

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