

### Striking

### Forged in Fire Series #1

### Lila Felix and Rachel Higginson

Copyright 2013 Lila Felix / Rebel Writer Productions, LLC

2013 Rachel Higginson

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited.

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Cover art: Jennifer Johnson / ZenyaGFX

We want to dedicate this to our families.

Thank you for understanding our midnight hours.

And for ignoring us when we call you by a character's name.

And to friendship.

Without which we never would have begun this journey.

Chapter One

Cami

"So I said to him, 'Sure, Dane, just as soon as you figure out how to turn that into billable hours.'" The guy across from me, I suppose you could call him my date, laughed at his own joke while I barely lifted my eyes from my empty Cosmo glass to shoot him a pained smile.

He took that as encouragement and launched into another story about Dane. As in the comedian? A friend? A dog? I still didn't know.

And honestly, I didn't care.

But I _did_ know I had been stuck on this god-awful date for the last three hours with no end in sight. I was sufficiently drunk but still tragically bored.

I glanced around at the trendy LA restaurant we were supposed to be enjoying and wrinkled my nose. It was as boring as Bryce, the Ivy League investment banker douche my sister set me up with. Everything was white, the chairs, the tables, the booths, the walls, the floor, the light fixtures, the waitresses' outfits, the hostesses' tacky short skirts, the bartenders' shirts, Bryce's _pants_. _Oh god, I was on a date with a guy who wore white pants_.

It was like a living mural of heaven gone terribly wrong- with weak drinks and pretentious assholes.

Speaking of pretentious assholes....

"Do you want another drink?" Bryce looked over the rim of his fusion cocktail something or other, and raised an eyebrow.

Oh yeah, like he had a right to judge me.

Granted, I was maybe a little bit sloshed. But it was his fault for being so boring.

No, I take that back.

It was my sister's fault for setting me up with him. Just because Katelyn was living an f-ing fairy tale, with her perfect fiancé, her perfect art history degree and her perfect dream job as an assistant curator at The Getty, did not mean we shared a taste in men.

_Damn her._ It was like it was her mission in life to make me miserable.

I should have known better than to agree to, "Hey, Cami, I have the greatest guy for you!" But I was bored and mom and dad had been riding my ass about getting my life together and it was brunch. One does not f with my sister at brunch.

"Sure, why not?" I slid him a slinky smile that I could feel looked forced. He rewarded me with a twisted smirk and a finger in the air to flag down our waitress.

He probably thought he was well on his way to getting lucky. Good for him.

And even though he was painfully mistaken- in fact, if I had to listen to one more of his pointless tales of his rich friends, richer father or stupid car I might choose alcohol poisoning over life- who was I to judge? He was just living the American dream: life, liberty and the pursuit of getting laid.

Or something like that....

Ok, maybe I wasn't being fair.

It wasn't Bryce's fault I found him utterly awful. It was my sister's and more specifically my parents'.

If I were a better person I could probably see the need to grow up a little bit, to settle down as my father always begged me, to have some _goddamn drive in life_ as my mother preferred to lecture. But I was not a better person, nor did I have any aspirations to be one.

All I really wanted in life was the new Jimmy Choo silver pumps my mom just got in her store. That was it.

Oh and the white Balenciaga bag.

I looked around the restaurant, took in all the white and changed my mind.

Ok, not white.

But mostly I wanted to be left alone, to not be on the receiving end of another brunch-version of Intervention. I just wanted to figure out life in my own way. Even if my way meant sucking down cocktails like every night was happy hour below Sunset and the casual use of recreational drugs. There was nothing to worry about. I had my life together. I had a life plan, _kind of_. And most importantly, I knew what I was doing.

Except for what I was doing on this date? That even I was still trying to figure out.

What my family saw as a cry for help, I saw as a cry to leave me the f alone. I didn't want Katie's life. I didn't have my mother's ambition. And I sure as hell didn't want to just give in and "let daddy set me up with something more suited for a _girl_ like me."

Which meant a receptionist job at one of his offices.

A girl like me, a girl with no direction, no self-control and no prospects of making something of herself.

Oh like, Katie's Art History degree actually meant anything.

And my mom and her couture boutique that only bought off the runway. God, mom and her _ambition_. More like a social-climbing-materialism-addicted-desperate-attempt-at-finding-some-kind-of-worth way to feed her fashion obsession.

And the idea of spending my days waiting on self-absorbed people-people with image issues desperate enough to pay my dad gazillions of dollars to give them a different body entirely- made me want to take one of his pricy scalpels and jab it through my eye.

Then see if my renowned plastic surgeon father could cosmetically fix that.

I giggled into my glass. Bryce saw this as a good sign and continued his story about investment futures with more gusto.

One more time with feeling....

I sighed into my now empty glass and then glanced down at my phone, displayed prominently and unashamedly on the table. This was LA for godsakes, nobody was out of eyesight from their phone, _ever_.

Katie had texted to see how the date was going.

Like she didn't know.

I rolled my eyes, but when Bryce quirked a professionally manicured brow at me I shrugged a shoulder and tapped out a reply.

How do you think? He's the same as the last one and the one before that. God, K, I'm so tired of these boring assholes. Remind me not to let you set me up ever again.

Her reply was immediate and scolding. _You're not going to marry him Cami. Just date him until mommy and daddy stop threatening to send you to rehab._

Ugh. As if. And what was she? Five? Mommy and daddy?

I was sneering at my phone, but let out a loud laugh. I could be really funny sometimes. This had to be a sign that the cocktails were doing their job.

Thank God.

But she was right. They did keep threatening to send me away. They never exactly said where, but we all assumed rehab. That's where anyone ever went if they were making too much of a scene. It didn't matter if there wasn't actually an addiction problem, although more than likely there were several.... Rehab was just where everyone went to reinvent themselves, or find themselves or come back to themselves.

Which would have been great if I could figure out who I was to begin with.

Oh no, I was becoming as boring as Bryce! God, no! Banish the existentialism now, before it's too late.

Bryce noticed my cringing expression and leaned forward to find out if everything was alright. I could tell that's what he was doing by the drawn eyebrows and frown.

Or maybe he wasn't doing that at all, maybe that was just the preventative care Botox. He was only twenty-eight, but you couldn't start too soon.

I smiled at him, encouraging him to get back to talking about money. Maybe Katie was right. I could try with him; I could give this another shot- or at least pretend to.

I knew my parent's patience was drawing thin. Still, three months away at what basically came down to a twenty-four-seven spa did not sound that bad. And maybe it wouldn't hurt to get away from all this.... monotony.

White everything.

Bryce's tie was white. _How did I miss that before?_

The waitress finally dropped off my cocktail and I picked it up before it could even settle on the table. I tipped my head back and downed it like a shot. _Like a champion._

See and my parents thought I had no ambition?

Fine, Bryce was the youngest associate at his firm and well on his way to being partner. Good for him. It always helped to have a parent in the business. But no way could he hold his liquor like me.

He simply didn't have the hours logged.

The room suddenly tilted to the left before righting itself, all that white swirling about in a merry-go-round of mind-numbing douchebaggery.

That's right, I was twenty-one and exhausted with this life. Bored to the point of destructive. Cynical to the point of apathetic. Exhausted to the point of.... who cares? I didn't. I didn't care anymore.

"So are we going to party tonight or what?" Bryce leered at me from across the table. It took a long squint, but I could definitely make out the way his crooked smile seemed to want to eat me and his eyes were raking over me like he'd already seen me naked. I shuddered. The thought of his boring, pretentious fingers groping me suddenly made the half bottle of vodka in my stomach pitch violently.

I swept my long, surfer blonde hair- a necessity here since I lived on the Planet of the Blondes with Beach Bodies- over my shoulder and gave him a look of pure confusion, "I thought that's what we were doing?"

"Oh we are, baby," his voice dropped an octave to what I assumed he thought was a sexy timber. The vodka moved again in my stomach at his really bad Barry Manilow impression, "so how about we move this party to my place. I have more of those," he nodded at my empty martini glass, "and other fun treats."

"More" probably meant drugs. Or sex. Or both.

Probably both.

And as devoid of morality as my vapid mind was, I was so not into both. Or either. Or any of that with him.

"Mmmm, sounds nice," I said plainly. "But instead of doing that, let's not do that." The idea of him humping me with his pretentious white pants around his ankles, literally made me want to vomit.

"Alright, baby," Bryce didn't look daunted at all. In fact, he only looked more determined. "Then what do you want to do? Let's turn this party into an after party."

_Oh no._ He actually thought he was sexy too. This night was only getting worse. It was nice for Katie that her fiancé was only half the douche this guy was and that she didn't mind when he humped her. But honestly, where did these people come from? And why the hell did Katie think I could actually use this guy for anything more than a way to show off my Marc Jacobs mini and fresh spray tan?

Honestly.

"Actually," I started slowly, so he would understand every important point I was trying to get across, "I appreciate dinner, but I have this thing that I need to do. Tonight. So... next time, for sure."

I hoped the whole "there wouldn't actually be a next time" part was pretty obvious.

Bryce's cocky smile faltered and he looked around the room like someone could interpret my let down in a simpler way.

"You're joking," Bryce bit out. His smug, prick-ish expression turned demanding and scarily angry.

I tilted my head back and drained the last drops of my latest Cosmo before meeting his eyes again. "We both know this isn't going to go anywhere further. Let's end on a high note, yeah?" I smiled sweetly and noticed I couldn't feel my gums anymore. _Nice._

"I think we have different definitions of high notes," Bryce growled, leaning forward so our conversation couldn't be overheard by other tables.

I sighed and slid my hand forward on the table. I thought about patting his hand comfortingly but changed my mind at the last second. "I bet you're right about that. But here's the thing. Despite the way I pounded back drinks tonight I actually have some self-esteem. So a quick lay back at your _bachelor pad_ that is guaranteed to leave me grossed out and desperately unsatisfied sounds like the opposite of a high note to me. Plus, let's not forget the fact that neither of us can be sure when you were tested last and I am not about to contract something communicable or venereal from your tiny, little pecker." I let that sink in for a moment and then ended on a dramatic whisper, "So I think that settles that."

"Sweetheart, there's nothing tiny about-"

"I'm going to stop you right there," I held up a gorgeously manicured hand. "It's the white pants. They leave very _little_ to the imagination." I winked at him suggestively.

Bryce grabbed my elevated hand and slammed it down on the table, making our plates jump and clatter between us. I winced at the shooting pain that fired up to my elbow, but knew it would have hurt a lot more had I not been so tipsy.

"You little bitch," he snarled, spittle collecting in the corners of his mouth. "Do you know who my father is?"

I blamed the liquid courage for this next one, "Yes, Bryce. The whole f-ing restaurant knows who your father is at this point. But what does he have to do with your insignificant dick?"

Bryce's face turned to the color of an angry eggplant and he crushed my hand in his iron grip. I twisted in my seat, trying to free my poor hand, but he only squeezed harder. I squeaked in pain, and this time when my vision went blurry it was pain-induced.

"We obviously have different ideas of where this night is going, so let me explain to you what exactly is going to happen." Bryce's voice dropped to a low, demanding octave and I started to wonder if maybe I went a little too far. "You're going back to my-"

I so did not need to hear what his freak-o plans were for me tonight. I picked up my full, untouched glass of water with my free hand and threw it in his face. He let go of my now-injured hand immediately and shouted in outrage. While he was trying to brush the water off his three thousand dollar Armani jacket I grabbed the valet ticket still on the table and my Derek Lam clutch and sprinted to the host stand.

"The guy I came here with is refusing to pay his bill," I huffed to the stuck up hostess that could barely spare me an eye roll.

Thankfully my waitress was standing nearby, "He's doing what?"

"It was a blind date!" I gushed with real horror. "And now he won't pay! He wants me to meet him outside." I finished the last in a conspiratorially dramatic gasp that drew the waitress's eyes into narrowed slits.

"I'll take care of him," she promised and then motioned to her manager.

I shot her an appreciative smile and then wobbled to the right. _Damn it_. Now was so not the time to start feeling all those drinks. I ignored my shaky ankles and the way the ground kind of sloped and spun whenever I took a step and rushed out the main entrance to the valet stand. I passed the valet the ticket and then stood there bouncing on the balls of my pointed Louboutins until the Porsche something, something, something was delivered right in front of me.

They valet stepped out, a huge grin marking his face. And if I was a guy, and not currently being pursued by a psychopath I could probably have appreciated the whatever kind of car this was too.

As it were....

I glanced back and noticed Bryce pushing his way through the manager and waitress, his livid, terrifying eyes locked on me.

Oh god!

I slid onto the buttery leather, thankful the valet kept the thing running- because honestly I highly doubted I could have figured out how to do that right now- and then jammed the clutch into gear.

Here's the thing.... I knew how to drive a stick shift, kind of. The son of one of my dad's golf partners had taught me two summers ago. Or had tried to teach me, I had been a little distracted by the wicked things he could do with his mouth and the Ambien we had been experimenting with.

And even though I could reason that being drunk was a little like being high and probably that would make things easier, this car was a few classes above the tricked out golf cart I had been learning on at the time.

But the semantics were the same, right?

The car moved forward with an ugly sound and stuttering movements but soon I was back on the main road and pushing the car past the trendy boutiques and designer shops that lined both sides of the street.

_What an asshole_.

For real this time, Katie was never setting me up again! All that to prove to mom and dad that I had a tiny piece of my life together?

_So not worth it_.

The car lurched right and then left as I tried to focus on staying in the right lines. At least I had leveled it out. My thin heel caught in the floorboards though and my foot pressed down on the gas as I tried to dislodge my foot from where it got stuck.

I glanced up just in time to swerve out of the way of a Mini, and threw them the finger, while pounding on the horn, for getting in my way. I stomped at the pedal, accelerating further, but frustrated my heel was still caught under the pedal.

My mom's shop was coming up on my right, Catti- get it, it's like a play on Katie and Cami and sums up all the rich bitches that shop there- and I wanted to drive by slowly and make a crude hand gesture; but I couldn't do that if I was speeding by.

The engine revved with the need to shift, but it was going to have to wait until I could free my foot from the death grip the slim ankle strap had on me. I leaned forward to rip it apart if I had to and when I lifted my eyes there was a biker in my path. Not like a real biker, like biker-gang-biker, but like a bicyclist. _Who let them drive on the real streets anyway? Weren't there sidewalks for their kind?_

I swerved even further to the right and then stomped my foot down to avoid a parked car. My right tires hit the curb with insane speed and the car was launched forward, up over the sidewalk and into the front of a store.

Glass crashed around me and metal groaned and screeched with the impact. The expensive car I had officially stolen and then totaled released the airbag painfully into my face and chest and then sputtered to death in a high pitched whiny noise while the tires still spun.

I screamed, frustrated and angry with my luck and then pounded against the stupid airbag pinning me in place. Despite the carnage around me, I felt fine, but was lucid enough to know that probably had something to do with the life-giving power of booze.

I screamed again and punched at the airbag.

When the dust settled around the car and the sound of emergency sirens closed in on me I could finally admit that I was probably going to be in huge trouble. I took in my surroundings through the cracked glass of the windshield and couldn't help but smile.

Fine, I had gotten drunk, stolen my date's car and then totaled it plus a designer boutique.

But I had two things to be thankful for.

Bryce hadn't been able to introduce me to his angry little penis. And the designer store I introduced to his car happened to be my mom's.

That meant she wouldn't press charges and after I reported my near rape/abduction to the police Bryce wouldn't be able to press charges either.

I probably wouldn't even have to cancel my plans to go clubbing with the girls tomorrow night.

This was definitely best case scenario.

Something hot and sticky dripped into my eyes, blurring my vision even worse than the alcohol. With a shaky hand I pressed my fingers against my forehead to investigate. The sirens were growing louder and louder and the world was turning in faster and faster circles. When I pulled my hand away and saw it coated in my own blood I did the only thing left to do at this point.

I promptly passed out.
Chapter 2

Stockton

Just add water—my ass.

I still sucked at pancakes. Two damned years of mixing this crap up and it still looked like a substance I'd use to soothe a burn rather than slop on the griddle and attempt to feed to Will. She knew how to cook them and I was sure that any minute she'd come and save me from this lumpy glue mixture I'd stared at for the last ten minutes. I left it there in the bowl our mother had always used for pancakes, a scratched up, metal monstrosity, better suited for Will to use for slopping the pigs, and moved on to making sausage—now that I could handle.

"Did you mess up the pancakes again," She half barked, half yawned.

"No, I left them for you to mess up."

She 'Pssshh'ed in my direction and then started adjusting the temperature on the griddle. As I finished cooking up the sausage, she'd already stacked up six pancakes and was slathering them with butter.

I heard the screen door slam and knew it was West. My youngest brother never missed breakfast when he was in town—never. He lived at school, in the dorms of Vandy, but came back when he could to visit. We all valued family like never before. Will divvied up the portions and dug in without a second thought. I reached under the lip of the old table our father built out of bartered lumber and shook it once to get her attention.

"What the he—sorry Stock." She put down her fork and she bulged out her eyes in what I knew was an attempt at not rolling her them at me.

"Willa," I used her whole name for affect, something I'd learned long ago from our parents that she hated, "why don't you say grace since you're so fast to eat."

She bowed her head and began, "God is great..."

After we finished breakfast, I did the dishes and took a moment to remember the dishwasher I'd had in the university apartment just over two years ago—it seemed like I'd aged twenty years since then. I wish I had it now, sure would be a hell of a lot easier than hand washing everything.

I dried the last dish and wiped down the cracking, burnt red, laminate counters. I had a new appreciation of all the years my mother did this three, four and five times a day while all we did was moan and groan at her. I missed them more than I could ever let on.

"I'm off to school. I fed the pigs and the chickens, only eight eggs today. I've got a test Friday in Trig and...that's all."

We chuckled together as she spouted off the outline of her morning as she once did to our dad, who demanded we all complete the same task every morning.

"Ok, take the Jeep today. I have to go to town to pick up some supplies and meet with Mr. Daniels."

"Be careful, Stock." She said as she took one glance back at me.

"You too, Will."

We didn't say we loved each other anymore—it was a given. We now told each other to be careful, or stay safe. Because I love you hadn't helped my parents the night of the fire. My telling them I loved them over the phone didn't stop the flames from engulfing the hundred year old barn and taking my parents with it. They knew I loved them. I should've told them to be careful.

I went to the bedroom and shrugged off my gray sweatpants and white t shirt. I made my bed just the way they'd taught me and then put on a pair of heavy jeans and a navy blue hoodie over a gray thermal. It was still pretty cold outside even though most of the snow had started to melt. My boots were pulled on next. I grabbed the keys to the '63 Ford pickup—my dad was the first and only owner and it still turned over every single morning like it was straight off the lot.

I tucked my list into my back pocket along with my cell. I ran out, not even bothering to lock the door behind me—it would be in vain. No one within a hundred miles of my home would steal from us—and if I came home to something missing, in its place would be a note that explained who borrowed what and when it would be returned. There was a certain level of trust around here, my father had trusted the system and so did I. It hadn't failed me yet.

I got into the truck, cranked it up. The memory of firing it up to go to college sprang to mind and I had to refrain from running from the pain. This wasn't what I always wanted—living in my parents' house, raising my sister and making sure my two other brothers Bridger and West didn't go completely astray. I'd once been a business major at Vanderbilt, hoping to expand my father's blacksmithing to a whole new level—dreams of grandeur and all that garbage. I had been determined to take the bull by the horns and turn my father's perfected trade into a world class entrepreneurship which would, of course, have us richer than six foot up a bull's ass. Thank God my father knew better, training me and my brothers to smith when we were strong and burly enough to reach the anvil.

So I took up my father's hammer when they died, only three days after we buried them in the Constance Baptist Church's cemetery. There were orders to be filled and I'd been whispered to by Mr. Oldham right after my father's eulogy, reminding me that his iron gate was still incomplete and he'd already paid in full. And my father would never—ever—let an order be late. So that's what I'd done. I'd taken up his hammer in the shop, his discipline tactics in the home, his truck in the driveway. I also took up his charity, the attitude, not the organization. And that was first on my list this morning. My brothers and especially Willa, didn't know about how much my father helped the community or anyone who asked him for help. But as the eldest, I'd gone along with my father time after time, delivering food, straight from my mother's kitchen and pantry, to single mothers or paid someone's electricity bill. I knew what he did and it was just one more cross of his that I'd chosen to take up in his stead.

I pulled up to Harper's Grocery and walked into the crumbling, crackling painted, concrete building which somehow always managed to smell like cinnamon canned peaches and stale bread. Mr. Harper was behind the counter, holding my boxes, ready with the bill, just like we did every Tuesday. People around me, mothers with snotty nosed children and men, dragging themselves to work after a weekend binge probably thought I was picking up groceries for the family. And in truth, I was. One of those boxes was for me. We got by on the basics, spaghetti, macaroni and cheese, oatmeal, pancakes and eggs—a lot of eggs. Being a blacksmith paid, but it was sporadic and sometimes I did work for trade. But we always got by. People dropped off apples, cabbages, potatoes, and sometimes casseroles at our house all the time. Willa hated taking it, she felt like she was a charity case herself, but I knew that somehow either I'd done a job for them already, or I would pay them back sometime in the future. It was a part of the same system I'd learned to trust.

Two of the boxes today were for Mrs. Richter and Old Man Lambert. Mrs. Richter's husband had literally left her barefoot and pregnant—not to mention, five other kids in tow. She waitressed down at Emmett's Diner which belonged to her brother. But she still had trouble making it from paycheck to paycheck. I helped her with what I could in between and others did the same. And Old Man Lambert? He'd been my father's helper, not apprentice, as he 'd had Palsy for years; I'd noticed his shaking when I was twelve, but he swept up around the shop and helped my father with the accounting. After the fire, he was out of a job. I'd offered him a place in the shop with me but he'd said it just wouldn't be the same. And I didn't blame him one damned bit.

I drove out to Mrs. Richter's place first. Her kids were in school and she was at work, so I walked in her house, put the milk up and left the box on the table. She knew who the groceries came from and so did I. But it was our secret. My dad used to say, "It doesn't count if you run around telling everybody." I eyed the electricity bill on the counter on my way out, the telltale red bolt of lightning letting me know what the paper was about. Yellow meant you were good, red meant you were past due. They tried to circus clown that shit up, adding a smiley face and a little 'Did you forget' logo with a light bulb, but unless you were a rich man, you'd seen that light bulb one too many times. I felt like a creeper but I picked it up. It was only seventy six dollars, which was about what was in my account. But I'd paid all of our bills for the month and beyond with my earnings from six iron gates some man in Nashville commissioned. I pocketed the bill and went on to Mr. Lambert's place. I always stopped by his house last because he liked to talk about the old times when he worked for my dad. I felt like the least I could do was spare him thirty minutes of my time.

I drove down the long gravel driveway and found Mr. Lambert sitting in a rocking chair, a squirrel leashed to his wrist, crawling and scrambling around his torso. I always thought he was looking for a way off of the leash but Mr. Lambert insisted he was searching for acorns hidden in his pockets. Either way it was plain unnatural to leash a squirrel. But he sat there most of the day, sipping 'water'. My dad always claimed it was moonshine. Some of the old folk claimed moonshine was medicine and Old Man Lambert was pushing ninety. _Who's gonna deny him his pleasures?_ I put his groceries up inside his rickety shack and sat in the rocker next to him.

"Where's your wife," he'd always ask me.

"Oh come on, who'd want to marry a blacksmith? We're always dirty and I drag more dirt in the house than a pack of pigs."

He laughed at that. He _always_ laughed at that. It felt like we had the same conversation over and over. Who was I kidding? We _did_ have the same conversation over and over.

"That's true, Son, that's true." He gabbed for a while about the weather and how his knees throbbed when the clouds rolled in.

"Well," he slapped my knee, "You'd better get to it then."

"Yes, Sir." I got up and left, headed back home.

I stopped back in town at the electricity company and paid Mrs. Richter's bill on the way home and mentally got myself ready for the day. It was stifling working in my father's shop day in and day out. The fire smothered me; the way his tools hung in their same precise places choked me; when I struck hammer to metal, I could close my eyes, seeing my father's image in my mind teaching me with every clang of the hammer, every hiss of the hot metal as it was plunged into the water. The whole experience buried me face down in a pool of quicksand—the harder I struggled against it, the more it filled my throat. But if I didn't fulfill his role, his legacy would be lost and more important, we'd starve.

Rounded pebbles hit the undercarriage of the truck as it rumbled its way up the driveway to our home. Beyond the house were the Appalachian mountains in all their glory. As a child I thought them the most majestic sight in the world. But now they just guarded our land, knights, solid and solemn, standing between me and the world.

Even the house my father built with his own hands—he got the wood from the very forest that surrounded the property and some bartered from people around the house. The fiber of each material item blasted my eardrums, reminding me of why I was there.

I went into the shop and perused my orders one more time, re-prioritizing and shuffling things here and there. I stoked the fire West had started for me earlier, making sure it was the right temperature. I decided to work on a machete before beginning any new commissioned work. I usually made machetes, knives, and the occasional sword. They were taken to swap meets and flea markets for quick cash and leads on more business.

I plucked a rod of scrapped metal from my junk pile and pushed it down into the hot coals. It heated to the perfect orange color for forging. I reached for the Nordic hammer. My father's voice bellowed in my ear, "Nordic hammer for preliminary strokes." I used the slamming of the hammer as therapy and before I knew it, I had a piece of metal flat enough to be a rudimentary cleaver. It would require further shaping but I could envision the finished product in the glowing metal before me.

I took a breather beneath the awning of the shop, letting my lungs inflate with cold air instead of flaming coals. I looked out over the land until my eyes planted on the remnants of the barn. It had been a traditional styled barn, faded red in color with white trim. It was straight out of the Farmer's Almanac. And as I allowed the flood of guilt tsunami over me, for a split second I wished I'd been in the barn instead of them.
Chapter 3

Cami

"Please don't make me go! Please!" I begged desperately as my parents pulled the rental car up the long, winding gravel drive. Gravel- because cement road systems were still a novelty out here. Winding- because I was in the freaking middle of a _mountain range_. "Daddy, please don't do this!" I shook his head rest frantically, just to hammer in my point- I was so not Ok with this.

Was I being ridiculously overdramatic? It was hard to say at this point.

After what I referred to as my frantic-escape-from-the-psychopath and near-rape-experience, but what my parents wrongly dubbed my "cry for help," I was packed up and deported. Goodbye sunny, perfect LA. Hello, hillbilly haven. God, what was I supposed to do here?

If I was bored in the Hills, I would simply _die_ here.

There better at least be cable.

Oh my god, did they even have TV's this far removed from civilized culture?

"Camdyn, calm down," my mother intoned dryly from the front passenger's seat. "This is for your own good."

"My own good?" I gasped in a voice laden with acid. " _My own good?"_

"Camydn, I'm warning you," my father glanced over his shoulder at me and gave me the look that used to make me cower as a little girl.

Ok, it still made me cower.

"But why not rehab? I would so go to rehab!" I shouted. I didn't have time to let them win right now. I had to make my case and change their minds.

I'd been right two weeks ago, when I said no one would press charges. Bryce hadn't wanted his name muddied in the news- and _believe me_ , I would have muddied it. He would have come out looking like a white-pants version of Christian Bale in American Psycho and I would have ensured the world he never got laid again. Well, the never getting laid thing might happen anyway, since I, of course, still let every single friend and/or acquaintance I had in the greater LA area know what a total douche he was. The gossip train was about to run his teeny tiny little pecker over. But that was beside the point.

Because even though my parents did not press charges against me- I mean, they had insurance, it's not like I did any permanent damage- they still banished me to backwoods country bumpkin county.

"Cami, you're not addicted to anything!" My mother whisper-shouted as if she were afraid the local rednecks would overhear. "Stop asking to go to rehab. It's not happening."

"But-"

"Cami, enough," my father interrupted in his angry voice. "You're not going to rehab. That would be like a vacation for you and it wouldn't solve any of your problems. If anything, it would just make you more entitled. It's time to face the facts, sweetie, you've hit an all-time low. You can't keep living like this. You were lucky enough last time to come out with minor injuries and not to have hurt anyone else. But who knows what could happen if we keep letting you live your life like this?"

I threw myself back against the seat and huffed out an impatient breath. _Yeah, dad, I was lucky enough to get by with minor injuries_. Lucky enough to end up with three bruised ribs, a sprained wrist and a severe concussion that needed eight stitches. Eight stiches that were going to _scar_. Did he not realize that? I was going to have a scar on my forehead!

Granted, it was more like my temple and close enough to my hair line that I could hide it with some swoopy bangs. But seriously? I could never wear a high pony again. Did he not have any concept of what that would do to me?

Oh and the great Tennyson Montgomery refused to fix me! He built his life on making people look better. Yet he claimed _I needed a reminder of how I could have lost everything in a moment of dramatic overreaction._

Trust me, I would remember. No more endless cocktails with guys who had member-insecurities.

Problem solved.

"Daddy, please take me home," I tried one more attempt at pathetic.

"Cami, now stop it. You brought this on yourself." He shook his head and clenched his jaw. He was disappointed in me. Ugh! What a kick to the throat. I was twenty-one years old and still my father's disappointment felt like the ultimate failure.

In a meeker, but more determined voice I said, "You know, I'm an adult. I don't need your permission to leave."

My mother sighed, long and exasperatedly. "You're right Cami, you are technically an adult. But we've cut you off, so you have no money, you have no credit cards, you have no car, no ride home, no friends. We are dropping you off at your aunt and uncles house where there will be food, shelter and safety. If you're so determined to leave, then go right ahead. Leave. I don't know where you think you'll go, but you are an adult, so I guess you can figure that out on your own."

Anger, bitterness and the basest frustration I had ever felt rippled through me like electric shocks. I actually started shaking from how livid I was. Somehow I managed a calm-sounding tone though and asked, "So you're abandoning me? You're making me homeless?"

My father pulled the car to a stop in front of a mid-sized log cabin- _an actual log cabin_. The honey colored beams of wood were neatly stack and- if I wasn't so pissed off I would have been able to admit- stylishly designed. The log-cabin-house was two stories, three if you counted the burrowed in garage and had a huge, open wrap around porch. The porch was built on stilts on one side of the house where it reached out over the cliff and probably gave a fantastic view of the mountain range- that was if you were brave enough to walk out on it, for sure risking your life.

"We're giving you a second chance, Cami," my father said sadly. "We're doing this for you."

I snorted an unattractive sound and crossed my arms. A woman that looked just like my dad, only the female version obviously, stepped out onto the porch in a flannel shirt and high-waist denim skirt of the wrong color and waved. My Aunt Mallory. Her light brown hair was kind of curly as it fell in frizzy, loose spirals to her shoulders. Her clothes were well worn, her boots already muddy and her face weathered and wrinkled. She looked.... her age.

It was a foreign concept to me.

I bet it was driving my dad nuts!

I glanced over at him as he stepped out of the small sedan but there was no judgment, or even professional curiosity anywhere to be seen, just a huge smile and open arms for.... for a hug? Not two-cheek kisses? No pretentious half-hug. He actually pulled his sister into a full, two-armed squeeze. Oh my god.

My mother too.

_What was happening_?

I thought about holing up in the car, refusing to leave, handcuffing myself to the steering wheel, but something in my aunt's happy expression pulled me out of the vehicle. _Stupid mistake. I was so going to regret this._

Outside, in the fresh outdoors, the air smelled like sweet rain and upturned dirt. The sound of sheep bleating was loud and obnoxious and way too close by. And the constant mist in the air had already ruined my hair.

I was severely underdressed for the still ice-cold spring in well-tailored shorts and a silk tank top. Goose bumps pebbled on my bare arms and my toes were ice cold in my sandaled wedges. When I left LAX it was eighty four degrees out and perfectly sunny. Here, in redneck central, the sun was not shining, nor the gray, murky sky willing to even give a glimpse of warm light.

"Come on now, Camdyn, don't be a stranger," my aunt called from the porch.

I gave a last look at my new home, and sighed. A lone sheep moseyed over to what looked like a temporary gate and stared right at me. I stared back, desperate to show something I was still in charge. He cocked his head to the side, probably so he could size me up better and then let out a painfully loud bleat.

I jumped back on a squeal.

And that easily, the sheep won.

Damn it.

"Now come on, he won't hurt you," my aunt drawled in her thick southern accent.

I obeyed, trudging past the sheep while giving him the death stare. _Don't mess with me sheep. I've had a very bad day._

While my mom was surfer-girl born and raised, my dad was actually from here. And as in here , here. As in Constance, Tennessee. This was once his parents' sheep farm, back in the day. Now his older sister ran it with her sheep farming hick husband since my dad got the hell out of dodge and escaped to greener pastures.

The story went, dad didn't always want to be a cosmetic surgeon for the rich and famous. Once upon a time, he had dreams of returning home with his fancy college degree and tending to those less fortunate. People like burn victims, debilitating miner casualties, grotesque farming accidents for the poverty stricken and now forcefully unemployed. But then he got an internship in LA that he could not pass up; he met my mom, knocked her up with my older sister and then realized he actually liked making money.

Now here we are today. Dad's lost most of his "y'alls" and taste for moonshine and I got to grow up in real, thriving civilization where we wear our clothes, not feed it buckets of leftovers.

"Hi, Aunt Mallory," I breathed out. She pulled me into a tight hug that I didn't reciprocate. As if she could hug the evil out of me, she rocked me back and forth in her arms, wrapping me up in the earthy scent that was wholly Aunt Mallory while probably ruining the back of my silk tank top with her perpetually dirty fingernails.

"Cami, just what have you gotten yourself into?" Great, she sounded like she was on the verge of tears.

But I was still me, and I still resented being here, so in my best southern accent I exclaimed, "Just a whole heap of trouble Auntie M!"

She released me immediately to grip my shoulders in her surprisingly strong hands. "Don't sass me, Camdyn. You're here to work all that depravity out of your system and I will not tolerate any of your bad manners, do you understand me?"

The thing about Aunt Mallory was that she had scared the holy hell out of me since I could remember. The woman worked for a living. And not just like my mom, who sat behind a fifteen thousand dollar desk and made phone calls all day. No Aunt Mallory lived in dirt and animal poop and worse than that all day, every day. I'd seen her sheer sheep before. With her bare hands!

Well, and a razor.

But seriously? I was almost positive they made machines for that, but she preferred to do it by hand!

And actually, I had no idea if they made mechanical assembly lines that did the sheering for you or not, but they should.

Aunt M, also hated LA. I mean, _hated_ it. And not just because it kidnapped her brother and turned him into a sun-cult-believer. No, she hated everything about it: the constant sunshine, the trendy people, the convenience of stores and restaurants and gas stations, the fact that most of the people could read and write _and_ drink the water from their very own sink.

Not that they would. I mean, that's why someone invented bottled water after all.

So, because of all that, instead of firing back with something even wittier, I gave a resigned, "Yes, ma'am."

She chucked me under the chin and then suggested her and my dad go get my bags while I said goodbye to my mom.

"Cami, will you," my mom started when we were alone on the porch. She actually had to stop to compose herself. I sighed impatiently but stood my ground. I hadn't seen my mom cry in maybe thirteen years. I honestly didn't even think she still possessed the ability. Finally, she pulled herself together enough to say, "Cami, please try. Please try to get better."

I looked up at her then and wondered if she was going to tell me she loved me. I hadn't heard those exact words since I got arrested in eighth grade for defacing the middle school fountain with my boyfriend at the time.

We took the two statues, one girl, one boy, cut them apart with Trey's gardeners' ax and then laid them side by side in a compromising position. We thought we were doing them a favor, they seemed lonely. The school board thought we were too young to realize side by side could have multiple meanings.

God, those things were heavy.

The moment passed and mom said, "We'll call Mallory when we land, to let you know we got home safely."

I resented the hitch of disappointment I felt in my chest cavity. I hated that I was hoping to hear those three stupid words. Despite everything, I knew they loved me.

If they didn't, they wouldn't have forced me to Aunt Mallory's backwoods rehabilitation farm. They wouldn't have rushed into the emergency room the night of the accident more worried about my head than my mom's store front.

Obviously they loved me.

They just never said it out loud.

I cleared my throat, and shook out the disappointment. "Sure, mom. Whatever."

She patted my shoulder like the attachment-issues of a mother she was and then left me alone on the porch. Once she reached the rental, she stopped my aunt to have more words with her. My dad carried the Louis Vuitton set of matching luggage to the front porch and deposited them at my feet.

I stared down at all six suitcases and wondered if I was suddenly in a parallel universe. Louis did not belong this close to sheep. He didn't.

"We need to get going," my father looked back over his shoulder and it was clear he was still scared of getting trapped here. His Kenneth Cole loafers were seriously ready to sprint to the car before the mud of this place sucked him right back under.

"Sure," I answered. _Leave me. Abandon me._

"We'll call," he shrugged.

"Yep," I nodded.

"Alright," he took a step forward and gave me another awkward shoulder pat.

Oh, parents, if only shoulder patting were the way to your child's heart.

"Alright," I echoed, keeping my arms firmly crossed against my chest.

He turned away and then called over his shoulder, "Cami, just.... please-"

"Try," I cut in. "I got the speech from Mom, you're off the hook."

Evident relief changed his expression and he gave me an almost genuine smile. He walked over and hugged his sister one more time. I heard him make excuses for not staying and sound actually genuine when he told her he missed it here and her.

Sure, whatever dad.

That's why it had been fifteen years since we'd been back here. It was because he missed the farm so much.

And even then, it was just that one time.

I had been young enough not to mind waking up to animal sounds in the night, trudging through three inches of mud to go anywhere or the lack of cell service. But Katie had hated it from minute one.

Now that I was back, and older, I could see why.

And this was now my life. Not even some extended vacation. I was stuck here until I figured out how to not be such a screw up or got a job and saved enough to escape.

So basically I was doomed until the end of time.

I turned away from the teary-eyed goodbyes my parents were sharing with my aunt. I'd gotten a shoulder pat. My aunt was getting full on waterworks, yet they couldn't even stay long enough for their engine to cool down.

I couldn't watch anymore.

From my vantage point on the porch I could see my Uncle Henry working the back-ho near their dilapidated barn. There was a shaggy, mangy-looking dog barking at the back end of it, jumping out of the way every time my uncle maneuvered the machine in a different direction.

I crinkled my nose, thinking there had never been an uglier dog than that.... thing, until I saw a dozen more like him coming around the other side.

I heard my parents' sedan pull away, crunching down the gravel drive, but I couldn't even make myself turn around and watch. This was utterly depressing.

"From what I've heard, you brought this on yourself," Aunt Mallory said in a gentle voice from behind me.

"Yep," I replied simply, plainly. That was the truth. No matter how much I wanted to deny or argue, I definitely brought this on myself.

"We'll straighten you out, don't you worry that pretty little head of yours." I could hear her smiling. She was already proud of the change she saw coming in me.

I rolled my eyes out at the pastures of sheep.

"There's nothing a little solitude, a lot of hard work and a substantial amount of prayer can't fix," she explained firmly.

I was momentarily stunned speechless. I heard the swinging screen door open and then crack shut. I spun around to find Aunt Mallory gone, my bags still piled at my feet and the world of hickdom still surrounding me on every side.

She didn't actually expect me to work, did she?

Or _pray_???

I sniffled, feeling the tears well behind my eyes. I clenched my eyes shut, not willing to give into the weak emotion. My mother abandoned me here without shedding a single tear. I would be damned before I became a leaking faucet.

Besides, they couldn't make me do anything. They couldn't force me to get dirty or sweaty or.... _pray_.

In tenth grade, after I organized a protest boycotting the use of a vending machine in the teachers' lounge- when none were made available to the students... We had just as much right to type 2 Diabetes as they did- that went on for four days and grabbed local media attention, my high school guidance teacher told my parents I had an _indomitable stubborn streak_.

The protest included a huge number of the student body chaining themselves to the teachers' lounge door and interrupting- conveniently- the state standardized testing.

I was suspended for three days after that, but didn't have to take the tests.

And the student body was granted a vending machine.

Win-win.

Except I didn't actually drink pop, so I never used the thing anyway.

The point was that I _did_ have an indomitable spirit. And if nothing else I was extremely stubborn. Plus, I was used to getting what I wanted. I'd be out of this hell hole before the end of the week. And I sure as shit wasn't about to be introduced to manual labor for the first time in my entire life.
Chapter 4

Stockton

I went back to the house about five and started dinner. The Preacher's wife, his name was really Judson Hammond, but everybody simply called him Preacher—so his wife was Preacher Wife—her name was Edith. Preacher Wife brought us a meatloaf and Willa made macaroni and cheese and cooked some cabbage down with the last of the bacon from the pig we'd slaughtered before winter hit. I'd have to send one off again soon for more meat.

"Thanks Will. You're the best." I hugged her around her shoulders. She hugged me back around my waist, which was rare, Will wasn't really a girl—girl. And she never hugged anyone. She was more like the tomboy girl—even in her late teens she retained more male friends than female and hung out at softball games more than any social event. But she never apologized.

"It was a bad day, Stock." She had these once in a while, I didn't have the luxury. She was only fifteen when the fire ruined our family and as much as she tried to hide it, she still hurt just like the rest of us—probably more.

"Just one of those days or did something happen?"

"I hate girls—girls are so mean, and bitchy. Why can't they just be who they are instead of spending their lives competing with one another?"

She had a point.

She had an excellent point.

"I don't know. They're jealous. Lack of self-esteem? I couldn't tell you. But here's what I do know. I know you're smart and prettier than all those other girls put together. So don't sweat it, ok?"

"Yeah, whatever. Let's eat."

We ate and as the meal progressed, she thawed out, telling me everything about her day and school. She would likely graduate valedictorian and I couldn't have been prouder. I had been valedictorian myself.

"That was the driest meatloaf I've ever had."

"It was better than anything I could've made." I chunked a piece of bread at her.

"Ain't that the God's honest truth. I'm gonna go get ready. We're going out to the Caller's Creek—just to hang out."

"You're going with Jesse?" I asked Will. I knew exactly who her company would be tonight. She'd been friends with Jesse since they first shared a pacifier. Plus, they both had boy names. Technically Will's name was Willa, but no one ever called her that. And Jesse's name was Jessica, but no one called her that either.

"Yes, Sir." Her calling me 'Sir' started the day after our father died. When I'd first heard the word slip out of her mouth it fused my position in the family in place. I accepted it with pride and trepidation, I had huge boots to fill. But, I didn't blame her. It was the natural progression of events; I knew it and she did too.

I cleaned up the kitchen—again--and felt almost human after I showered and cleaned up, wearing my only pair of non-working jeans and a gray t-shirt under a navy blue button down shirt. I kept my hair skull trimmed, always shaved it myself. It was easier that way. Who was I kidding—it was cheaper that way. I'd taken a look at myself in the mirror while still toweling off and scoffed at the ridiculousness of my image. One of my arms was markedly stronger and defined than the other. I looked like a damned fiddler crab, or an asymmetrical bodybuilder. After two years, I finally resembled a blacksmith. And for the life of me, I couldn't pin it as either good or bad—it just was.

"You smell good." Will said, reaching across the table for her purse and keys to the truck. I made her take the truck at night—I felt it was safer than the Jeep.

"Do I usually stink?" I knew as soon as the words left my mouth that I'd just opened the door for her.

"Well, now that you mention it..."

"I don't stink. I just smell like hard work."

"Hard work stinks."

"So do mouthy teenagers. Getcha ass out of here. Be careful."

"You be careful. No rowdy bar fights or catching skanks."

"Oh, skanks, I didn't think of that. Go!"

She flitted out the front door but not before wiggling her fingers at me, begging for cash. I'd handed her a ten, the only cash I had left. Thank God I'd remembered to pay off my tab at Mick's, the town watering hole. I usually only drank Coke but once in a while I was driven for a shot of whiskey—just one—most of the time. I had a teenager in my care after all.

I jumped in the Jeep and as I started her up, the electronic blaring of her pop music assaulted my adult eardrums. Whoever she was had a voice more like castrated cat than soprano and I punched the power button silencing her and the reproductive surgery in progress.

Shriver's house was just three miles down the road. When we were kids I'd take a four wheeler down there, picking him up for whatever trouble found us. Every Fourth of July we stuffed Black Cats into a lucky person's mailbox and blew it up. We'd try to drown each other in the creek. He'd pushed me into Mabel Asher when I was too chicken to talk to her in the eighth grade. Even as we'd grown older, I'd moved from being the chauffeur to the designated driver since Shriver usually got hammered. And as I dropped him off he'd make the proverbial joke about him being hammered and me hammering metal. It was like clockwork.

After going ten miles an hour up his dirt driveway, trying desperately, for once, not to show up in public smudged, I threw the Jeep in park. Gas lanterns glowed on his whitewashed house, but he still lived with his parents. He bitched about it all the time and then he'd backtrack, thinking he'd offended me.

My boots clopped up the few stairs that led to his porch. I turned the knob and walked right in, the Blankenship's were like my second parents. I hadn't knocked since I was six. The screen door squeaked before slamming behind me.

Shriver appeared, silently counting with his fingers—three—two—one.

"Stockton Maxwell Wright, slam that door one more time and I'll slam your head in it."

I'd been threatened thousands of times by his mother but had never actually been at the receiving end of a door bashing. Her yell was scary enough and every once in a while I did get popped in the back of the neck or jerked by my ear.

"Sorry Mrs. Blankenship," I yelled back towards the kitchen.

"You ready?" I asked him. Physically, we were polar opposites. He had bleach blond wavy hair to my coal black spikes. And he had baby blues while I sported some weird mint green color with flakes of gold here and there. Of course all the girls lined up for a shot at him, while my stature and general asinine behavior warranted screams and running of women and small children. My mother always said it was gonna take someone with a good bit of moxie to put up with me. Obviously moxie was in short order around these parts. I hadn't had a date in years.

What was moxie anyway?

And what would I do with a date, show her how to make a frying pan?

Why weren't the girls knocking my door down?

Oh—I know why.

"Let's go, my man, the ladies are 'a' waitin' for me." His Southern accent more pronounced when he was on the prowl.

"Shriver, I swear, if you come in here two sheets to the wind one more time, I'll twist a knot in your ass so tight you won't be able to walk for a week." Mrs. Blankenship belted out from the entrance to the kitchen.

I had to turn around to hide the snicker. If you were caught laughing you became a target for her infamous tirade.

"Yes, Ma'am. I'll do my best." He replied and then clapped me on the back, signaling his readiness to leave the nest.

"Can I move in with you?" He asked, half laughing.

"Hell no. I can only put up with you in spurts. You know after about three hours, you crawl up my last nerve. No way."

"Asshole." He fired back.

"Dickhead."

We hopped into the Jeep and made our way to Mick's. There wasn't much to do in town. There was a movie theatre which only played movies that had come out on DVD and there was Mick's. Half of it was a bar and the other half was a restaurant. If you wanted to do something real you'd have to drive over to one of the surrounding towns for bowling or a movie that wasn't six months old.

As we parked Shriver hit my arm, "Try to get some tonight, man. You've been a real bastard lately."

He walked in like he owned the place. I followed behind him and after the threshold we parted ways. He went for the pool tables where his groupies awaited him and I headed for the bar, the smell of cigars and over-perfumed women changing my mind about the Coke—it was a whiskey night after all.

I sat at the sticky, maple bar forcing my eyes on the wood since I knew the ironwork—the wine glass holders, the decorative touches—they were all hand forged by my father. Some of them I'd even had a hand in. I was suffocated everywhere I looked.

"Hey Sugar, what'll it be?" Vanessa Atkins asked from the other side of the bar. I knew my order would spark some proposition in her. If someone as much as scratched their balls, she took it as an invitation. God forbid you smile at her, she'd be in your lap like a lion on wildebeest.

"Just a shot of whiskey." I shrugged, practically forcing 'don't make a big deal of it' down her throat. But we had history, neither of us could deny it. And I had to admit, she looked pretty damned good tonight, short black skirt, legs for days. She wore her hair in a short cut now, in school it had been long enough for me to run my hands through. But it didn't change the facts.

And I'd considered getting back together with her, I had. But it felt like turning time backwards, like trying to relive a past I'd like to keep on silent.

"Gettin' wild tonight Stock? I could help with that." _There it is, right on time. She just couldn't help herself._

"Nah, just blowin' off some steam."

She cocked one side of her mouth up, her version of a sexy grin. I'd seen it so many times before. I'd seen it given to so many guys before—right in front of me.

"I can help with the blowin' if that's what you're after," she winked and resumed making my drink. That got me some encouraging grunt from the patrons in hearing distance—they could have her—they probably _had_ her already.

I scanned the room and could name off everybody in the place—and most of their parents' names. I shot the shit with the old timers sitting next to me, mostly listening to stories about my father and the antics they'd all committed together. They told me how I was his spitting image—how even as a boy I'd looked just like him. Things I knew. Things I loathed. Things that haunted me.

I looked up from the staunch conversation to see Henry Macon coming through the restaurant towards the bar. I'd heard he needed some help repairing some of the gates on his property, gates my father built. But he and I rarely spoke. He was my father's best friend and at one time they'd been in business together just out of high school. But when Henry's father died, he took over the sheep farming and my father turned to the only trade he knew. It was painful for both of us to be in spitting distance of each other, so we didn't. He avoided me and I avoided him. Plus, I was up to my eyeballs in work, so stopping to repair his fences wasn't really in the cards.

And now that I saw him coming towards me, the pain curdled in my stomach.

It was enough to make me order another shot.

And ordering another shot gave Vanessa an extra gleam in her eye.

The first shot rose in my throat.

"Do you have a moment Stockton?"

I rose to meet him and we shook hands reminiscent of enemies.

"Yes, of course. What can I do for you?" His voice was in as much tangled pain as mine was.

"I have some gates on the property that've been torn up by the bulls. Can you make time to come repair them?"

"How quickly do you need it?"

"Pretty dang soon."

"I can get over there Sunday afternoon right after church."

"That would be fine. But there's a small issue of money."

"Don't worry about money. You and I both know Dad wouldn't have charged you."

He nodded and looked to the floor.

"Let me trade you something then. Mallory's got some fine fruit and vegetables canned in the cellar. It's too much for us, we can spare quite a few."

How could I say no to that? It was Mallory who taught my mother to can and we all knew her finished product was the best.

My mouth opened to answer but was interrupted by a girl, strike that, a woman, dressed in some lace pink dress and the front of it came to a crossing between her breasts, decked out in pearls, smelling like heaven itself as she sidled up next to Henry. Her wild golden tresses waterfalled around her shoulders, begging me to bathe in them—but calloused, grimy, fingers like mine had no business stroking those waves. And her eyes—I'd witnessed the bluest of skies but they were puddles compared to the clarity in her crystal blue irises. At the first lull of her voice, I looked towards the windows making sure the peaks of the mountains weren't disrupted—because it had disgruntled my very core. It was smooth and soft like the maker Himself had polished it with silk before she was born. But she didn't spare me a second glance. And her manners were atrocious, she'd interrupted without an 'excuse me' or a 'hey, you, kiss my ass, I'm talking here'. She even called my father's friend by his first name when she addressed him. She'd sauntered into the bar as if the deed had been signed over to her. She was prim, proper, and pompous all rolled into one. And that was just the P's. She didn't want to know what B words I'd come up with in the few seconds I'd experienced her.

"Henry, Aunt Mallory says you're supposed to hurry up with—him."
Chapter 5

Cami

Holy hell.

Oh wait....

Holy.... holy.

How in the hell- and this time I f-ing mean it- did I get sucked into attending _church_?

My parents, those rat bastard sons of bitches- which was now officially how I was referring to them- must have been having a really good time about this.

Here I was, begging them, pleading with them to send me to rehab, because deep, deep down I _knew_ it had to be better than abandoning me in this godforsaken hick town. And they were just laughing it up.

I knew they were!

They had to have known church would be part of the recovery plan. That was probably why my parents sent me to my aunt's to begin with- just for church. Yeah, right, my dad the closet Presbyterian plastic surgeon....

Ok, if I were really honest with myself, so the abandoned-in-the-middle-of-redneck-central wasn't so bad so far. I mean, I say that while I'm cringing. But truthfully, there hadn't been much going on except for a real concern of dying from boredom.

Although my aunt and uncle worked from sun up to sun down yesterday- even though it was Saturday- I was allowed the day off to catch up from jet lag. Yes, apparently I was here to _work_. Their words, not mine.

Work.

And that's where things started to get bad.

That's how my parents were going to get the devil out of me. They banished me to the land of middle class and sheep farmers.

Oh, god.

And if that weren't terrible enough, I was now sitting front and center in an f-ing pew. A freaking pew! I had never even said that word before.

I didn't even think churches in California still used pews.

Not that I would really know, since I hadn't been to church since Easter.

When I was eight.

This wasn't a punishment for destroying my mom's store. This was purgatory.

Or worse.

What was worse than purgatory?

What exactly was purgatory?

"Mallory who's this?"

"Good morning, Mary Ellen, this is my niece," my aunt stood up next to me and tugged on my arm. "This is Camdyn. She's from California."

My aunt said California like it was a curse word. And it probably was to these people. I reached a polite hand out to the elderly woman who was now staring at me with a deeply concerned expression. So maybe California _was definitely_ a cuss word to these people.

She wasn't letting go of her wrinkly-death-grip, even after I tried to tug my hand back, so I eventually gave up to the soothing hand patting. She had brilliant white hair hidden underneath a wide-brimmed yellow hat and a button up, pale yellow dress to match. She was missing one of her eye-teeth and her dated white pumps were severely scuffed.

She freaked me out.

I came from the land of plastic surgery and fifty year old women who still thought they could pull off a bikini, Botox and bleached blonde hair. This old lady was working the wrinkles and missing teeth and as far as I knew she could have been born circa dinosaurs and the birth of Jesus Christ.

Honestly, how was I supposed to know how old she was?

The only number that came to mind was _ancient_.

Not that it mattered. The only thing that mattered was extracting my hand from her corpse-like hold.

"Camdyn, this is Mrs. Baxter," Mallory said sweetly and then shot me the evil eye that I interpreted as, "Don't you dare forget your manners or you will be sleeping with the sheep."

"Nice to meet you," I smiled like my full set of teeth were coated with sugar. Mallory cleared her throat aggressively just in time for me to remember, "Ma'am."

"Nice to meet you, too, dear," cooed Mrs. Baxter.

And then she was off to greet more parishioners and suck the youth from their fingers in her cold grip of death.

Too dramatic?

"Oh, there's Preacher," my aunt mumbled to me. I wasn't sure if it was one of those, quick, duck so I don't have to introduce you, or quick, act like you're not some entitled biotch that got stuck with her religious hillbilly aunt instead of rehab, whispers. But either way I found myself standing up straighter and erasing the mixture of utter fear and cynical contempt from my face.

I didn't really think my aunt deserved all of this sheer kindness radiating off of me, but I did know the sooner her, her church and her sheep pulled the wicked out of me, the sooner I could get back to Lala land and civilized society.

And cell service.

"Well, hello, Mallory," _Preacher_ stopped by and my aunt sighed in resignation. Oh, yes, this was happening. "Hi there, Henry." My uncle glanced over and offered a nod but then returned his attention to the floor. Lucky bastard. The preacher continued, "I wanted to thank you for those cans of peaches you sent over. Mabel made the most delicious cobbler from them. So thank you for your kindness and generosity."

"It was my pleasure, Preacher," Mallory crooned. "You know I love to can just about anything I can get my hands on. Henry could never eat it all."

The preacher gave her a warm smile and then turned his attention on me. "And you brought a guest?"

_Preacher_ was about the same age as my aunt, with salt and peppered dark hair and laugh lines that softened the harsh angles of his semi-attractive face. I wasn't saying he was a silver fox or anything, but he apparently was aging better than anyone else in the community- probably because he wasn't hitting the moonshine for breakfast or outside all day, every day working with sheep.

Just an observation.

"This is my niece, Camdyn," my aunt smiled benevolently down at me. "She's going to be staying with us for a while, helping out on the farm and what not."

Preacher stuck out his hand and his light blue eyes met mine with genuine kindness, making me hesitate in my snarkiness. "Camdyn?"

"Cami," I corrected quickly. "Sir."

"Well, it's wonderful to have you here, Cami." His smile brightened and he asked, "So are you looking at colleges around here or....?"

I cleared my throat, stalling for time in order to make something up, "I, uh, I'm actually taking a break from classes right now. I'm down here to kind of, uh, figure out what I want to do with my life." Not a complete lie, but I still felt guilty feeding a pastor my bullshit.

"But you're college age?" He pressed, not really concerned at all with my current plight in life, but definitely way too concerned with my age. Was this guy a secret creeper? That could be entertaining. Well, as long as he didn't really focus those deviant ways on me.

"Uh, yes, I'm twenty-one," I answered awkwardly. My aunt shot me a glare from her peripheral and so I quickly added, "Sir."

"Perfect," I thought I heard him mumble before he reached out and snagged the shirt sleeve of someone walking by. "Stockton, there's someone I'd like you to meet."

And then the stars aligned, the moon eclipsed and the planets did whatever the hell planets were supposed to do and the most gorgeous body I'd ever seen in my lifetime stopped in front of me. I started at his worn Chuck Taylors that were somehow both adorable at the same time they were sexy, worked my way up his fitted, black dress pants that hugged his hips exactly how a man's hips should be displayed, I paused, stared and drooled at his obviously muscular, hard chest through his gray oxford and then lost my mind completely. I could have sworn one of his arms was _bigger_ than the other, like decidedly so, but his body was too perfect for something as weird as elephantitis of one arm, so I moved my attention to what I knew was going to be a perfect face.

And I was right. Oh, so right.

Full lips, dark, shaved jet black hair that seemed to feature every aspect of his handsome face. Sharp, angular bone structure gave him an easy career as a model if he ever moved to LA. In fact, the only thing interrupting his sheer perfection was his piercing mint green eyes that were glaring daggers into me.

Painful, pure hateful daggers that basically said, "Step back, bitch."

He seemed vaguely familiar to me for some reason, but I couldn't figure out why since I didn't know anybody in this town except Mallory and Henry.

The preacher was talking again and I forced myself to dig deep for confidence and listen.

"Stockton, this is Mallory's niece Cami, she's here from California for a visit," the preacher said knowledgably as if he were actually proud to introduce us.

"She's staying with me for a while, Stockton," Mallory interjected quickly. "And I think ya'll are about the same age. Cami, Stockton's our town blacksmith. He does real fine work."

Blacksmith?

While I processed a job that belonged in the seventeen hundreds, he was practicing kindness with my aunt.

"That's nice, ma'am," Stockton, the man with the evil glare, said kindly in return. When he turned his attention to my aunt he was all southern gentleman and chivalry, but as soon as he slid his attention back to me, he was the evil version of himself. "Pleasure to meet you, Cami."

"Somehow I just don't believe you," I smiled sweetly but pinned him with a "tell the truth you bastard" glare. We were in church after all.

Stockton cleared his throat nervously but didn't deny my accusation. "Well, I better go find Will." He gave the preacher and my aunt another polite smile.

Suddenly my uncle piped in and asked, "But you'll be by later to look at that fence?"

"Yes, sir," Stockton answered immediately, but his gaze once again returned to me and I could see the panic flare to life behind his shuttered stare. He didn't want to be anywhere near me and he wasn't really trying to hide his feelings.

What in the hell had I ever done to him?

He was kind of pissing me off. Ok, not kind of, he was _really_ pissing me off. Usually boys bent over backwards to get my attention. I was one fine piece of ass, and he should be tripping over his words and wiping the drool from his chin! He should _not_ be in a hurry to get as far away from me as possible.

So I did what any sane, rational girl would do in this situation, I extended my hand and turned on the charm. "It was so nice to meet someone my age, Stockton. You'll have to show me around town one of these days."

His huge hand swallowed mine up as he performed the obligatory hand shake. His warm palm pressed against mine, and his masculine, strong fingers wrapped around mine. I almost jumped from the skin to skin sensation. I could have sworn there was an electrical current running straight from his hand to mine. My breathing easily sped up and my heart stuttered in my chest. I knew he felt it too, when he cleared his throat and stepped into the handshake.

He was still glaring at me though, with his brilliant eyes and I just wanted to shrivel up beneath that hurtful stare. He was the first person in my life to make me feel inconsequential outside of my family and I wasn't exactly sure what to do with all these emotions buzzing around inside me.

"We will have to see about that, I'm really busy," he murmured with no promise to accept or decline.

More nerves fluttered in my stomach as he stared me down but made no attempt to remove his hand. I realized for sure this time that his right arm, was in fact much bigger than his left and I had to wonder if there was some kind of physical deformity underneath his nice dress shirt.

Surely, he wasn't like.... ugly under there.

Everything else about him was way too perfect to have something seriously malformed hidden beneath his clothes.

At least I hoped so.

Was that shallow?

Probably.

"Alright, well I should probably get up there and start service," the pastor announced, snapping Stockton and me out of our weird, way too long, handshake.

Stockton released my hand immediately and practically sprinted away from me. He flexed and unflexed the hand I had been shaking as he made his get-away as if he was disgusted by touching me.

That was so rude. What a jerk!

Well, I thought that but my eyes still followed every step he took until he slid into a pew across the aisle with a gorgeous girl with long black hair and a pretty, but simple dress she kept adjusting like she wasn't used to looking nice. There were two other boys sitting with them that were younger versions of him, clearly his brothers or some other kind of family.

My aunt cleared her throat behind me and I quickly realized I was the only person still standing in the entire sanctuary. I sat down with a plop and tried my best to focus on the front of the room.

The problem was that Stockton was sitting directly across the aisle, and I was starting to worry I had some kind of fetish with his profile.

The preacher made some announcements and then a ridiculously old lady started pounding away at a piano while a middle-aged, silver haired man started belting out songs. The congregation collectively stood up again and started singing with him.

With a dejected sigh, I forced myself to look forward and ignore the freakishly big armed man to my left. He didn't deserve my attention. He was rude to me, obviously didn't like me for some unknown reason and he was a boy.

And I had sworn off boys after the whole stealing the car and crashing it through my mom's storefront thing.

I gave a less than half-hearted attempt to learn the hymn everyone was croaking out around me, but let's get real, this place was just not for me.

I had never been more uncomfortable in my life. I felt like every eye in the room was trained on me, judging me. Like they knew I was this heathen girl who did recreational drugs at parties and was seriously contemplating how much better this service would be if I could get my hands on one of their jugs of moonshine.

Oh, god, I was going straight to hell.

My hairline started to sweat, and I knew this was going to be a bad morning.

My aunt stood perfectly still next to me, while I tried to hold back on the fidgeting. Eventually, the singing ended and we sat down en masse. The preacher took the pulpit again and launched into a lecture on treating others how we want to be treated.

Or something like that, I stopped listening after he said something about judging a book by its cover.

Unable to stop myself and desperately trying not to tug at my collar, I slid my gaze across the aisle. I caught Stockton's eye for just a second before he quickly faced forward again, but in that moment I relaxed just a tiny bit.

He was so checking me out.

And, even though it shouldn't, I was somehow comforted by the fact that the attraction I undeniably felt for him, was in some way reciprocated. Whatever reason he had for not wanting anything to do with me, at least he thought I was pretty to look at.

And I could so work with that.

Not that I would of course....

But it was nice to know he didn't hold all the power.

Chapter 6

Stockton

That figures, the snooty duchess was from California—effing California.

Probably spends her days on Rodeo Drive—shopping.

Has never wanted for anything in her life.

Dirt or grime haven't even touched her shoes much less her hands.

God, her hand.

After I forced myself to let go, my hand tingled from her cool, soft as silk fingers wrapped in mine.

No, she was a snotty west coast ball of uppityness.

But damn was she gorgeous.

Not the kind of pretty we see around here, the kind of beautiful that songs were written about.

Then again, she probably listened to pop music, or rap.

Why in the hell am I analyzing her like this?

I stomped out of the church, angry at the stir in my gut because of her. Back to work, back to the grind—that's where I needed to be. Shit—back to work meant going to Henry's house—where she was. _Damn it all._ Bridger, West and Will filed in behind me like soldiers—I'd forgotten they were still in town from spring break in my anger. And I became so proud of myself for not looking back for one more peek at her. I'd been caught at least once in the middle of the sermon, studying the shape of her neck, the way it curved to meet her back. And her legs—I swore she'd crossed and recrossed them so many times I wondered if she was attempting to fan the person in front of her. She was so aggravating—and sexy as hell.

We got back home and ate in almost perfect silence until they all broke out in laughter, Will firing the starting gun. We'd been given some kind of chicken casserole from Preacher Wife and we'd slaughtered it.

"What the hell is so funny?" I couldn't help but smile at them but I tried to zero each of them in with a demanding glare.

Will swayed to her left, my authoritative voice failed me—she was laughing harder than before.

"Somebody tell me what's so funny," I demanded.

"What's the word I'm looking for," Bridger asked himself, tapping his finger on his chin, "How about—whipped?"

A snort erupted from Will's nose, "No way, she'd have to make him do something other than ogle her the entire church service to be called that—love-struck?"

"Shell-shocked," West mumbled.

I needed to end this right that second, "Here's a word—pissed—tell me what you're talking about now."

I knew exactly what they were talking about.

Will sombered and cleared her throat, "You were totally goo goo eyeing Mr. Henry's niece."

I 'pshed' at her accusation. I was not ogling her. I glanced at her a few times more than I should have but it was just because she was so damned awkward in church like she was a witch and that pew beneath her was a puddle of holy water. And the fidgeting—God help me the fidgeting. It drove me mad. It's just not that hard to sit still in church. Maybe she was on something—all those wild California girls did coke, right?

I retorted, "I was not. She just resembled a strung out Chihuahua all that damned squirming. It was driving me nuts."

Their gazes snapped to each other and the usually quiet West quipped, "She did what to your nuts?"

And then Will fell out of her chair.

It just wasn't that funny.

Pissed me off good.

Wait until they found out I had to go to Henry's later.

Shit.

Bridger offered to clean up and I let him, it was a nice reprieve from the norm. They all went their separate ways in the afternoon. Will went to see Jesse, Bridger packed up and went back to school and West did the same. I decided to go ahead and get it over with. I'd just run over there, see what the problem was with the gate, hopefully fix it and run back home and resume my regular Sunday napping schedule. Just like that. I probably wouldn't even see her.

She was as good as forgotten.

I threw on some jeans and a black thermal and ran out the door. I pushed some tools and another gate that was lying around into the back of the truck, just in case I needed to bring Henry's home to repair it in the shop. I slammed the tailgate shut and got in. I allowed one self-inflicted eye roll before I left home.

I would not let her get to me. I would not let her get to me.

You know when you have to chant to yourself that you're already long gone.

I drove up the curvy, rocky drive to dead end at the log cabin I'd loved as a child. In addition to being my Dad's best friend, Henry and Mallory were my God-parents, so I'd spent a lot of time with them. They were my second parents but now things were just—weird.

As I killed the engine, a flash of yellow caught my eye in the distance.

"What in the name of all that's holy..." I asked myself.

It was her—Cami—what kind of name is Cami—in the field to the North of the property with the sheep. I left the key in the ignition and watched—but not before checking the perimeter to make sure that I wasn't being monitored while I got my eyes' fill of her. I had a suspicion Henry, Mallory, and I even suspected Preacher, were in cahoots, trying to get us together. But give me a break, she stuck out like a clown amongst mourners alone in the field maneuvering around like a brazen chimp.

She was the epitome of ludicrous.

Ludicrous didn't even cover it.

She was pitiful.

God in Heaven, she was breathtaking.

First, even from the distance, I could see that she was freezing. She had some billowy robin's egg blue dress on with a white long-sleeve sweater that was completely translucent. There was no way that whisper of fabric was doing anything for her warmth. When the wind pushed its way against her, the dress plastered itself to her subtle curves, giving me just enough outline to imagine just how amazing she must look—minus the dress. She clomped through the pasture like the ground was made of hot coals and I didn't understand why. But her shining flaxen waves shone in the gleam of the blaring sun as she tried in vain to—well, I couldn't tell what exactly she was trying to do to those poor sheep. She was probably committing some crime against farmers and animals everywhere. PETA would have a field day. And I wasn't the only one. Henry's four dogs, Australian Shepards, lay in a row on the outskirts of the fence. And if dogs could laugh, these were hooting it up. Why was she trying to herd sheep without the dogs? And just when I thought Cami couldn't get any more challenged, I caught sight of the reason for her coal hopping—the duchess was wearing orange sky high heels. I had to look away for a second—even I was embarrassed at the sight of her in those things—in the middle of a field—in the Appalachian mountains—with sheep dogs as her audience.

I was embarrassed for her.

But it was funny as all hell.

After a few minutes, a feeling of regret passed through me. I couldn't just let her suffer like that—as stupid as she looked, she'd never get those sheep to the next field—I had to help her. Even though I loathed her manners and her snotty attitude, there were some things I had to admit.

She was so beautiful, I kept checking the horizon, making sure the sky hadn't fallen in her presence.

The words she spoke with such sticky sweet malice flowed from her mouth in a soothing stream of velvet, making me simultaneously irritated and desirous for more. It yanked my chain like nothing else.

And there was something endearing about the way she knew absolutely zilch about real life—apart from shopping and tanning—or whatever those girls did.

I couldn't just sit there any longer.

She looked like a cat-eyed marble rolling around in a tin can.

I slammed the truck door shut, grabbed a jacket from behind the seat through the open window, and crossed the land in front of the house until I reached the fence that marked the field. I opened it, taking a short inventory of the state of the gate—this one was still in good shape. As I made my way over to her, I called each dog by name. Henry always named his dogs after cuts of lamb. As I passed, I halted only to wrap my jacket around her shoulders.

"Chop, Flank, Loin, Rib!" I called them from sitting sentry. They already knew what to do; they were simply waiting to be beckoned.

I opened up the opposite gate, the one leading to the next field and whistled for them to do their job. After that, all you had to do was stand there and watch. I could see her from the corner of my vision, standing in shock as the wool clad animals moved around her like a stream moves around a rock. I sucked my cheeks in trying desperately not to smile at her. She was pissed and defeated.

And then I felt like shit for humiliating her.

And then I felt like a champion for saving her.

And then I felt like a bastard for not helping her sooner.

I had turned into some pre-pubescent woman—effing feelings and shit.

She scoffed, turned, and tried to bolt for the house, angry as a hornet, but her caution-sign heels stuck with every step she took. So I bee-lined for her and before she could whine or protest, I threw her over my shoulder and closed the distance between us and the house in seconds flat. Halfway to my destination, I realized where my hands were. My right hand was grasping her calf, her perfect, silken yet firm calf and it caressed her there briefly, just confirming that it was real. There were only mere inches between where my hand was and where I wanted it to be. And her beautifully rounded hip was right next to my face. It would be so easy to turn to my right and bite it, just a simple, pleasurable nip. She gripped the back of my shirt, her knuckles grazed my back. That's what it would feel like for her to reach behind me and pull it off. And I would let her—all f-ing day.

When we reached the porch, I set the duchess on her feet and waited for something, a thank you or an 'asshole' but I got neither. She turned after wiping off the pristine flowing dress, her heels tick tacking the sounds of her anger all the way back to the front door which was promptly slammed behind her.

What the hell did I expect?

A girl like that and a guy like me? Yeah, that would be the last time I ever put my hands on her.

I flexed my hands trying to change the flow of blood to the cells in my fingers, begging the sensation to leave my hands. That way I could forget how she felt. How light she was. How she smelled like honeysuckles that feathered the fields in the spring.

God, I need to do something manly. I'm turning into a girl more and more by the second.

I stalked over to the broken gate, out by the steers. It was more gnarly than I expected, I'd have to take it back to the shop. I walked back to the truck and pulled out the replacement gate which would have to tide him over until I repaired the other one. I detached the broken gate and rigged the other one in place, hopeful it would hold until I could get the one my Dad built so long ago repaired.

I stopped in my tracks on my return trip to my truck to leave. Should I go in and apologize to her? Should I see if she's okay? Make my excuses for practically groping her leg?

But she'd been completely pissed and revolted by my carrying her through the field. I'd probably take a pan to the head or a heel to the eye if I attempted to apologize. So I drove off, but in the rearview mirror, I swore I saw the curtains flow back in place.

After I got home, even though it was Sunday, I went straight to work on Henry's gate. I built and stoked the fire. As I allowed it to come to the right temperature, I berated myself. I should've taught her how to rustle the sheep instead of barging in like a raging lunatic and taking over the job. I was a bull in a china shop. Her prissy tea cup was probably smashed to pieces.

I built three replacement pieces and then pulled the gate into the shop to make sure everything was melded together correctly. I finished sometime late in the night and since there wasn't a tired bone in my body, I decided to bring the gate back to Henry's place and replace it by the gleam of my truck's headlights. I threw the old gate in the back of the truck and again considered walking up to the door and apologizing or asking her if I could touch her legs again.

Shit.

Cami was wrecking my head in the best way possible.

But I couldn't let her get to me.

She was probably just using this place as a vacation from her perfect life—and she'd probably use me as her little mountain fling—if I'd let her.

'Show me around town'—dream on, Duchess.
Chapter 7

Cami

I crawled out of the shower after a day of work.

I literally crawled out of the shower after a full freaking day of _work._

Oh my god, these people hated me. They were supposed to be my family. They were supposed to care about me! They were supposed to _love_ me.

Instead, they took away my spring-line Valentino's, and forced me into boots- and not the cute kind. Oh no, the working kind, the kind that had leather laces and rubber soles.

I cringed just thinking about them.

Especially because now they were covered in mud.

Mallory and Henry had me all over the farm today. This morning I was forced to clean out cow crap with an f-ing shovel. Literal _crap_. With an _actual shovel_. Then to the backyard where I was commanded to give all freaking four dogs a bath. That was comical. Each of them probably weighed more than me and by the end of it, I swear they had given me a bath in drool! Finally, it was off to the sheep- who I'm fairly certain keep looking at me like I'm a tasty meal- to herd them from one field to the next. At least Stockton had done something useful yesterday by showing me how to utilize the dogs. Those freaking dogs- T-bone, Lamb chop, Filet... or something like that. At least they got the sheep moving. Which was so much better than me trying to chase after them.

_This was supposed to cure me of my bad decisions and recklessness???_ Mallory was going to drive me straight to a heroin addiction. This was the seventh circle of hell and I wanted out.

Now.

"Camdyn, when you're done in there, can you come down? I have a favor to ask of you," Mallory called up the stairs from the kitchen.

Translation: I haven't tortured you enough today, so I need you to carry out my evil bidding before you think about robbing the closest liquor store.

Sure thing Aunt Lucifer. I live to serve.

At home I would have taken the next two hours to get ready. It would have included a luxurious amount of primping and outfit picking out. I probably would have re-painted my toes and definitely spent time matching my shoes to my current mood. But sensing Mallory wouldn't put up with that kind of behavior, I changed into some simple black leggings and a soft pink off the shoulder tunic. I threw my hair over my head and gave it a quick blow dry with my diffuser. _Thank god I had thought ahead and packed that necessity._ Leaving my long blond locks mostly damp I used my favorite hair product and let it fall wildly around my shoulders. Secretly, this was how I preferred my hair, easy and natural, but I could never have gotten away with this in LA- except maybe on the beach.

Finally, I finished with minimal makeup. I was too vain to go completely without, but honestly I didn't see the point in trying to impress my aunt and all her sheep. In fact, I was kind of trying to un-impress the sheep, since I did not want to send them the wrong message.

"How can I help you, Aunt Mallory?" I asked from the doorway to the well-used kitchen- it was just so.... country. I leaned my shoulder against the doorframe pretending to be casual and relaxed; meanwhile I could barely hold myself upright I was so tired and sore.

"Last night, Stockton stopped by and fixed that gate," my aunt explained over a pot of boiling, uh, something.

I shivered involuntarily at the mention of Stockton. But bit down on my lip to keep myself from asking the hundreds of questions that popped up. Starting with, did he usually repair gates in the dead of night?  
"Henry promised him some of my canned goods for his work, but since he came while all us normal folks were asleep, I wasn't able to give them to him." So that answered that question, gate-repair did not usually happen at midnight. "I want you to drive all this on over to him, before he sits down for supper tonight."

"Supper?" I repeated and then realized she meant dinner. "Oh, so like right now?"

"Yeah," she answered in a mocking tone. " _Like_ right now."

I rolled my eyes behind her back, but voiced out loud, "I don't know where I'm going, um, ma'am. I could look over your pot of, uh, _stew_? And you could go. I don't mind."

Mallory snorted at my offer. "Camdyn, don't take this the wrong way, but there is no way on this great green Earth that I would let you anywhere near my stove."

I paused for dramatic effect and then asked dryly, "Alright, what way would you like me to take that?"

My aunt was so not impressed. "That's enough. Now, I wrote down some directions for you to follow. You can take my truck; you'll notice the directions follow _roads_. Please no joyriding through the middle of any of our stores. My people down here don't have the kind of fancy insurance your mother has to protect them against the likes of you."

"Ouch, Aunt Mallory. If I didn't know any better, I'd think you didn't trust me." I was mostly being sarcastic, but her little digs had somehow dug into my thick armor in a way I wasn't entirely comfortable with. I walked over to the kitchen table and picked up a very heavy box full of jarred.... everything and balanced it in my arms a bit unstably. The multiple sealed mason jars clinked together as I tried to stabilize myself before I dumped it all over Mallory's floor.

"I don't trust you or the devil inside you, girl. Now get going so you can be back on time for supper. Your Uncle Henry is going to come in hungry, and I won't make him wait on you," she nodded toward the kitchen door that lead out back to the driveway.

"Yes, ma'am," I half-shouted, very military like. I would have saluted just to be a bitch, but my arms were currently balancing a thousand pounds of mushy peaches and something green, which I didn't even want to guess what it was.

Psht. The devil inside me. What she didn't know was that I was just rotten enough I didn't need the devil telling me how to screw up. I got there all by myself.

Now there was something to be proud of.

I wobbled my way to her rust-bucket truck and then balanced the box of canned goods between my hip and the death trap I would be driving, so I could jimmy the door open. I slid the box onto the passenger's seat, buckled it in for good measure, and then climbed up the driver's side.

Nothing in this hillbilly hellhole could be easy though and I had to spend three entire minutes trying to climb up into the cab in my slippery ballet flats. Once successfully placed in the driver's seat, I stuck the keys in the ignition and started the engine.

I screamed at the top of my lungs when the engine came roaring to life. _This could not be good for the environment_. Who was going to hell now, Aunt Mallory, you tree-killing-ozone-destroying-exhaust-sucker?

Ok, I didn't really care about the environment. But it was nice to know I had something on her if push came to shove.

You want me to shovel what kind of poop? Sorry, Auntie M, I can't take orders from someone Captain Planet would dedicate an entire episode to.

I thundered down the drive and then out onto the main highway. Stockton's house wasn't too far from the homestead I was imprisoned on, so it didn't take me long to get there. It helped there was only two right turns total, otherwise I probably would have found myself lost and made into an extra on The Hills Have Eyes- Redneck County Edition.

Stockton's drive was just as long as my aunt and uncles'. In fact, his whole property was very similar. The newly green grass was vibrant and vivid; the property nestled in between rolling hills that were decorated with well built, elegant iron fences. The gravel drive was a blasé grey against the colorful wilderness that spread out in either direction. If Tennessee wasn't so f-ing backwards it had some definite potential to be really pretty.

Eventually I came upon an older style farmhouse, with a wraparound front porch and a newly painted white swing hanging from the ceiling. There was an out building directly next to the house with smoke billowing out of the top of it. I thought maybe it was a barn at first, but by the time I parked the truck in front of the house I was hoping it had nothing to do with animals. The thick, constant stream of smoke did not bode well for any living thing that entered through those doors.

I paused in the cab of the truck for several moments, not brave enough to face Stockton again.

After church yesterday I was convinced I could win him over with a little bit of charm and some pretty smiles. I mean, come on, it wasn't like I had a whole lot of competition around here. Plus, I knew he was checking me out during church.... the naughty boy.

My full set of teeth was probably enough to knock any of these country boys straight on their asses.

But then I was mortified afterwards when he had caught me trying to move those damn sheep in my Vivian Westwood heels! I mean, come on Universe, that just wasn't fair. He was obviously not impressed with my sheep-herding skills, and apparently not patient enough to give me a verbal lesson.

In fact, he seemed to go out of his way not to say anything to me at all! Bastard.

Rat bastard.

But god, those muscles. I shivered again, even though the cab of the truck was plenty warm. He threw me over his shoulder like I weighed nothing and I think I liked it.

Damn him.

There was something so alpha about him, so _primal_. The thought of my body wrapped around his, his huge, calloused hands gripping my legs, my hands holding those firm muscles that swathed his back.... oh my god. They didn't make boys like that out in LA.

Sure, all of the models and aspiring actors- and believe me, there were about a bajillion of those- had muscles to spare. But Stockton's were born out of real work, and hard life. The playboys back home built their bodies in air-conditioned gyms with personal trainers and protein shakes.

And the way he just took care of me, without asking. First his jacket. I hadn't even had a chance to complain about being cold! I had no idea how he even guessed I was uncomfortable. And ok, maybe carrying me across the field hooked over his shoulder, with my ass hanging in the air, wasn't the most thoughtful way of being chivalrous. But.... I had been pissed about ruining my shoes, and with every step my heels had sunk helplessly into the spring-soft grass. He saved me the headache of trying to make it back to the house without snapping a heel or worse, an ankle.

Plus, I couldn't really forget that he'd gotten the f-ing sheep where they were supposed to go.

Without him, I would have been stuck out there for the majority of the day!

However, I would never tell him how thankful I was for his assistance.

He still acted like a complete jackass.

_Ok, big breath in._ I could do this. I could face him.

I slid down from the monster-high truck cab and sashayed up to the front door- just in case he was watching and had started to wonder what in the hell I was doing in the truck. Confidence was key when facing a cocky-thinks-he-knows-best-hillbilly.

I raised my hand and knocked firmly on the screen door. When nothing happened, I knocked again. Still nothing. I looked around for a doorbell, but of course, that would be way too modern for these parts.

I wondered if Stockton lived with his parents, or if this was his property. I would be reluctantly impressed if he owned this all by himself. He couldn't be that much older than me. And while I flopped around like a fish out of water, it didn't seem fair that he would have his life together enough to own his own house.

"Hello," I called out loudly at the screen door. "Anybody home?" I cleared my throat and knocked again.

Ok, so maybe I wouldn't have to face him. Maybe he wasn't home and I could just leave the canned goods on the porch. Crime for stolen pickled vegetables had to be low around here right? Or maybe my aunt's mushy fruit was as good as gold....

Whatever. Worth the risk.

I would just leave it on front of the step with a note explaining what it was for: fixed gate in the dead of night, you weirdo. Or something like that.

I turned on my heel and then let out the highest pitched scream I was capable of.

"Ah!" I screamed again, and then shook my head and stumbled back into the screen door. "Holy shit!"

"Cami?" Stockton asked behind a mask of dirt and grime.

"You scared the hell out of me!" I shouted, the irony of my comment not lost on me. "You can't just sneak up on people like that! You have to warn them if you're going to stalk around in your best impression of Rambo!"

"Rambo?" he repeated, not at all amused with my terror.

My heart was pounding in my chest and my skin tingled with adrenaline. It wasn't just that he had somehow snuck up behind me, but that he was head to toe covered in streaks of black dirt. He was terrifying.

And sexy as hell.

Wait, where did that come from?

"You look like you're getting ready for a SWAT mission. Why are you so dirty?" I gasped out, trying to catch my breath.

He stared down at me, even though he was on the ground and I was up a few steps on his porch. He was obviously annoyed, but he answered, "I was working. You do know what working is, don't you?"

His tone and question irritated me beyond the fear that he was the Sasquatch of the Appalachian Mountains here to feast on my poor helpless, virgin body.

Ok, maybe slightly less than virgin body.

"I know what work is," I sniffed. "I worked all day." I crossed my arms and tried not to take in his sweaty, god-like body. He was all rippling muscle and taut, perfect definition. His face was streaked with black grime, but he was probably the only human being on earth where it actually enhanced the strong lines of his face and full perfect lips that were pressed into a firm line of disapproval. His eyes flashed with annoyance, but their light green color was brilliant against his dirty, sweaty face. He was shirtless underneath worn, denim overalls and if my brain had been able to register anything beyond how f-ing delicious he looked I probably would have been able to come up with some kind of country cliché. Rivulets of sweat ran from his perfectly chiseled neck down his defined chest and awe-inspiring arms. And from the view I had I could see that even though one arm was curiously larger than the other, there was absolutely no physical deformity on this man. He was perfect. I swallowed roughly in an attempt to disguise my embarrassing desire.

"Wow," he drawled, not affected at all by me, "One whole day of work. That has to be some kind of record."

I quickly snapped out of my lusty haze and sent him a death glare, "What is your _problem_? You don't even know me."

"I don't need to know you. I know your type and I'm not buying whatever you're selling," he shot back angrily.

I snorted at that and looked away. _I had to_. His striking body was distracting me from how pissed off I was at the ugly things falling out of his mouth. "Oh, you know my type? You mean, girls from outside your little hollow? You know a lot about girls that live in actual civilization with things like running water and cell phone service?" I laughed derisively to hammer in my point. "You don't know anything about me. _Or my type_. You're just like everyone else around here, you're afraid of something different. I'm not going to apologize for my blond hair or tanned skin. I live by something called an _ocean_. Do you know what that is? If you need help I can pull out my phone, it has something called the _internet_ on it and I can show you a picture. It's kind of like a lake, but a whole lot bigger and it tastes like salt." I narrowed my eyes and turned back to face him, daring him to meet my glare.

To my surprise he did, boldly. His mint green eyes bore into mine with a fierceness I had never seen in real life. My breathing faltered when I realized I didn't know if he was going to yell at me or kiss me. Something intensified the air between us, like electricity and raw, primitive energy.

"You got quite a mouth on you, Duchess," he said slowly, but with no less heat. "Is that why you're down here? Trying to get all that sass outta you?"

He was perceptive, I could give him that. "Actually, I like my mouth just how it is."

His eyes flared with something powerful, something I was almost afraid of. I swallowed again, and hugged my arms tighter to my body. I had always gone for the clean cut type before- literally. I usually liked them both clean and cut. And while he could claim one of those attributes, clean was something yet to be desired, at least at the moment. Still, the thought of launching myself off this porch and wrapping my legs around his waist just to find out if he liked my mouth too was kind of playing on a loop inside my head.

Maybe I was more messed up than I thought I was.... It wasn't like he had been all that welcoming to me.

Still better than Bryce, but god, those _could not_ be my standards.

While we were having our epic stare down, a Jeep pulled up next to Mallory's truck and came to a stop. The same gorgeous, dark haired girl that he was sitting next to in church on Sunday jumped down from the cab and bounded up to us.

Oh no, this had to be his girlfriend. No wonder he was such a dick to me.

Holy hell, I was working on turning into a home wrecker. _What was wrong with me?_

"Hey, Stock," she called out excitedly. "Who's your friend?"

She was all popping energy, bouncing on her toes, unable to stand still. Her hair was a gorgeous deep brown, almost black and it hung in shining waves down her back. She looked more comfortable today than she did on Sunday in black yoga pants and a slim fitted t-shirt. Her eyes were almost identical to Stockton's with that bright, minty green color. I found myself chanting "sister" in my head, over and over again.

He didn't deserve me. He was rude and critical and clearly judgmental. But the thought that he had a girlfriend sat very badly with me. It wasn't that I wanted him. I just preferred him alone, and miserable and mostly.... alone.

"Not important, Will, why don't you go on in the house," he nodded at the front door, never taking his eyes off me.

Well, unfortunately for him, I was raised with manners. "I'm Cami," I smiled at her.

"I saw you at church, Sunday," Will said obviously. "You were sitting with Ms. Mallory and Mr. Henry."

"My aunt and uncle," I explained. "I'm staying with them for a while."

"Awesome," she beamed at me genuinely. After a slight pause she offered, "I'm Stockton's little sister, Will. Uh, Willa, but everyone calls me Will."

I couldn't help but grin back at her. Especially now that I knew she wasn't Stockton's girlfriend. I would think about that later. Right now I was just happy somebody was being nice to me. "Nice to meet you. Willa is a gorgeous name."

Stockton, the party pooper, just had to interrupt, "But everybody calls her Will." He was adamant, daring me to contradict him.

"God, Stock, she got that," Will interrupted, rolling her eyes at her older brother.

A bubble of laughter escaped before I could stop myself. "Is he always this cranky?"  
"Yes, always," Will confirmed on a smirk. I was already in love with this girl.

"Where were you Will?" Stockton asked, tearing his eyes away from me, although I got the distinct impression it took some effort.

"Drugstore. I needed girly stuff," she explained, swinging a plastic bag from the local drugstore around.

"That's enough. I don't want to know," Stockton held up two hands in a gesture for her to stop.

"Oh stop," she groaned. "It's just hair product and some mascara."  
"Since when do you wear mascara?" Stockton demanded gruffly.

I took this as my cue to jump in. "Oh my gosh, I use that too!" I exclaimed and grabbed the bag out of her hand. I held up the cheap hair product and waved it around. "Their styling mouse is the best out there!"

"You use.... this?" Will asked, sounding desperately confused.

"Yes! I mean, I know it's cheap, but it works the best. And I am not one to argue when my hair finally turns out frizz-free."

"Right!" Will squealed, obviously feeling much more comfortable around me.

I got the distinct impression that Will was a tomboy. Clearly she didn't put a whole lot of effort into her appearance and God bless the girl, she didn't need to. She was simply effortlessly gorgeous. But frankly, if Stockton was one of her role models, she needed a good dose of female in her life.

"You obviously have good taste," I smiled down at her and she grinned right back at me.

But of course, Stockton was eager to interrupt with his crankiness, "Why is it you were here again, Cami?"

I shivered when he said my name. I couldn't help it. The way it just fell off his lips with that deep southern accent.... holy hell I wanted him growling that in my ear while I scraped my nails down his back.

Oh no.

Ahem.

There were children present. Because now that I'd spent some time around Will, I could see how young she really was.

I cleared my throat and explained.

"My aunt sent me over with some canned goods. She promised you actually wanted them, but if you don't you can always just toss them. I'm sure she won't-"

"We want them," Stockton and Will spoke up simultaneously.

"Oh," I replied, dumbfounded. "They're in the passenger's seat, Stockton. They're a little bit heavy for me. Since you know, today was my first day of work and all." I waved a dismissive hand toward the truck and then turned my attention on Will. "So, show me your mascara. What color did you get?"

"Ruby?" she answered like a question. "I just followed this picture...."

I could sense her insecurity so I quickly reassured her while Stockton walked silently away, "That will be a gorgeous color on you! And it won't be too strong. Nice and subtle." I smiled down at her.

She relaxed some and then shot a nervous glance back at her brother. "He doesn't mean it."

I cleared my throat and asked, "Excuse me?"  
She powered through, "He's not quite sure what to do with you yet, is all."

"Oh sweetie," I sighed sympathetically. She was so innocent about boys and girls still, that much was obvious. "There's nothing _to do_ with me but enjoy the ride."

By this time Stockton had rejoined us on the porch, his arms full of the heavy box- although the weight didn't seem to bother him at all. He shot me an obnoxious glare at the end of my statement and I wondered if he had heard the entire thing.

"Nice to meet you, Will. We better hang out sometime soon! I'm really good at painting toe nails and I don't want my skill to be lost while I have no one to practice on!"

Will's smile grew so that it was practically ear to ear and she mumbled a reply. My teeny, tiny heart swelled a little bit with her reaction. It was just nice to know that I wasn't surrounded completely by people who had no respect for a well-painted toe.

"Where's my jacket?" Stockton demanded, ripping to shreds our happy little girl-bonding moment.

"Your jacket?" I asked, purposefully confused. "Oh, you mean the thing you tossed at my head right before you manhandled me across a muddy field? I forgot all about that."

Stockton's eyes narrowed into slits and I watched his yummy throat work to swallow against his frustration. "But you still have it, don't you?"

"Mmm, I think so," I replied with more airhead in my voice than necessary. "I'll look for it and let you know." I winked at him, knowing it would piss him off and then climbed as gracefully as I could- which wasn't at all- into the cab of Mallory's truck. "Bye, Will!" I waved and then as brightly as I could manage while his intense glare was fastened directly on me, "Bye Stockton!"

Then I peeled out of the driveway before I walked back up to that boy and slapped him right across the face just seconds before I attacked his mouth with mine.

I gripped the steering wheel tighter, knowing no boy should be this confusing. I wasn't supposed to be simultaneously pissed off and turned on. And I really wasn't supposed to be having all these mixed up emotions for some country bumpkin that could moonlight as a Calvin Klein model if Calvin Klein sold coal.

Chapter 8

Stockton

I slammed the hammer down one time too many and the base of the trellis Mrs. Calla ordered snapped, landing on the toe of my boot.

The second time it happened that day.

And whose fault was it—her.

I tried—I swore I tried to concentrate on the task at hand but her words snaked into my head, along with the way she mouthed off—not to mention the mouth by which all mouths should be judged. She didn't have regular lips, the bottom one was more plump than the other. And the crown of her top lip created the dip of a perfect heart shape.

There I go again, obsessing over pieces of her when I should be working.

Instead I'm turning this project into pieces.

Damn her and all her smart-mouthed sexiness.

I reformed the trellis which took three hours more of my precious time—time I really didn't have to spare. I'd have to run the trellis straight to Ms. Calla's house since I'd taken so long to make it.

I quit for the day, my skin fully branded with the soot of coal and work. I went inside and passed an unusually happy Will. She'd been flitting around the house since _she_ stopped by last night and Will had gone to the Macon's to see if Cami wanted to go to the creek later on. She'd gone on and on about it ever since coming in from school.

Since when was the creek such a big deal?

It was water and rocks—I'd seen more interesting hymnals.

Although Cami in a bikini— _shit, there I go again._

Letting the screen door slam behind me, I rushed around, in a hurry to get to Mrs. Calla's place before nightfall. My father would never have been this late with a delivery—never. Then again, he wouldn't have even a second's thought about the duchess—and I couldn't stop thinking about her at all.

Maybe it was just me. Maybe she had a personal vendetta against men in general, or was generally not in good standing with men who worked for a living. Rambo—she called me Rambo. I didn't look anything like Rambo. The guy had a mullet and spoke as if a team of bullfrogs had taken residence in his gullet—and one of them was stuck.

But then she shocked the hell out of me. As rude as I'd thought she was, she introduced herself to Will and they'd chatted it up about hair gel or something. And the excitement on Will's face was something that had been missing from this house for a long time.

And in so many words she'd accused me of cave-manning her through the field—and that's what I'd done—man handled her dainty self.

And I wanted to man-handle her through a lot more than a field and for a lot longer than a few minutes.

I showered and changed. After throwing the trellis in the back of the truck, I drove the few miles down the dirt road to Mrs. Calla's house. She was a short woman, old fashioned, who always wore dresses—the woman had never worn a pair of pants in her life. Her white hair was always rolled into a perfect bun at the nape of her neck.

She came out the front door of her small cottage-type house as I pulled up, "Always knew you'd be just like your father one day. You're right on time, Stockton."

I pulled the trellis from the back and though it wasn't my best work, she oohed and aahhhed over it anyway. She'd ordered a plain trellis for one of her vines to twirl in but I'd added some decorative effects at the top.

"I dare say this work rivals your father, Stockton. It's a beauty," she complimented me.

"Thank you, Ma'am. Why don't you show me where you want it and I'll go ahead and get it into the ground for you."

She walked me to the south side of her yard where a lonely vine crawled up the side of her house and was creeping into the screen of her window.

"Somewhere in here, that vine wants to be my roommate, but I don't want one."

I dug a small hole and tethered the trellis down with some stakes and thin rope I found in her workshop. Her husband was once the town lawyer but he'd had a heart attack when he was only forty seven years old and she'd chosen to be a single widow ever since.

I made sure the trellis was sturdy and looked to her for approval. She nodded once and then pulled a wad of cash from her pocket—she paid well and this job alone would tide us over for the rest of the month, maybe more.

I turned to go but she caught me, "That niece of the Macon's sure is pretty."

It was said with an intonation that felt more like conversation starter than simple statement.

"Yes, Ma'am. I saw her in church Sunday."

"I'm sure you did. Good night Stockton."

"Good night and thank you."

I closed the door inside the silent abode. I slapped peanut butter and jelly on two slices of bread, poured a glass of milk and sat in front of the TV and looked at the vacant, shiny screen. We didn't have cable and really it was just a piece of furniture, dormant, trying its best to make us look normal. I pulled off my now sweaty shirt and inhaled the sandwich since I hadn't eaten since lunch. The Jeep was missing from the driveway still, which meant Will was still with Cami. I conjured a million scenarios that would justify finding Will and stepping in on their time. But I couldn't do that to Will. She was too excited to have an older girl around.

Not to mention Cami loathed me.

And I couldn't blame her—I'd been a royal ass.

I'd given her the third degree when all she did was bring the promised payment for Henry's gate over. And I scared the shit out of her—and then I berated her for just being on my porch.

Who in the Hell did I think I was?

And I no longer had any room to speak about her manners when I'd shown none.

My mother would be ashamed.

My father would've slapped me on the back of my head.

Two hours later, I still sat there, half asleep, dreaming of her, in that field, in that dress and my hands were on a lot more than her calves.

I heard the Jeep come up the drive, I knew it was the Jeep because it needed a front end alignment and it made a tell-tale racket as Will pulled it up the drive. The front door opened and shut, keys and purse thrown on the table and she plopped down beside me.

"Have fun?" I asked my little sister.

"Yes, Jesse is always busy lately. I like Cami. She's very nice but _you_ wouldn't know that."

I huffed acknowledgement through my nostrils, "I know. She just brings out the bastard in me."

"She doesn't put up with your crap. And she's not intimidated by you like everyone else around here. She thinks you hate her."

I rolled my eyes, "I doubt very seriously she cares enough to notice if I hate her or not—which I don't."

"Could've fooled me."

Will got up and took my plate and glass with her, but I didn't let her get far.

"Will?"

"Yeah?"

"What else did she say?"

She sat down on the arm of the chair our mother once sat in to read us scriptures every night.

"She wants to be a writer, but everyone expects her to be a receptionist or just have some fluff job. She's afraid there's nothing good in her—that she's just trouble. She thinks you're hot."

"Liar."

"Well, she didn't say it, but I know she does. I could practically see the steam coming off of her yesterday."

She got up to leave again, "Stock?"

"What Will?"

"You should apologize. I don't want her afraid to come around, for me?"

She knew my weak spot. I'd do anything for her.

"Ok, I will. I promise."

"Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Will."

I pulled back the comforter of my bed and slipped inside after taking yet another shower. I drummed through my earlier conversation with Will. Cami wanted to be a writer? She didn't look like a writer. And a girl like that, determined, head strong, obviously had every advantage in the world—if she wanted to be a writer, what in the hell was holding her back?

After an hour of tossing and turning, I got up and hit the kitchen for a glass of water. I sat at the table and sifted through the mail and one envelope from Clemmens' Industries caught my eye. I opened the letter and skimmed the contents. I'd received a letter like this before, but the amount they were pitching was absurd. I turned the letter over and over, wondering where the phrase, 'this is a damned joke' was typed in, but I didn't see it. If this letter was legit, they were offering me more than I made in five years' time to design new handcrafted items that they intended to mass produce in their factories. And that amount would be doubled, tripled depending on how many designs I could come up with. It was the dream I'd so vainly chased those years ago in college. It was everything I'd wanted and it would pay for Will to go to college and more—much more. But those pipe dreams were what drove me to college in the first place and while I was there, trying to be a big shot, was when my parents died, trying to hold up my end of the chores in my stead.

I shoved the letter in a drawer we used for junk.

I walked out to the porch and let the cooling spring air wind a chill in my lungs—it made me feel as cold physically as I did in my core.

~~~

On Friday, I made my runs. I strolled into the grocery store, picked up my regular boxes and stacked them in the passenger seat of the truck. But this time, I put in one more stop. I'd still not fulfilled my promise to Will. And I'd decided this Sunday would be my prime opportunity. After all, who could resist a sincere apology on a Sunday?

Ellen's Everything was our town's gift shop. Those who wanted to know the local gossip need only sit on the bench opposite Ellen's shop and see whose husband stopped in for flowers, who came out with a pink or blue bag, women who filed in, searching for the perfect birthday card. And here I was, telling the world by the ding of the bell above the door that I was here to buy a gift—for the California Duchess. Maybe they'd think I was buying something for Will. I sure as hell was gonna use that line when I checked out. I tip-toed through the place that smelled like old women until I was blue in the face. Flowers were too much like a date, a card was too much like a pansy, I tried to flee the place with some of my manhood intact when I spotted a plum colored, leather bound book on the bottom shelf, alone, none of its kin to keep it company. I bent down and picked it up and Will's words from the night before struck me.

She wanted to be a writer.

So a journal made sense, right?

I went back to a previously scanned display of pens, not regular pens but those emblazed in black with gold lines. I picked one up and walked to the counter. Ellen had been in my high school graduating class. She'd started this shop with the money she'd earned through her years of prize winning blue ribbon 4-H shows.

"Will this be all?" she asked sheepishly. I always wondered why a girl who was obviously so shy would start a store.

"Yes, thank you."

"Do you want it wrapped," she offered.

"No, this will be fine."

I paid for my items and made my way through the rounds. I dropped off groceries and talked to Mr. Lambert. But that day he didn't talk a lot. And the squirrel, usually on a leash, was in a cage. I asked him if he was ok, if he needed to go to the doctor but he declined.

"I hate the doctor."

"Don't we all? But if you're sick, we need to go before it gets too bad."

"I'll let you know, Son."

Reluctantly, I left him there but felt sick as all get out about it. But he knew my number and would call if he needed me.

Friday night, Will was out with Jesse and my disdain for the blond pixie had evolved into something I wasn't ready to admit yet. Her journal and pen had sat on my bedside table since I purchased it, waiting to let it peel back the ice so I could administer my apology. It went with a side dish of resolve to be—nice.

Shriver and I went to Mick's on Saturday night. When I left the house, I felt like I needed a drink but by the time I got there, I couldn't find a reason to want to escape the thoughts of her which had doubled on the film reel, like a bacterial plague, invading the spaces between. Instead of the time away from her giving me relief, it wrenched my insides and the urge to show up at the Macon house, unannounced and probably unwanted, throbbed between my ears.

I wanted her.

I wanted to swallow up her smartass quips and delve my tongue into her sweet mouth, stopping more snotty condescension from arising.

My fingers, once repulsed by the sting she caused in them, now craved the feel of her slim curves and wondered if her fingers felt the same; if her body would respond to me the way I _knew_ mine responded to the mere mental image of her.

My chest longed for the pairing of our heartbeats, beneath barely there clothing, or none at all, responsively pulsing, answering the other.

I couldn't imagine what I'd feel if the girl was actually kind to me.

I'd be long gone before I could even pack a bag.

The glass' perspiration trickled down to my fingertips, bringing me back here, to the maple bar, where the roar around me hadn't provided any distraction at all from my inner fantasy.

I heard a faint laugh from the corner by the pool table and turned to see who it was. Shriver was leaned against the wall, some poor dame in the prison he'd made against the peeling paneled wall. I rolled my eyes at his latest conquest but really it just fueled the next projection in my head.

Cami against the wall, my arm above her head, the other gloriously tangled in the light of her hair. But before long, we were no longer in the bar; we were threaded in lust in my mind's created bed.

I was obsessed.

I needed some air—quick.

I slapped a five on the bar and walked toward the door and again let the cold mountain air ease my strain.

I needed to apologize to Cami tomorrow, clear the air, and then wipe my brain clear of her.

I didn't have time for her kind of distraction.

~~~

I was so damned proud of myself. I hadn't looked her way one single time during the sermon. I was so rock steady, you could build a fort out of me.

Plus, I'd made sure to sit in the pew in front of her.

She'd kicked the back of my pew seven times in a thirty minute preaching—seven.

There was something seriously wrong with that girl.

And after the Lord's Prayer was said, I filed out last, making damned sure I avoided the asinine sarcasm sure to pour from her sinful mouth. The crowds of people broke through the front door of the church, eager to get to the once a month potluck that awaited us.

The preacher called out the order of plate filling, kids first, then the elderly, then women, then the men—it had been that way for as long as I could remember.

I looked over the line and could hear the whining of Joseph Richter from the back. The kid had a glass shattering voice like no other and I took the initiative and skipped ahead to help his mother. I balanced three plates, giving the children choices in their lunch while Mrs. Richter balanced three of her own—someone had to help her. Her kids weren't picky and were just grateful for one more meal in their bellies. We got all five children settled and I went back three times, making sure they all had a red plastic cup full of homemade lemonade.

Joseph tugged on my pants and asked me to sit with them and I obliged—I couldn't deny his freckles or his green eyes. Preacher Wife appeared after the crowds subsided and placed a plate before me of the slim pickings that remained on the buffet line.

"Thank you, Ma'am."

She patted my cheek and moved to mingle with the rest of the congregation. In between spurts of Joseph and the other kids' conversation, I let myself peek at Cami. She was stiff, trying desperately not to touch Mr. Lambert beside her who was shaking so badly, he could barely get a bite in his mouth. It almost made me change my mind about apologizing to her. She deserved my brash words. How could anyone be so cold, to another person in need?

From the other side of Cami, Will got up and squeezed her way between Mr. Lambert and Cami and began feeding him. I could see them lock eyes as he blinked his approval and Will smiled her sympathy. I've never been prouder to be who I was and who my sister was, than in that moment. And before I was aware of what I was doing, I scowled in Cami's direction, ashamed of her blaring callous attitude.

Who in the hell did she think she was?

She understood the antipathy in my grimace and in an instant I'd done it again.

My eyes followed her form almost sprinting towards the line of forest.

Mrs. Richter patted my hand, "Don't let it fester, Stock. Go get her."

I locked eyes with Will, who pleaded with me through mirror image irises.

I stalked towards the same tree line- but ten or so feet away from her entrance- trying to cut her off before she got to the creek. I made quick work of it. She and I were parallel as we barreled through the trees, her perfect red heels crunched and crushed crackly leaves as she appeared in and out from behind the oaks as we raced in the same direction.

Then she stopped, hands on hips and yelled in my direction, "What the hell are you doing?"

"Chasing you."

"Why? It's obvious I don't meet your hillbilly standards. Just leave me alone."

I closed five feet in her direction before answering, "I came to apologize."

"You? Apologize? Did someone pay you?" She cocked out her hip a little, way too pleased with her comeback. And that hip—her hips should either be illegal or obscenely insured.

"Not everything is about money, Duchess. I had planned on apologizing to you all week. So, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have been rude to you for no reason. It's not how I was raised and I'm kinda ashamed of it."

She was still fuming, but at least I'd tried. And her eyes told me this was far from over.

"You don't owe me an apology, Stockton. I see how you're rude to everyone, that's why they stay so far away from you. Except for maybe that pregnant woman—she seems to be especially nice to you. And those kids have lovely green eyes. Tell me, oh masterful blacksmith, are those all your kids or just the one on the way?"

I repeated—who in the hell did she think she was?

That's when I decided to get in Blondie's face and give it to her, reputation, manners and Will's opinion be damned.

I'd bought my ticket to hell at a Sunday church social.

And even though my main purpose for getting this close to her was to tower over her, villainize myself before her, there was something else brewing down below, under the thick layers of despise was a bubbling fire of want. Out of pure instinct, I took another unwelcomed step forward, making the top of my stomach touch her breasts, buried beneath her very virginal white dress. She gasped and stepped back, and I remembered my original intentions.

"Number one, don't ever let anyone hear you say that about me or Mrs. Richter. She works her ass off at the diner to provide for those five kids and the one in her belly after her alcoholic husband left her for some whore he met at a bar. I don't give a shit about my reputation but she's innocent in all this. Number two, don't ever—ever presume you know anything about me. And number three, I really was sorry, but you know what I'm even sorrier about? I bought you a gift to back up my apology and left it on the Macon's porch this morning. I wish I'd never thought enough of you to spend one of my hard earned dimes on. So from now on, you and your uptight Beverly Hills heels need to stay as far away from me as possible. And by the way, return my effing jacket!"

I backed up, and took a breath, completely horrified at what I'd just said to her. Tears bubbled to the surface of the bottom lids of her sky eyes. I wanted to take it all back, swipe my thumb across the apples of her cheeks and take her tears with it. But it was too late. I'd gone too far. I'd barked too loud. I'd pulled the scab of a wound that, after my tirade, might not ever heal.

Reclaiming my step again I reached out to touch her, thinking maybe I could retract it all with my hand on her jaw. But I took my hand back as soon as I'd remembered she probably wouldn't want all this dirt touching her.

I bustled through the trees, not towards the church, but in the direction of my house, sasquatching my way through the brush and trees, wishing I was someone else—anyone else.

She was a duchess but I was a bastard—at least now she knew for sure.
Chapter Nine

Cami

_God, these feelings_.

How could anybody put up with these feelings?

I wiped my nose with the back of my jacket sleeve- super attractive- and hiccupped one more sob.

This much was certain, Stockton Wright was an f-ing bastard, and if he thought I would ever talk to him again, ever share the same air as him, he was going to be sorely disappointed.

Only, maybe he wouldn't be disappointed. Maybe that was what he wanted.

That thought alone sent me into more hysterical crying. _This was so stupid!_

And it was all his fault.

Ok, maybe not all of it.

Nope, definitely all of it. I could blame all of this on him.

Somehow.

I'd been stupidly thinking about him all week and now I could just punch myself in the ovaries for it. First, it was those mint green eyes that seemed to haunt my every waking thought. Then, that body. God, that _body_. If I wasn't daydreaming up ways to help Stockton shower all that dirt and grime from every peak and valley rippling over every muscled inch of him; then I was dreaming about what it would be like for him to help _me_ shower all his dirt and grime off me....

But, those were wasted thoughts. And I was tired of wanting someone who clearly didn't want me back. That was the story of my f-ing life and I was _sick_ of it.

I looked over at the paper sack that held the journal Stockton brought me. After the church potluck, Mallory and Henry drove me back to their cabin, and I saw it immediately. They walked inside, knowing I was a blubbering mess and not having the patience or the insight to know what to do with me. I'd slid down the wall and hugged my knees to my chest while crying for the last hour.

And it wasn't _just_ Stockton- although, mostly it was him.

But it was this whole goddamn place. It was like I'd left Earth and entered the orbit of an entirely different planet. These people didn't speak my language, didn't live anything remotely like my life and had no patience for someone who didn't understand them.

Someone like me.

The last week had been _hell_ for me. My Aunt Mallory worked me to the bone and then straight through the bone, straight until I couldn't do anything but collapse into bed at night, praying my parents would be here to get me in the morning.

And I had never felt dumber in my entire life. It wasn't like I was stupid back home. Ok, maybe I didn't get the best grades through school; but to be fair, I had never really tried. I was smart enough. I could have finished college if I wanted to. I could have had a decent paying job if I _wanted to_.

But down here, it didn't matter if I'd read every single classic from the Iliad to Animal Farm, or was classically trained on the piano and the violin.

No, the only thing that mattered to my aunt and uncle was that I got the f-ing sheep where they were scheduled to go. How was I supposed to know when I lost a few- they all looked the same! And it was hard to count them when they were constantly moving positions. They were so sick of me losing sheep I could physically feel their disappointment in me.

I'd also broken her mother's ceramic serving dish yesterday before dinner and you'd thought I'd gambled away their retirement.

This morning I was five minutes late to leave for church and my Uncle Henry wouldn't talk to me for the rest of the morning.

I didn't get it down here. I knew I was a screw-up. I'd been living that whole cliché my entire life, but for the first time in my whole insipid existence, I was freaking _trying_. But nothing was good enough- not for my parents, not for my aunt and uncle and not for the god among men, Stockton Wright.

And that old guy next to me. I knew he needed help. I could see that. I wasn't blind! But I didn't know what to do! LA must hide their old people or send them away on icebergs, because I'd never been around someone like that before. When I pinched Will's leg, pleading for help, I wasn't trying to be callous; I was trying to get him _help_.

I'd apparently hit the limit to how many times a girl could mess up because there was no more understanding left in my life. I thought feeling cynical and bored in LA was bad, but insufficient and insignificant was so, so, so much worse.

I pulled out my cell phone before I could talk myself out of it. I was on the porch, which was the only place to get service around here, even though I had to scoot towards the cliff side a little bit. I swallowed against the nerves and kept my ass on the ground. Nothing would get me over to the cliff side all the way. Not unless all this negative energy made me suicidal.

My dad picked up on the fifth ring, right before it went to voicemail, "Tennyson Montgomery."

"Hi, daddy," I answered in a small voice.

"Katie?" he clarified sounding worried. Apparently he hadn't checked the caller id.

"It's Cami."

"Oh," he sighed, sounding disappointed in me already. "Listen, Cami, I'm not coming to get you. We talked about this. And I think it's kind of rude of you to call me while your mother is-"

"I'm not calling you to come get me," I rushed to explain while my heart dropped to my stomach. I shook my head, ignoring the feeling that I was being pushed in the corner- I'd been ignoring that feeling all my life. "I just wanted to talk to you about something."

"Oh," he repeated while sounding a little surprised. But then his tone went back to his familiar impatience and he barked, "Alright, let's hear it."

I was nervous now. I didn't know how to bring this up. I was hoping for just a regular conversation, where I could bring this up naturally. But it was so obvious he didn't want to be talking to me that I didn't know how to go on.

"Come on, Cami, I've got to leave for tee time in ten minutes." I could hear him tapping his foot impatiently on the marble floor back home. "Out with it."

I cleared my throat and swiped at a tear that slipped out the corner of my eye. Forcing my voice to be strong I said, "I, um, I'm just having a hard time connecting with Mallory. And I was hoping, maybe since you used to live with her that maybe you would have some advice?"

My dad let out another loudly impatient sigh and groaned, "This is why you're calling me? Listen, Cami, trust me when I say it's not Mallory that's hard to connect with. You know, you never see how you're the problem, how you're the one causing all the conflict. But Cami, if anything is wrong it's coming from you, not her."

My heart shattered into a million pieces and I quickly sniffled, "No, I know. I was just-"

"Sweetie, I really don't have time for this right now. I'm going to be late. Call your mother later, alright?"

Before I could answer, he'd already clicked off.

I pulled my knees to my chest again and let the tears fall. Staring down at my phone, I really contemplated chucking it over the side of the cliff, but I couldn't emotionally handle getting blamed for anything else. A hundred other thoughts went through my head too, like closing down the bar and then racing Aunt Mallory's truck all over these curvy roads, getting the sheep all good and liquored up and then trying to see if I could ride one, hunting down some local herbals and forgetting what state of the confederacy I'd been banished to.

In the end, I didn't do any of that.

I stood up, wiped my eyes clean and kicked the journal Stockton gifted me with half-strength. Even with my lack of effort, it still went sliding out of the paper bag and towards the cliff like it was going to slip right off and into the abyss of the unknown.

Panicking, I chased after it and caught it just before it hit the edge. Then I caught myself with one hand raised on the banister. There was a railing that protected anyone from falling straight off, but the journal would have slid underneath it.

My heart was pounding furiously in my chest and my breathing hitched and erratic. I stood up slowly and forced myself to look over the side of the railing. I swallowed against the lump in my throat and gazed down at the rolling mountainside.

I'd made this up to be something in my head that in reality it wasn't. I'd pictured a rocky death trap that fell straight from the porch to the pits of hell below. But all it really turned out to be was a rolling hillside that sprawled out gracefully from underneath the porch. Some of the sheep grazed the grass just below me, and one of those dogs- I now called them all T-bone and they all responded and obeyed me, so obviously I wasn't the only idiot around here- lounged lazily nearby.

The view was absolutely breathtaking, maybe even life changing. The Appalachian Mountains were thick with forest and dense with beauty. I relaxed onto the railing, feeling foolish for the fear that kept me from enjoying this earlier.

At the edge of the porch, facing this huge expanse of wildlife, I didn't feel so afraid anymore. In fact, I felt very ready to face the great unknown. The pits of hell weren't waiting for me, just the great beauty of life and all it had to offer.

I looked down at the gorgeous, leather bound journal Stockton had given me and decided I was going to keep it. He was the loser for not waiting to give it to me in person. He could just deal with the aftermath of me being happy about something.

I was so sick and tired of people making me feel unworthy, of being looked down on, of disappointing people. God, _fine_ , I'd made some really stupid decisions in my life, but if you took three whole seconds to give me a chance I might not frustrate you with every single thing I did or said.

There were good things about me too.

There were worthy things about me.

And if all these people in my life didn't want to see them, then to hell with them. I was forging my own path from now on.

Haters be damned.

I ran back inside and to my room, where I tossed the journal on my bed. I grabbed Stockton's coat that I'd kept laid out on the chair beside my bed like some kind of lovesick idiot and my purse. Back in the kitchen I swiped at my eyes one more time, wishing I'd paid attention to what I looked like before I decided to leave the house.

Oh well, it was too late now.

"Aunt Mallory, do you mind if I take your truck over to Will's for a little bit? I'll put gas in it before I come home," I promised sweetly.

Uncle Henry glanced up at me from his place at the kitchen table and gave a short grunt before looking back down at the newspaper he was reading. My aunt was making something on the stove and the whole house smelled a little amazing and a little like we could possibly be having squirrel for dinner.

Mallory glanced over her shoulder, scowling at me, so I added a quick, "Please, ma'am?"

"I guess that's fine," she conceded slowly, turning back to her stove. "Be back for dinner."

"Yes, ma'am," I answered politely.

"Cami?" she called before I could get too far.

"Yes?"

"Get rid of the dramatics while you're gone, alright. We're too tired to deal with any of your outbursts around here," Mallory lectured without turning around.

Henry didn't even bother to glance up from his reading.

My heart clenched inside my chest, and my stomach churned with nausea, but I forced myself to repeat yet another, "Yes, ma'am."

I refused to let the tears that hovered so close to the surface fall, holding them back with an iron will I didn't even know I had. I slipped out the front door as quietly as I could and took a deep, fortifying breath. Once in the fresh, cool mountain air, I raced for my aunt's old truck. I felt awful, it was like one blow after another today, but I was so tired of playing the victim. Every time I felt sorry for myself, I just got more and more tired of.... me.

So what?

So what if I had it a little rough?  
I had food, shelter and safety. And I was a survivor. Or at least I was going to be one, starting

now.

Mallory and Henry were hard people. They worked hard, they lived hard, they talked hard. Thank goodness they didn't have kids of their own, because I was fairly certain this whole rebelling thing was not just isolated to me. Millions of teenagers, around the globe, were in fact infected with the rebellious teen pandemic.

And my dad was a complete asshole, but that had been true my entire life. Fine, I'll admit it. The last ten years had been one steady stream of cry for attention after, reckless, wild, dangerous cry for attention. And to what end? Nothing worked. Nothing!

My parents were self-absorbed and negligent- that wasn't going to change. It was time I put on my big girl panties and came to terms with that. And my aunt and uncle didn't know me. All they saw was what they wanted to, and maybe a little bit of what I'd shown them. But there was so much more to me than benders and parties. I knew that, I'd always known that.

And Stockton? Well, he could just take one of his metal pokers and shove it straight through his gorgeous, green eye. Because I was tired of trying to please him too. I didn't even know him and I would be gone in a little bit anyway. Who cared if he saw me as Vapid Barbie? His opinion didn't define who I was and it definitely didn't bother me.

Starting.... now.

Now, officially, his opinion didn't bother me.

I pulled up in front of the Wright house and ignored the flutter of butterfly wings on meth in my stomach. I probably should have called Will to let her know I was coming over, but that thought hadn't even crossed my mind until now.

Back in LA, all of my friends were just clones of each other that shared some kind of hive half brain. They were reliable when I wanted to go out and drink, or when I desperately needed to go shopping. But when crisis came around they were nowhere to be found.

Will was the first person I'd ever felt like I could really count on, that I could really trust. And even if she was disappointed with me over the whole lunch fiasco, she wasn't just going to give up on me or pin me down with her cruel judgments like everybody else. Will knew how to dig through the mess to find something worth it and for the first time in my life, I was thankful to be the mess if it meant I got her friendship in return.

I clutched Stockton's hoodie in my arms and bravely knocked on the door. I swallowed against an all-encompassing fear, a nervousness that consumed me. My body trembled at the thought of seeing him again, after everything he'd said, but I told myself over and over that I'd said things I should be ashamed of too. I hadn't always behaved the best.

I was an adult.

It was time to start acting like one.

Or at the very least, pretend to be one.

Still, I was crossing my fingers that it would be Will that answered the door.

"Cami," Stockton's rumbly voice sounded surprised to see me.

Of course he would be the one to answer the door, I'd momentarily forgotten the Universe hated me. "Hi, Stockton," I replied evenly, super proud of my maturity right now. "I was hoping Will was home?"

Stockton nodded slowly and shouted behind him for his sister. Slowly he turned back to face me and then, as if he couldn't help himself, opened the screen door and stepped outside on the porch with me.

He stared me down, arms crossed against his chest, mint green eyes practically glowing with intensity. Finally, after what felt like an eternity of electrically charged moments between us, he growled out, "Listen, about earlier-"

"Stop, please," I tried to sound firm, but my voice broke just a tiny bit at the end. I cleared my throat and tried again. "I don't want to talk about it. I _won't_ talk about it, so please stop."

So much for being a grown up.

Something finally registered behind his intensely bright eyes and he took a step toward me, completely invading my personal space. Instead of backing up, like any sane person would, I just breathed in his masculine scent and basked in the nearness of his body.

"Have you been crying all afternoon?"

I stepped back then, anxious to get away from him. He sounded furious at the possibility I'd been that upset at his words and I didn't have the strength or energy to explain how messed up I really was right now- or probably ever.

"Here's your jacket," I deflected, thrusting the hoodie at him.

He slowly reached for it, eyeing me from under thick black lashes. "You and me need to talk, Duchess."  
I hated his domineering and patronizing tone in that moment. Anger sparked, hot and fiery, inside me, lighting a temper he was going to wish he never provoked. "I'm not playing games with you, Stockton. Don't think for a minute that's what I'm doing. So stop playing games with me. You've made it perfectly clear how you feel about me, so let me make it perfectly clear how I feel about you. You don't get to tell me what a screw up I am, when you don't even know me. Not before, not now and not ever again. I've heard it enough, my entire life, that frankly I'm sick and tired of it. You don't even know anything about me! Not one single thing, except maybe that I like to write and I bet you stole that little tidbit from your sister. I'm here, in this redneck _hell hole_ , to change. To get my mess of a life together. But here's the thing, I'm never going to change if I keep letting everyone else's opinion of me derail me from each step of progress I've made, including yours. So go ahead and collect all those bad thoughts about me and let them fester because honestly, at this point, I don't care anymore. Go ahead and just choke on them."

I spun on my heel, just as Will came bounding out the screen door. She had to push her dumbfounded brother out of the way, because he stood there gawking at me with his mouth open.

"And another thing," I called to him, as I walked backwards toward the line of trees that surrounded their property. Will trailed after me, knowing instinctively I would be headed toward the creek- our favorite spot. "You and me, we had a connection, something most people don't get to feel very often. We could have had something great, Stockton. Guess we'll never know now, will we?"

Will caught up to me and we turned around together, giggling and bumping each other with our shoulders. I didn't know what Stockton thought about my speech, and I didn't stick around to find out. There was also the possibility these feelings were completely one-sided on my part, but I was starting over today, trying to grow up. And that meant I needed to say how I felt and fight for what I believed in.

"Did you really mean that?" Will whispered, even though we were quite a ways from the house.

"Mean what?" I asked, shooting her a side glance.

"That you'll never know now?"

I cleared my throat, because I honestly didn't mean that. "With Stockton? It depends on how desperately he's willing to grovel."

We both dissolved into laughter and linked arms to stay standing upright. Eventually we settled down and things grew serious between us again.

"Cami?" Will asked in a soft voice. "Are you, alright?"

"I will be," I answered honestly.

"Do you need anything from me?"

At that moment I knew I could ask her for _anything_ and she would move heaven and Earth for me.

"Your help," I sighed.  
"With how to talk to my brother?" she guessed and I loved her naivety.

"Hell, no," I laughed. "All that with your brother will work itself out. No, I need you to help me

speak hillbilly."

She snorted a laugh and gripped my bicep tightly with her hand to give it a shake. "Like your aunt and uncle?"

"Them and everyone else. I'm tired of feeling useless. I'm tired of having other people clean up my mess. I want to be self-sufficient and I really want people to start taking me seriously." I finished my plea and then had to suck in a breath at how real that all was. I really, truly wanted those things and even more, I _needed_ them.

"Alright, I can do that," Will promised.

"What about teaching me to spoon feed a really, really _, really_ old man?" I teased, but I was also serious.

"I can do that too," she grinned over at me. "Turns out, I'm an expert."

"Oh good," I laughed. "Right now, I need an expert."

"Stockton would be lucky to have you, Cami," Will whispered so sweetly, that tears formed in my eyes again without my permission.

"I don't know if I believe that," I answered honestly and I felt so vulnerable I wanted to vomit. "But I'm hoping I will soon."

Chapter 10

Stockton

I still couldn't tell you what the word moxie meant according to the dictionary, but as the screen door to my house hit me in the nose and I didn't budge an inch—I could tell you exactly what it looked like. It was five foot six, it smelled like a dream, it knew exactly how to move its hips in a way that made me growl—and its name was Cami.

How had the tables turned so quickly?

Wasn't I the one who was pissed?

And was it completely necessary for her to show up looking that f-ing sexy while she tore me a new asshole?

But the tables had been turned. And as she walked off, partnered by my sister, I realized I didn't care. She was right. I'd somehow allowed my morals to vamp into an attitude of haughtiness and expected her to live up to them without care or concern if she wanted to—or if she even knew how.

I'd thrown the first stone—and she'd thrown it back.

How do I always end up being the bastard?

Because you are the bastard.

And you also talk to yourself—nice.

I pushed away from the door and proceeded to put some chili, thawed out from its frozen state in a Ziploc bag, into a pot and turned on the burner. I mixed up a pan of cornbread and put it in the oven—cornbread I could handle.

She said we could've had something great. She said we had a connection. Damn it, why did she have to be _so_ right? Were there degrees of right? Was I really going to analyze everything until it didn't exist anymore—probably.

But at least she'd confirmed it wasn't all me. Maybe she'd found something in me.

Dirt—she probably found dirt.

She came here to change. That's what she said. And since I'd been that person who came back home to change, to be who my father would've wanted me to be—I could help her—if she'd let me. And since there was no chance, her words, of us ever having any kind of—whatever—maybe she'd let me be her friend. Since I'd fouled up any chance I had to woo this girl. It wasn't what I wanted—but it was better than nothing.

After pulling the cornbread out of the oven and turning the chili down to a simmer, I got the broom out of the closet and went outside to finish up Will's chores since it looked like she wouldn't be back for a while. I swept off the stairs and the porch. I took my time raking out the chicken pen and slopping the pigs. I went to the shop, making sure everything was in its place, forcing my head to my work, determined not to glance out the windows looking for a sign of their return.

After dicking around outside for hours, I went back to the house, showered, and threw on a hooded sweatshirt and some grey shorts. I padded out to the living room, humming a song by my favorite band, Alpha Rev, and then I heard her voice in my house—in my space. It stopped me in my tracks. It was one thing to be dumbstruck by her presence everywhere else. But there was something about having her here, in my family's home that just sat right with me—like she was home too.

I walked through the living room towards the kitchen as fast as I could. Even if she wasn't speaking to me, I wanted her to stay here as long as possible. I probably looked like a moron, sneaking around my own house.

"Stock, I turned the chili off."

I rounded the threshold, just enough to talk to Will, but not enough to scare off Cami.

"And I finished your chores. Thanks."

"Well, I'm gonna make a cheating peach cobbler."

"That sounds good, thanks."

My body was still in the kitchen, my head wrapped around the wall, trying to technically be not in their way, but as Will passed me she caught me off guard and pushed me into the living room. I was gonna strangle or thank her later—I didn't know which yet. Cami sat, facing me, but defiant in posture, making it clear she had no intention of looking at me.

"Um, Henry said something about," I sat in my mother's chair, "a couple of lost sheep." She blushed, and though I knew it was from embarrassment, I couldn't deny the need to feel the heat of it with my mouth. It shone in stark contrast to her cream colored face and gave her an air of vulnerability. In what universe was starting a conversation with sheep talk acceptable?

In the Stockton-Bastardly cosmos?

Stop talking to yourself—dickhead.

"Um, you've seen the plastic tags in their ears?" I started it, might as well let the stupidity run its gambit.

She nodded and scooted a little closer to the edge of the couch, she was listening—a good thing.

"And you know in the barn, where Henry keeps the clipboards on the wall, by the blue ribbons and awards?"

"Yeah, right inside on the left."

I smiled, then retracted it, "Well, on one of the clipboards, it used to have a piece of red duct tape on the clip, it has all the sheep and what color tags they have depending on their age, sex, weight, and whether or not they are for milk or meat. Write the colors and how many of each down on your hand or a piece of paper or something until you remember it—then when you get them to the next field, count them, make sure you got them all. If you are missing one, just open the gate back up and the dogs will find it before it gets lost or eaten. Lone sheep are prime coyote food."

"Why didn't anyone explain this before?" she flopped herself back on the couch and groaned.

"I supposed they're making you learn the hard way—giving you a tough time—it's a mistake a lot of us have been making."

She sat back up and finally looked me in the eyes, "And the thing is, I don't understand why. I made it so easy for you all to be nice to me. I was practically a living, breathing, ball of sunshine."

She was being a smart aleck, but she was a lot closer to the truth than she knew.

"Well, that's true. This whole county is the one with the problem—bunch of dumbass, mountain folk."

She belted out one octave of laughter and I swore I'd never heard a more chest-filling melody.

I put one hand on my chest to make sure it wasn't smoldering.

"I didn't know you were funny, Stockton."

"Oh, you know, we grimy, grungy smiths have our moments."

She smiled, "In between rescuing damsels from sheep and then tearing them apart in the woods after a good sermon."

She didn't bullshit—I'd give her that.

"Yeah, um, about that..."

Will bounced into the room, "Everything's done. I'm starving."

Cami jumped from her place on the couch, "I'm going to go. Aunt Mallory was cooking something, um interesting—I swear it was squirrel. I should get back."

I surprised myself by blurting out, "Stay—it's just me and Will tonight, Bridger and West are at school. We have plenty. I mean, it's just chili but—stay."

She sucked in her heart lips, reigning in a smile, "Well, I think I should at least call and let them know."

I nodded, "Just tell them you're here. They won't mind."

I exited the room to set the table and attempt to make the meal nice for her. I took out my mother's good silverware along with the bowls and plates she only used for company. But there was just so much dolling up you could do with chili. Cami took out her cell but it got no reception, so she had to use our, made in the 1980's, attached to the wall, landline phone. I could hear her, now replying 'Yes, ma'am and No ma'am,' she'd obviously been berated for that already.

She hung up with a grin, "I've been approved for dinner at the Wright house."

"Have a seat," Will exclaimed.

Cami grabbed her spoon and dug in but I no longer had the heart or the callous to intercede. But my sister made me proud once again. And after she spoke, I realized I could learn a lot from the way she instructed Cami without completely humiliating her. I held the title for that honor—Prime Humiliator Supreme.

She reached over and touched Cami's hand—she was a friend, reminding a friend who'd committed a folly. "Cami, we pray first."

"I forgot, I'm sorry."

My turn, "It's fine. We all forget sometimes. But we try to remember."

Will said the prayer, making sure to ask for a blessing over the food, and a blessing over the company. But after we said our 'Amen's, she hesitated.

"No more hillbilly rituals, eat."

She sighed relief and for the rest of the meal I ate while Will and Cami talked about everything. She'd ask Will a question and then shoot me a look like she was scared to even ask. She asked about why people who didn't work got up at the crack of dawn. She asked how people could consume that much sweet tea. And then we all laughed when she asked about the infamous moonshine. Will was even going to show her pictures of the local snakes—apparently she'd never seen one.

And I couldn't help but feel the way I did when she took her first bite of Will's cheating peach cobbler. I had to clench the underside of the table to keep from groaning at the sight of her roll her eyes back in her head. She probably looked like that in all thralls and degrees of pleasure. I wanted to be that spoon.

God help me.

"Why is it called cheating peach cobbler," she asked after making several sounds that made me regret that I'd asked her to dinner—in the company of my littlest sibling.

"Because I just stir a box of cake mix with some butter and crumble it on top of the peaches. I don't spend hours making dumplings and crumble from scratch."

"Well, I can't imagine it's any better than this," she told Will, who beamed at the compliment.

We finished our dessert and she sat back, obviously sated.

"Do they do dishes in California," the sarcasm had worked thus far, I figured, I'd better stick to it.

"Only when we're in between maids," she fired back.

"Well, it's your lucky day. We've been in between maids since—forever. I'll wash if you dry."

Will got the idea and excused herself to finishing up some homework—which was bullshit since I knew she'd finished it Saturday morning.

"Deal," she got up and we gathered the plates together.

I filled the left side of the sink with hot sudsy water and began washing the bowls first.

"The dishrags are in the..."

"No," she put a hand up to stop me, "let me find them."

She finally found the right drawer and laid one across my shoulder, letting her hand linger on the top of my shoulder and she let it sway down the rest of my arm. I trembled from the contact and from the déjà vu tingling that came with our skin to skin contact. Just as I was ready to forgo the dishes and pin her against the sink, she abruptly turned back and began to dry the first washed bowl.

"I broke a casserole dish the other day," She said as she finished up the bowl, staring out of our kitchen window.

"At the Macon's," I asked her, handing her another bowl.

"Yeah, it was just a dish. You would have thought I sacrificed one of their dogs in a satanic ritual."

A snort escaped me, "The white one with the trees painted on it?"

She stopped and looked at me, "That's exactly the one. How'd you know?"

"Well, other than the fact that we spent every Thanksgiving with them when we were kids, since they have no children of their own, and it was her turkey serving platter; Mallory's mother used to hand paint dishes for extra money and just because she loved it. If I remember right, that casserole dish was part of the Macon's set of wedding dishes."

She continued drying, and she sighed once. I looked over to make sure I hadn't made her cry again.

"Everything around here is so steeped in history, how in the hell am I expected to keep up?"

I stopped washing and turned to her, "No one expects you to keep up with it, Cami. I just think that having respect for it is plenty enough. And it's not just you. Trust me, there's plenty of the newer generations who don't have near enough respect for the old ways or for things that others cherish."

"Do you?" She asked me. It wasn't a challenge, it was an honest curiosity. I wished we'd been like this from the beginning.

"I didn't. The lesson was force fed to me," I shrugged.

We washed the rest of the dishes and she helped me put them away. This friend thing was gonna be difficult with her flitting around my kitchen, shifting and reaching, making me audience to every facet of her curves. She had trouble reaching one of the cabinets above the refrigerator and I grabbed her hips and pulled her back, taking the dish from her and putting it up myself. And for the second time that night, I was witness to her glorious blush.

She wiped her hands clean of the chore, "That's it. I'd better tell Will goodbye and get going. I don't want to press my luck too far. Where's her room?"

"Down the hall, first room on the left."

I'd made her stay as long as I could with the dishes excuse. I was a complete failure at this whole thing.

She tip-toed back in, whispering, "She's asleep. I'm just going to duck out."

"No, let me walk you," I threw the towel on the counter and followed her out.

I reached for my returned jacket and folded it around her shoulders and she laughed.

"What?"

"I just gave you this back," she tunneled her hands through the too large sleeves and zipped it up.

"Just keep it. It smells like you anyway. Can't have that around here, ruins the ambiance."

She smiled, "That's funny, I thought it smelled like you."

She stood there, waiting for something and I took a moment, trying to drum up some memory of how my father would apologize to my mother, for reference. She always forgave him, after all.

"Cami," I grabbed her hand, not meaning to, "I can't tell you how sorry I am. And I know you don't need or want my apology, but you deserve it."

She didn't respond, but turned, taking her hand out of mine and took the steps in leaps, getting in the truck in a hurry. But when she showed up at my door, I'd lost all fleck of pride when it came to her. So I followed and hung on to the rolled down window of the Macon's truck.

"What are you doing Tuesday?"

She scoffed, "Probably sheering sheep or shoveling manure. What did you have in mind?"

"I thought you wanted me to show you around town," I raised one side of my mouth in a grin.

"I did. I do. Are you asking me on a date, Hillbilly?" She rested her gorgeous head on the side of the truck.

"No, Duchess, I haven't earned that—yet. Maybe we're all trying to change a few things about ourselves around these parts."

"Ok, what time?"

_Oh, say,_ _right now. Open the door and let me show you what the bench seat of that truck was really made for._

"I'll pick you up at eight, Tuesday morning."

She nodded and I felt like I needed to leave her with something, plus there was my ever demanding craving to touch her—so I bent forward, leaned my head into the open window of the truck and kissed her forehead. Even her forehead was soft and perfect. It was just enough to barely satisfy my need.

She pressed her lips together in a fine line, begging them not to want more—I hoped that's what she was doing. But then she threw the truck into drive and then she was gone.

I headed back to my house, and Will was at the kitchen table.

"I thought you were asleep," I winked at her. I knew she wasn't asleep when Cami told me.

"I thought you hated her," she'd poured a mound of salt on the table and was swirling her finger in it.

"I never said I hated her—and I don't. She doesn't put up with my shit and she's not scared of me."

"That's what I said. But that's why you hate her?" Will still hadn't figured this stuff out. Hell, I was six years her elder and I had no clue what I was doing.

"No, that's why I like her. I like her a lot more than I'm willing to admit," I took a seat next to her at the table.

"There's a lot more to her, Stock—under the California façade, you just have to get past the shallow stuff."

I swept her salt back into a hill for her, "I won't ruin this for you, Will."

"I see you, Stock. Most guys are not home, taking care of their teenage sister. They are out running through girls like water, or they've already found someone and are married. I know this is hard for you. I feel like such a burden on you, sometimes. You do enough for me, don't ruin this for _you_."

She started to get up, but I couldn't let this go—wouldn't let this go. I got up and reached for my sister and hoped my words held half of the real meaning—at least.

"Look at me, Will." She did, but she was crying. What kind of asshole makes two girls cry in one day—and I'm pretty sure Cami had cried more than once, by the look of her puffy eyes.

"Don't you know how proud I am of you? I'm so honored that you trust me enough to take care of you. I can't think of anything I'd rather be doing with my life than being a part of yours. I couldn't love you more if you were my real kid."

She hugged me, really held on for a while and I held on right back.

"I'm just grateful you didn't bolt and leave me with Bridger."

I chuckled and pulled away from her, "Can you imagine, you two would've strangled each other on the first day."

"Nah, he's too slow. I would've killed him first, while he was busy cleaning."

We laughed and then she said she was really going to bed—for real that time.

And as I laid in my bed later that night, I wrestled with the comforter and with myself—and the part of me, the one that was afraid of living the rest of my life as a lonely man—won.
Chapter Eleven

Cami

"There will be chores for you to do when you get home tonight," Mallory instructed from the porch.

I tried to smile, but her tone was so harsh it was almost impossible not to roll my eyes. Somehow I wrestled down my defiance and gave her a respectful, "Yes, ma'am."

She hesitated on the stairs. She had already been at work for hours this morning, and her heavy boots were thick with mud. I mentally added "sweeping off the porch" to my chore list whether she asked me to or not. I was so not getting blamed for tracking mud into the house.

"Cami, don't make this a habit," her gray eyes narrowed on mine and her expression became absolutely serious. "I'm glad Stockton's making an effort to get his head out of his ass, but you came here to work, got that?"

"Yes, ma'am," I nodded quickly. A giggle bubbled out of me before I could stop myself.

"What's funny?" Mallory demanded but with a surprisingly softer tone.

I shook my head and admitted on a gentle laugh, "I'm just glad I'm not the only one that realizes Stockton needs to pull that big, bald head out of there."

Mallory chuckled almost like she didn't mean to, and then shot me a wink before walking down the steps and across the field to meet Henry near the sheep. I watched after her wondering if we'd just bonded over Stockton's pigheadedness.

It was definitely a large enough subject and an inclusive enough debate to bring all kinds of people together. I was surprised they didn't use it in world peace negotiations.

Stockton pulled up in an old truck almost the exact twin of Mallory's but in much better shape, aviators on and head freshly shaved- he looked hot enough to be in Hollywood. Not that he'd ever fit in out there, and I was actually thankful for that. I'd started to enjoy his personality the other evening over dinner. He.... he wasn't as hateful and condescending when he relaxed. He could actually be fun.

And washing dishes with him had seemed so.... natural.

Which was super weird. I was just not the domestic type. And that was probably what he was looking for. He wanted a Little-House-on-the-Prairie wife that would mend his socks and have his dinner ready for him every day at five. I had dreams, granted secret dreams, that I rarely even admitted to myself, but none of them included cooking, cleaning and putting up with a surely mountain man covered in dirt seventy-five percent of his life. Friends were a good choice on both of our parts.

He would make a good friend for me while I was trying to get my life together and let's be real, I would make an awesome friend for him- the best, hottest, sexiest friend he'd ever had.

I suppressed a smile and pushed away from the cabin wall to meet him just as he stepped down from the cab of his truck.

"You're ready," he drawled sounding a little astonished.

"Don't sound so surprised, Hillbilly, we've got work to do today." I kept a straight face, and walked past him before he could see the smile trying to break free across my face.

After I climbed in the passenger's seat, he was still standing by the door looking a little dumfounded. This time the grin grew, wide and dominant, so that when I spoke again, there was no ignoring my amusement.

"Stockton, sometimes, I try at things. I'm willing to try at you, so let's go already!" I giggled.

His eyes snapped up to mine and their spearmint color had deepened to something dark and heated. In a rough voice, he grated, "You're willing to try at me?"

My stomach jumped and fluttered at the way his words coated my skin, and clawed at my chest. He'd hypnotized me with the intensity of his stare and my mouth went instantly dry with nerves. I swiped at my bottom lip with my tongue, hoping to make it possible to speak again.

"At our friendship," I answered weakly. I prayed he didn't notice the tremble in my tone. "I'm trying at being friends with you."

That seemed to snap him out of wherever he'd gone. He shook his head, seemingly trying to clear it and hopped up next to me in the front seat. He tilted his head towards me to give me a reassuring smile and then we were off, down the winding, gravel road and back out onto the highway.

Music was playing from the stereo, heavy sounding boy music that I thought I hated. But as the serious lyrics filled the silence between us, I realized I didn't mind the sound so much. It was a lot like Stockton- heavy and intense, but meaningful and the kind of deep that made a person want to climb up high and dive down into.

"Mallory's alright with you having the day off?" Stockton asked when we were about five minutes from town.

"Not really," I snorted. "But she's giving me today. I promised her you would be making me work, so my rehabilitation was not in jeopardy of backsliding."

"Rehabilitation?" Stockton asked, sounding just a tad bit nervous.

He probably thought I was some kind of dealer using my gate way drugs on his little sister. "Um, attitude adjustment camp. My parents banished me from LA until I could stop acting out in ways that are detrimental to myself, others and/or property."

Stockton pulled into a parking space of the local grocery store- back home we had farmers markets bigger than this place and CVS's that probably out stocked it. He shut the car off and slowly turned to face me.

"Cami, were you on-"

"No!" I quickly reassured him. "Ok, I have on occasion tried something medicinal in nature and in my youth a few things that could be considered in the realm of illegal. And then there's of course the booze...." I cleared my throat, hating how Stockton was about to judge me for my past. I couldn't even look him in the eyes, so I darted my gaze around the inside of the truck looking for anything other than those piercingly, intense eyes to focus on. "But I wasn't addicted to anything. I mean, I haven't had anything, not even a drink, since I've been here. It was just.... I was reckless. I was," another throat clear, "I was destructive."

He opened his mouth to say something but I was too afraid to hear his reprimand.

"Stockton, I would never, ever hurt Will, or introduce her to anything like that. I won't even let her drink soda around me because it's so bad for you. Ok? I have a million excuses for my behavior back home, but I didn't bring that shit with me. I'm trying to get better. I'm trying to _be_ better." My hateful eyes glossed over with tears, and I heard the thickness in my voice before I could banish it.

"Cami," Stockton rumbled authoritatively, but still I couldn't meet his gaze. His fingers slipped up to my chin and tilted my face gently so that I was forced to look into that bewitching stare. "Are you going to tell me about those excuses?"

I lost the ability to speak at the tenderness in his tone, at the depth of forgiveness in his eyes and the pressure of his fingers still holding my chin. All I could do was shake my head. Because even if I could admit to Stockton all the problems I had once upon a time, I could not, under any circumstances, confess the reasons for those problems. They sounded pathetic even to me.

Stockton's eyes grew darker as if some kind of emotion had come to a boil just behind his pupils. His fingered grasp turned into an open palm against my face that he slid down soothingly until it rested against my neck- hot, firm and electrified. My heart immediately picked up its pace and my breathing became erratic.

"You can tell me, Cami," he promised in a low, almost growl.

I shook my head again, barely restraining the need to lean into his palm and then into his body. "Not yet."

"Soon?"

"Maybe."

"Don't drag Will into any of that bullshit," he said firmly, but his eyes were still soft with emotion for me.

"I would never," I swore.

"I know," he whispered. He leaned forward then and my breath caught in my throat. Gently, so carefully I had to believe he thought I was breakable, he pressed a kiss to my forehead for the second time since last night. His lips hovered on my skin, warm and soft and I closed my eyes against the incredible tenderness that was rolling off him in waves. Tears pricked my eyes again and I could have easily stayed there, just like we were, for the rest of the day- maybe the rest of my life.

But eventually he pulled away. Slowly, so slowly that I was able to relish a few more moments of closeness with him before we were separated again. Once he was across the cab, and inches of seat parted us I felt cold and empty. I wanted his warmth back, his confident comfort. I wanted his hot skin on mine, never letting go.

I had never felt like that before when someone else touched me, never so cared for, never so complete.

Shaking off those out of control thoughts I struggled through an emotionally hoarse voice and asked, "What was that for?"

He looked at me from the corner of his eyes, sliding his hands up and down the steering wheel and gripping it tightly. "For every single thing you've been through."

I slumped back against the seat while he jumped out of the truck and shut his door. I had been called an attention whore my entire life; looked down on by my teachers, instructors and parents. I had been shoved into the corner, forgotten about, left behind and neglected for as long as I could remember. It was what I was used to. It was what I expected. Nobody had ever looked at me like a casualty, like someone that needed _rescuing_.

Nobody, until Stockton.

He wrenched open my door for me and held his hand out. "Come on, Duchess, I don't have all day to wait around on you." A sly smile tugged at his lips and I couldn't help but fall into it.

I unbuckled and allowed him to help me down from the cab. He didn't let go of my hand while he closed the door, but tugged on it, leading me into the tiny grocery store.

He grabbed a cart, at which, he finally let go of my hand and we started walking around the store collecting items. I quickly realized this was not a shopping trip for his own family when he picked up a couple toy trucks at the end rack on one of the aisles and then a few discount hair bows in the personal hygiene section.

"That will look good with your eyes," I nodded at a pink and green bow with polka-dots and butterflies on it.

"Smartass," he grumbled, but shot me an amused smile. "We're picking up some things for Mrs. Richter. You know, the mother of all my children."

"Alright, now that's just not nice," I huffed playfully. "I'm sorry about that by the way. I guess I just got a little jealous." I shot him a sheepish smile and ignored the embarrassed blush that colored my cheeks.

His eyes heated again and I think I forgot how to swallow.

"Oh, yeah?" he asked in his sexy, low-octave timber. "If you want me to eat lunch with you, Duchess, all you gotta do is ask."

His slow southern drawl was literally going to be the death of me.

I shivered as his words cascaded over my skin, wrapping around my bones and my hormones and sending my heart into overdrive.

"I'll keep that in mind," I somehow forced out in a coy laugh. "If I ever want you to sit by me."

He threw his head back and let out a gruff tumble of laughter. "Well, then maybe I won't wait for you to ask me."

I could feel heat creep up my neck and blossom across my chest. This boy knew how to flirt and I hadn't been this affected by someone, um, maybe ever! I was incapable of speech at this point so I gave him a flirty shrug of my shoulder and threw some marshmallows in the cart, along with some chocolate bars and graham crackers that were set up on a display stand together.

"Marshmallows?" Stockton asked incredulously.

"Even us California girls know the power of s'mores, Stockton. I thought you were trying to win over these kiddies?"

"Aren't you just full of surprises?" He actually sounded bemused, as if he didn't expect any of this from me.

That pleased me endlessly. "All kinds, Hillbilly, all kinds."

We checked out, then loaded the truck, laughing and joking the entire time. Somehow, we'd worked out that aggressive bickering between us and what was left was this easy, fun, completely sexually charged- oh, wait. What was left was just this laid back friendship.

It was really nice.

I kind of liked having a friend that didn't want the Beverly Hills me, that wanted the real me. And I didn't even know who the real me was yet. But Stockton seemed to take it all in stride, so I just went with it too. He wasn't the only one surprised at some of the things I was saying.

Constance, Tennessee was this idyllic little town with all the staples the town folk would need- like a Pizza Hut and local bar- and some specialty shops and cute little downtown area. The people all knew each other and were, for the most part, kind with the exception of expected small-town gossip.

So, pretty much the exact opposite of LA.

It didn't take long to get to Mrs. Richter's and as soon as Stockton turned the engine off, all kinds of dirty rugrats spilled out of the house and attacked him. He was covered in them as they climbed on his back, held onto his legs and tugged on his hands.

It was adorable.

Good thing we were just friends, otherwise I would have been in great danger of falling for him.

Hard.

I loaded up my arms with grocery sacks, double checking to make sure the s'mores, bows and trucks made it, before carrying them into the house. Mrs. Richter was not that much older than me, maybe five years or so, but her cheeks were permanently flushed and her hair a wild mess that screamed too many children and no live-in nanny.

"Well, hello, who are you, darlin'?" she asked, with that thick-like-honey southern accent.

"Hi, I'm Cami, Mallory Macon's niece. I'm just helping Stockton today, while he runs his errands around town," I explained as sweetly as I could. Stockton most likely hadn't relayed any of our exchange to her, but my ears burned at the memory of how unfair and judgmental I had been.

"Nice to meet you, Cami. I'm Beth," she smiled at me and then gestured to her kitchen counter.

I shot her an embarrassed look that she quickly mimicked because of the mess laid out in front of me. I balanced the bags, while she quickly cleared off the kid's cereal bowls, juice cups and last night's dirty fry pan that was going to take an industrial strength soap before it was usable again.

"So you're helping Stockton this morning?" she asked with a twinkle in her eye.

"Yes, ma'am," I replied while finally setting the bags down. "He wanted to show me around town, and I wanted a break from the sheep."

"Well, I can't blame you there," she giggled a little bit. "Never was one for taking care of animals. Now children on the other hand...." she trailed off just as all the kids burst into the kitchen with Stockton fast on their heels, yelling and chasing them. They giggled hysterically while trying to hide behind their mom's skirt.

"Gotchya!" Stockton exclaimed while scooping up the smallest rugrat and tickling him till he was kicking wildly in Stockton's arms and tears were streaming down his face.

"Stockton, let him _go_ ," Beth scolded, swatting at his arm. "He's going to wet himself all over you and I'm just trying to potty train him."

He immediately dropped the little wild thing, just in time for him to look up at Stockton and stick his tongue out at him. "I'm gonna get you for that," Stockton warned before the boys were all off, chasing each other through the house again.

"Mama, can you do my hair now?" a sweet little girl, probably about five years old asked.

"I can't just yet, sweetheart, I've gotta get these groceries put away. Maybe in a minute, alright?" Beth's attention was already on the grocery bags and the mess in the kitchen.

The little girl's face fell, but she looked around for a way to help her mom. _What sweetness!_ I kind of felt like the Grinch when my heart swelled with compassion, like it had never felt that emotion before.

"I could do your hair," I offered just loud enough for her to hear me. I held my breath while I waited for her to answer, so terrified of rejection that tears swelled in my eyes. It was silly to be afraid of a little girl turning me down, but something in me just begged for something this innocent, this good, to look at me and say, _yes_. My chest ached in anticipation and I forced myself to hold my watery smile. She would definitely say no if I burst into tears in front of her.

"Really?" She beamed a toothless smile- the adorable kind after little kids had started to lose all their front teeth- and her eyes lit up with excitement. "Can you make my hair look like yours?"

I grinned back at her, I couldn't help it. "Absolutely! Do you have a brush?"

She ran to grab one, plus some detangler and then we set up at the kitchen table. While Beth put away groceries, I combed and fishtail-braided little Lucy's hair and then added one of the new bows Stockton bought. As soon as she was finished, her little sister who was somewhere in between the youngest boy and Lucy in age, sat down and demanded the same treatment. By the time I was finished, I was so proud of my work I just had to take a picture of the two darlings with my phone. There was just something so rewarding about doing little girls' hair that I didn't even know where to put all the happiness. I felt bursting with them and my heart felt too big for my body. These feelings were rare and coveted by me and I knew this moment would stay with me forever. And I had Stockton to thank.

Finally, we said goodbye to the Richter's and Stockton drove toward the second house on his route. We were mostly silent on the way. I was lost in my own world, thinking about those precious children and what else I could do for them while I was here. And Stockton was lost in, well I didn't really know what he was thinking about, but he kept shooting me sidelong glances. At first, I thought they were kind of flirty and got excited. But then I noticed his expression was mostly a mixture of confusion and disbelief, so I stopped trying to analyze what that boy was thinking about.

Stockton pulled to a stop in front of a tiny, run down shack of a house and hopped out of the truck without saying anything. The Richter's house had been one thing, but people didn't really live in this kind of hovel, did they? It could not have been safe. I glanced around, desperately looking for the _Condemned_ sign.

And then I spotted him, the old man I was sitting next to at the picnic. _Of course_.

Stockton opened my door and helped me down, before collecting the rest of the groceries out of the trunk. I followed him in silence up the wood-chipped walk and to the porch where he sat lounging on a rickety old rocking chair.

"Hi there, Mr. Lambert," Stockton called out as we approached. "I brought a friend with me today. This is Cami."

"Hi, how are you?" I shouted, not sure if he could hear me or not.

By Stockton's choked laughter, I figured out that Mr. Lambert probably could hear me. He just looked up at me though, his whole body was trembling and his toothless smile was not at all because he was losing baby teeth.

Did they not have dentists in the South?

"I'm gonna go put these away, you should.... entertain yourself for a minute," Stockton grinned at me.

I stuck my tongue out at him, feeling very much like the little boy he chased around the house earlier. Instead of grabbing me and tickling me, he just laughed some more. Maybe he would tickle me later? How did I get him to attack _me_ with his hands?

"Girlfriend?" Mr. Lambert grunted from his perch on the porch.

"Do I have one? No, I uh, nope." I replied stupidly, trying to figure out where he got that from. Was it the work boots I was wearing over my skinny jeans? He choked on something, probably his tongue and looked away. _Oh, wait._ Blond moment. Holy shit, I probably just traumatized the poor old man. "Oh, am I Stockton's girlfriend?" I asked quickly and loudly, hoping to grab Stockton's attention inside. "No, um, well," I faltered, thinking maybe it was a good thing to say yes after my bumble. I finally decided on a, "Not yet."

That was kind of neutral. That worked.

Mr. Lambert's eyes lit up at my words and he leaned forward in his chair suddenly like I was a shiny new toy. "He needs a good woman. You're a good woman."

Oh, god.

I cleared my throat and then vomited words. "Well, it's just, that, we didn't used to get along. And now, even though we're getting along better, we're going to try the whole friend thing. I mean, I could potentially want more in the future, but I'm not exactly sure what he wants. And, you know, there's this thing between us, like, like, this.... uh ,thing," probably shouldn't say _sexual tension_ to a ninety year old man, "but neither of us is quite ready to explore it just yet. So we're sticking with friends. For, uh, now." _Shut up, shut up, shut up._

Where the hell was Stockton? And why couldn't I keep my f-ing mouth shut!

Mr. Lambert's grin grew so that it stretched from ear to ear. "Good. Woman."

Whew, ok, he was not going to go blabbing my out of place speech around town. That was a good sign.

I muttered a resigned, "If you say so." Even though I knew the truth, that I was exactly the opposite of a good woman.

Stockton came out of the house just then, the squeaky screen door shutting with a bang behind him. He walked down the porch stairs to come stand next to me and started small talk with Mr. Lambert. I couldn't even listen to anything they were saying, I just kept replaying my stupid confession in my head, just _praying_ Mr. Lambert didn't blurt out everything embarrassing I'd admitted.

I was pretending to pay attention though, so when something terrifying and rodent-like scurried out of Mr. Lambert's pocket, I was focused enough to see it. A blood curdling scream ripped out of my throat and I jumped as far back as I could before hitting the solid wall of Stockton's chest.

Immediately, his strong, warm arms wrapped around my middle and his hands splayed on either side of my hips. I instantly relaxed wrapped up in his tight hold, but my heart was still pounding wildly and my breathing incredibly erratic.

Stockton leaned down and murmured in my ear in a calming tone, "It's just a squirrel, Cami. Nothing to be afraid of."

"A squirrel," I echoed on a pant.

Stockton pulled me impossibly closer against him and I had to close my eyes against the sensation. My body melted against his, my head falling back against the firm, chiseled platform of his chest, my hips tucked nice and tight against the cradle of his. His face was bent against mine so he could talk soothingly in my ear and the way he was holding me, god, the way his arms were so familiarly wrapped around my waist made me think all kinds of inappropriate thoughts- effectively taking my mind completely off the rodent climbing all over Mr. Lambert.

"Look, it's on a leash and everything, it can't get you," he reassured me, and I did relax a little bit.

But at that point I wasn't sure if I felt better because of the hypnotizing sound of his deep voice, the drugging effect of his incredibly perfect arms wrapped around my middle, or the fact that for some odd reason I did feel safer knowing the squirrel was on a leash.

I swore these rednecks were going to _kill_ me.

"Alright, you kids, get outta here," Mr. Lambert demanded surely. "You're scaring my squirrel."

I snorted a laugh before I could help myself and earned a chuckle from Stockton against my neck.

"I'll be by later, then," Stockton promised before pulling me towards the truck.

"Goodbye, Mr. Lambert, pleasure to meet you," I called out, but Stockton was already opening my door and helping me inside.

Once I was in my seat I expected Stockton to close my door and go to his, but he surprised me by buckling me in instead. I blushed at his sentiment, even while I felt a little silly since I was more than capable. But all of those thoughts quickly vanished when I looked into his heated green eyes and felt the force of something powerful and consuming rolling off of him.

His hands skimmed across my waist as he reached across me, and even while he clicked the seatbelt into place, his fingers splayed across my hip. His free hand, rested intimately on my thigh and all the while he held my gaze.

Holy hell, this guy could make anything sexy.

"Mallory expecting you back?" he asked, keeping his hands on me, his eyes never letting me go.

I shook my head, working hard to form words. "I didn't know how long we'd be. She gave me the whole day."

"Want to come home with me?" he asked in that low, sultry drawl. I blushed before I could help it. He made me so nervous. "I'll show you what I do."

Yes, please, show me what you do!

Ahem.

"Alright," I agreed quickly.

"Alright," he echoed and then devastated my heart with a genuine smile.

I was in so much trouble with this _friendship._

Chapter 12

Stockton

Awe didn't even scratch the surface of the way I felt as I watched her with Beth's kids. I was only halfway playing with the boys as she brushed and primped Lucy and Alice—too enamored with what she was doing. If I thought she was tempting before—somehow showing that much compassion and care to those girls had tripled the effect. Not to mention the visions of Cami as a mother that throbbed in my cerebrum.

But we were just friends.

Keep repeating it to yourself Stock, maybe it will sink in that way.

I saw Beth fight against tears as both of the girls pretended to be princesses and beauty queens with their hair fixed up as if they'd had their hair fixed by a member of the royal family. They didn't know they had—by my duchess.

If only I _could_ claim her as mine.

I'd taken every chance I could that morning to touch her. Something about connecting us physically calmed me—took me away from the sand I was constantly drowning in. Everything became ok, manageable even, when she was with me.

But in my truck, on our way towards my house I became sick with worry. It was one thing to show her the town and the people I helped, but it was a whole other animal to bring her into my world, my shop, my father's shop—I wasn't sure bringing her sunshine into my hell storm was a good idea anymore.

"We, um, can do something else. We don't have to go back to the house."

"Hmm? Oh, come on Stock, I promise not to break your—whatever tool you use." Obviously, I'd cracked into whatever deep thoughts she was floating through and paid the sarcasm price. I loved her smartassery. But she still had a foot in her thought cloud—so I decided to mess with her.

"You're not gonna break my tool?" She was looking out the window.

"No," She was getting aggravated at my meddling, "I won't break your tool, I won't misplace your tool, I won't even touch your tool, I promise."

"Well, there's no point in getting you alone then." She turned to face me so fast, I thought she'd put a crick in her neck—her reddening by the second, smooth as polished metal, warm as a blazing fire, neck.

"Sarcasm and innuendo at the same time? Stockton Wright, I thought you were a gentleman."

"I have no idea what you're talking about. You can't use those big words around us hillbillies. Not all of us finished college." I grinned as wide as I could without being creepy—which was difficult since I had the reputation of not smiling.

She rotated fully in the seat, giving me an all access viewing pass to her legs. Even encased in jeans it was difficult not to steal glances. They begged me to get to know them better.

"So you finished some college? Is that what you're saying?"

"I went to Vandy for two years."

"That's a pretty good school. What was your major?"

"Business. I—had big dreams of making my dad's operation into something huge. I was a small town kid with big empty pockets and overzealous goals."

I stopped the truck and threw it in park, but she showed no sign of getting out. I liked her here like this, by herself, no pretentions or expectations on either part—just me and her. If I could, I'd have this moment wrapped in plastic wrap, layered all around the truck, keeping it fresh in my mind forever.

"Why did you stop?"

My eyebrows pulsed in a downward motion, confused as much as I was. Did no one tell her? She hadn't talked about this with Will? I thought the tale of my parents' death was attached to my name like a Junior or the Third. Oh, him? The burly, grimy one over there? Yeah, that's Stockton Maxwell Wright Killed His Parents With Visions of Grandeur. He lives down past the Blankenship's. Certainly someone could've done me the favor so I didn't have to belittle myself by dragging her through the vomiticious details. Thank you Town of Constance for your disservice.

Well, I guess I'd just have to break her bubble myself.

"I came back after my parents died. Will was only fifteen."

I didn't wait for her reaction. I just bolted and tried to change the subject as quickly as I could. I went around to her side of the truck—it wasn't the passenger side anymore, it was _her_ side. I opened the door and to my dismay she'd already taken her seatbelt off.

"Thank goodness you're not wearing heels again; I would've had to carry you around everywhere."

She reached out two slender hands and grabbed the front of my shirt, "My mistake. I'll have to wear heels from now on." The blaze from her touch, sizzled through the fabric of my shirt and nestled itself against the skin of my stomach. If she ever actually touched the bare skin there, I was sure it would be the spark that lit my whole body aflame.

Both of my grotesquely huge hands cupped her calves, reminded by my eyes of how they flexed and showed off even in a field of sheep with their owner raged beyond compare. She was that brink of light in my day and my need for her presence multiplied by the second. Cami was my reprise from the forge.

"Show me where you work your magic," she tugged once at my shirt.

"I thought you wanted to see the shop," I teased and took her hand to help her out of the truck.

"Ha—ha."

She was having trouble clopping through the dry parts as we'd had some rain during the night and the path from the driveway to the shop was one solid puddle, save for the spots of high and dry here and there. Someone was smart enough to outfit this girl with rubber boots. She slid on one mound and grabbed onto my back pocket for balance.

I turned and grabbed her up; it was futile to continue to watch her suffer. Unashamedly stealing another chance to touch her, my hands cupped the back of her thighs and I sighed with the sensation. I'd never felt skin so soft before. I crossed the threshold of my shop and propped her up on one of my chairs, an old barstool from when Mick's was refurnished and my father couldn't pass up the good deal. We actually bought the lot of barstools and then ended up giving them away because he couldn't figure out what to do with all of them. My mother threw fits until he was rid of them, except the two in the shop.

"Your throne, Duchess."

She looked confused, "What's wrong Cami?"

"Why are you always rescuing me? I need to learn to do things by myself." She let out a huge sigh—and I loved her defiance.

"I," It couldn't be helped. I let my fingers comb through the object of their desire. I'd wanted to touch her hair since I saw her and her bad manners in the bar. It was finely spun hay, the color of a perfect cream rose. "I'm sorry. It's not that I don't think you can't do it yourself. I just enjoy making things easier on you. Especially if that means getting to touch you one more time."

She leaned into my hand, now tangled in her hair right above her ear.

_Friends, you moron—she said friends._ The voice inside me promptly threw ice water on my coals.

"Do you want to see everything? Or are you ready to do something else?"

She made triangles with her fists glued to her hips, "Are you cheating me out of the full tour? Not fair."

"It's not all that interesting, Cami. There's the tools. My dad, kept them in that exact spot. If you moved them, well, it took that parental phrase, hot poker on your ass, to a whole new level."

"Is that what parents say around here? Jeez."

"What do parents say in California?" I took the other stool. This should be rich.

"Well, parents back home- if they are the ones raising the children and not the nannies, maids or cooks- are all about being P.C. and they're always reading about the latest parenting techniques, so, no negative tones or phrasing, no yelling or raising their voice, and absolutely no spanking. And I guess it works. I mean, the kids there, or at least the ones I knew were all destined to be spoiled and entitled anyway. But if the hands-off method doesn't work, then we are sent to therapy three times a week and if that doesn't help, we're shipped off to rehab. Well, unless you're me. Apparently there just weren't enough parenting magazines, therapists or seminars to teach the nannies or the parents how to handle me. I was banished from the entire state of California to fix my problems. But it turns out I don't fit in here either."

Hearing her come down so hard on herself was enraging at the least. She was young, free, who wouldn't have tested their limits?

"Why? Just because you can't wrangle sheep or drive a tractor? Those things don't define you Cami. It's just learned skills. I bet I'd be lost in California—and completely out of place."

She rubbed her hands on her thighs. I hoped she was warming them up for touching me again.

"Sure, Stockton. But I am _redefining_ what being new to town means." She shrugged like it was a bad thing.

"Something new might just be what I need—these people—people around here need," I mimicked her shrugging.

"Really?" she stared at me and I shuddered under her perusal.

I outlined the basics after starting the fire. She paid attention. And I thought I'd feel self conscious about her studying me. The opposite was true. Her watching me work was empowering. I was a stronger man when her eyes bored into me.

"Do you want to try?"

"Only if you can promise I won't set my eyebrows on fire."

"I promise, come over here."

I gave her the hammer and she nearly took her own shins out before we even got started. I had to catch it mid swing. She was left handed; which was perfect so my dominant arm could take on the task of holding her as close to me as possible. It was far from an imposition. I'd gotten a sliver of a taste for it back at Mr. Lambert's house when she squealed to high heaven at the sight of the squirrel. But now I had a chance to savor it.

I widened my stance so her more petite one could concave into mine. Her rounded shoulder blades pressed against my chest. I slid my hands down her arms starting at her shoulders—she shuddered in front of me. The opportunity hammered me and I took it, I leaned my chin on her shoulder and inhaled through my nose, branding my lungs with her smell. I swore her skin was engraved with the smell of sunshine and the ocean and it unleashed a fury within me, both protective and primal.

"Is it necessary for you to smell me while I do this," she asked snarkily.

I moved in tighter, tucking her deeper within my frame, "No, I just love the way you smell, is that okay, Duchess?"

She nodded and twitched a little inside the envelope I'd wrapped her in.

"Ok, so when the metal gets just the right color, almost like a tangerine glow, strike it with this hammer."

We waited a few minutes for the metal to reach temperature and I placed it on the anvil in front of us, holding it steady for her. She raised the hammer, using two hands and just when I thought she'd give it all she had, she furiously tinked the metal. I'd struck the hammer down harder when I was five. I thought maybe she needed some inspiration.

"Cami, you remember Mallory and Henry giving you the what for after you lost the sheep? Or the cold, hard, rage that sparked through your veins when your parents dropped you in this nowhere town full of toothless inbred hicks?"

It must've worked because the second time she raised the hammer she struck with such muscle—I wondered if she'd hurt herself. It was coupled with a grunt that rivaled a tennis player gunning for the win. She let out a faint sound and I had to pull her hair back from her face to see if it was a cry or a laugh—it was a laugh.

"How'd that feel?"

She put the hammer down and I put the metal to the side before someone got burnt.

She wound her arms up behind her. I thought she meant to move away from me and a short stint of disappointment shot through me. I was wrong. They craned around my own neck and pulled me down closer to her, "You just know how to spark that anger in me, don't you?"

I chuckled and it rumbled my chest and her back together, "I wouldn't call it anger—more like passion."

She turned her head to the right and her mouth was next to mine, both inhaling and exhaling the same heated air. Her hands dropped and this time covered mine and brought them to her waist, just one of the many curves I'd longed to get my hands on again and again. I ran them the length of the dip until they flared out just enough to grip her hips, so completely female and seductive. Her eyes were on my lips but she was testing me—teasing me and seeing who would be the first to break—I just knew it.

Me—I would be the first to break.

Hell, she'd already broken me.

She opened her mouth and I let the myriad of things I wanted her to say in this moment flicker through my head, "I want to do it again," she whispered.

But she wasn't getting away that easy.

I lowered my lips from just a breath away from hers and pressed them to her supple neck, letting the sweet, obsession inducing taste of her linger on my lips and then on my tongue. Her knees buckled the tiniest bit and I caught her, hands around her waist.

"What's gonna happen when I really kiss you, Duchess? You gonna pass out on me?"

"Oh, it so won't be me passing out, trust me. Plus, you said we were just friends."

"Only after you stonewalled me, Cami. Let's get some more of that aggression out. Pick up the hammer again."

We stayed there for an hour and despite her thin frame, she was strong. After she was done, the metal was flatter, misshapen and flanged—but she'd done it.

"You did well. I'm proud of you."

She flinched and I thought I'd said something wrong.

_Shit, I've done it again_.

"I'm sorry—I just meant..."

She turned in my cocoon. I put the metal to the side and took the hammer from her hands, just in case she wanted to slug me.

"No one's ever told me that—like ever."

"What? That they're proud of you? That's a damned shame. Let me try to make up for it. I'm proud just to be in your presence. I was proud of you today for being so incredible with Beth and her children. And I'm proud to be your—friend."

A spring of tears bubbled above her lids and it shattered my heart—a beating organ which had been stagnant too long. I cupped her face in my hands, dirty as they were, having no business defiling her precious sun-kissed skin, "Don't cry, Cami."

I used my thumbs to wipe away the tears that chose to break free of their bonds and smudged her face in the process.

"See, this is why we can only be friends. One day with me and I've already spoiled you."

"What," her eyebrows creased and asked the question in lieu of her mouth.

"You've got dirt on your neck and face now. We'd better get you cleaned up before someone thinks we've been stoking more than the fire in here."

She smiled through the curtain of fresh tears and wiped at them, smudging the dirt even more.

"The bathroom is across the hall from Will's room. I'll get everything put back while you clean up."

She grinned at me and ducked away, leaving an icy absence despite my proximity to the fire beside me. I decided then and there, smothered by who I was and the care for her that grew like moss on an oak, that if I did this, I would do it right—the right way to make a woman fall in love with you.

And the only way I knew how was by example.

I smiled to myself as I remembered the stories told around the table that made my mother blush even after years and years of marriage. And if anyone was worth it—Cami was worth every solitary second.

With everything in its place, I stomped through the puddles towards the house, a warmth rippling through me at the sight of my boot marks next to hers. It wouldn't bother me at all if they were solidified in concrete for me to witness every day. I walked in the house, purposefully letting the screen door slam behind me in case she was doing something—girly. But I didn't hear a sound. A quick trip to the bathroom revealed no one and she wasn't in the rest of the house either. I took one split glance out the back door window to see her there, hanging onto a splintered post for dear life and looking out towards what used to be the barn.

"Hey, you ok?" I asked as I opened the back door and closed it behind me.

She reached a hand behind her and I took it without a second thought. She drew me closer to her with a small tug and I went willingly. I'd go just about anywhere with her willingly.

"Was—was that the barn?" she asked in a hoarse whisper, her tiny, fingers pulsed, laced within mine.

"Mmmhmm," the word yes refused and rebutted in my throat.

"Do you miss them?" It was an absurd question in my book but I realized that in hers, it may really be something to weigh. But the weight of how much I missed them was heavier than the anvil I took my aggression out on every day.

"Every day," I paused to clear my throat. "Will looks just like my dad, and so do I. She makes a face when she's aggravated and it's like he's alive again. Bridger and West take after my mother in personality, sweet, quiet—but still look like my dad, dark hair but with her blue eyes."

"Like mine?" she asked.

"There's no color in the world that compares to yours." She bowed her head and I saw the blush creep up the back of her neck.

"You never rebuilt the barn." It was a statement, not a question.

"No—it just didn't feel right. You knew already. Why'd you ask me if you knew?"

She switched from holding my hand to grabbing my forearm, "I didn't. I mean, I knew they died in a fire in the barn, Aunt Mallory told me that much. But I didn't know that's why you left school. I didn't even know you had been in school. I wouldn't have asked..."

"It's ok," I wrapped my arm around her waist, "You can ask me anything, anytime. I trust you."

She pulled back and looked at me like I'd just burned her prom dress, "You do?"

"Absolutely. Now, are we going to stare at the past all day or are you gonna let me treat you to lunch?"

She narrowed her gaze on me, "Sounds like a date."

I raised my hands, palms out, "No ma'am. You said I missed that train. But I am gonna try to stay on the friendship train as long as you'll let me."

"Fine. But you have to change and clean up. You look like you got in a fight with the fireplace and lost."

"Deal."

I ran back inside, took the quickest shower of my life and put on clean clothes.

"Ready," I asked her as she swung on my porch swing. She looked so good on it—like it was made for her pleasure and my perusal.

She nodded and we jumped in the truck. I brought her to the local diner and hoped to God she ate hamburgers, though her tiny waist denied it—called me blasphemous.

We sat on either side of a booth and she didn't open her menu.

"You're not gonna read the menu?"

"Nope, I thought I'd let you just get me whatever you got."

"Sounds good."

The waitress approached and we exchanged niceties, Mary Shannon and I had gone to high school together. I ordered a double cheeseburger with Swiss cheese instead of American, onion rings and a Coke—and then I doubled it.

When Mary Shannon left, I looked back to Cami who was covering her mouth with her hand.

"What?"

"She's totally got the hots for you—like bad. She was so ready to ask me to leave so she could show you just how hot on this table."

"We went to high school together—wait, are you jealous again? You're making a habit of this."

She snorted across the table, "Whatever, you're like a single woman magnet. I'm surprised some of them haven't commissioned an iron baby crib just to be able to say your name and baby in the same sentence."

"It doesn't matter." I shrugged.

Say it. Say something—anything that will lead me to tell you why it doesn't matter. Screw it, I'm gonna tell her why no matter what.

"Why—because you're a terminal bachelor?"

"No, because it seems I only have eyes for one woman."

Let's see what you do with that California Queen.

But she didn't say anything—nothing.

Two could play at this game.

Our food was delivered and I threatened my eyes that if they stared at her while she ate, I'd cut them. They didn't listen. She bit into the burger and rolled her eyes back in her head and it made me bite down on my own lip, wishing to one day cause that same reaction in her.

She mmmed and moaned through the whole meal and I thought at one point I'd have to remove her for public lewd acts—or sounds.

She finally finished, fifteen minutes after I'd polished off the last of my onion rings.

"That was so good," she wiped her mouth.

"I'm glad you enjoyed it. You up for one more job?"

She tried very hard not to show her disappointment, "Yeah, ok."

I slipped on my aviators and she pulled down her big ladybug looking sunglasses from atop her head and after two solid minutes of primping in the pull down mirror in my truck, we were off. She was staring out the window again and I now knew this was the look of a woman with something on her mind.

"Cami, you can tell me anything. I hope you know that."

She nodded once, curtly and I dropped the subject. This girl was like a lone wolf, you had to let her come to you or the connection would never be made.

After the long drive home, I turned into the winding driveway.

"Maybe, um, I think I changed my mind," she said it so quietly, I barely heard her.

"About what?"

"Friends."

I chuckled, "Already? We've only been friends for one day. I ruined it in one day? That must be a record or something."

She didn't say anything and with her silence my hope for something more wilted and decayed in me. I didn't even deserve to be her friend. It's funny how in a few seconds' time, the mind can run through thousands of scenarios and if you've already come to a conclusion, all scenarios revolve around it. And for the few minutes it took from her non-speaking response until I came to a stop at the head of the driveway, my brain reeled through them all with one conclusion—Cami and I were finished before we'd even gotten started. And then it's amazing how one sentence can refute it all with a breath.

"I want to be more than your friend, Stockton."

I opened my mouth and a clamorous bang of metal came from me—no, wait, it was my nosey sister banging on the hood of the truck, vying for Cami's attention.

"I guess we'll talk later," I replied, trying desperately not to hide my disappointment.

Will was already jerking her from the truck to do her bidding, "Wait, Stockton, I thought you said you had another job for me."

I smiled and pointed to Will, "She's right there. She's a job all by herself. Have fun."

I watched them talk about something, making plans and then they were off in the Jeep and out of my sight but not before seeing her looking back at me in the side mirror.

I missed her already.

I'm such a damned sap.

Who stabbed me with a needle full of –female stuff?

Ugh.

I went inside and made a pot of spaghetti. I knew how to make spaghetti—it was one of the few dishes I'd perfected. I let the sauce stay on simmer and proceeded to complete Will's chores for the second day in a row. I went back inside and gathered my laundry and put one load on to wash. I kept watch on the clock while I swept, hoping we'd get a chance to continue our conversation before she had to go home.

Sometime later, I heard the truck pull up. I peered out the window to see Cami scramble from our truck to the Macon's truck and flee the scene like she'd kidnapped a toddler. Will came in and I pummeled her for answers, "What happened?"

She snorted, "Mrs. Macon called and not so gently reminded her that just because she was with you all day didn't mean she could skip out on dinner."

"Did you have fun," I asked her.

"I did. She's really great, Stock."

"I know. I made spaghetti."

We ate by ourselves and my sister, who usually spoke her mind, especially when we were alone, spent the meal sighing.

I threw my fork and it clanged on the plate, getting her attention, "What's—with—the –sighing?"

"I shouldn't say anything."

"Is this about Cami?"

She nodded.

"What has happened," I feigned crying, "I'm your brother. What happened to family first, man?"

She laughed, "Ok, ok, I just—Cami likes you like," she looked to the ceiling, "wants to jump your bones, likes you."

"Willa Hayes Wright, don't let me hear that come from your mouth again, young lady," my father had somehow possessed my body and spoke through me.

"Yes, Sir. But she was only supposed to come here for a few months. You don't have time to waste Stockton. You and I both know that time is this family's enemy. So if you're gonna go after her, you need to start soon before it's too late."

We finished eating and cleaned up together. I could see the wheels turning in her head and I had a feeling I was about to be given a lesson from a seventeen year old.

Which wasn't embarrassing at all.

Maybe just a sliver.

I was tempted to crawl into the cabinet under the sink and drink bleach.

But I knew a thing or two.

Ok, just the one thing.

"What's the plan?" She asked.

I flopped the dish towel on the counter, "Do you remember the stories about Gram and Gramps not letting Dad see Mom?"

"Yeah, they were practically drilled into us."

"Remember, he used to sneak over there and they would stay up all night talking? They built something solid there that had nothing to do with lust or anything else—it was pure love. At Mom's window they formed a trust that went beyond the physical. And that's what she needs. Cami's got the attention of every man's eyes anywhere she goes. She needs more than that. She needs someone to care about her and someone to trust."

I was talking to myself more than Will but I saw her swipe at her face with her own dishtowel. I could take a lot of things, but Willa crying wasn't one of them.

"Come here," I pulled her to me.

"I'm sorry," she whimpered against my side.

"What for?"

"I told Cami the other day that you'd be lucky to have her. But that's only half true. She'd be lucky to have you too."

"Thanks, Will." I kissed the top of her head, like my father used to and she turned out of my hold and made her way down the hall.

"Hey, Stock?"

I looked over my shoulder to see her still in sight, "Yeah?"

"Take a jacket, it's supposed to be cold tonight." And with that and a wink, she left.

I finished cleaning up and did three more loads of laundry until the clock struck ten and I knew without a doubt that the Macon's were out cold. This was my chance. I checked on Willa once, who was out like a light, grabbed my jacket and one of those God forsaken barstools from the shop and threw it into the back of my truck.

The self-doubt poured over me, puddled around my feet, gathered itself back up and poured over me again. What if I was being too old fashioned? What if she was asleep? What if I was just confirming my hillbilly status by pulling this stunt? What if I was a blithering idiot?

But in no time I was there and as I approached the house I shut my lights off and situated the truck for an easy getaway. There were only two bedrooms in the Macon's log cabin and I knew, without a doubt, which window belonged to Cami.

I pulled the stool from the truck bed and hunched over, stalking towards the window of my desire. I propped the stool outside of her window and took one long breath for good luck. Then I knocked on the screen, hoping she could hear me without alerting her keepers.

Please, let this work.
Chapter Thirteen

Cami

I had just brushed my teeth and washed my face when a knock on my window had me jumping out of my skin and biting back a horror-movie worthy scream. My heart hammered in my chest and goose bumps rose all over my almost naked skin.

Then the knock sounded again, gentler this time and in a rhythmic pattern.

And even though I sucked in a painful pull of air I knew two things. One, there was a person on the other side of my window- I highly doubted Sasquatch would politely knock on my window if he was coming to drag my body back to his cave and enslave me. And two, I'd never seen an episode of CSI: Miami in which the serial killer knocked first before filleting and then gutting their victims. Well, unless it was someone they knew and it was a crime of passion. Thankfully, I didn't know anyone down here that would want me dead.

At least, I didn't think so.

With careful, slow, stealth like ninja moves, I lifted the shade over the window and pressed my lips together so I wouldn't scream needlessly. Stockton's shaved head flickered in the moonlight and I let out a whoosh of relief.

Then I realized I wasn't wearing any pants.

I slammed the shade down and leapt over to the dresser that came with the room. I yanked out some shorts and stumbled into them before sprinting back to the window. By the time I lifted the shade again, Stockton was halfway across the yard- walking back to his truck.

What was that silly boy doing?

I yanked up the window as noiselessly as I could and did my best whisper call. "Psst. Stockton! Psst!"

He glanced over his shoulder and shot me a confused look I could only make out because of the clear night and bright moonlight.

"What are you doing?" he whispered at me.

"What are _you_ doing?" I whispered back on a laugh.

He sauntered back over to me, carrying one of those bar stools from his work shop on his shoulder like it was a two by four and he was a lumberjack. His enlarged left bicep was flexed in that position, and I closed my mouth to keep drool from running down my chin. How could something as odd as an extra-large arm muscle be so sexy? That just didn't seem fair.

When he reached my window he plopped the stool down and then fell back on it with a kind of manly grace. He gave me a lopsided grin and seemed to be settling in for the long hall.

"I thought you took one look at me and ran for the hills," he drawled.

"I took one look at you and realized I was half naked." I recognized I was still kind of naked and crossed my arms over my chest. What was he thinking just showing up here? A girl needed time to prepare for these kinds of events. _I wasn't even wearing any makeup._

Stockton's eyes heated to deep, endless pools of something that made me all shivery and hyperaware of everything he was doing. "Getting ready for bed?"

"Mmm-hmmm," I nodded. "Some of us work in the morning."

"I work in the mornings, well, every morning but Tuesday morning," his grin grew at my teasing. It wasn't that long ago he'd accused me of not knowing what work was.

"Thanks again for today," I said seriously. "It's good to get some perspective. It will help me reach my goal."

"And what's your goal, Cami?" Stockton asked in a whisper, like he was afraid of the answer.

"To grow up," I answered honestly. I hated being honest with him, I hated how vulnerable it made me, how fragile I felt. But with Stockton, there wasn't a choice. For the first time in my life, this boy made me want to be clear about who I was, made me want to be better than who I was. "I'm trying to grow up and find purpose in life. You know, all that existential bullshit."

"How old are you?" Stockton asked as if he were trying to piece me together.

"I'm twenty-one," I sighed. "I know I don't need every part of my life planned or mapped out, but I need to at least have a five year plan or something. It might be hard for you to believe, but I was kind of a hot mess back in Cali. My parents exiled me to live with sheep because I was too wild for Hollywood. In the land where most high school graduates have already been through a twelve step program, _I_ was too wild." I shook my head, hardly believing the truth of my words. I had been way out of control. I could see that now. It took a sheep farm and Stockton Wright, but finally I had a little bit of perspective.

"What happened?" Stockton asked, leaning forward on his stool.

He listened in a way no other person in my life had ever listened to me- like he actually cared about what I had to say. He was taking the time to focus completely on me and my emotions were so stirred up they didn't know what to feel- there was some shame and a good bit of humiliation because I did _not_ want to tell him anything about the mess I left back home, but there was some respect, awe and value mixed in there too. I felt cherished by his attentiveness, treasured. My heart swelled in response, until it felt too big for my chest. I rubbed at the unfamiliar feeling and ignored the prickling of hot tears just threatening to spill over.

I pulled over my desk chair and then explained, "I pushed every boundary I could. I was reckless and stupid. I was partying, and drinking too much. There were some drugs involved, but thankfully they never got out of control. The final straw was grand theft auto and destruction of public property."

"What?" he choked.

I smiled, "It sounds worse than it was. The stolen car was out of self-defense. I ended up on a bad date, and it was his car. I just wanted out of there. But then I drove drunk and crashed it into my mom's storefront. It was stupid, careless and I'm realizing now how lucky I am because nobody got hurt. Well, except for me, but those were minor injuries. It could have been so much worse." My stomach lurched as all the potential consequences for my actions began to set in. How could I have been so stupid?

Stockton sat there stunned for a few minutes, truly at a loss for words. I searched desperately for a way to console him, to prove- even though it had only been a short time- I wasn't that girl anymore. But there wasn't anything to say. I needed to let him come up with his own conclusions about me. I needed to let him decide if I was worth it.

I was tired of trying to gain the approval of people who didn't even see me.

"Did he hurt you?" he finally asked in a growly voice.

So many people that actually _had_ hurt me- repeatedly- were spinning through my head, I felt confused. I paused, but then asked, "Who?"

"The guy on your date. The one whose car you stole. Did he hurt you?" His eyes locked with mine and the raw intensity in them actually unnerved me.

"Um, no," I quickly assured him. "I took his car before there was any real damage."

"I don't condone anything you've done," Stockton snarled. "But there are no words to describe how lucky he is that he didn't touch you."

"I agree," I sighed. We sat there silently for a couple minutes, just at peace with being near each other. Finally I found the courage to ask, "Do you think I'm a terrible person?"

He didn't immediately answer, and when he did it was with real honesty, the kind that rang loudly in my ears and settled truth in the marrow of my bones.

"Cami, some of the things you've done have been horrible. But you, in no way, are a terrible person. I've seen the good in you, the beauty in you. And I would never think that about you, not in a million years."

A tear slid out before I could force it back. I swiped at it with a quick hand, but I couldn't stop the need to sniffle.

"Thank you, Stockton," I whispered. "I needed to hear that."

"It's all true. Some of us have been grownups for a long time. I know true beauty when I see it."

Because I had been so honest with him, because I felt raw and exposed and laid out for him to see, I asked, "What were you doing? You know, before you had to be a grownup?" From our talk earlier, I knew that Stockton had been away at college before his parents died in that fire. I wondered what kind of young adult he was before he was force fed responsibility and maturity- if he had ever been wild, or if he was always this committed, steadfast man in front of me. He shared some earlier, but now I wanted all the details, every single last element that made him into the man he was today. I was dying of curiosity, and could have easily asked Will sometime. But I knew that our relationship needed to happen organically or Stockton would bolt. I couldn't push him into anything and I didn't really want to. For the first time, maybe ever, I was Ok with being patient.

He hesitated and I literally watched him grow uncomfortable in front of me. He was shutting down in grids, pulling into himself and closing off to me entirely. I started to get the sick, anxious feeling I'd asked the worst question I could have. Finally he said, "Following some stupid idea of a dream."

His whole countenance changed with those words. He stopped being the man I knew, the man I'd come to care about and transformed back to the closed off stone wall I met in church.

"That bad?" I asked on a short laugh. I had no idea how to talk to Stockton like this, or how to make him come back to me.

"It's just," he started, and then dropped his gaze to the hands in his lap. "I had this idea of life, this plan I was determined to follow. But it was selfish," he cleared his throat and lifted his gaze to meet mine again. The most agonizing kind of pain flashed in their minty green depths, they were black in the night air but I had their color forever memorized and I could just imagine how dark that color was now. In that moment I hated the screen separating us. I wanted nothing more than to crawl onto his lap and wrap my arms around him. I wanted to hold him until I absorbed every last ounce of his pain, until he was the man that took care of people in need and raised his little sister and gave me- perpetual screw up and town outcast- his undivided attention. Eventually he mumbled, "I was selfish."

Not knowing what else to say, I hedged, "You were at college?"

He nodded. Ok, not the most responsive of answers. _Let's try that again._

"You weren't into the whole blacksmith thing? Afraid of the oddly super-sized arm?"

His lips twitched as he tried not to laugh and then he let out an exasperated sigh. "It wasn't that I didn't want to follow my dad's path. I did. I've known smithing would be in my future since I was little. But I wanted to do more with it. You're not the only one that thinks this town is a dead end. And my dad was good, real good. He could have taken his trade and turned it into a business, an empire if he wanted. But he wasn't concerned in all that. He'd always tell me, 'Anybody can have money. But not everyone gets to come home to a family that loves them and a peace about themselves.' I got what he was saying, but I didn't understand why he couldn't have both. I knew one day I'd be taking over and I planned on doing more with this, making it more than what it was. It was foolish. And in the end, my dad was right. While I was off trying to make money, I lost the family that loved me and any kind of peace I had about myself."

My heart and soul were shattered with his words. I swallowed against the thick lump in my throat but it was no use. The silent tears began to fall and I hated each one of them because they were my own kind of selfish. In that moment all I wanted to do was offer Stockton some of the peace he lost when his parents died, but I was as lost as the next person. What did I have to offer him? Nothing but a misdemeanor record and a distorted view of love and faith.

I did know one thing for certain though, one thing that I had only recently learned.

"Stockton, it's not your fault," I whispered through the tears. "Nothing that happened to your parents or your family is your fault."

He didn't say anything, or respond in any way. His hands wiped nervous lines down his jeans and his eyes darted in every direction but at me. This wasn't fair for him to hold onto all this guilt and pain. He deserved so much better than the life he was forcing himself to live.

"You're better than how you see yourself," I promised him in a stronger voice. I thought about the letter I had found when I used the restroom at his house earlier today. I was curious by nature, and having a few moments alone gave me some time to snoop. There was a letter addressed to him from a company that sounded big enough to turn his trade into an empire. They wanted his work, Stockton's work, not his fathers. I realized in that moment that the letter was Stockton's dream- a dream he didn't think he deserved anymore because of what happened to his family and his misplaced guilt; a dream he'd shoved into the bottom of his desk drawer because I imagined it caused him all kinds of traumatic pain.

His eyes flashed up to meet mine and I forced myself to connect with the intense vulnerability that stared back at me. "Maybe," he finally agreed. "What about you? Do you believe that about yourself too?"

I shook my head, not able to form the words to argue with that. It wasn't the same with me. I'd actually done bad things, destroyed property, _hurt people_. It wasn't fair to hold us up to the same standard because Stockton was actually a good person.

I was a bad girl trying to reform.

On a sheep farm no less.

We were worlds apart. Maybe we would always be worlds apart.

"It's not the same thing," I finally said.

"Cami, we all make mistakes. If you're taking away my guilt, I sure as hell am going to take away yours too."

I smiled faintly at his sudden determination. "But I deserve my guilt. That's the difference between me and you."

"I don't believe you," he said firmly.

"Then you're the only one. Sorry, Stockton, the majority rules here. Arguments have been made, evidence laid out, I have been condemned."

"By a judge?" he asked oh so innocently.

If I had a collar, this would have been the point I started tugging on it. "Oh, no. The guy's car I stole was trying to date rape me so he wasn't all that ready to press charges and my parents handed me the get out of jail free card too since it was only their store that suffered damage. My family's the one who sees the real me, babe. They're the ones who play judge and jury in my life."

"Why didn't they intervene before you hit rock bottom?" He leaned farther forward on his barstool so that the only thing separating us was the screen and two inches of cool spring air.

"I didn't listen, or they didn't try. I can't really remember now. But you have to remember that my family is different than yours. My parents didn't read the same parenting book yours did. Their motto in life is more, 'If anybody can have money, then I want some and a lot of it. And I'll find time for my family later.'" I shrugged helplessly, waiting for Stockton to brand me with "daddy issues" right before he walked out of my life for good.

Instead of doing that though, he just stared at me- powerfully. It was like he was slowly pulling me into him, drinking me in, consuming me. He looked like a light bulb went off in his head and the parts of a thousand piece puzzle finally started to fall into place. I shivered against a full-body kind of nausea that sent warning flags soaring through my system.

He was finally seeing me for who I really was- the broken girl that nobody loved. I was pathetically nervous for him to come to all his conclusions and at any minute feared I would have to run out of the room and puke from all the tension rolling through me.

"Good thing you don't believe them," Stockton eventually said.

"What do you mean?" I asked in a shaky voice.

"That you're not worth their time." His voice was confident and controlled and there was so much conviction behind his words I almost believed them myself.

"Well, obviously." I tried to smirk but it fell flat.

"Cami, you're worth so much more than their time. You're worth their love, and devotion and trust. They need to have _faith_ in you. I'm not saying what you did is right, but they didn't do what was right either. And I'm guessing their bad behavior started a lot earlier than yours did."

I was quiet. The boy had stunned me into silence.

Slowly I nodded my head, agreeing with him.

Stockton wasn't finished, "You're not the broken girl you think you are. I see a strength in you that scares me a little, a fire that can't be put out or diminished. Your parents are lucky to have you in their lives. Hell, anyone is. I _for damn sure_ am."

I couldn't help the watery smile at his show of enthusiasm. "Well, aren't we an Oprah special?"

Stockton smiled at me, it was real and authentic and freaking heart-stopping. "Thank you. For saying everything you did, thank you."

"Back at ya, big guy," I laughed at him and winked. I meant it though, I meant it with all of me, with every single piece of me that was trying to put itself back together. He was right, I wasn't a broken girl- not anymore. And I needed to stop acting like one. "So did you have a reason for coming here tonight? Or were you just hoping to see me cry? I know I look super sexy with no makeup on, my eyes all bloodshot and puffy. This is how I get all the boys, so you better watch out Stockton, or you're going to fall under my spell."

"I think I already have," he whispered.

Totally ruining the whole sarcasm thing I had going on and stealing my heart at the same time. Bastard. _Now I was having trouble breathing and it was all his fault._

"But to answer your question," he continued as if he hadn't just taken my breath and put a thousand butterflies in my stomach, "we're doing what I came here to do. I just wanted to talk to you, spend time with you."

"I like this," I admitted and gestured toward his barstool. "I like talking to you."

"Then maybe we could do more of this? Maybe tomorrow night?" he asked, anxiety flashing across his face.

Was he nervous I would say no?

"I could probably fit you in," I shrugged. "You might have to stand in line behind all the other boys trying to talk to me at my bedroom window, but if you're patient I'll give you some face time."

"That so?" he laughed at me. "Then I better get here early. I want to get a good spot and all."

"Probably a good idea," I replied breathlessly, loving how important he made me feel- even when we were just joking around.

"And I probably better let you go to bed, since you have to get up and _work_ in the morning."

"Also a good idea," I agreed, but my insides were screaming at me to make him stay.

"I'll see you tomorrow then, Cami," Stockton stood from his barstool and picked it up with his strong, talented hand.

"I'll see you tomorrow," I nodded, not capable of saying much more.

"Be careful, Cami," he whispered before he turned around and disappeared in the darkness of the night a few yards away.

I shut my window soundlessly and crawled into bed. I closed my eyes but couldn't fall asleep or even lay their peacefully. Too many words were running through my head- all the things I'd admitted to Stockton, and all the things he'd said in response, his admissions and secrets he, for some reason, trusted me with.... But most of all, those last few words kept looping through my mind like a CD on repeat.

Be careful.

Because even though the words were pretty easy to understand, they didn't really sound literal. When Stockton told me to "be careful," it sounded like so much more than that.

So much more like something to be prized, to be valued, to be remembered forever.

Be careful didn't sound like be careful at all.

Be careful sounded and felt very much like "I love you."

Which couldn't have been right. We barely knew each other and were maybe the most mismatched idea of a couple ever. But there it was all the same. And eventually, hours later, I stopped fighting it. I just let myself fall into those words and get wrapped up in their feel and secret meaning.

If Stockton, could see past all the bad parts of me and find something worthwhile, I was going to let him. I was going to let him get to know me and trust him with the results. I was tired of feeling unworthy and I was exhausted from trying to earn people's affections and attention.

And next time I saw Stockton, I was going to tell him to "be careful" right back.
Chapter Fourteen

Stockton

I looked around frantically, shocked awake from a dream that I was drowning, reaching for someone that I could see standing on the bank—but they wouldn't save me.

They just kept their arms folded in defiance and smugness.

My head dripped wet, salty stress, and it poured down my neck. Sheets and comforter, flung about the room, pajama pants tornadoed around my legs. And I had no idea where my pillow was. It was the same dream I'd had for years, but this time there was a slight difference. I now knew who the bastard at the bank was. The son of a bitch just stood there, arms folded, stance wide, shaking his head negatively—like he was ashamed to be around me—like I could save myself but I just wasn't trying. I was trying—if trying meant flailing my arms and plunging my feet downward, desperately searching for the bottom of the cesspool.

The bastard on the bank of the muddy river was me.

I was unwilling to save myself.

Asshole.

I gathered up my blankets and sheets after twisting my pants in all directions trying to straighten them out. I found my pillow on the other side of the room behind a rocking chair and brought them all to the laundry room to wash since they were all soaked with my fear.

Stomping into the kitchen, trying to rouse myself from the dream and sleep, I found my brother Bridger at the table, head in his hands, looking like he'd just been dragged from the same river. My footsteps cracked his canister of thought and he looked up, guilty about something. Bridger was the particular one of the bunch. He was a stickler for the rules and I was pretty sure that every time he walked into the house, it took everything in him not to clean the place. Nothing was ever clean enough, nothing was ever straight enough, nothing was ever antiseptic enough for Bridger. He started the clean freakiness around his sophomore year in high school. It drove my mother nuts. She always kept the place sparkling, but not in his eyes. He could find a speck of dust in a field of flowers.

"Why aren't you at school?" I asked as I put on the coffee pot.

"Nice to see you too, Stock. Yeah, I'm fine. Thanks for asking."

I sat down across from him and hefted out a sigh. "I'm sorry, Bridger. What's up?"

"I need to make a confession. It's eating me alive."

I scooted up like an old woman getting her gossip fix at her weekly canasta game.

"I—I've been seeing someone—someone local."

I let his words de-jumble in my head, but came up still confused. "Be more specific."

"I've been dating a girl around here. I need some advice."

Will jumped out of the hallway and grabbed Bridger's shoulders. He must've been really on edge because the squeal that erupted from his mouth would rival a cheerleader, in decibels and pitch.

"Good Lord, Bridger, you scream like a girl! So tell us who you're dating while I scramble us some eggs."

After he came down off the ceiling, he looked at me, he needed saving from something. He stood back up and mumbled some excuse about getting back to school and studying for a test. But Bridger had always been easily jolted.

Will scrambled eggs and popped four frozen biscuits into the toaster oven. I took the first shift in the shower while the biscuits took their time. And it was there, while the cold water pierced my pores, that I remembered my night with Cami. Something in our souls had fused the night before but it had done nothing to quell my need for more of her. I craved more of her voice through that God forsaken screen. It was all I could do not to rip the damned thing from its hinges and either drag her through the window to me—or jump through it to get to her. We'd laid a layer of foundation the night before and worked through some pretty tough feelings we both harbored. But tonight I was going with a list. I needed to go back to the basics.

I got out of the shower, toweled off and got dressed. I had caught up on the old orders and today I would make knives and machetes to bring to the flea market on Saturday. We were fine with money, but I didn't know when my next order would come in. I could put up some money for once. I thought about the letter in the kitchen drawer that called to me.

If I relented, we wouldn't have to worry about money—ever again.

We'd be set for life.

But at what price?

I sat down at the table and piled biscuits and eggs on my plate. Will did the same and bludgeoned her biscuits with strawberry jam from Preacher Wife.

"What's up with Bridge? He looked like a mad man."

I shrugged, but had already planned to call him later. Bridger wasn't one to talk about feelings or talk to me at all much, so his visit this morning warranted a follow up.

"So, am I gonna have to threaten you or are you gonna tell me what happened last night? I heard you come in after one in the morning."

I laughed at her empty threat, "It worked. We talked for hours."

"About what? Tell me everything."

I shook my head negatively, "No way, Nosey Rosey."

"You're no fun," she said as she stabbed the last of her yellow clouds.

"Speaking of no fun, finish your chores today. I've been doing them for two days straight."

She poked her bottom lip out, "But what if Cami comes by?"

"If she does, you can do whatever with her after your work. Give her a good example."

"Friend stealer," she mumbled and put her dish in the sink.

I cleaned up the kitchen while Will did her morning chores and went straight to the shop to begin. With the fire stoked and my tools back in order, I foraged through my scrap, searching for material. I found a weathered band saw blade that would be perfect for a matching pair of hunting knives. Will stuck her head in and told me goodbye with the last biscuit stuffed in her mouth. I got to work after chuckling, thinking about Cami herding sheep and milking cows.

Actually she probably looked completely gorgeous milking a cow—my own little milk maid with braids and wooden clogs.

I needed serious help.

You're losing touch with reality.

After hammering out seven blades, I scoped around for wood to carve into handles but couldn't find any. I knew Henry Macon had some since he'd cleared an area for a new pasture but going over there would just look like a desperate attempt to see Cami. I thought of Preacher. I knew he'd cut down a walnut tree recently and had given most of it away. Maybe he had some left.

I jumped in my truck and reached his home in less than twenty minutes. And just my luck he was outside speaking to Henry Macon—perfect.

I killed the engine, got out and approached carefully. They were both finishing the conversation up quickly and I tried not to take it personally.

"Stockton," Henry greeted me, neither happy nor put off by my presence. At least that was something. We all shook hands and eventually they asked the reason for my visit. I explained my need for wood, suitable to carve handles for knives. Preacher led me to the back of his house and there was a chunk of wood perfect for everything I could need for the foreseeable future.

"Can we make a trade," I asked earnestly.

Preacher looked to Henry and they shared some kind of nod.

"Actually, I was asking Henry here if Cami could come clean my house, help Edith out, but we can't really pay."

Henry interjected, "And Mallory really wants you to make her an iron pot hanger. She's been groaning about the one you made for Mrs. Riley for months. So we thought we could all trade."

"What about Cami? She's the one doing the work."

Henry's brow grew stern, "As far as I'm concerned, Cami is earning her keep. We will cut back her work on the farm so she can work here twice a week."

I stuck out my hand to shake on it. I loaded the wood into my truck and promised Henry to have the pot holder to their house in no later than three days. But Cami having to work twice a week for weeks on end didn't really translate into a fair trade. So, I'd have to make a lot more than a pot hanger for Mallory—and maybe just for good measure I'd throw in something for the Duchess.

After running some more errands in town, I got back home just in time for Will to pull up, home from school. But she didn't get out of the Jeep and I knew something was up. Will was usually the bouncy, giddy type, even when nothing particularly exciting was going on. I walked over to the Jeep and knocked on the door even though she'd already seen me.

"Are you okay?"

She turned to face me, tears streaming down her face, "Jesse says she doesn't have time to hang out with me anymore. She's got some boyfriend who's in college."

I pulled her out of the Jeep and hugged her to my chest. If Jesse was behaving like that, then she didn't deserve Will as a friend. And my sister needed a better person to rely on.

"Why don't you call Cami and see if she has time to talk to you?"

"Really," she asked, looking up at me.

"Yeah, why not?"

"I just thought—since you two were..."

"What, that you two can't be friends now? You were serious this morning? That's ridiculous. Go call her."

Will nodded but a few minutes later came out, just as defeated.

"What?" I called after her.

"Mrs. Macon says Cami is still making up from lost work yesterday. She's got tons of chores still to do."

I looked around the property, my own work piled up around me and rolled my eyes. It used to strike me as funny for Cami to be up to her eyeballs in work, but now I couldn't stand it. I knew the Macon's were just trying to teach her the value of hard work, but I knew how hard their work could be. Plus, I felt like shit for being the reason her chores were doubled today.

"Get dressed for work, Will. We're about to go show the duchess what community is all about."

"Really?" She jumped up and down. When did my sister become such a—girl?

"Hurry up before I change my mind."

She tripped over the stairs going into the house and I groaned at myself. How was I gonna explain this to the Macon's? If I didn't offer some kind of excuse, I was gonna look like a prime cut of ass—and Henry didn't eat donkey.

The screen door slammed and Will bounced from the porch to the Jeep, just as excited on the outside as I refused to admit I was on the inside. We drove the few minutes to the Macon's farm and Henry and Mallory were sitting on the porch, nursing cups of coffee—which royally pissed me off. How were they supposed to teach her a lesson about a good work ethic while they perched themselves on rocking chairs and watched her work?

Will jumped out and greeted them and I just barely managed a wave while I made my way to the barn. I knew that one of her chores was cleaning the barn and I knew the Duchess would probably leave the job for last. Immediately, I was smacked in the face by the smell of manure and thanked God that my father had chosen smithing instead of sheparding—and that he didn't have an affinity for horses.

I'd gotten through three stalls before I was caught.

"If people keep taking up her slack, she'll never learn."

It was Henry and red rage filled in my sight. But I'd once had the same attitude towards her, so I had no room to judge.

"Mr. Macon, can I just ask you a question?"

"Sure."

"What time did Cami get up this morning?"

He looked in the air as if it would give him the answer, "A little before five."

"And how many breaks have you seen her take?"

"She stopped for lunch, that's all."

"With all due respect, Henry, she's working her butt off. Even my father took a morning coffee break and another afternoon one. But it's nearing four now and she's only stopped to eat. I know you're trying to teach her the value of a work ethic and that's honorable, but you also need to see when she's learning it. She's serious about making a change, but you're never gonna see what good has come of it if you don't give her a chance to be different."

In response, he gave me the down-dirtiest look I've ever seen Henry Macon give another man.

"And how would you know?"

I squirmed under his scrutiny.

"Because I've gotten to know her over the past couple of weeks. She's not a bad person. She's just made some bad choices. I think we all know a little something about that."

I certainly did.

He kicked at some stray hay on the ground, "That must be the boot prints that lead to her window—though I know you wouldn't break my trust by entering my house without my permission."

Now that pissed me off. Neither one of us deserved that, though I wouldn't deny the thought had crossed my mind.

"No, Sir. I think you know my parents raised me better. I sat outside her window and talked to her—just talked. If you think I'm doing something wrong, I won't come back."

His face and attitude deflated at the mention of my parents. He'd lost sight of who I was in his quest to redeem Cami.

"No, no Stockton. I know you'd never do anything out of line."

I nodded and went about cleaning out stalls. After a few minutes of hush, he walked out of the barn. I didn't know if I'd made the situation better or worse. And Cami deserved some of his distrust, but my heart couldn't just stand there and listen to him degrade her. There was a difference in teaching and punishing. And Cami was here to learn, not to be a slave.

After the last stall was cleaned and the last horse was fed and watered, I looked around for Cami or Will to see what was next. I spotted her in a pair of overalls with a pink tank top underneath, rubber boots and her hair was swirled up into some kind of awful thing atop her head. She could pass for _the_ most breathtaking hillbilly known to man—easy. She and Will were talking while carrying baskets of eggs towards the house. I decided to meet up with them but then I caught a whiff of myself.

"Damn it, I smell like I rolled in horse shit."

I trekked over to the side of the barn where a hose was hooked up and tore off my boots. I sprayed them down with water and just as I was satisfied with the absence of manure, I smelled more of it, closer this time. I looked down, pulling my t shirt away from myself to inspect it and there it was—a chunk of crap right on my damned shirt. It must've backlashed onto my shirt as I cleaned my boots. I had no choice, I had to peel the shirt off and try to rinse it clean.

Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted the pink halt and the other figure continue walking. Cami was watching me. Why in the hell she would stop to see me wash crap off of myself was beyond me—unless she was gonna make fun of me for it later. So I picked up my boots, already dry from the sun and slipped them back on. Thank goodness I always carried an extra shirt or two in the back of every vehicle. I was habitually dirty, so it just made good sense. Her eyes stayed on me the entire walk to the Jeep. I reached under the seat and pulled out an old grocery sack, with two old t-shirts tucked inside. I pulled one over my head and looked back to where she was, but Cami was gone. After looking around, I found her on the porch handing the basket to Mallory who, unlike Henry, seemed to have softened towards Cami a bit. I walked over to the porch and asked what was left to do.

"Ugh—I still have to slop the pigs and sweep the porch. After that, I'm done?" She looked to Mallory for confirmation. Confirmation I hoped she'd get.

"Yep. Just those two things and you can get washed up for dinner. Stockton, Willa, would you like to join us?"

I looked at Will, "You can stay if you want to. I've got things to do."

I saw Cami's face fall a little and took a sliver of pleasure in the fact that she wanted me to stay.

"Yeah, Cami, can you give me a ride home?"

She switched her gaze to Will and coupled it with a smile, "Of course."

I cleared my throat and broke us up, "I will slop the pigs if you sweep, Will."

"Deal," Will ran into the house to get the broom and Mallory followed her.

"I can do it," Cami protested with her hands perched on her curves.

I closed the space between us, compelled to get closer to her, "I know you _can,_ Duchess. I just want to—for you. Why don't you get inside and get cleaned up for dinner. You earned it."

Moving a strand of hair from the side of her cheek and curling it behind her ear, I noticed a pink line that began somewhere in her hair line and ended right at her temple, "What's this on my duchess?"

"Oh," she covered it back up, smoothing some hair down over it, "the accident. A little reminder."

I touched it again, undoing her work, "We all have scars, covering them up doesn't make us forget."

I placed my hand on the back of her head and wound my fingers through the strands pulled up into that mess on top of her head. I intended to simply kiss her forehead—I swore my intentions to myself. But as my lips tasted the sweet salt on her forehead all bets were off. "Cami, you drive me insane. I can't stop thinking about you."

My lips took a path of their own, whispering kisses along the bridge of her nose, the apples of her cheeks, the corner of her mouth. I hovered my mouth above hers, the outlines of our lips barely making contact and hers formed the word, "Stockton."

And then my sister plowed through the screen door, instantly deflating my want and cockblocking me at the same time.

"Damn it, Will." I groaned through a clenched jaw at my sister.

Cami smiled up at me and snorted. Who knew California girls snorted?

I did.

I groaned, loud enough that even the sheep knew how aggravated I was and stalked towards those damned pigs. And if bacon didn't taste so good, I would wish pigs away for good. They were just pissing me off with their very creation and their need to eat all the damned time.

I fed the oinkers with the bucket of leftovers Mallory kept by the back door and then made my way back to the Jeep. Cami, Will and the Macon's were already inside, the light above the dining room table the only one visible from outside. I didn't even bother saying goodbye. I had to get home to finish Will's chores—again—third day in a row. Funny thing was—I didn't even mind. Her happiness was worth a few measly chores.

I did everything and then sloshed into a hot shower, my muscles grateful for the soothing warmth. The bathroom window faced the side of the house and I saw a pair of headlights flash through my sight through the shower door. It was Will coming home and though I wanted to see Cami, I couldn't tear myself from the solace the shower afforded me just yet.

I came out, starving and tired. I plowed through the fridge, looking for something quick to eat.

"She sent you a plate home—fixed it herself."

I turned around to see Will, holding a plate with a note attached. I put the note to the side and dug in.

"The note's from Cami, you ogre. She made the plate herself. She also brought it in but you were in the shower."

She made it for me?

It was probably the homo-cavamanus in me coming out to play, but Cami filling up a plate of food for me to eat made me want to grunt.

And beat my chest.

And knock her over the head with an anvil and drag her to my shop.

_Shit_.

I reached for the note and Will exited, she probably smelled the apeman pheromones coming from my skin and ran for the mountains.

Eat up hillbilly. My window. Tonight. And I have a surprise for you. ~Cami

Suddenly the sleepiness was stolen from my bones.

I cleared my plate of smothered pork chops, green beans and roasted sweet potatoes in record time. It was only seven though and the Macon's wouldn't be asleep until nine at the earliest. I went back to the truck, grabbed the horse shit shirt and threw it and some other clothes in the wash. Will came out of her room, books and notebooks in hand to do her schoolwork at the table, so I went out to the back porch and called Bridger. Whatever he'd been upset about that morning had been needling me all day.

He answered on the third ring, "Hey Stock."

It wasn't my brother's usual voice. In fact, it was a tone which made me want to jump in the truck and drive to Vandy.

"Bridger, what's going on with you? Who's this girl you've been seeing?"

"I, um, I can't talk right now. Hasn't Will said anything to you?"

"No, you told Will?" His drama had my head spinning.

"No, I didn't. I just—I'll call you tomorrow or next week."

He hung up before I could even say goodbye—the punk.

I sat down in the rocker and remembered sitting in the same spot as a kid, watching my parents. They stayed out late all the time, still on the property but in a place and time all to themselves. They'd always been the best parents, just the right mix of affection and discipline. But when they were together, outside on their little ventures, they were two young kids, alone and in love and nothing could touch them. I'd watched Dad hang Christmas lights from one of the pear trees to the other while my mom was out with Mallory. I asked him why but he just smiled and refused to answer. But later that night, propped behind the lattice on the porch, I watched my father lead my mother underneath the strings of electric stars and they danced for hours on end—no music—no space between. Or they'd park the truck in the back of the house and Dad would pile it up with blankets and they'd simply watch the stars. But he always, always made sure she knew who loved her and where she belonged.

Those episodes, paired with his everyday kindness, is where I'd discovered that one day—that's the kind of husband I wanted to be.

An image of Cami, bundled in white flashed in my mind.

Was I enough for her?

Would she be able to live someplace like this—with someone as simple as me?

With someone as grimy and grumpy as me?

Ah, hell, I can't even live with myself right now. Sappy assed son of a bitch.

I put the images in my hindbrain and focused on the moment. I went back in the house and busied myself with everyday things until I noticed it was well past nine, almost ten. Will was already back in her room and I snuck out, making sure my seat was still in the back. It seemed like the Macon's house was hours away that night. But I got to the window at five minutes until ten and knocked—and knocked. But she must've been asleep. She deserved sleep after the hours she'd put in. But I needed her voice tonight, so I knocked one more time.

The window opened and she pulled a robe tighter around herself—pity.

"Hey, I'm sorry, you were asleep."

She shook her head, trying to deny it, "No, I was just resting my eyes."

"Ok, so you said you had a surprise for me?"

Parts of me twitched at the prospects floating through my head.

"Yeah," she smiled and then reached to the corners of the windowsills. I heard two clicks and then the entire screen fell out of the window.

We both froze at the noise it made clanking to the ground, hoping it wouldn't awaken her keepers. After a few seconds she ran back into the room and pulled a chair up to the window and I brought my stool closer to her.

"That was pretty damned good for a Beverly Hills girl."

She stood and had the gall to curtsy and wink at me.

I'd never seen a sexier curtsy in all my life.

"So, I came with a list tonight."

She didn't look impressed, "A list?" She may as well have turned her nose up and slammed the window on my fingers.

"Yes. So, number one: When's your birthday?"

She blushed a little, "Um, April first."

"April Fool's Day," I questioned.

"Yeah, surprise, it's a terrible teenager in progress. My mom and dad were so not prepared for me. But to be fair, they weren't really interested in have any kids. Katie and I just filled in their required American demographics. Still.... someone should have warned them about their future train wreck. It just doesn't seem fair."

"Not true. Beautiful, smart, hard-working woman in progress. That's what they should've said."

She backed up a little like I'd stunned her again. I hoped that one day my compliments wouldn't sting as much.

"Screw the list. Tell me everything."

And she did. She told me all about growing up in California and her friends. Somewhere in the conversation she started playing with my fingers and by the time she'd exhausted her conversational options, both of our hands were tangled together. But when she yawned for the third time in an hour, I decided to dismiss myself.

Even though what I wanted to do was vault through the window.

Relieve her of that robe, so guilty of over-covering her skin.

And really give Henry something to complain about.

"I'd better let you get to sleep, Duchess. We've both got work tomorrow."

"Stockton?"

Why is it that my name sounded like a breath of hope on her lips?

I felt the heat flowing between us despite the chilly night and wished we were in a position where we could both be warm.

My heart thumped in my chest, recognizing the promise of _making_ her warm.

Like the steel encasing of my heart cracked open, just a little bit more.

Not just an existence—not just going through the motions—life.

"Yeah?"

"Do hillbillies usually take this long to kiss a girl or are you purposefully trying to drive me batshit?"

I curbed a smirk, "Well, you've had a busy day. And if you pass out in there, you might hit your head on the wood floors."

She narrowed her eyes and pegged me with a glare that would stop the devil himself, "You're scared."

"I'm scared?"

"Yep. You're scared you're going to underwhelm me. I've never heard you talk about cousins that live around here so you probably haven't had much practice. But hillbillies have gobs of children- like you should all have your own reality shows down here. So I'm thinking you have to be semi decent at it. If not, I can always give you pointers, tips, maybe some private lessons-"

I reached out and grabbed the lapels of that horrible robe and pulled her gently to me through the opening of the window. She gasped in shock, but relented and let me lessen the distance between us. And before she could ramble on anymore, I pressed my mouth to hers, gently at first, waiting for her to respond. I ran my tongue along her top lip trying to wake her and her lips from their shock. And respond she did. Cami's lips were like silk to my sand, and I didn't hesitate in claiming her bottom lip between my teeth. Her hands ran along the hills of my biceps as she moved her lips with a fury against mine, searching for something out of reach. She licked along my bottom lip hungry for a deeper connection. I gave her the entrance she sought and there was only one word to describe how she tasted—honey. Her tongue searched for mine and when they met, the real fury began. Sweet and rich, her taste flowed down my throat, filling a cavern emptied and abandoned long ago. Her mouth was the beginning and the end of me.
Chapter Fifteen

Cami

"What are you thinking about girl?" Mallory asked from the door to the barn. The early evening light spilled through the wide sliding doors and made the hay covered floor sparkle like gold.

_Stockton kissing me senseless._ "Nothing," I answered simply and went back to shoveling out poop. This was my life now- shovels, poop and callouses. "I'll be done in ten, Aunt Mal. Then I'll wash up and take over that package to your pastor's wife."

She made a noncommittal grunting noise that I interpreted like a gold star for all my hard work. In the past couple weeks I had actually been on the top of my game. No sheep had gone missing, the chores were finished by the end of the work day- even if that was occasionally after dark- and I'd fulfilled every single, freaking task Mallory and Henry could come up with for me.

I was rocking my A game.

And on top of it all, I was finding out just how sweet midnight make-outs could be. Stockton. _God, Stockton_. He was like the sweetest, most delicious part of this place. I had no idea just kissing could be this.... hot.

And holy hell was it _hot_.

I didn't even understand how! He only ever kissed me when there was a window sill between us, and only at the end of his nightly visits. There were no wandering hands, no missing articles of clothing, not pushing me to go faster than I wanted to or was ready for. It was just him and me, his mouth on mine and pure and utter sweetness.

I'd never dated a man like him before. Hell, I didn't know men like him existed! He was an enigma to me.

All the boys I had ever gone out with had been some version of Bryce, with maybe a little less of the date-rape vibe. They were pushy and disgustingly entitled. Plus, they always expected a little something-something at the end of the night. Like payment for dinner was a free pass to third base. Boys in my circle were turning modern day women into low-caliber prostitutes. Seriously, I did not put these Minolos on so you could buy me a fifty dollar dinner and touch my boobies. _Get a life._

Stockton on the other hand was a gentleman, and considerate and.... _holy shit I was practically in love with him_.

I dropped the shovel. Dropped it. Right on my f-ing big toe. The dogs- all lounging around me- scattered and yelped in surprise when I started screaming.

"Son of a biotch!" I screeched, scaring the horse in the next stall over for good measure.

"What is the matter with you, Cami?" Mallory hissed from a foot behind me.

I jumped and squealed and then banged my elbow on a post. "For the love of God!" I grabbed at my elbow, gasping and hopping around like an idiot. "I have got to pay closer attention!"

"I could not have said that better myself," Mallory muttered but there was a trace of laughter in her tone I had never heard before. She bent over and picked up the shovel from off the ground. Luckily the handle stayed clear of the giant pile of horse poop I was working on.

"You scared me," I panted, forcing my over-active body to settle down. "I didn't hear you walk over here."

"Because you've been lost in lala land over that Wright boy, I suspect," Mallory still didn't sound as harsh as she usually was, which was.... shocking.

"I can't help it," I grumbled, taking the shovel back from her. "He's confusing. And wonderful. And really confusing. But really wonderful, all at the same time!"

Mallory's lips twitched with a smile and she breathed out a resigned sigh, "I didn't think he'd be good for you at first. I was worried you'd get your heart broken and slip further down that wayward path you were hell bent on blazing. Or that you'd spend your time chasing after him and not accomplish what you set out to do. But I see now, he's been good for you. And in a strange turn of events, you've been good for him too."

"Um, thank you?" I had no idea how to take that. Was she being nice? Were we bonding? Was I misreading this completely and she was about to kick my ass to the curb? Was I seriously about to be a homeless person? Homeless was _way_ worse than hillbilly!

"Come on now, it's a compliment. You were a mess when your daddy sent you down here. Now look at ya, you can clear out shit with the best of them." She sounded so serious that I honestly had to stare at her face until a mischievous flash and shy smile allowed me to relax.

Laughter bubbled up inside of me and when I finally let it out it was real and genuine. It felt foreign to actually find something funny- to not be so sickeningly fake for once in my life. And I kind of liked it.

"It's true," I finally agreed after the laughter died down. "I definitely have a career in pooper scooping."

"That better be a joke, Camdyn. This work is fine for you while you're down here, getting your life together. But you do know that you have a future ahead of you? You were born for different things? Now don't get me wrong, this is fine work. Henry and I have made a good life out of this kind of work. But sometimes this fits, and sometimes it doesn't. You don't fit here. You got a big life you need to go hunt down. Dreams to follow and all that. When you're ready, you'll figure that out."

A little teary eyed from her sentiment and a little depressed because she didn't think I fit in down here, I was at a loss for what to say. Thankfully, she didn't make me struggle for long.

"Alright, get on out of here. I've got a box for the Wright household too. After you're done at Preacher's, you can stop on over there and deliver some goods. I won't hold dinner for you." She turned around and left before I could even say thank you.

She was obviously a strange woman, but apparently that whole not-opening up thing ran in my family since my dad did the same thing. But this felt like a breakthrough- like maybe she didn't hate me now, or at the very least hated me less.

I finished up in the barn and then packed up Mallory's truck with the canned food she wanted delivered. I still didn't get the whole mushy food in glass-phenomenon. I was a California girl. I was raised on hand-picked produce and fresh seafood. This was like the opposite of my food philosophy. But in these mountain people _loved_ it, to the point of obsession. It was like their crack. Mmm... slimy peaches.

Bleck.

I drove over to the Pastor's house- I had yet to catch on to the whole "preacher" vernacular and enjoyed the twisting roads of the Tennessee Mountains. Trees and shrubbery flowed from either side of the road like rolling ocean waves of landscape. The budding trees and new grass slashed color through the woodsy scenery and the setting sun painted brushstrokes of twilight softness.

It was pretty.

I admitted that kind of reluctantly, but these mountains were growing on me. They weren't golden sandy beaches or salty ocean waves, but they held their own beauty. Even I could see that.

At the pastor's house I dropped off the long box of jarred what-nots and talked to his wife for a few moments. She was sweet enough and always grateful for the help I offered around her house, but she made me uncomfortable. I had a life time of sins to cover up around her, and I was afraid of any of them sneaking to the light in front of such innocent purity. At first I'd played with the idea of reminiscing about my recreational cocaine days, but she, much like the countryside, had grown on me.

She'd probably drop dead from shock.

I didn't need that drama added to my guilty conscious. And so the past I used to flaunt with rebellious pride, was quickly becoming a shaming cauldron of secrets I wanted to bury along with my reckless behavior that was now a thing of the past.

My parents were never going to win awards for their participation in my life, but maybe they did this whole rehabilitation thing right. I mean, the urgency to screw up every part of my world was gone, but then again put me back in sunny LA and maybe that would all come back full force.

I felt sick at the thought, though. I didn't want to be that girl anymore. I didn't want to be lost. I didn't want to be irresponsible. I wanted to follow those dreams Mallory was talking about.

And I did have dreams. Secret dreams that I was afraid to follow. But they were there nonetheless. Writing.... Putting my pen to paper and creating something out of nothing. I wanted to share myself with somebody, everybody and be honest for once in my life- for the rest of my life.

I pulled up to Stockton's house and let out a deep sigh. I had him to thank for this whole existential revelation. He was this constant force that demanded I was honest with the world, with myself. He pushed me into facing the ugliness of who I was, but still, in that place of bad decisions and a lifetime of mistakes, he somehow saw beauty.

And because he saw beauty in me, I could believe I was beautiful.

I didn't know if he felt this deep connection the same way I did, and I didn't know if we would part ways in the next few months and never see each other again. Our future was unclear and headed in completely opposite directions. But even while I was dealing with the heartbreak of leaving him, I would forever be grateful for what he did for me and how he walked along side me so I could change for the better.

I thought back to the letter I found in his kitchen drawer while I was snooping all those weeks ago and to Mallory's demand that I follow my dreams. I'd given mine up out of fear and insecurity, but Stockton had given his up out of necessity. He was called away from finding his path because his parents died and he was the best kind of man- the kind of man that gave up everything for the people he loved.

I had all this gratitude and I had been wondering what to do with it. Now that I thought back to the letter asking for some of his hand-crafted pieces and designs, asking to change his life, I knew exactly what I would do.

Before Stockton or Will noticed I was here, I slipped into his workshop and searched out some of his nice pieces—I found some in a box under his workbench. Ok, I didn't really know what would be considered the best of the best in here. I clearly wasn't an expert in all things.... smithing? _Is that what it's called?_

Being in Stockton's workshop kind of made me feel like I belonged in the middle ages. But I was so impressed with his work that it was more of a middle ages kind of fantasy in which I was the lusty princess and he was the bad-boy blacksmith that threatened to steel my virtue.

I shivered at those wicked thoughts, even while the workshop was extremely hot from the working fire that had been heating the small space all day.

I slipped a couple knives into my purse and then looked around for something else that he wouldn't miss but would showcase his skill. I wanted to give him the dreams he lost. I wanted to help him achieve the future he attempted but put aside for the sake of all his younger siblings. I wanted to repay him for giving me the kind of unconditional acceptance that had been missing my entire life.

"What are you doing in here?" I jumped, startled by his rumbling voice from behind me.

I spun around on my heel and set my purse to the side of his work bench, hoping to remain inconspicuous. "Looking for you," I improvised. He stared at me from the doorway; his muscular frame leaned against it and his arms- one bigger than the other thanks to his trade- were crossed against his chest. His eyes were a dark green in this dim lighting, almost black from where he stood. And they were as hot as the fire flaring behind me. "I brought over some canned goods from Mallory." My voice barely carried over the space between us. For some reason I was dramatically out of breath and struggling in that confusing place between chills and sweating.

"Canned goods?" he repeated.

"From Mallory."

"But you were looking for me in here?" his expression darkened with his emotions. His intensity was strung tightly with ferocity and he looked hungry. No, not hungry, he looked greedy.

He hadn't showered yet from his long day. He was shirtless and wearing dirty jeans that were streaked in black from the fire. I closed my mouth to keep the drool from escaping when I took in his toned, muscled upper body that shone with golden perfection. Sweat slid from his neck, down to the hollow of his throat and then further yet, over each ridge and contour of muscle. He was male perfection- like a blacksmith god.

"Stockton," I whispered.

He sauntered toward me with slow, purposeful steps. "All week I've been kissing you with a house in between us. An entire damn house."

I nodded because all rational thoughts of words and sentences and clear spoken paragraphs had fled my mind. I stood there, waiting for him.

And it was not easy for me.

For whatever reason I felt vulnerable and exposed as he stalked toward me. His eyes were dark and demanding. He was going to kiss me, but he wanted more than my kiss in return. He wanted something so much deeper, something so fundamental to my survival I didn't know if I was ready to let it go.

Sure, my feelings for Stockton were deeper than any I had ever felt before, but were they deep enough? Did I know myself well enough by now to let them go?

Or was Stockton going to break whatever pieced together version of me remained.

He stood over me now. His hands reached for mine but didn't hold them. Slowly, so painfully slow I thought I would burst with anticipation he trailed his hands over my fingers, across my palms, up my wrists, forearms, biceps until they came to rest around my neck. His hands swallowed my thin throat whole and held me firmly in his grasp- possessively. His thumbs slid across the bottom of my jaw until they could tilt my chin up so that my eyes stared into his.

Nothing could have prepared me for the endless depth of emotion that stared back at me.

His head dropped so our mouths were just a breath away from each other and he promised with not just his words, but with his thrumming-with-life body. "I've been wanting to touch you all week, Cami. It's damn near killed me not to."

I shivered as his words blanketed every exposed and unexposed part of me. I felt wrapped up completely in his promises and whatever he had left unsaid that hung around us in a heady cloud of enlightenment.

"Me too," I said in a shaky voice when his hands left my neck and slid down to grip my hips and pull me closer to him.

"Are you staying for dinner?" he asked in a more casual voice.

I was beyond being polite. My body was practically vibrating with the need to feel his lips on mine and I was seconds away from threading my hands around his neck and yanking his face down to meet mine. I think I managed to nod an affirmative, before I tipped up on my toes and kissed the underside of Stockton's jaw.

He shuddered just a tiny bit and leaned into my kiss. His jaw was rough with a full day's growth of beard and I could still taste the faint after effects of his long day in the shop- dirt, sweat and the tangy taste of metal mixed with smoke.

"Mmm-hmmm," I finally agreed. "If I'm invited."

"If I let you out of here," he countered. He pushed me back, using the firm hold he had on each of my hips and my ass bumped up against his work bench. "I like you in my space, Cami."

His voice was almost a growl and his long, calloused fingers slid under my tank top and dug into my waist. My heart beat frantically in my chest, I could feel it in my throat and my ears. I was falling for Stockton, hard and fast. I should be more careful with my freshly recovering heart, but I couldn't be.

I couldn't stop myself from trusting Stockton- trusting him with even my heart. And I'd been protecting that vital organ since I was old enough to realize how much danger it was in.

And with parents like mine that was _early._

Stockton's nose skimmed my cheek and then over my partially parted lips, "I've missed you, Cami."

"You just saw me last night," I reminded him in a breathy whisper.

"And I still missed you."

Melting into a mushy pile of goo, I admitted, "I missed you too. I thought about you all day."

He groaned in a purely masculine, king of the jungle way and then leaned in so that our foreheads were resting against each other. "What do you think that says about us?" His lips hovered over mine, waiting for me to answer.

And I could have. I could have answered a hundred different things that all started and ended with me declaring feelings I couldn't even admit to myself yet.

I was saved when he closed the gap between us and captured my mouth with his. He swept me up in him, and it was that easy. One kiss and I was lost. Our lips and tongues tangled together while our bodies pushed against each other hungrily. This kiss was needy and desperate but also sensual and claiming. I was giving him everything with his lips pressed against mine. All the emotions I didn't want to acknowledge yet, all the words I refused to say molded into this one kiss and I gave myself entirely to him here.

His rough hands were tight against my waist, gripping me to him, holding me prisoner. His soft but firm lips were hot and wet against my mouth. I whimpered as he moved from my mouth, down the column of my neck. He pushed me back further, taking a step with me and lifting me easily onto his work table.

He stepped between my legs and our kiss intensified. I slid my hands through his cleanly shaven hair, relishing the feel of the soft spikes beneath my fingers. His lips trailed along the lines of my collar bone, his fingers inching higher whether he noticed or not.

I wanted to kiss him forever.

He was that good.

And it didn't hurt that while I was kissing him everything else seemed to disappear- my problems, my life, my insecurities, the messed up part of my brain that liked to hurt the people that I loved. While I was kissing Stockton nothing else mattered in the world. It was just him and me and I felt loved and accepted for the first time in my entire life.

"Cami," he rumbled into my ear. "There is.... I mean.... What I'm trying to say is-"  
"Stock, time for dinner!" Will's loud voice sounded from just the door way. "I made your favorite, I think you're going to really-"

"Go away," Stockton growled at her.

"Aren't you supposed to hang a sock on the door handle or something?" Will asked casually while I burned up with embarrassment.

"Who taught you that?" I all but screeched. "You've been watching way too much TV lately or something, girl! You can't just assume that about people. For your information your brother and I haven't-"

This time I was cut off by Stockton's big, giant hand over my mouth. "Those are things we don't discuss with my little sister ever. Got that? Ever."

"Sure I got it," I agreed quickly, removing his hand from my lips and dropping it unceremoniously. "Probably shouldn't show her those things either." I winked at him and then hopped down from the table. I grabbed my purse and followed after Will.

"We're not done here," he called after me while he gave me a swat on the ass when I passed him.

"Believe me," I turned back to look at him over my shoulder. "I know."

He smiled at me and it was so big and genuine on his face I wondered if I had ever seen that expression before. I didn't think I had, which made me wonder how often in his stressful life he got to smile. Pride and amazement swelled my heart when I reminded myself that was me who put it there- me who made him so happy.

"Hey, Will," I called after her since she was already to the screen door. "Need any help with supper?"  
Since when did I become so helpful?  
Probably since that boy walked into my life and helped me find a better version of Camdyn Montgomery.

I liked this Cami much better. But most of all I liked that boy who was stealing my heart whether I was ready for that to happen or not. He was taking it and I was helpless to hold onto to it. And when I really thought about it, when I allowed myself to be honest, I was more than happy to let him have it. Somehow I knew he would take much better care of it than I had.
Chapter Sixteen

Stockton

She'd had dinner at my house for the third time this week and every time I saw her hand touch the handle of the screen door, I pleaded with it not to obey—to disregard her pushing arm—to trap her with me if only for one more hour. She'd relaxed around me. Cami now laughed freely and with everything her lungs and soul had to give. And I thought I'd smiled and laughed more in the past week than I had in years.

Than I had in my life.

I had to confront her with something now so foreign to me that I almost didn't remember how

to do it. I knew how to do it, I was just out of practice. And I didn't even know if she wanted to. I knew I wanted to, and we'd been talking through her window and hinting at it long enough. And the need for it bubbled in my blood.

I needed to ask Camdyn Montgomery on a _real date_.

And just the thought scared me to death.

It's not like I thought she'd say no, but this was more than courting outside of her bedroom window. There would be no window sill keeping me bound. No female siblings threatening to interrupt. And honestly, I was concerned about keeping my hands to myself—she was just too irresistible for her own good. _Note to self: wear pants with deep pockets. They would be your saving grace._

I waited until the violet hour and then went to her window. But tonight would be quick. My plan was to restrain myself from kissing her—make her miss it—make her desperate for it tomorrow. When I approached the light coming from her bedroom something burned deep in my chest, knowing that she was waiting for me, no longer trying to hide. I'd seen her hide, almost cower in front of Preacher Wife and sometimes Henry. She conjured the same posture in front of Mallory at one time but the last few times I'd seen them interact, they'd both thawed out substantially.

"Pssst!"

"Oh my, is it my gentleman caller this late? I surely am glad I hadn't changed into my night clothes, I'd be right embarrassed." She strangled out some hick accent, a cross between Ellie May Clampett and Dolly Parton.

It was awfully endearing—and a little offensive to Dolly.

Ok, a lot offensive to Dolly.

"Am I too early? If I'd known your gentleman caller was coming, I'd waited. I don't want to interrupt your tryst, Duchess."

"Ha. Ha. Ha." She said and smiled at me.

"Where's your chair, Stock? Or are you planning on finally jumping through this window?"

She waggled her eyebrows.

God, even her eyebrows were amazing.

"Actually, I'm not staying long. I just wanted to ask you one thing and then I'm going back home. I want you to get a good night's sleep."

"Hit me."

"Do you want to go on a date with me?"

She giggled and leaned her head and torso completely out of the window, "I'd love to."

"Good, ok, great, um, tomorrow night..." I leaned in and made sure my mouth was as close to hers as I could get without touching hers. It was torture. "Wear a dress, but bring a swim suit."

"A bikini, Stock? Oh man, you are in so much trouble now."

"And why is that?"

"Because there won't be a house between us. And my bikini has exactly four strings. Keep that in mind, Hillbilly."

I didn't know what was worse, the anticipation of kissing her before our lips had ever met or my desire to now that I knew exactly what they felt like. Each was its own form of pain and pleasure.

I backed away and nodded. "Oh, I will. But I don't think it's me you'll have to worry about."

"Oh yeah, you think I have no restraint? As I recall it was you that nearly devoured me in your shop earlier today."

I chuckled, it was the truth. But I had to leave her wanting—and me too. I moved my head to her left side, and made sure that my lips were on her ear as I spoke next.

"You loved it, Duchess. You loved my hands on your tiny waist. You started it with those perfect lips on my jaw. And I loved the way you let your fingers run over the top of my head. You wanted me to park your ass on my workbench and... "

I felt her weight shift forward against me, her hands were fisted in the shoulders of my shirt and her chest was heaving in heavy breaths.

Mission accomplished.

"And what," She whispered.

I pressed a quick peck to her forehead and some ice on our fire.

"Will you listen to me? The hillbilly must've forgotten his manners. I'll see you tomorrow, seven o'clock."

I backed away from the window after making sure she was going to be able to hold herself up. I forced my feet to move one in front of the other and focused on the sound of the twigs breaking under my boots. It was all I could do to leave her there wanting—when wanting was how I'd set out to make her feel in the first place.

Not to mention, the fact that she wanted me made me tremble in the very best way.

"Didn't you forget something?" She asked.

I turned around and shrugged. I knew what she meant. I'd kissed her goodnight every night this week.

"Not that I know of. Be careful, Cami."

She groaned louder than she should've and I decided to make a break for it before the Macon's woke up fully.

There wasn't a bit of sleepiness in me on the ride home and I decided to finish up the rest of the filing and polishing on my knives for the flea market on Saturday. I parked the truck, went to check on Will one more time and found her door ajar—I could hear her soft snore and knew she was long gone.

I didn't have to heat up anything by fire that night, so I ignored the apron and heavy jeans in favor of the cargo shorts I had on. The shop had been left a little messy from earlier, since I put off everything when Cami showed up. Not to mention, I'm sure a few brain cells burned in a flame of lust when she was here, where I worked, where a lifetime of memories clawed at me. Just one appearance in this cavity and it seemed as if the demons willowed into the dirt floor, their fires and gnawing snuffed out by the simple presence of her goodness and light. The whole place seemed less like a dungeon, my chains no longer dragging on the floor, my head no longer hanging from the confines of the stockade and more like, well, a workplace.

Like I was no longer face down struggling for a breath of life.

The air was mine for the taking again.

I was still reeling on the current that sparked in my veins, the one that fizzled out when she wasn't around, the one that I'd tried to manifest in her absence only to be disappointed. It was Cami, pure and simple. She was the light at the end of my tunnel and I would wrestle even myself to get to her glow. She'd come into my midnight, dismal existence and made the creatures come alive.

And someone I once despised, had now become someone I couldn't live without.

I _wouldn't_ live without her.

If she left, the laceration would be irreparable.

The incision too deep and too gaping ever to be mended.

Because the wound of my parents' death was still not full scabbed over and there was just so much a man could take.

I looked to the Father above and begged for affirmation that I'd had enough.

That I'd endured my quota of pain and regret and deserved just a sliver of happiness.

But no affirmation did I find.

Set to get all of my work finished for the night, I set up my files and polishing tools at the workbench and had to smile at the two almost perfect round imprints on it. That was where she'd been and I wanted to put a glass case on top of it to preserve the memory of Cami in this place, her heavenly mouth driving me near to madness. Not wanting to taint it just yet, I moved my tools further down the bench, pulled up a stool and reached under the workbench for my box of newly made knives. Its weight was far lighter than I'd known it to be and I shucked it from its resting place to inspect.

"What the hell?" I shouted to no one. I knew that no one would borrow these knives. I lived in a place where all men, both burly and benign carried pocket knives like most women carried purses. It was just the way we did things. So why would someone come into my shop and take something so well hidden—so common? I spent well over an hour raccooning and jackaling through every metal scrap, every fragment of discarded saw blade and iron alike. I jettisoned through unfinished blades and projects and still came up empty handed. And if I was an unorganized person, a reckless worker, I wouldn't be surprised—but I was as, if not more meticulous than my father. It just didn't make sense.

It took me most of the pre-dawn hours to clean up and get everything back to pristine. But my missing things wrestled through my thoughts, coming up with scenarios about where they'd gone and when they were coming back. As I exited the thoroughly trashed and cleaned shop, the sun was just nodding to the morning in hello and bidding goodbye to the night. I heard the rooster greet the morning and decided to get Will's chores done for her. Because at this point, if I tried to go to sleep, even for a few hours, I'd never recover. I'd spend the rest of the day with a major night-owl hangover.

I decided to treat Will and jumped in the truck and ran to town for hot glazed donuts. She loved them but we tried not to eat out much. I also picked her up a pint of chocolate milk, another one of her favorites. Our mom used to take her to the donut shop on her birthday and buy her one chocolate sprinkled donut. After three boys, she made sure Will knew she was special.

I got home and left the donuts and milk on the table and knocked on her door early. I knew my sister. She would want to sit at the dining room table in her pajamas and take her time with the warm, sweet morsels. My sister was a goon.

I nearly fell asleep in the shower, leaned against the tiles. I would have to spend the day re-forging and trying to recoup the loss of my knives. There were only three left in the box. I knew I had at least seven, but I'd try to make as many as I could before seeing Cami that night. A little extra in my pocket would make me feel better about our finances.

I changed into work pants. Opening the dresser, I grabbed a black t-shirt and as I pulled it over my head, I glanced at the black and gray tattoo on my chest and smiled. I bet that would be one surprise the duchess wouldn't see coming from the blacksmith.

When I got to the kitchen, I could see Will putting away her third donut, licking the flakes of sugary film from each finger.

She took one look at me and ceased, "Good grief, you look like Hell."

"Watch it, Missy."

She shrugged, "You look haggard, how about that?"

I sat at the table and made her giggle by shoving an entire donut in my mouth and then bowing as she applauded.

After I finished chewing, I dug deep for some tact and asked her, "Have you been in the shop?"

"Your shop?" She didn't even look at me, she was too enamored by her fourth donut. The kid was gonna go into a sugar coma.

"Yeah." I slid the box away from her and she whined like a puppy.

"Eeew, no. That place is filthy. Why?"

"Some of my knives are missing."

"Somebody probably just borrowed them," she shrugged.

"Will, it was at least three or four brand new knives. I made them to sell. They were in a box under the workbench. It's not the same as someone borrowing a tool or the lawnmower."

She looked to the ground and shamefully mumbled, "Maybe someone else was in the shop."

"Like who?"

"Cami. Maybe she moved them or was looking at them. She probably just put them in the wrong place or something."

"Well, I'm not even gonna say anything to her—I don't want her to think we don't trust her. Cami may have been a likely suspect when she came but she has earned our trust. You don't say anything to her either. Are we clear?"

Even I heard the phantom of my father as I bellowed orders out to her.

"Yes, Sir. I'm gonna go do my chores."

I cleared my throat, "I did them already. Thought you deserved _another_ day off. I was gonna let you sleep in a bit but I knew the donuts would take precedence over sleep."

"Thanks, Stock."

I nodded. She slumped back to her room, the sugar hadn't fully hit her yet.

I hogged down two more donuts and a cup of the strongest coffee I could make. Scenarios whispered to me as I sat at that lonely table. Unmade memories of seeing Cami's silhouette in the shower first thing in the morning. Being able to kiss the back of her neck while she stood at my sink. Retiring to the same bedroom at night—I'd let her hog the covers and she could have any side she wanted—as long as she was with me. I'd buy her yellow rubber boots for the rainy days. She could write to her heart's content on the front porch.

As long as she loved me, she could do whatever she wanted to.

_Loved_ me?

Loved— _me_?

Will slouched back into the kitchen, again knocking the cloud of thought from my forecast.

"OK. I've got an English paper to turn in on Sense and Sensibility, an Algebra pop quiz and that's it."

I huffed out a laugh, "Not very much of a pop quiz if you already know about it."

"Well, Mr. Anderson's daughter is a freshman now. She gives out info to the Seniors for twenty bucks. Of course, only one of us pays and the rest spread the word. And I don't ask for the information, I'm just a really, really good listener."

"Still, not very honest."

"I'd ace it even if it was a surprise, Stock." She brushed off her shoulder, "I've got this."

I simply rolled my eyes and waved her off.

I started out the screen door towards the shop and spent the day scrambling my mind for the whereabouts of those knives and making new ones to replace them. As the afternoon wore down, I'd made five more and even my gloves couldn't protect me from the new layers of callous on my hands. I was filthy and exhausted—and there was a Duchess who would be waiting on me soon. Will said she was staying in since Jesse was always busy now.

After a thorough shower and throwing clean clothes on, a light blue button down shirt and some dark washed jeans, I jumped in the truck and headed towards the Macon's.

I was more nervous than I'd ever been—yet I'd never been more solid in a resolve in all my life.

This wasn't just dating some random woman.

This was Cami.

This was a step towards seeing if she could love me.

But I didn't have that much to give.

All I had was my heart.

But she could have it all—every damaged piece of it.

I knocked on the front screen door like my mother had raised me to and waited. Mallory answered the door and asked me to come in. I stepped inside and rocked back and forth on my heels waiting for her to get ready. I thought maybe she'd be one of these women who take an hour to primp but she emerged just minutes later but even if she'd taken hours, she couldn't look better than she did.

The first thing I saw was her hair, golden spun tresses, such a contrast in color and texture to my hands, yet they ached to be woven in them. She had it flowing over one shoulder with gold dangly earrings swinging from her lobes.

My lips twitched at the thought of the noises that came from their effect on those very ears.

A shudder raced through me.

Her royal blue dress covered only one shoulder. And the girl must've had a personal seamstress on call in California because that dress was made for her delicate curves. The edge landed on a spot on her thighs, enough to give my eyes a taste of what they craved, but long enough to maintain the modesty I suspected Mallory expected her to keep. But even garbed in a trash bag in the middle of the rain surrounded by those God forsaken sheep, she'd be the death of me every time.

She was Helen of Troy—civilizations were doomed to fall at her feet—they were defenseless in the presence of her beauty.

I'd been blunted.

Yet somehow she'd found me.

"Close your mouth, hillbilly and let's go," She said through a smile.

Henry stood, I didn't even know he was there until he did, and shot a stern look my way, "Do we need to go over the rules, Stockton?"

"No, Sir. Anyway, I'll probably be more careful than your rules dictate."

He nodded and I reached out for her hand. I was acutely aware this was the first time we'd actually held hands in front of anyone. And the fact that she took it without a hint of hesitation—it made my newfound love throb just a little more—my heart beat a little faster.

We were both quiet on the way to Mick's and she fumbled with my radio, trying to find something she liked.

"Nothing," I asked as she flung herself back on the bench seat, frustrated.

"Nope."

"Why are you so quiet?"

"I had to go clean your pastor's house today. And his wife asked me to have lunch with her."

I gasped dramatically, "How awful. I'm turning around right this second and..."

"Shut up! Let me finish."

"Yes, Duchess."

"She told me the story about how when she was a teenager, she got married and divorced before she was nineteen. And she was crazy wild before she settled down with your pastor. She made me—I'm not the only one."

I took her hand again, "Of course you're not. You're just the only one brave enough to admit your mistakes."

She squeezed my hand in response. We ran into Shriver at Mick's and he was on his game. He sat next to Cami across the booth—flirted and joked around shamelessly—until I used his shin as kicking practice.

"Ok, Ok, damn. I get it. Come see me sometime, Stock."

I nodded and he left. And just when I was ready to get my girl out of there, who should saunter up but Vanessa Atkins.

"Hey, Sugar. You lookin' for a real date tonight?"

Now wonder people thought people around these parts were hillbillies. Between the Hillbilly Harlot and squirrel on a leash, there was just no winning.

"He's with me. So you can save the small town swagger for someone else," Cami pushed her answer in Vanessa's direction.

"Is that so?" Vanessa popped the gum in her mouth and cocked out her hip.

"Yep, but I think old toothless over there is looking for a date—seems like your type."

My ex-girlfriend scoffed and tried not so sexily to saunter right for Eli—toothless.

I slammed my hands on the table, "Is the Duchess ready for part two?"

"Is this the part where I get to see you half naked?"

"Yup."

And then I remembered that I'd forgotten my shorts.
Chapter Seventeen

Cami

I glanced over at Stockton as he navigated the curvy mountain roads in pitch black darkness. No moonlight broke through the clouds, no stars shed light through the thick canopy of trees overhead. In the quiet cab of Stockton's Jeep it felt like we were the only two people that existed in the world.

And I was Ok with that.

This date with Stockton was a vibrant contrast to any date I'd ever been on. More than location, more than the people we were surrounded by, Stockton seemed to cherish each moment with me. He wanted to show me off to his friends and neighbors, but not because I was dressed in the latest Diane Von Furstenberg with vintage Chanel peep toe heels.

He didn't want to show case me on his arm like a trophy. That was different than any man I'd known so far.

And he didn't buy that greasy, cheap although surprisingly delicious dinner just to get me back to his place. He took me out because he wanted to spend time with me not just spend money on me.

For that reason alone a delicious warmth had spread throughout my body. Tonight was simply the best night. And he was the best kind of man.

Even with that piece of redneck desperation approaching him right in front of me, my feeling of euphoria hadn't waned. Officially, I was in love with Stockton Wright.

My chest hurt from the ferocity of my feelings, my body tingled with the idea of exploring that love and my heart, for the first time in my entire life, didn't feel broken and shattered.

It felt whole. Whole with a love for a man that deserved better than me, better than my tainted, shameful past.

Too bad because he was so getting it anyway.

He pulled off the main highway onto a dirt covered back road and we bounced along in the pitch black night until the moon finally broke through a clearing in the trees and lit up a slow moving river that lazily ran in a wide, winding path.

Stockton pulled the Jeep to a stop and shut the engine off. The radio died and only our soft breathing remained. He looked at me and our gazes collided in fierce intensity. My heartbeat picked up and I felt the anticipation for his kiss more acutely than anything I'd ever felt before.

There was barely enough light for me to make out his features, but I didn't need light. I had been staring at his gorgeous face constantly over the past several weeks. I knew every contour and angle, the faint, lonely freckle just under his right eye. I was mesmerized often by the spearmint color to his eyes and even more how they darkened to a deep forest green just before he kissed me. I could feel the taste and softness to his lips dance in my memory and the roughness of his jaw that matched the texture of his calloused hands. He was male perfection to me. There would never be anyone else that could live up to Stockton, or take his prominent place in my heart.

I loved him- with everything that I was. My tiny, black heart had grown into a living, beating organ capable of a feeling that felt greater than me, greater than anything I could be capable of.

Yet here I was, in love with a man that demanded that kind of greatness from me.

And I would willingly spend the rest of my life striving to be that kind of woman for him, to be the woman he needed, the soul-mate he searched for, the other half of his heart.

As long as he let me.

And then his cell phone rang.

Hello, bad timing.

Or maybe good timing, since I felt seconds away from declaring every last bit of feeling I held for him. Probably it was better to keep my declarations of love to myself. At least until I knew for certain how he was feeling.

He glanced down at the lit up screen, "It's Will. Do you mind if I answer it?"

"Not at all," I replied honestly. I turned away while he chatted with his sister and took the opportunity to steady my breath. It sounded like Will wanted her friend Jesse to come over and was asking Stockton's permission before she told her friend yes. Will was such a good kid, and I knew that was a reflection of Stockton's parenting. His parents had for sure laid the groundwork, but things could have gone bad quickly for Will if she hadn't had Stock step in and pick up right where they left off.

So different from the emotionally unavailable parents I had.

And exactly the kind of parent I wanted for my own kids.

"Alright, Will. Be careful," Stockton said as way of goodbye.

Something struck me then. While I had been dreaming of love and lifelong commitment speeches, I had never heard Stockton say "I love you"- not even to his sister.

"Hey, Stockton," I asked gently. "Why do you always say 'be careful?'"

Charged silence met me. Even in the darkness I could feel Stockton's body go rigid with tension and each emotion as they shut off to me. I panicked at first, hating that asking a simple question would put up such a thick barricade between us, but I didn't regret asking the question.

He knew every last little part of me and if I was going to allow myself to love this man with as much depth and severity as I felt, then I deserved to know him too.

"What is it? Stockton, I didn't know it was such a loaded question, I just haven't heard you-"

"The night they died," Stockton interrupted me, his voice rough and raw with past memories. "I talked to them on the phone—just hours before. I was off at college, pursuing some stupid dream and they were home, dying. But, when I hung up the phone we said our usual goodbyes and went our separate ways. They knew I loved them, we'd told each other that every day, multiple times a day. I should have said 'be careful.' I should have warned them in some stupid way to _be careful_." He paused for a long breath, and when it came out it was shaking and heavy. "Now we all say it. Will and I especially. It's like we can't let each other go without warning each other. We know the love stuff, that's a given. But it's the other stuff, the stuff that could take us away from each other that's most important."

We sat there in silence for a few moments after that, both lost in our own thoughts. Stockton was still stuck in the pain of his memories and I was fighting through his words, trying to make sense of them.

Finally, I couldn't stop myself any more. I had to say what was on my mind or I would never be able to look him in the eye again. "I disagree," I declared, with hardly any conviction or gravity. But it was true so I said it again, "I disagree."

"I'm sorry?" Stockton asked in complete disbelief. I felt bad because he really sounded like he did not want to hear me right.

I cleared my throat, "I disagree with you." This was such a douche bag move on my part. I mean, I was basically arguing with the ghost of his dead parents. But I was literally not capable of reigning myself in. I cared about Stockton, so much so that I wasn't going to let him get away with this.

"I don't understand what you're saying," he admitted in a cranky growl.

I let out a deep breath and then went for it, "I'm just saying that your parents didn't need to hear that you thought they should be careful and I guarantee they didn't _want_ to hear it." He opened his mouth to argue so I rushed forward with my hands raised in supplication for him to stay quiet, "What happened to your mom and dad was tragic, I'm not arguing that or trying to belittle their memory. I'm just saying that you have to know you couldn't really stop their accident. You're not to blame for their deaths or the fire. They died and that was horrible, but it wasn't your fault or anybody else's, Stock. I hate that you would think that, that you would carry around that kind of crushing guilt. You have to let that go. I care about you too much to let you go through that pain one more second. You are better than that, better than letting something so horrible run your life and dictate who you are and how you behave. Because I promise you that's what it's doing. Believe me. I have my own set of issues from my past and I know how they can f up the present like nothing else. I'm healing, Stock, but I wouldn't be if I was still holding on to all my daddy issues and feelings of inadequacy my mom generously bestowed upon me."

He was silent for a few more moments, simmering in a mixture of anger and astonishment. Finally, in a hoarse voice he said, "I understand what you're saying, Cami. But you don't understand what happened. My parents needed me here, and I let my own delusions take me away from them. I might not have been able to save them from far away, but I never should've been gone in the first place."

I reached out and grabbed his hand before he could pull it away. He flinched from my touch but I didn't let go. What I was about to say was pure honesty and desperately important. I needed him to hear me, really hear me. "Stockton, you were the child, they were the parents. It was not your responsibility to stay by their side forever. They raised you right if you left them; they did what they were supposed to. Because you were out following your dreams, pursuing a career you were so passionate about, they could die in peace. I bet they couldn't have been prouder of you."

He turned to face me, something so intense and passionate just under the surface but in the dark I couldn't tell if it was anger or sadness.

"Stockton, take it from somebody that knows, they could have cared less if you told them to be careful. But one of the last things they heard was 'I love you.' I would kill for someone to tell me that- especially my parents. I don't even know what I would do if they meant it. I've never heard that from my parents, let alone in every day conversation. You gave yours the greatest gift you could, and instead of being ashamed of it, you should be so proud."

"Cami, I-"

But I was a sobbing hysterical mess at this point and I couldn't stop myself from snapping, "And Willa needs to hear it too, damn it. She knows to be careful. Don't you think she's figured it out by now? She needs to hear that her big brother loves her, that some of the only family left in her life, love her. So you will not tell her to be careful again. Do you understand?"

I could hear the smile in his voice when he replied, "Yes, ma'am."

I had to close my eyes against the torrent of emotion the tone of his voice caused. He sounded like a new man with just those few words. He was a thousand pounds lighter and something like a shroud had been lifted from his shoulders.

"I'm sorry," I whispered. But only because I felt like he actually heard my words. If he would have still been angry with me, I would have in no way been sorry.

He tugged on my hand that was still holding his and pulled me into a hug across the bench seat. "I needed to hear that."

"I know."

"I think I hate your parents." He started rubbing slow circles on my back with his big, strong hands and I felt silly since he had to comfort me when I had started out wanting to comfort him.

"Don't hate them," I sighed. "Don't like them either. But definitely don't hate them."

We stayed like that for a while, just holding each other and staying close. I could have stayed like that forever, in his safe, adoring arms. He was this complete part of me I didn't think I'd ever fully know.

"I thought we were going swimming, Hillbilly?" I asked- only because I was anxious to get him half naked.

"Uh, about that," he chuckled against my shoulder, his wide chest shaking with the movement. "I might've forgot my trunks."

I picked my head up off his chest and turned to face him. My fingers started tracing his chest of their own accord and I couldn't stop my nose from running down his jaw line. I just needed to touch him, to be connected to him at all times.

"I'm confused," I stated innocently. "I thought you were the one that planned this whole thing? And now you're telling me you forgot the proper apparel?"

"Now, now Duchess," he murmured. His fingers gripped at my waist, holding on to me like he was barely containing his self-control. "You got me all distracted with thoughts about your little bikini. It's not entirely my fault."

I laughed at that, "Don't try to blame it on me!" I slipped off my heels and scooted back from him a little bit, "But that's what you get for teasing me so much last night. I probably stayed up half the night just thinking about you!"

His whole body jerked at that confession, "You were up thinking about me all night?"

Instead of answering I moved all the way over to my door and grasped the hem of my dress. "I'll tell you what. I'm going to do you a favor tonight. Since you forgot your swimming suit, I'm going to do the magnanimous thing here and forget mine too...."

Stockton jerked again, only this time it was something closer to surprise instead of excitement. "Pardon?"

"Well, I don't want you to feel left out," I smiled slowly. And then with a flash of movement I wiggled my dress over my head and threw it on the floor. In another second I had my passenger side door open and I was sprinting toward the river.

The rough rocks stabbed my feet and the gravel got imbedded in my toes, but I kept running, hoping nothing would break the skin. I squealed at the cool night air and ignored the breeze that pebbled every inch of my body. My golden hair whipped out of the loose pony I had pulled it into and floated around my face and shoulders.

I tossed a look over my shoulder just in time to watch Stockton stumble out of the Jeep, pants around his ankles and shirt half way over his head. I laughed as he hopped around, shaking his legs out of his pants and fighting to get his shirt over his head. Soon enough he was successfully down to boxer briefs and sprinting towards me.

I stumbled into the shallows of the bank as I took in his nearly naked form in the moonlight. Stockton was a god of a man, covered inch by inch in perfectly sculpted muscle and defined form. His right arm was almost comically bigger than the left, but each could have been hand drawn by a famous artist to come out looking so.... intricately muscled.... So... intimidating. His legs were just as guilty, pure testosterone and hard work.

He was gorgeous. And good. And for some reason into me.

I was still staring when his big, strong arms swooped around my waist and lifted me into the air. He wrapped his arms around my middle and pulled me flush against him so that we were eye level. The slow rapids crashed lazily against his legs and I felt their cool splash against my own bare calves as the water moved on downstream. It was frigid still, in late spring, but with Stockton's body heat and sexual presence, the freezing water was surprisingly refreshing.

"Cami," Stockton rumbled, his lips twisted up sweetly and his eyes alight with raw intensity. "I love you."

I hadn't been expecting that. I don't know what I was expecting.... Maybe a lecture on why I shouldn't be running off in the dark, or the importance of not stripping where anyone could see me. But a declaration of love, the same night I had been craving one, was so not it.

I stared at him stunned. My palm moved up to stroke the rough line of his jaw, but I didn't even remember ordering it to do so.

"I love you too," I whispered, revealing my whole heart, giving him every secret and exposed part.

"Good," he smiled. "Because I plan on telling you this every day for the rest of your life. You deserve to hear it Cami. This and so much more. I love you. I love you more than what I know what to do with. I know we haven't known each other that long. And I know that we live in completely different worlds, but I cannot imagine a day without you in my life, Duchess. I cannot imagine living another moment of my life without telling you I love you as many times as I can before you get sick of hearing it."

Tears were in my eyes again, and my throat was thick with emotion. "I won't," I whispered. "I could never get tired of hearing that." My heart was expanding in my chest and my blood and bones were all tingly. I had never heard that phrase said with so much conviction before and never before had it been aimed at me. I felt like an entirely different person after those words. Like I'd gone through some conversion, or metamorphosis. I wasn't destructive any more. I wasn't attention-seeking and dangerous any longer. I was who someone loved. A good person. A strong, wonderful person. I was the other half of a whole and he loved me. _He_ loved _me_.

And now, in the middle of the Tennessee Mountains, on a cold, windy night, in a place I never in a million years thought I would find myself- I had come home. Stockton Wright appeared in my life, turned it upside down and saved me. And now, after the saving, he completed me.

Finally our lips crashed together in a desperation to show each other how we felt, not just told them. He set me down into the river and at feel of the rocky bottom underneath my bare feet and the ice cold temperatures, I gasped.

Stockton took the advantage and kissed me deeper. His mouth was hot and unyielding against mine and I simply gave into the pleasure of that.

His hands moved around my body, pulling me closer to him, closing all the space that could possibly exist.

Stockton was claiming me in this kiss, making a statement and taking me boldly. He was everything I wanted in a man and I simply could not believe he wanted me back. I didn't deserve him. I didn't know what to do with him.

In like a metaphysical sense.

Right now, I knew exactly what I was doing.

Stockton picked me up again, only this time it was to wrap my legs around his narrow waist and then walk us into deeper water. He never broke the kiss, never untangled our bodies, even for a second.

I kept my legs tightly around him, loving the feel of his hard, contoured body against my petite, soft one. His hands stayed gripped on my waist, but this was Stockton so I didn't expect any wandering hands or cheap feel ups. He was always the perfect gentleman. And even when I got him hot and bothered, he never let his control slip. He treated me with respect and knew the exact balance to show me just how much he desired me without pushing me to fast or too far.

It was one of the very reasons I fell so quickly and utterly in love with him.

I ran my hands over his bristled head and down his neck to his firm, steel shoulders. He shivered under my touched and growled against my mouth. His lips left mine to explore the rest of my exposed skin- my ear, my throat, my collarbone, the swell of my breast peeking out from my lacey demi bra.

"Cami," he groaned against my skin, "you threatened me with your bikini, but this is infinitely worse."

I smiled. I couldn't help it. I wasn't the only one affected and that was a powerful thought. I placed a gentled hand under his chin and slowly lifted so that he was looking me in the eyes. I licked my lips nervously and couldn't repress the shudder I felt from the heated, consuming look in his eyes.

"Tell me you love me again," I whispered in the still night.

The sound of the river moving and the chirping cicadas in the forested surroundings were like a soundtrack of music- our own private symphony. Then he looked me so deeply in the eyes I thought I would melt and said, "I love you Camdyn Montgomery."

And then I was crashing my lips back to his. We kissed like that for a while, bodies pressing against each other, hands clutching one another as if the world didn't exist unless we were touching, as if when we let go we would tumble into the abyss and therefore it was imperative to never let go. He was my anchor, my significance and my saving grace all in one.

I would have been crazy to let go.

So I held on until our kisses grew slow and sweet, savoring and lasting. Our bodies grew numb to the water, but still we clung to each other, dreading the moment when we would have to part.

Eventually that time did come. Stockton promised Henry he would have me home at a decent hour and Stockton never seemed capable of going back on his word. He carried me from the river and all the way up to his truck in his capable arms.

He deposited me onto the seat and resumed kissing until a pained groan came from the back of his throat. My fingers trailed down his bare, chiseled chest and stopped on something I noticed before, but hadn't had a chance to check out- you know, because of all the kissing.

I pulled away and stared in awe at the expertly drawn tattoo. "This is incredible," I whispered. "It looks like one of those thingy's in your shop." Obviously I was an expert on everything blacksmith.

He chuckled and offered, "An anvil."

"So fancy," I smiled back. I traced the lines around the image that looked like a couture version of something you could find on Looney Tunes. From the overhead light in the Jeep, I could make out the black and gray lines and shading that depicted an important tool he worked with every single day. This was an important part of his life and livelihood and whoever had drawn it had done it a great service. "It's really nicely done. Truly, Stockton, I love it."

"And me?" he looked down at me, beaming with pride and reverence.

"Yes, and you. I love you too," I whispered with all the conviction I was capable of. He pressed the gentlest, most careful kiss to my forehead and whispered the sentiment back.

I would never get tired of that. Never. It wasn't hype and it wasn't a figment of my imagination. Those three simple words held real power. And my life was better, more complete- _more meaningful_ \- because I'd heard them- because Stockton said them to me.

Leaving me to dress again, he walked around the hood of the vehicle and searched for his discarded clothes on the obscure ground. I watched him shake them out before putting them back on with carefree amusement all the while his words ran through my head over and over and over again.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

It was one thing to feel them for the first time myself, but an entirely different life-changing experience to hear them. I was loved by somebody. Treasured. Cherished. Valued.

And I not only knew that, but I felt it too- all the way down to the marrow of my bones.

My life would never be the same after tonight. And honestly I never wanted it to. I couldn't imagine going back to living before love- it would be like living in black and white before color was introduced to photography. I was made for color, made for the light.

And now that I experienced just a little bit of that, I was never going to let it go.

By the time Stockton dropped me back at the Macon's after another healthy make-out session in the driveway, my euphoria had grown into a religious conversion. Now that I knew love, I wasn't going to let anyone else get away with treating me with anything less. Maybe not strangers on the street, but I had a right to demand love from some people in my life. And I was finally brave enough to do something about it.

Stockton walked me up to the front door and gave me a goodbye that started with chaste kisses but turned into something so much more- almost like he just couldn't help himself.

Finally, he pressed his forehead to mine and whispered, "Goodnight, Cami."

"Goodnight, Stockton," I smiled back. But it was so much more than a smile; it was a glow- it was glory.

He sucked in a deep breath and then let it out slowly. Letting go of my hands torturously slow he looked me in the eyes again and promised, "I love you."

With the dumbest, most idiotic grin ever known to man, I promised back, "I love you too."

Stockton left and I laid in bed making plans for my life, for my future. This was love. And I wanted it everywhere. In every single thing I did and experienced. No more was fear and recklessness going to rule my life. I was changing it tonight, making room for love and only love.

That meant pursuing my dream to become a writer- because I didn't want to work unless I loved doing it. And while I now understood the importance of working, I knew I deserved to love what I was doing. That meant distancing myself from my family. I had been called toxic all my life. But looking back I could realize that maybe I wasn't exactly poisonous... but I was lost. And I didn't want to invite or willingly live with factors that contributed to those feelings of neglect, unwant and insecurity.

And screw everything else.

Because unless there was love, there wasn't a whole version of me.

And I wanted to be the person that deserved Stockton; that deserved a healthy, happy life.

Watch out world, hear me roar and everything else, because Camdyn Montgomery finally found purpose in life.
Chapter Eighteen

Stockton

She probably didn't know it in the dark, through the long, winding dirt roads, but I'd passed my own driveway three times, each pass convincing myself that I had to bring her home on time. Each pass had my hands seizing up around the steering wheel, my brain and my heart giving them mixed signals. Letting her go after that night was torture beyond any pain I'd ever experienced. I needed her with me—always. I wanted to hear her breathing as she slept, hear her feet coming down the hallway for breakfast, taste the sweet spot on the back of her neck as she lay nestled in front of me. But even then I didn't know if I'd ever be completely sated.

My hunger for Cami was insatiable.

Finally back home after the best, most drawn out goodbye in history, I sat in the running truck just reveling in her lingering scent, letting it infiltrate my senses, hoping it would last the night. And I could've killed her for stripping down at the river for anyone to see. Didn't she realize there could be a gang of moonshiners out in those woods? I could just imagine the town gossip after that. But I got over it quickly after I realized that the woman I loved was practically naked in the water waiting for me. But then again, she beckoned me every hour of every minute. And if that thing she was wearing was called a bra in California, then the land of Beverly Hills scored some points with me.

We'd never had the conversation, but I was sure I wasn't the first to see Cami in that state—I didn't care. She was brand new to me. Every experience was the first with her around. For the life of me, I couldn't even remember any girl before her and I knew there'd be none after.

I'd been shocked at her little speech when we got to the river. She'd made a lot of sense that night. I'd lived for too long bearing the cross of my parents' death, sometimes allowing it to weigh down on me so greatly that I couldn't breathe.

Then there was that other thing.

The most important thing of all.

Camdyn Montgomery loved me.

She—loved—me.

_She_ loved _me_.

It was completely confounding.

I hadn't meant to tell her—especially practically naked. I'd wanted to profess it to her under the lights in my backyard, under the stars, at her window, anything but at the muddy river. But it was no longer under my control. The words demanded to be said and my heart yearned to know whether or not hers felt the same.

I threw the truck into park but didn't immediately go in. My mind was still reeling from that night's revelations and I needed to think. I walked a short perimeter of the main property and somehow, when my mind had finally grown tired of scrambling, I found myself in front of the blackened spot where the barn used to stand. Since the fire, I'd avoided the spot at all costs. But Cami wasn't the only one with some growing up to do. And it was there I decided to finally let it go as much as I could that night. I apologized to my parents for not being around. I told them how much I missed them and how much I wished they were still here. And I told them I'd found Cami. And how she'd dug me out from below the avalanche of myself.

I needed to rebuild the barn. I chuckled to myself, imagining my dad's stern face telling me what a shame I was to let it go so long. And that's what I would do, I decided. I'd save up the money and rebuild what was once one of my father's favorite places. And the thought of a barn, conjured thoughts of cows, strangely enough—good for milk, milk for children—my children—our children. And suddenly there was a gleam where once had only been soot, hope where there had been once only ashes, life when for so long all I could see was death. There was the promise of a life for me with Cami.

And I'd be damned if I let anything get in my way.

I laughed at my own silly sappiness but I didn't care anymore—I had Cami and that was all that mattered.

Willa was home and already in bed by the time I made it back to the house. I wanted to call Cami, to hear it one more time from the lips of my saving grace. Words I'd denied myself saying or hearing for so long—and now I coveted them, ached to hear them uttered once more, in a way that only her voice could provide—with a sincerity that only she possessed. But even though I'd brought her home on time, I didn't want to push my luck with the Macons by calling too late. So I shucked my clothes for the second time that night, the first being far more entertaining than the latter, and lulled myself to sleep with the echo of 'I love you' in my ears.

~~~

The rest of the week progressed as usual, though it was triply challenging to keep myself on my side of the window after the episode at the river. And I swore I never really stopped to imagine what her lingerie looked like. _Screw it-I had._ But now that I knew—

Shit, there I go again. I'm gonna live with a permanent semi.

I'm never gonna be able to wear loose pants again.

Cami had been pretty busy and Will had been equally busy with graduation preparations. She'd nearly bled me dry with her cap and gown, not to mention the pictures and the ring. I'd finished a few orders early in hopes I'd get paid early. Either that or Cami and I were gonna have a lot of river dates since I couldn't afford shit else.

Thursday, I'd even gone over to the Macon's for dinner. Henry and Mallory alike had warmed significantly and were now treating Cami more like a daughter and less like a prisoner. Cami and Mallory shared several knowing glances but I assumed it was a woman thing and didn't dare pry.

And on the side, I was working on a project more important than anything I'd forged in all my years of smithing. I'd made a trip up to Louisville, to a woman I knew who hand cut gems found in the Appalachian Mountains. Luckily, she was a country girl and easily accepted my trade of six handmade knives in exchange for the perfect oval shaped Citrine gem. She said that specific gem encouraged the fullness of life. And that was Cami—she reached in deep and pulled the fullness of life from the caverns of me.

We hadn't breached the obvious subject—I suspected she was ignoring it as much as I was. The elephant in the room was that she was sent here temporarily. We didn't know how temporary and I had no idea if her loving me had even changed the situation. I knew it had for me. I'd even toyed with moving to California, as chafing as the notion was. Willa would be going to school soon. I would do that for her. I would go anywhere and do anything for Cami. So I had to move fast. Hour by hour I was losing time. So day and night I'd filed and polished my promise to her until I'd made it as close to deserving her as I could get. The trinket I held in my hand possessed my promise. That no matter what—no matter where she was, she owned me heart and soul. And nothing save death could sever it. And I doubted death even had that much power—especially that boney little shit in the black robe on TV, I'd beat him down with my big arm, no sweat.

Mallory had insisted Cami spend Friday night at home, and Will had plans. So I trudged in the house, placed her gift in the box I'd also bought from the girl in Louisville and looked at it once more before setting it to rest in my top dresser drawer. Bills, bills, advertisements, credit card offers and one envelope I hadn't really looked at yet, sat on the kitchen table begging me for attention as I squandered last night's white beans and cornbread. The bills got torn to shreds and the credit card offer got thrown in the bill drawer. One last envelope remained. It had a space where a card, noting its delivery, had been torn from the resting spot. Someone wanted me to receive this letter.

I peeled it open and as I read, a rumble of rage vibrated through my core, instantly. It was a letter praising my work, my samples and congratulating me on accepting their offer. The envelope also held a hefty check. I turned back to the mail drawer and flung every envelope onto the counter after inspecting it. The letter from the company was gone and gears of thought, having their teeth not quite meet up since discovering my missing knives, now slid into place and instantly solved the mystery. And I knew exactly the culprit—Willa. It had to be her—no one else knew where I kept the mail. No one else would give a shit. She'd probably read the letter and took it upon herself to send in samples. She'd probably sat right there at our father's table and completed her treason with my falsified signature.

I must've read over it thirty times as I paced the floors of the house, the shop, the porch. How could she? She knew that it was those very cravings of grandeur were the same ones that took me away from my family. Every resolve I'd made the night before opened my mind's door and crawled back into their place, spreading and creeping along the folds of my brain until I was nearly consumed. I'd given her a good life—right? We didn't have the best clothes or the best food, but she was fed and clothed. And if I couldn't even provide for a teenaged sister, how did I ever think I would be able to provide for Cami? It's was funny how it took weeks for Cami's light to make the night fade but in an instant it was back, roaring its head in victory, holding me hostage.

The headlights shone through the kitchen windows and an orb of regret poked its head out of hiding before being drowned by my fury. Will and I had always been honest with each other—always. And she'd been the one who tried to place the blame on Cami. I buried my face in my hands as she entered the door, not even sure if I could face her at this point.

"Hi! I had such a great time!"

"I'm glad you did. Sit down."

"Um—ok." She sat in the chair next to me, but my skin crawled at her being that close. The anger didn't want her anywhere near me.

"Sit over there," I pointed across the table.

She didn't hesitate and took the chair opposite me. She looked so confused I hadn't realized my sister was such an impeccable actress.

"So when did you take the knives?"

She laughed and rolled her eyes at me. I didn't think it was possible to get angrier at that point, but at the nonchalant gesture, my torso began to tremble in madness.

"There's nothing funny, Willa. When did you take them?"  
"I didn't," She answered me adamantly.

"Well that's awfully funny because look at this."

I shoved the letter over to her and scrubbed the top of my head while she read. I didn't even want to watch her reaction. I didn't want to see the deceptive facial expressions she'd have to make up in order to continue playing this game with me.

"Stock, I didn't do anything, I swear it. They offered you _that_ much money?"

Denial—again. There were a lot of things I put up with but dishonesty wasn't and had never been one of them.

I slammed my fists down on the table and she jumped, "Don't lie to me, Willa Wright. What, you didn't have clothes like everyone else? You didn't have a nice enough car? What was it exactly that drove you to do something like this?"

She stood now and I realized she was no longer the little girl that had to be pulled away from the empty caskets at my parents' funeral. She was now a young lady—and I guessed she'd made a big girl decision.

"I didn't do anything!" She shouted at me. Willa never shouted. I'd seen her angry hundreds of times but only a handful had I ever heard her yell.

"Oh, so a ghost or a perfect stranger must've come in our house, dug through our drawers until they found a letter of solicitation from a company, signed my name, got some of my knives from the shop and then packaged it all up and brought it to the f-ing post office! That must be it!"

"Screw you, Stockton," she feebly mumbled and before I could stop her, she was halfway down the driveway.

Immediately the knife of regret turned counter clockwise in my sternum and I nearly chased after her.

Until Cami, she was the most important thing in my life and I'd just treated her like a common criminal.

I must've called Willa twenty times before Cami answered the phone.

"Stock, she's with me. She's safe. But she's very upset. She's," I could hear Willa over the top sobbing across the connection, "She's crying so hard. What's wrong with her? Did something happen?"

"If she's old enough to make a decision like the one she already has, she's old enough to fess up to it. Call me if you need me to pick her up."

She sighed into the phone, "Stock, this doesn't sound like you, darlin'."

The girl had a little hillbilly in her after all.

I'd never heard her call me anything but hillbilly as a term of endearment, she was trying to coddle me.

But before I could say anything else, she continued, "Tell me what happened so I can help her?"

"What makes you think someone did something to her? Maybe she did something to me and got caught."

"I'm coming over there, and I'm bringing Willa home. I don't know what the hell has gotten into you two but we're going to figure it out tonight."

Not thirty minutes later, the Macon's truck, slinging dirt and rocks everywhere, plowed up my driveway. I stood outside on the porch, my anger now subsided, hurt and shame had replaced it.

I watched Cami escort Will from the truck, up the steps and into the house. She sat next to me on the steps and released a world's worth of pain in one breath. I should've known that hurting Willa would hurt Cami too.

Back to the bastard.

"I really don't know what's going on with you two but it's pissing me off. You two are the most important people in my life and I can't stand to see you like this." She turned her head sideways and her facial expression read, 'your fault.' I knew no better, so I thought this was it. She'd find out how I treated Will and she'd leave and probably take my sister with her.

Not an hour earlier, I'd asked 'How could she?'

Now the question was 'How could I?'

Will came out a few minutes later but I could still hear the chest wracking sobs she tried to hide.

I could also feel Cami's eyes on me, begging me to relent.

Cami finally got up and hugged Will again and asked us all to sit down at the table inside. We obeyed and I was determined not to be the first to speak.

"Will, can you tell me what happened?"

"He—he—Stock thinks I did something that I didn't do!" Her voice progressed through the sentence from a hefty cry to an all out angry shout.

"Who else would do it?"

"I don't," Cami tugged on her hand, silently asking her to stop yelling, "I don't know, but immediately blaming me is just—stupid."

Thirteen year old Stockton busted out of my memory and spoke next, "Did you just call me stupid, little girl?"

But I was not speaking to little Willa anymore, "No, Sir, I wasn't. But accusing me without getting all of the information was a stupid thing to do."

Cami looked from one of us to the other, like a confused audience member at a deranged tennis match.

"What are you guys talking about?" She demanded. "I need all the facts."

"We are talking about this," I slammed the letter and the check in front of her. I eyed Willa the whole time she was reading it but Willa was eyeing Cami. She knew something I didn't, I could just tell.

"When did you get this?" Cami asked, still staring at it.

"Today."

"And you assumed Will sent these people your knives?"

"Of course. Who else would pull that bullshit stunt?"

Cami moved the letter away from her and then folded it up neatly. Tears welled in her eyes and she opened her mouth to speak several times before any words came out.

"Me."
Chapter Nineteen

Cami

I watched the anger return to Stockton's body in varying degrees of red. He seemed to heat up from the base of his thick neck to the top of his shaved dark head. He was _so_ pissed.

I trembled from fear of his undiluted fury. In my deepest convictions I knew he would never hurt me physically; never, ever, ever lay a hand on a woman. But my heart was out in the open now, laid out and vulnerable- especially after our life-changing revelations- and he was certainly capable of all kinds of destruction on that vibrantly beating organ.

Lucky for me, I'd had my heart shattered by people I loved my entire life.

I waited quietly for him to form some kind of response to my confession. In my blissful naivety I imagined this grand gesture from me was going to be received with a big smile, a heartfelt "thank you" and lots and lots of kisses; so many kisses my lips would be swollen and red and my hair forever tangled in his huge, talented hands.

I imagined him showing me the letter and the hefty check- now crumpled and discarded on the table- with beaming pride and a sense of relief. I imagined helping him decide how to use the money first. Would he buy Will the book set she's been wanting? Or put a down payment on her college first? Would he do something for his brothers? The ones I hadn't met yet, only heard stories about. Or maybe he'd go really crazy and spend money on himself? I had been excited to share that with him, share this incredibly impressive moment with him.

He helped me find a better version of myself. And he inspired me to follow dreams I put on hold and kept secret from even myself. I didn't believe in myself until Stockton. I didn't value myself until him.

And I had foolishly hoped that he had found a way to do both because of me too.

His dreams were put on hold because of injustices done to his family, not because he did anything wrong. And I only wanted to gift him back some of the life he lost when his parents died.

"Willa, go to your room," he growled out.

She shot me a sympathetic look but disappeared immediately. It was probably better that way. As much as I wanted a compassionate supporter, she should not have to witness this.

Stockton paced across the small kitchen floor like a caged lion, hungry and vicious, until Will's door closing echoed in our charged silence. He ran his hands down his face and turned to look out the window placed above their sink- turning his back on me.

I waited for him to speak first. I couldn't have spoken even if I wanted to. I was too shaken up, too undone and unsettled by his focused resentment. Maybe he was expecting an apology from me, but I wasn't sure if he was going to get one yet.

I wasn't sorry for what I did.

He _should_ be making that kind of money on every single one of his well-crafted creations- not trading hard hours of work for eggs and bacon. Yes, he needed to feed his family, but the check that those three knives I sent in earned him would get this family a whole lot further than fixing fences and doing favors for old men.

I just didn't understand why he couldn't see that. Why he couldn't see his true potential or invaluable worth.

"What gave you the right?" he growled out with so much anger and frustration that my heart ached inside my chest and he hadn't even dealt the worst of his blow yet. "What gave you the right to go behind my back and do something so vile, so... deceitful? I trusted you, Cami! And you do something like this? How could you!"

"I didn't mean to be deceitful," I whispered, my voice raw with pain. I rubbed the heel of my hand over my throbbing heart, desperate to relieve the agony. How could these ugly words be spoken between us just hours after those beautiful, eternal promises we confessed last night to each other at my window? The same promises we whispered every single night he stood at my window. He spun around, defying me with his body language. "Stockton I didn't mean to piss you off! I was trying to _help_ you!" I was defensive now. How could he not see my good intentions?

"You were trying to help me?" he scoffed, his minty green eyes were dark with emotion and his entire body seemed to vibrate with anger. "How is snooping through my things and going off without my permission _helping me_? Didn't it ever cross your mind that if I wanted their money I would have sent the samples in myself? Or did you think I was too stupid to figure that out? I'm just some dumb hillbilly that doesn't understand the postal service?"

I stood up to face him, my own self-righteous anger beating a rhythm of retaliation in my body. "Enough of that. Don't patronize me because you're upset. I sent that letter from a place of generosity, a place of love. I didn't intend to make you mad. I just wanted to help. You _struggle_ , Stock. You and Will struggle every single day to survive and make it. I wanted to lighten your burden, give you breathing room. Hell, I wanted to give Will that chance to go to freaking college! I honestly didn't think it would make you upset. I thought you would be _grateful_!"

He barked out a bitter laugh and shook his head. "Cami, not everyone needs millions of dollars to be happy. Yes, we struggle, but there's more to life than money. Maybe you can't understand that since you've never wanted for anything in your whole damn life; since you've been so pampered and spoiled you can't even comprehend the concept of missing a meal or wearing second hand clothing. But this is our reality and it's just fine for us. You're the one with the issue, not me. I don't need or want someone else's handouts. Was my lack of money a turnoff? Did you miss all your fancy dates and designer clothes wearing boyfriends? If you can't accept me for who I am, then what the hell are you doing falling in love with me?"

It took me a minute to unpack all that. Where I was mildly angered before, now I was just down right livid. "You think I sent that letter because _I_ needed you to have more money? You think I couldn't love you for exactly who you are? Stockton, how _dare_ you. Yes, I come from money. But because of that I know exactly how unhappy it can make you. But I also know how much easier it can make things for you and your family. I never thought money would make you a better person, a more eligible boyfriend. Your lack of money is one of the reasons I'm so f-ing in love with you in the first place. No, that doesn't even explain it right. Because my feelings have nothing to do with money whatsoever. Because you don't have money it's made you into a hard worker and that is what I respect. Because you don't have money you value things like family, friendship and community. That's what drew me to you. Money had nothing to do with it! And even if I showed up in this stupid mountain town spoiled and entitled, I haven't been that way for a long time. I thought you saw that. I thought you recognized the change in me- especially when you were the one that demanded it from me in the first place! I didn't send those samples to that manufacturer with any other intention than to try to pay you back in some small way for all the good you did in my life. You inspired me to be a better person, to get over my past and follow my dreams. I only wanted to do for you a fraction of what you did for me. And if you can't see that, then I feel sorry for you. If you can't remember everything that we said to each other last night, or the night before that, or the night before that, then that's your loss. I would never intentionally hurt you and you should know me better than that!" I paused for just a second before adding, "And since when is getting paid for your work a handout? Last time I checked the free market worked on a supply by demand basis. They like what you do Stockton- they want to pay you _what you deserve_. They're in no way doing this out of the goodness of their capitalism-loving hearts!"

Pain and regret flashed as bright as lightning in his eyes and I watched him struggle to swallow. "I just don't understand why you went behind my back, Cami. This was never something I wanted. You pushed something on me that I equate with the worst possible thing you could do to me. And you're Ok with that. You're yelling at me like I should be on my knees kissing your feet for all the gifts you've bestowed on me and my family. But I have been betrayed by someone I trusted- someone I _loved_. What do you want me to do about that?"

The anger subsided just as quickly as it came and in its place was the ugliness of despair and heartache. My heart hurt so bad my fingers tingled. My vision blurred until everything seemed to fade into an abyss of black. This was it. This was all it took to push him away. I'd been screwing up my entire life and pushing people away since I could remember. I pushed away friends because I had an inability to be real with people- until Stockton. I pushed away my sister because I couldn't live up to her standards of shallow perfection. I pushed away my parents with my reckless behavior and attention seeking methods. And now I'd pushed the only man I'd ever loved- and the only person that had ever loved me in return- away with another number on my endless list of mistakes.

My chin wobbled and the tears I had been desperately fighting finally broke free and spilled down my cheeks in messy streams of sorrow. My fingers trembled, my entire body felt cold. I couldn't stand here anymore. I was seconds away from collapsing into a pathetic ball of emotional instability and I would die before I let Stockton witness that.

"I don't know," I whispered harshly. Struggling for a stronger voice I sniffled and then said, "I truly did not mean to betray your trust, Stockton. Obviously I could never think you're the stupid one, when I've been so shamefully stupid myself. I was trying to do something nice for you. I was trying to give you the kind of gift you gave me. And I'm sorry you don't see it that way. I'm sorry I did anything with that letter. I really am." The last, itty bitty remnants of my pride surfaced and I salvaged what I could of my dignity, "But as far as the money and the manufacturer go, it's a pretty easy problem to solve. Even an entitled rich bitch like myself can figure it out. Don't send them any more of your work and don't cash the f-ing check. As far as whatever was between us... just don't worry about it. I won't bother you anymore. I won't mess up your life any more than I already have. Thank you for being my friend these last few months. Thank you for helping me become a better person, for getting over the obstacles of my past. I truly hope one day that you too can stop fighting the ghosts that haunt you and move on. You're such a good person, Stock. But, you have so much potential to be great. And I see that now. There might not be much to me, but I deserve someone great. Someone who can look beyond their pain and see a bright future- not just a muted gray one built out of the fragments of their heartache. That's what I'm trying to do. And anything else would just be settling and I'm not about that anymore."

Stockton stared at me in a kind of shocked awe, like I'd opened my mouth and started shouting in ancient Greek. He wasn't happy with any of my words and I was definitely not going to get some kind of weeping apology, but I thought we were both surprised with everything I laid out for him.

I regretted every word uttered immediately of course.

Looking at him, in his tight fitting t-shirt, big, delicious muscles bulging, narrow hips hugged by well-worn jeans and his handsome face contorted with so much pain, my heart shattered into a million more pieces. I loved this man. I loved everything about him. He _was_ great. I regretted that the most. He was a _great man_. And I wanted desperately to fall on my own knees and beg for forgiveness.

But I couldn't- it wouldn't do any good. I didn't want to fight with the pain of his past anymore. I was constantly battling his misplaced guilt and wounded spirit. And I was _tired_ of it.

I had given him all of me, everything I was. But I was still only getting damaged pieces of him. And I wanted more.

I deserved more.

So with one last heart-breaking look at him, I left his house quietly. I climbed into my truck without turning back. I drove away, abandoning my heart to the shattered pieces of agony on Stockton's kitchen floor.

I gave him a lecture on moving on, of letting go of the past- but instinctively I knew I would never recover from this moment. I had found completion in Stockton and without him I would be a walking shell of regret.

What-ifs would plague me for the rest of my life and they weren't even from the dangerous mistakes I had been making before I came here.

I couldn't even entirely regret all those misdeeds and wild activities because in the end that behavior had brought me here- brought me to Stockton. And whether he had taken a sledge hammer to my heart or not, he had encouraged me to be a better person, motivated me to be the person I was meant to be.

No, the greatest what-ifs and regrets I would be forced to live with all revolved around that hillbilly blacksmith and the love he had branded so completely on my soul.

Tears were streaming down my face and I was hiccupping ugly, snotty sobs as I climbed the steps back to the Macon's. Mallory was waiting in the kitchen doorway to call me to dinner, but one look at me had her shaking her head and pulling me into a hug.

I stiffened initially at the full body contact, but soon relaxed into her comforting arms. I shook against her, not able to hold back the torrent of misery.

She cooed and soothed me by rubbing my back. I was not so far gone in my anguish that I wasn't surprised by Mallory's compassion but I was in no place to reject it. I had never been hugged like this before, never offered this much sympathy or attention for some great trauma in my life. I couldn't help but soak up the gesture like salve for the gaping, bloody wound in my chest.

"Do you want to talk about what happened?" Mallory asked in a gentle voice.

I tried to talk but just kept shaking and crying. Finally, I managed a croaking, "I c-c-c-can't."

"Is it about your parents? Did you do something to the farm?" she probed.

Wanting to relieve just a few of her fears I forced myself to admit, "S-S-Stockton."

"Alright, Cami, now calm down or you'll make yourself sick," she soothed. "Why don't you go lie down and I'll be in to check on you later."

I nodded because it was all I was capable of and then escaped to the privacy of my room. I didn't know if Henry had been there to witness me in all my emotional, drama-queen glory or not. And I didn't even want to think about what he thought about me now.

I collapsed on my bed under the thick quilt and curled up into a tight ball. I'd never cried over a boy before- not really. Until this moment I had actually kept quite a tight lid on all this substantial pain.

My parents had once forgotten my birthday- I was eleven. Katie brought it up at dinner to taunt me. And instead of an apology I got a "Don't be so self-absorbed, Cami." And then a pony.

And I wasn't one of those girls that wanted a pony. Actually they completely freaked me out- probably even more since one was forced on me. And I never cried over that. Not even when my parents forced me to ride it every Saturday for an entire year.

When I was a senior in high school, my best friend since grade school, Telia Carson, had been jealous of my current boyfriend Garret Trainor. And I had actually kind of liked him. He was sweet in that oblivious-surfer-boy way. But she couldn't stand that I was semi-happy. So she convinced him I was cheating on him. He dumped me and started dating her a week later.

I was upset about Garret, but I was devastated about Telia. We had spent our entire childhood together. And although we were both shallow enough to talk nonstop behind each other's backs, and were constantly recommending lipo to each other just to be bitchy, I really thought I could count on her—that we would be best friends forever. _Stupid necklaces_. Still I didn't cry.

Not even when all my other friends turned against me and I spent spring semester hiding in the bathroom during lunch instead of facing all my frenemies turned straight up enemies.

It had been _humiliating._

Still no tears.

Yet here I was crying entire buckets of tears over a boy- over Stockton. _Stupid Stockton_.

Actually, I'd been a crying a lot ever since I got here. Maybe unstable emotions were a side effect of the well water?

And the worst part, the very worst part of it all was that this time I truly didn't have anyone to blame but myself.

I had love- the greatest, purest, most consuming kind of love imaginable- in my hands and I had thrown it away.

I came here to escape my recklessness, to mature into something more than wild, uncontrollable youth.

But apparently self-destruction wasn't something you couldn't work out of your system. That was something that followed you everywhere- imbedded in every last part of your body and soul.

A knock on my door pulled me out of one fantastic pity party and I raised my head when Mallory walked into my room.

"I brought you a plate," she waved at the dinner in her hand and set it on the small desk across the room from my bed. "Feeling any better?"

I shook my head and pushed myself more into a sitting position. I wiped at my snot and wet cheeks with a tissue from my nightstand and cringed at the idea of how terrible and pathetic I looked to Mallory right now.

"Well," she rocked back and forth on her feet, seeming very uncomfortable, before asking, "Do you want to talk about it?"

"There isn't much to talk about," I whispered. Clearing my throat to sound stronger I admitted, "I did something I shouldn't have, something that pissed Stockton off. And now he doesn't want anything to do with me."

"Oh," Mallory frowned. "Well, I'm sure he'll get over it. Boy is head over heels for your pretty face. He won't stay mad for long."

I tried to smile at that encouragement but my lips felt strained with the motion so I gave up. "I'm honestly not sure if I want him to. We said some pretty ugly things to each other. And the thing is.... maybe we're just too different. There wasn't a whole lot of mutual ground for us to meet on anyway, and now.... Now, I don't know. I'm not going to be around much longer anyway, so it's not like we had a promising future or anything. I just, I'm just a little heartbroken is all." _Understatement of the millennium._

"I wanted to talk to you about that, by the way." She pulled out the desk chair and sat down facing me. "Not about the heart problem. That will work itself out, I'm sure of it." She smiled sadly at me and I was kind of shocked by the effort she was making. "I wanted to talk about when you wanted to leave."

"Oh," I sat up straighter. I instantly felt nervous for what she was going to say. Part of me wanted to shout "Right now!" and the other part of me had fallen in love with these mountains, with these simple people and the memories with Stockton I would hold onto forever. Part of me didn't want to leave.

Mallory fidgeted a little, never quite meeting my eyes. I realized she was nervous too and that only ratcheted up my anxiety.

"Well, Henry and I have talked and we think you've made some real progress while you've been here. You've been a huge help to both him and I. And other than some initial problems at the beginning, you've shown some real growth, Camdyn."

"Thank you."

"So we would like to leave your departure up to you." She shrugged and then wiped her hands on her jeans covered thighs. "You're welcome to go back to California whenever you'd like. Or, or we'd like to invite you to stay here. With us."

My mouth dropped open in complete shock. "Like as a guest?" She nodded and I couldn't stop the questions that poured out of me. This was just too confusing. "But I thought you hated me? I messed up all the sheep and stuff. I thought you couldn't wait to get rid of me? I've been such a pain in the ass!"

Finally she met my eyes and actually broke out in a smile. She was a hard woman, deep wrinkles and severe lines around her eyes, overly tanned skin and graying hair- but when she smiled, really smiled, she easily took twenty years off. And she was gorgeous. "I guess we were a little hard on you, huh?"

"A little?" I gasped, not knowing whether to laugh or start crying again.

"Well, we didn't know what to think." She sobered a little and then explained. "Your dad called down here with all kinds of horror stories about what kind of girl you'd turned out to be. They were desperate for help and thought we could do something about you, so we agreed. But you have to understand, Cami, that we expected the worst. We prepared ourselves for drugs, drinking and all kinds of hell. And when you showed up with that snotty little, never-worked-a-day-in-your-life attitude, we were just waiting for the other shoe to drop. We would stay up at night waiting for the partying to begin, the destructive behavior, our sheep to go missing..." She paused and shot me a smile, "But it turns out that you're not quite the hell-raiser your parents think you are. Sure, maybe you didn't always have the best attitude, but we never had to worry about your behavior. You've always gone above and beyond here. And we recognize a strong will to work when we see it. I don't know what you did to get into so much trouble back home, but we've come to know a responsible, hard-working side of you that I would be overjoyed to keep. We've come to enjoy your presence around here too. We're not all that excited to see you leave."

Still a little dumbfounded I asked, "Even Henry?"

The smile was back when she replied, "Even Henry."

"Mallory, I don't know what to say," I blurted out honestly. I was overwhelmed- with her offer, with the family I had been ignoring, with the devastation just done to all of my vital, beating organs. "I mean, I started looking at colleges in the area. I wasn't planning on intruding on you or anything. I thought I could stay in the dorms or get an apartment. But I.... I was just thinking about it, I didn't really.... I don't know." I shrugged, feeling astounded by emotion. And not just the negative kind. The hole that Stockton wrecking-balled out of me was slowly being filled by the kindness and surprising generosity from my aunt and uncle.

"That would be a good thing for you. College is a great idea," Mallory agreed. "Well, why don't you think about it? It's not like we need to know by a certain date. Just decide what's best for you, then let us know what you choose."

"Alright," I agreed. "I can do that."

Mallory stood up to leave, walking over to pat my shoulder first. "It seems hard right now, I know that kid. But you're strong- one of the strongest girls I've known. You'll make it through this, Cami. And when it stops hurting so damn much, you'll be alright."

Coming from Mallory; that was one of the sweetest things I'd heard. "Thank you, Aunt Mallory. For everything. And for the offer. For just... everything."

"You're welcome, baby girl," she gave me one more smile and one more pat on the shoulder before she left me alone with the pain and misery once again.

I dropped back onto my pillow but my tears were dry now. I was positive they would come again, but beyond the nightmare of my love life I had something to look forward to. I'd already started collecting college applications for nearby universities, but now I could fill them out- apply for fall admission, just a few months away.

What happened with Stockton shattered my world into millions of little, jagged, cutting pieces, but life went on. It didn't just stop and wait for me to gather myself together- I knew this intimately. And so I would go on.

Even if I'd never reclaim my heart again.

Even if I'd never stop thinking about the green eyed blacksmith that drew me out of a terrible place and showed me love like I didn't know existed. He would always be the man I compared all others to, the kisses nothing else would stack up to. He was imbedded in the deepest places of my soul and leaving him like I did was the hardest thing I had ever done.

I walked over to the desk where Mallory's dinner sat waiting for me. But instead of indulging in her country delicacies, I grabbed the beautiful plum-colored journal Stockton bought me when I first arrived. I carefully- reverently- opened the smooth, soft leather cover and brushed my fingers over the first blank page.

Pulling out the fancy pen he had also gifted me with, I started. What I started I didn't really know. It didn't have a name or a direction. But it was me writing. It was me doing what I always wanted to do.

This was my first step to continuing the journey to finding me- to becoming.... me.

Chapter Twenty

Stockton

Rarely, emotional subjects took a toll on me physically. I just wasn't that person. I can really only remember achiness after the funeral for my parents. But as I saw the lights from the Macon's truck fade into the night, I could feel my stomach revolt against her words and my throat, confusing food for feelings, and it wanted them out. Bolting from the kitchen table and barely making it to the front porch, I bent over the railing and violently vomited. The last time I'd vomited was when I was six and witnessed Henry castrating one of his sheep. It was gruesome.

But this—this was a scalpel grinding my insides and no amount of Novocain could numb me. She'd reached inside me, performed her surgery and left me to bleed out.

I went back inside and rinsed my mouth out with tap water but my guts were still quivering from the revolt. I gripped the sink as reality needled my eyes and stung my temples.

What had I done?

Who had I become?

My father would be ashamed of me.

My mother would've threatened to knock me into next week.

I was, in fact, that bastard at the bank I'd dreamt about so often. I stood at the edge of the river of my life and watched the muddy water fill my mouth, watched my arms flail in despair, mocked the desperation of my feet as they searched for solid ground. I was that self-loathing asshole who couldn't ever fully let go of the plague that still lingered in my heart—no matter how much she cleaned and mended my wounds. I had folded my arms in admonition a long time ago and even though I'd superficially let go—it was just a cover up. I hadn't let go of a damned thing. I held onto it—I chose to cling to the past, walk away and let who I could've been drown.

And I'd taken her love down with me.

Curled my big hands around its throat and held it down until it stopped fighting me, stopped thrashing around and just gave up.

Just don't worry about it.

I won't bother you anymore.

I won't mess up your life any more than I already have.

A second trip outside purged me of anything left in my stomach.

I needed the cool spring air in my face but the front porch was now pissing me off, once being that place I'd first realized who she was under her pretense. I tore through the house and emerged on the other side, on the back porch, and once again tried to cleanse myself with the chilled air. I reached for the light switch and flipped the first one I touched, needing some kind of light besides the damned moon. But instead of the porch light, I got the twinkly lights hanging from one of my mother's pear trees to the other.

There was just so much a man could take in one night.

I had nothing left but anger at myself and those lights were about to take the brunt of it whether they did me a disservice or not.

I stalked down the back stairs and bee-lined for the perpetrators. Those damned lights weren't gonna be of any use now with Cami gone. And the last thing I needed was a reminder of her and her perfect damn light. I needed to wallow in this grave I'd dug for myself, it was the only comfort I had left. I jerked at the first strand, liberating it from its long lived perch on one of the lower branches.

"No, Stock, No!" I heard a scream behind me and for the third time that night heard my sister scream.

"What? It's just lights!" I continued to pull despite her protests.

"No, it's them! Don't you remember? It's their lights, Stock, please!"

She wept before me and frantically tried to replace the damage I'd done.

"Stop, Willa," my voice had finally come down from a yell, "I'll put them back."

I placed every strand back in their previous position and then turned to apologize and console my sister, the first of my grave mistakes that night, but saw only the screen door slamming behind her.

I looked back up to the lights and they flickered once, just once and it broke me.

I'd just dug my hole a little bit deeper—a little bit closer to Hell.

Just where I belonged.

Walking back into the house, I stopped to inspect how I'd flipped the wrong switch. And even though I'd stuck a piece of duct tape over the switch that controlled the Christmas lights on a long time ago, it was in the on position, still under the duct tape.

And every other switch was off.

I've gone insane.

Now that the anger was gone, what had begun as physical illness was now an ever growing, piercing ache dead center in my chest. I had to temporarily hold onto the back of the couch to steady myself while I grew accustomed to the pain. I let it fester for a minute so my chest could get used to the weight. It was so heavy, I feared if I let go I wouldn't even be able to walk.

I'd made her regret us.

I'd made her regret me.

And I regretted ever seeing her in that bar. My first instinct was perfect and I should've listened to it. The dirt and grime that flowed through my veins shouldn't ever be a part of her life. She should've never been exposed to someone like me. Oil and water don't ever mix. And there was a reason, the Lord above separated the light from the darkness.

He had me in mind when He did that.

I wasn't fit for anything but an anvil and a hammer and a darkened cavern to fill my days.

She was better off without me.

She was infinitely better off without me.

And instead of going to sleep with the murmurs of her love in my ears, I stumbled into slumber with her hate burning in my heart.

~~~

Three days later and Willa still wasn't speaking to me. Three days later and I still hadn't slept more than an hour here and there. Three days later and the only food I could keep down was a bowl of oatmeal that Will had slammed down on the table in front of me the day before. Milk wasn't the only thing that could curdle in your stomach.

Tuesday morning as she grabbed a piece of toast and tried to leave without saying anything, I confronted her. I just couldn't take it anymore.

"I'm sorry, Willa," I said, stepping in between her and the door.

"Stockton, I'm late for school."

"You're just going to another graduation practice. Sit down—please."

She rolled her eyes at me openly and propped herself up on the counter. It was a clear try of my patience. The girl knew better than to sit on the kitchen counter—my mother would've flipped her lid.

"I need to say some things."

She shrugged her shoulders, "No shit."

"I don't care if you're mad at me or not. Don't talk to me like that."

"Yes, Sir." She saluted me defiantly.

"I was wrong. I couldn't have been more wrong, Will. I'm so sorry. I should've known better. It's you, how could I have ever thought it was you?" Tears, so long dormant, pulsed in the corners of my eyes and rivered down my face.

Her chin quivered as she began to speak, "Do you remember the night mom and dad died?"

"Of course, I do."

"Do you know what I remember?"

I shook my head. She probably remembered something Mom had said to her or the last time our father hugged her.

"I remember Bridger coming home. He was closest, and he started cleaning—cleaning! West came home next but all he could do was sit on the porch. But I waited for you. You came in last and what was the first thing you did?"

"I looked for you."

Full blown alligator tears poured from her eyes, but she spoke with such conviction, "You looked for me. You came in my room and held me while I cried. And I knew there was a reason you and I, even though we were years apart, I knew there was a reason we were so close. It was because I would need you one day. Bridger and West couldn't have finished raising me half as well as you can on a bad day. I can't take losing you too, Stock. I just can't."

Grabbing the sides of her t-shirt, I pulled her to me while we both openly wept. She was right. I loved her like she was my own and after our parents died, there was no other choice—it was me and her. And if ever I could've had a daughter of my own, I'd have wanted her to be just like Willa—strong, independent, but loving, with a heart made of the purest gold.

"I love you, Will. I can't tell you how sorry I am."

She jerked away from my chest, "What?"

"I love you, Will. I never regret the day I came back to take care of you."

"She changed you and you don't even know it," my sister, no longer crying whispered.

I shook my head of the notion and half chuckled, "She tried her damndest. I'd drive her into the ground before she even chipped the surface of this heart. It's encased in steel—always will be. And she deserves better."

"That's where you're wrong," she murmured, hopping down from the counter.

"Get to school. I'm excited to see you graduate."

"Nice change of subject. I hope one day a boy looks at me like you look at her. And I love you too, Stock."

She charged out of the door and waved goodbye to me.

I'd never have the chance to look at Cami like that again.

I got dressed and steeled myself back into my routine. It was the day to run my errands in town and I prayed I wouldn't run into her. Not having her directly in front of me was my only saving grace—or so I thought.

I got my order from the grocery store and made a couple of passes through the aisles for extras. Every product she'd randomly touched—every local specialty she'd laughed about and called hillbilly, the hair bows she'd so skillfully threaded into Mrs. Richter's girls' hair—they all called to me. But the pain had become a reinforcement of the words she'd spoken to me. They pricked my memory and chiseled her parting words down deeper into my mind.

And yet I ached for her.

Physical repulsion at my own words now churned in my gut as a yearning craving.

I drove to Mrs. Richter's. She was home but there was no way I was going in there. I honked the horn and she came out, thankfully, because I didn't think I could take walking into her house and seeing Cami in my mind's eye.

"Stockton, why didn't you come in? The kids always want to see you. And where's your girl?"

I handed her a box and turned to get back into the truck. She came to the window, wanting an answer to all her drilling.

"Cami and I—we're not—she's not here. She's at the Macon's."

"Aww, Stockton. You know sometimes I think that if I'd been a better wife, made more money, had a better job, something—that I could've held onto Jacob. Can't hold on to a dying man. But that girl, Cami, she's somethin' special. Best hold on to her."

"And now?"

She now whispered in case any children were near, "Now, I know it was him, not me. You can love someone all you want, but unless they're willing to let you love them, be loved—it doesn't do jack shit. Plus, in his case, he'd have to let go of the bottle and keep his dick zipped up." She winked at me before starting back towards the house, all of her kids waving their little hearts out at me.

I cranked the engine back to life and looked to my right before getting back on the road when I realized what I was doing. I had been looking for Cami in the passenger seat. She'd become like one of my limbs. If you don't feel your leg, you look down and make sure it's still there. I couldn't feel Cami next to me in that damned truck, so I'd made the mistake of looking for her. And just as an amputee patient can still feel the ghost sensation—I could almost reach over and hold her hand, smell her hair, feel her hand lazily grazing my thigh as I drove.

The scalpel cut a little deeper.

Old man Lambert's house was next but his rocking chair had been moved under the porch of late and his squirrel was nowhere to be seen.

"Where's your wife?"

At least some things never changed.

"Don't have one."

"What happened to that good lookin' lady, the one who squealed like a stuck sow?"

"Nothing happened."

"Fine young lady."

"Yes, Sir."

"What'd you do?"

I shrugged but then admitted, "Acted stupid."

"Gabriel Wright didn't raise no fools."

"Turned out to be one anyway."

"What'd you do?" He repeated.

"Got mad, yelled, said some stuff I shouldn't have."

"I did that once—maybe twice. Threw Thelma's favorite tea cup clear out the kitchen winder." He said window like 'winder', the duchess would get a kick out of that. I could see her do that thing where she turned around and pretended to hug my bicep when really she was hiding a smile and a giggle but didn't want to be rude.

"And?"

"And nothin'," he stopped to take a huge gulp out of his Mason jar. "Said I was sorry, kissed her, bought her a whole set of new damned tea cups."

I loved the old man's advice, but it didn't quite fit the situation.

"I gotta get to work."

"Dark, dirty place that smithing shop."

"Yes, Sir."

"Your Daddy's coffin was empty."

"I remember. I was there."

"You sure?"

Now even Mr. Lambert was chafing my hide, "Yes, Sir, pretty damned sure."

"Looks like to me it wasn't empty."

"Is that so—who was in it?"

The man had already met his quota of the white lightning already. He wasn't making sense. But he took another big gulp and finished it with an 'Ahhhh'.

"You."

I sat down in the rocking chair next to him and let his answer wash over me.

And instead of getting up to work, I spent the rest of the afternoon with Mr. Lambert in silence.

Looking towards the peaks of the judgmental mountains, I made my mind be still and purposefully let it wander to Cami. Even in anger she was breathtakingly beautiful. But that was only a shred of the reasons why I loved her. I still loved her—it couldn't be denied. I thought maybe it would disintegrate, fail to exist after the rage had blinded me. She was braver than anyone I'd ever known and honest to a fault. And she didn't play games or bullshit around. If she wanted something she told me—if she wanted to kiss me, she made sure I knew—and when I told her I loved her in that damned river—she didn't hesitate to match my words with her own and demand to hear it again. I chuckled to myself at her tenacity. She wasn't like everyone else in my life. She didn't back down, cowered by the boom of my voice or the brawn of my stature. She bowed up to me and stood her ground. And I respected the hell out of her for it. And Old Man Moonshine was right, I'd left one foot in the grave all this time. And it was about damned time I took it out.

And I was now ready to let another truth out of the bag. That letter praising my work and certainly that fat check—weren't so bad. And there were so many useful things I could do with the money. Maybe Cami was right. Maybe pursuing a dream wasn't my downfall. That's what I wanted for Will. I wanted her to leave the house and go after a life worth living. I wanted her to have something better than I did. Because that's what parents want for their children, right? I could start a real company, maybe make enough to pay for Bridger and West to finish school too.

I didn't want to go back to that tomb yet. Because that's how I saw my home without Cami—a tomb. When she was there, it was a different place. Everything was good when she was around. And then it hit me like a volt of electricity. I'd once convinced myself in the throes of love that I'd wrestle even myself to get to her light. But the Stockton on the bank was a conniving, cowardly piece of shit. He'd convinced me to get back into the water and drown myself. And I'd obeyed like a mindless minion.

And again, Mr. Lambert was dead on. Gabriel Wright hadn't raised me to be so stupid.

I needed her.

I _needed_ her.

And whether she'd admit it or not, she needed me.

I couldn't let it end like this.

I _wouldn't_ let it end lie this.

She was mine and I wasn't gonna give up that easy.

She belonged with me.

"I'm gonna get going now, Mr. Lambert. Thank you."

"Mmmmmhmmmmm...." He nodded slowly and mountain-man like.

Jumping in the truck, I was a man on a mission.

I dialed the Macon's and Mallory answered, "Hello?"

"It's Stockton, please tell me she hasn't left yet."

"No, Sir." Her tone was all business and I figured Cami must be in hearing range.

"Is it too late?"

"No, Sir. Right now is a great time."

"What do I do, Mallory?" I'd never sounded or felt so vulnerable in my life. And it was painful to show it, but I had no choice. The blond haired girl who traipsed through sheep shit in heels had brought me to my feeble knees. And I'd stay on my knees until she took me back.

"It's best to go back to the beginning with these things. Thanks for calling."

I shivered with fear at the task before me—I had to get Cami back, even if it killed me.
Chapter Twenty-One

Cami

I looked out into the valley in front of me, breathing in the clean mountain air and feeling inspired by the fresh spring greens and cool breeze. My journal- the one that now felt like an extension of my soul- rested on the railing I was tucked into with my pen paused over the soul-wrenching words I was composing about heartbreak. I kicked my dangling legs against the deck siding and enjoyed the evening from the Macon's front porch- a place I had once sworn I would never visit.

I was pushing myself to turn my pain into something beautiful. And I was struggling to make this about me- about who I was going to become because of this, of what I was going to make myself into from the ashes of my pain- instead of just about the rat bastard that pulverized my soul in the palm of his mammoth-sized, freakishly strong hand.

I was also listening to music out of my phone, headphones securely in place. I'd spent the last few days with angry chick music blaring in my ears night and day. Mallory and Henry probably regretted asking the emotional disaster that I was these days to stay with them. I was a mess and they were most likely second-guessing their very generous offer. But plans had already been put into motion and I had gratefully agreed to their proposal.

They were officially stuck with me.

For at least the next four years- as long as I was accepted to Milligan College and the few credits I did have from previous attempts at finishing my education transferred. I was going to live as an off-campus college student commuting the twenty minutes from the Macon's house to campus every day. I submitted my online application a few days ago and they called yesterday for the phone interview.

So things were looking up. Which wasn't hard to do since I felt six feet under, buried and suffocating in the crumbled remains of my wasted love.

Oooh. That was good. Better write it down.

My phone pinged in my ear, signaling a text message. I laid my journal down next to me and picked up my phone to see who it could be. For half a second my heart went to my throat thinking it would be Stockton- whether he was texting to yell at me some more or not, I was embarrassed by how desperate I was to hear from him. But it wasn't Stockton, it was my sister.

Katie _: I have the perfect man for you when you get back!! He's so gorge. And ripped. And did I mention HAWT!!!!! Plus he deals in futures, so he has enough money to support your coke habit._

WTH! I didn't have a coke habit.

Me: _I don't have a coke habit._

Katie: _Ok, then whatever self-destructive vice got you sent away. Just get over it already and come home. Cali misses you._

Me: _Katie I am not ever going on another date you find for me again. Like ever. For real, never ever. The last guy was a date-rapist and every guy before that were total tools. I'm over it._ – Not to mention the very thought of spending time with a man that was not Stockton sent my stomach churning violently and made my skin crawl and itch. There wouldn't be a date in my future for a very, very long time- possibly ever. I would always compare it to skinny-dipping in the river and a waist-level black tattoo I would dream of tracing with my tongue till the day I died.

Katie: _God you're so pretentious! Just find someone to pay your bills, it's not like you can take care of yourself. You're only 21, biotch. And already in rehab. Even if you have to settle for someone below your almighty standards, I'm pretty sure that feeling of disappointment will go both ways._

God, my sister was such a cold bitch. I was trying to be a better person, but I was pretty sure siblings were excluded from the list of people that needed to notice.

Me: _I don't need a man to make me happy, Katie-_ this was officially true as of one day ago- _and I feel sorry for you because you do. And I don't have impossible standards for the person I fall in love with. But I do have high standards for myself and I won't choose to be unhappy just to make myself equally as miserable as you so you have some company. And I'm not coming home. I'm getting over my issues and doing something with my life. You might not even recognize your coked-out-little-whore of a sister when you see me next._

Katie: _I'm not miserable. I'm happy. You're miserable_!!! – came immediately back.

Me: _No, you're toxic. And I'm over it. Mom's calling. I'll talk to you later._

"Hello?" I asked into my phone. My family had been ignoring me for weeks; suddenly they all wanted to talk to me? I would have preferred they kept up with the whole neglect thing now that I was scraping together pieces of happiness and direction.

"Camdyn, thank God," my mother gasped into the phone, sounding out of breath and panicked. "Your father just received the most disturbing call from your Aunt Mallory." She rushed on, not waiting for me to cut in or ask questions. "She told him you're planning on staying in Tennessee? She said you're going to _work on her farm_?" The tones of disgust in her voice were so strong and palpable I felt like they were tangible fingers of revulsion reaching through the phone to strangle me. "Is she delusional? Why in the hell would she think you want to work with sheep? For god's sake, Camdyn, get on the next plane home. Your father called a rehab place in the desert; we will check you in on Monday."

So many things tumbled through my brain- so many. Where to start? How to make this woman see beyond her shallow Beverly Hills existence?

"I don't need rehab, mom," I explained patiently. "I'm not addicted to anything." Except maybe Stockton, but he was putting me through a version of rehab-hell all on his own. "And I'm not coming home. But don't worry; I'm not just sticking around to work with sheep. I'm going to college too. I'm going to become a writer." I smiled before I could stop myself. This was definitely going to piss her off.

"Oh my god, Camdyn Montgomery. Have you been drinking the moonshine down there? It probably poisoned your brain. Just get home, we'll figure this out when you get here." Her voice had turned to unbendable steel. I imagined her forehead straining against the freezing potion of botox and her eyes bugging out behind fake eyelashes and pounds of makeup.

"Mother, hear me: I am not coming home. I've already applied to college. I've already accepted Mallory's offer. I might not need rehab, but LA was not a healthy environment for me. I feel like I'm finally making something of myself. I finally found myself. I don't want to go back to California. It's venomous."

"Are you in a cult? Did they make you join some kind of weird mountain cult down there? I told your father Passages was the way to go. Malibu would have been the perfect location for you to get your shit together. But no, he wanted to send you as far away as possible. And now look? Now look at what you're doing with your life. It's worse than before!"

There was just so much wrong with my family. It was hard to know where to start. The only good thing out of this conversation was that I no longer felt the familiar bite of neglect or aching of insecurity. I was finally at a good place, a self-secured, emotionally stable, confident place in my life. And while I loved my parents and would always and forever look forward to the day when I could feel their love in return, I didn't need that validation anymore to move on with my life.

"Where is daddy?" I asked, a little bit amused.

"He is furious with you, Camdyn." She huffed.

"Ok, let me talk to him," I offered, already knowing where this was going.

"He's not here right now," she mumbled a bit defeated. After a long pause in which I said nothing, she finally admitted, "He had to make his tee time."

And there it was. I nodded my head in amused understanding, even though she couldn't see me. "Well, give him my love. I'll call you guys sometime next week after I figure out tuition and all that."

"And what makes you think we'd actually support you while you stay down there?" she gasped, completely outraged.

"Uh, sixty days in rehab would have billed triple what all four years are going to cost you. And you love me. Somewhere, deep, deep down in those cold, shriveled up hearts of yours and daddy's, you love me. You want what's best for me. And this is best for me, mom. Believe me."

She let out a long, frustrated breath and finally said, "Alright, call me next week."

"Bye mom," I smiled. That was as close to an "I love you" as I would ever get.

"Bye, Cami."

I hung up and stared down at my phone, relishing in the first peace I'd ever felt after finishing a conversation with someone in my family. It felt good- really, really good.

"She won't need to pay for your school," a deeply familiar voice stated firmly from behind me, effectively scaring the ever-loving-shit out of me!

I screamed at the top of my lungs and dropped my phone. It ripped out my ear buds, fell from my hands and clattered along the rocky terrain at the bottom of the long drop down. "Holy hell, Stockton!"

My heart was beating erratically from the scare and didn't slow down when I turned around to stare up at his hulking form, hovering above me. My blood tingled, my skin burned and tears already pricked at my eyes. _What was he doing here?_

He leaned over me, casting me in his shadow, and looked down where my phone lay blinking up at us. "You won't need your mom to pay for school, Cami. You'll be able to do it yourself from the investment you earned when you helped set up Wright Custom Blades and Tools. Do you want me to get that for you?"

"Wait, what?" I gaped.

"The company you helped form? My company you helped form? The one in which I sell my designs to major manufacturers and make truckloads of money. Since you're an investor and got in pretty early, you won't need your parents to pay for anything anymore. You'll have your own hefty income to fall back on." He flashed me a mischievous smile and then sobered quickly, "Now would you like me to go down there and get your phone for you?"

"Uh, yes. You're definitely going down there to get it for me! It's your fault I dropped it in the first place. You're lucky I keep that case on it. Because if it would have shattered, you would be in _so_ much trouble, Stockton Wright."

He looked down at me and our gazes crashed into each other, holding firmly, transfixing me in his intensity. My heart never slowed its frantic rhythm, my lungs never quite able to catch a sufficient breath. His lips were twitching like he was trying not to smile and I was seconds away from biting his shin just to get him to stop torturing me with his presence.

"Always the Duchess," he smirked.

I rolled my eyes- obviously the more mature of the two of us.

"Always the asshole," I mumbled. I scooted back from where his legs had sidled up next to me and climbed my way to standing. I felt tiny next to him under normal circumstances. With him standing and me sitting on the ground I felt absolutely miniscule. And I didn't want to feel tiny around him- I wanted to feel in control- of my feelings, of my words, of the love still coursing through every vein and molecule that made me up.

"I'll get it for you, Cami," he promised. His expression was somber again, his eyes soft but pained. "But first we talk."

"Talk?" I gaped. And then came up with the very eloquent, very appropriate, "Ha!"

Stockton ran a rough hand over the back of his shaved head and looked up at me from those thick, sooty eyelashes. His eyes were bright spearmint and looking at me like I hadn't pissed him the hell off, but instead like I was breakable.... delicate.... precious.

I swallowed, because honestly, that was all I was capable of in that moment.

"I'm an idiot," he started with. He took a step forward and then seemed to think better of it and rooted himself in place by the banister. I cowered next to the side of the house and waited... just waited. "Cami, I just.... I'm so sorry. I acted like a complete fool and I treated you like.... like you should never be treated. God, Cami I messed up. I was so lost in my own pain and anguish I didn't recognize the light you brought into my life, not fully anyway, until you took it away. But I see now how wrong I was- how screwed up my entire outlook on life was. You were right when you said my parents would have wanted to hear 'I love you' instead of be careful, and you were right when you said I was drowning in memories of my past. There isn't anything I could have done for my parents- I see that now. And until now that thought has been eating me alive with guilt. I've felt useless and inadequate since the day they died. And I haven't tried to do anything about it. I was content to let that guilt and grief eat me alive. Until you- until you came into my life and challenged me to be a better man, to be a good enough man for you."

He paused in his speech and closed the distance between us like he couldn't stand to be apart from me for a second longer. His shining green eyes were brimming with so much emotion that I could feel it, all the way down in my toes, in the marrow of my bones. I felt his love for me like it was the air I breathed and the blood that pumped through my veins.

I had been _terrified_ of his anger- such was his overwhelming presence. But his love.... not even him at his worst could compete with the intensity and concentration I felt now. If I shook with fear before, I now swelled and glowed from the raw strength of his love. I felt as bright as the sun while he poured into me everything I had always wanted to feel, always wanted to know. His affection and pure adoration wrapped around me like delicious warmth and my body tingled from his immovable focus.

He needed to say more things. He needed to fix us. But until then I would bask in the greatness of what lay between us and hope for the best.

"I had my own issues," he continued. "And I got confused and took them out on you. But you were right, hell you were always right. I was letting my own stupidity stop me from remembering dreams I once held above all else. I had a plan once, a future that I hoped and prayed for and in a few moments of grief I forgot everything I ever wanted for myself. You helped me remember that- you brought those good things back into my life. And instead of yelling and blaming you, I should have recognized that. I should have been honest with myself and I should have crawled out of that dark hole I'd shoved myself into a long time ago. Maybe I was covering my own short-comings by hiding behind Willa and trying to live a life worthy of something better. But I was not worthy until you came along and shook up everything I'd ever known. Cami, I cannot live without you. When I said I loved you, I meant it then. And I mean it now. You are my light, my salvation. And I need you more than I need to breathe. Please, forgive me."

My throat was closed by thick emotion, roiling through me in waves of mixed relief and fulfillment. I had never felt so loved, never so adored. The tears spilled over before I could talk myself out of them and I could only nod in agreement. I did forgive him. Maybe I had already forgiven him before I left that night, because I knew, _I knew_ what it was like to live with the oppressive past choking you with every breath. I knew how broken he was before I fell in love with him and I knew how damaged I was.

But he helped me heal.

And now I had done the same for him.

"You can't ever treat me like that again, Stockton," I whispered through the heavy emotion. "I'm serious. You talk things out with me. Don't just get mad. We do this together, yeah?"

He took another step closer while nodding enthusiastically, "Yeah," he whispered.

We were only a breath apart now, his body engulfing mine with his size. He lifted his hands as if he was going to pull me to him, but seemed to think better of it. They hovered over me, radiating his heat in lovely warmth. One finger carefully went to my jaw and he traced the line reverently.... humbly.

"I don't ever want to hurt you," I continued to whisper. "I would never do something hurtful intentionally." The tears were still falling, and he caught one on his calloused fingertip.

"I know that," he whispered back. "And from this day forward you have my word that I won't do anything to intentionally hurt you either. _Never again_." My body trembled with the anticipation of his touch, desperately needing his perfect arms around me. Slowly he dropped a hand to pick one of mine up. He held it up to his mouth and with careful determination he kissed my knuckles once, then twice, then turned my hand over and pressed the sweetest kiss in the history of kisses to my palm. "I love you, Cami. With all that's in me, I _love_ you. You are my light, my future, Cami, you are my everything. And I intend to remind you of that every single day for the rest of your life."

So much emotion bubbled up inside of me that I could only stand there paralyzed in happiness. Things I couldn't even name before this moment filled my heart and soul to the point of bursting. Security, unhindered love, acceptance, joy- all gifts from Stockton and the raw power of his love for me.

"You told me I need to be a great man to be good enough for you, Duchess. And I agree with that. I might not be one yet, but I'm too selfish to wait. And I will be, Cami. One day I will be. You have my word. You want a great man? Then I will become one or die trying. I will give you everything you want, everything you need and I will spend a lifetime making sure you feel every ounce of love I feel for you. You are mine, _forever_."

"Ok, yes," I agreed quickly, finally finding my voice again. "I'm yours, Stockton. I never stopped being yours."

He smiled down at me- true, genuine, blinding. He was wrong. He was the great man I wanted- needed. He was the great man I always knew he could be.

"And you're staying? Going to college here?"

I gasped with pretend outrage, "You were eavesdropping!" I playfully smacked at his chest with my free hand, but it was mostly an excuse to touch him. I kept my hand there, loving the feel of his tight muscles beneath my fingers.

"I might've been," he chuckled. "But tell me it's true."  
"It's true," I answered. He was making my head spin, making me dizzy with his closeness and perfect words. Breathlessly I explained, "I applied to Milligan. Hopefully, I start in the fall."

"And you're staying here?"

"Mallory invited me," I confirmed.

That gorgeous smile was back and he leaned forward like he would kiss me. I desperately wanted him to- needed him to. Having him this close with the trauma of the past few days firmly behind us, I was dying to get lost in those lips again.

"Cami," he murmured.

I reached up on my tip toes but he pulled back, pulling a frustrated groan from me. "What?" I whimpered.

"Tell me you love me," he pleaded softly.

"I love you, Stockton Wright. I never stopped loving you. I never will stop loving you. You are my great love- my great man."

His lips crashed to mine in frantic hunger. He consumed me in that kiss, took every bit of me there was and made it his own.

His hard body pressed into me, contrasting drastically with the soft, gentleness of his lips. He claimed me again and again, reaffirming every single feeling and thought I had ever had about us. I was his forever and he was mine.

It took a thousand mistakes, and a lifetime of unhappiness to get me here, but somehow in this tiny mountain town filled with backwards thinking rednecks and the strongest moonshine known to mankind, I had found a love so pure, so deep, so all-consuming I would never recover. Never survive without my gorgeous, somber, adoring blacksmith. Our lives had gone through fires and forges of the hottest, most hurtful kind. But on the other side, our metals had been refined into the strongest halves of each other. It was our love that defined us now. It was the love we would feel for each other every single day moving forward.

And I would never look back at California- never wish for the life I left behind.

My life was here now, with Stockton- as Stockton's. Never could I have imagined this kind of happiness or completion. He had struck love to the very core of my eternal soul- his love was striking.

I felt something slide onto my finger and I broke our perfect kiss to stare down at the stunning gold gem set in the most intricate hand-woven silver band I'd ever seen.

"Stockton," I breathed, tears already filling my eyes again.

"This isn't a proposal," he murmured carefully. "It's a promise. A promise to be great for you, to make our love great from every day forward. One day I will make you my wife and this ring is going to remind you of that. You're my salvation Cami, and one day soon you'll be my wife too."

The tears fell then, big, sloppy and so full of bursting happiness I hardly had room to breathe.

"I love you, Duchess," he promised as he worshipped me with his caressing touch, soulful mint green eyes and the ring that he made himself; that he created from scratch just for me.

"I love you too, Hillbilly."
Chapter Twenty-Two

Stockton

"You're not going to the prom, Duchess!" I yelled down the hall of the Macon's.

Mallory laughed and Henry grumbled something unintelligible in the corner.

Now that Cami had enrolled in school and was pretty tame, the Macon's had really warmed up to both her and me.

I heard her door open, "I'm still early, I've got ten minutes."

I rolled my eyes. She'd always been right on time.

And ten minutes later she came out looking like a diamond among coal.

She'd curled her hair and was wearing a white dress that tied up around her neck. She knew it drove me mad. It would drive any sane man to insanity. Just one pull—just one and the whole thing would be history. That dress should be illegal in all fifty states.

"Well, don't you clean up nice, Mr. Wright."

"Well, Will threatened me. She said if I came in my overalls she'd never forgive me. That really made me want to wear them even more."

She stepped up to me and smoothed the collar of my gray suit jacket.

"Well, I for one am pleased that you didn't."

Mallory got out of her chair and scooted us out, "You're gonna be late—out—out."

Cami slowed as we approached my truck as she always did.

"Really? You couldn't bring Willa's Jeep tonight? You had to bring this—this—thing?"

She gestured towards my new Ford Raptor, bought with my second big check from my new company—the one that she'd inadvertently, singlehandedly started. It was tall, even for me. It came with regular wheels but the hillbilly in me just couldn't stand it. I'd outfitted it with tractor tires and had the shop add a little ladder on the passenger side for Cami.

"I have to climb a freaking ladder in these," she pointed to a pair of heels that were clearly only made for my pleasure. They made her calves flex and pull that gave me ideas—ideas that had nothing to do with driving her to the high school—unless we were talking about the bleachers—under the bleachers was the breeding ground for sin itself.

"I will pick you up, Duchess. We wouldn't want her Highness to climb."

"Good, damned Big Foot truck," she mumbled.

I climbed up on the lower rung and reached down to lift her into the seat. She was light as air but I wasn't going to make it that easy on her. Almost into the seat, I froze and just held her to me.

"Put me down you big oaf," she wiggled in my arms but instead of making the situation better, it caused me to grab whatever I could to hold onto her and in this instant, it was her ass. She gasped—I loved that after weeks of nearly non-stop making out she still was shocked by my boldness.

"Duchess," I squeezed her cheek once, just to shock her again, "you better marry me soon. I don't know how much more of this I can take. Maybe we can be like those Dawson's Ocean people and you can just sleep in my bed all the time. I know you love that show."

She half-ass slapped my shoulder, "I should've never let you watch that crap—and it's Dawson's Creek, Hillbilly. Now you've got all kinds of ideas. And I'm sure Henry and Mallory would be just peachy with me spending the night at your house."

"They would if you were my wife."

And suddenly the air swirled charged seriousness around us.

"And if you were my husband, there would be no more window talks. I'm going to miss that." She pouted out her bottom lip at me—that pouty, bottom lip that was always a little warmer than the top one.

"I promise that even when we're married, I will sit outside our bedroom window and court you. I'm not gonna stop chasing my girl just because I put a ring on your finger. I'll sit outside our window, I'll dance with you under the pear trees—I'll even bring you in the barn for a roll in the hay. And if you want, I'll bring you back to the shop and finish what we started on the workbench."

Sometime after I began talking she'd adjusted herself in my grasp to give herself access to my neck. And the things she was doing with her mouth—we might not make it out of the driveway.

"I swear if you don't stop sucking face in my driveway, I'm gonna get my shotgun!" It was Henry, and nothing threw a bucket of water on me like her uncle saying sucking face and shotgun in the same sentence.

Cami reached for the handle in the inside of the cab and lifted herself the rest of the way into the cab. I jumped down and shut the door for her and got in on my own side. We made the trip to the high school in no time and Willa was goosenecking around already looking for us. She locked Cami in a vice as soon as she could get close. Bridger and West were already seated in the third row of family, saving two seats for us.

"I'm so proud of you, Will. I can't believe you're Valedictorian! We're going to be in school together next semester!"

"Yay!" they both screamed.

"Ok, you two, looks like they're about to get started. And Will, I've got a surprise for you after. So don't leave before seeing me, okay?"

"Yeah, ok." She looked surprised. I hadn't even told Cami what I'd done. The first thing I'd done with my newfound wealth was set up college accounts for Will and Cami. Because they were the most important people in my life.

"What did you do," Cami questioned as we sat in our scorching metal seats, "Ouch, it's hot."

I pulled off my jacket and placed it on the metal chair so she didn't burn her legs.

"Thanks, Stock. So what did you get her?"

"A brand new Dodge Dart, red."

"Nice," Bridger and West fist bumped me.

"Are you bananas?" She screamed a little too loud.

"Why?"

"She's a teenage child! You don't just buy teenaged girls a sports car. Take it from one that knows! I wrapped my Porsche Cayenne around a street pole when I was seventeen just so my daddy would buy me a brand new one!"

I put my arm around her and kissed the top of her head. I loved how she cared for my sister. She treated her as well if not better than I did.

"Cami, Will is not your typical teenage girl. She's smart, she's practical, and she's extremely responsible. She's the damned Valedictorian. She deserves it."

She sighed, "She does. You're right. I just worry about her."

"And that's what I love about you."

We chatted with Bridger and West through droning speeches and announcements until we heard her name being called. When it was Willa's turn, Cami screamed as loud as she could and it made Will break out in a smile, wider than I'd ever seen. I hadn't raised her my whole life, but she was my daughter no matter what anyone said. I sent up a prayer that she was as lucky as I was to find someone like Cami. I could tell something was up with Bridger and when Jesse walked across the stage, he got up and left, mumbling something about women. I needed to find out what was going on with him.

As soon as the graduates threw their caps in the air, Cami was wrapped around Will again.

She looked twice as proud as I was.

She'd torn this iron heart apart with her bare hands. It had cowered and hidden from the light, but she shocked it into beating again. Never in my life would I have thought that a wild child from California could come in and claim me. But that's what she had done. She found me, taught me to love, and claimed me as her own, forever branding me.

She saw the scrap metal that I was.

She stoked the fire.

She hammered, filed, and polished me, even when it hurt.

She saw what I could be.

And I was stricken.
Epilogue

Cami

Six Months Later

I stood there, swaying back and forth, swishing like a bell- or like Julia Roberts pretending to be a bell. Only, my dress wasn't poofy and Richard Gere wasn't waiting at the end of the aisle.

Stockton was- and he was so much hotter than old Richard.

Besides, he was mine.

My dress was fitted and slender as it hugged each one of my curves in delicate ivory lace. The collar was up to my throat, caressing it gently, making it look unbelievably delicate. It was probably more modest than most, but only in the front. While it connected with two pearl buttons on the nape of my neck, it cut open to a backless style, exposing more skin than these rednecks were used to before swishing down into a mermaid style train.

This dress was all Hollywood. You could take the girl out of Beverly Hills but you couldn't take Beverly Hills out of the girl and all that. My custom Vera Wang cost my parents a fortune, but they were the ones that offered to pay for it. I had plenty of money- _we_ had plenty of money thanks to Stockton's booming design sales. However, this was their gift to me, one in full support of a husband they were pleasantly surprised with. Occasionally, they still looked down their noses at him and his country ways. Still, he had earned their respect by being the incredible man that he was and by taking such good care of me.

I was earning their respect too- one mature, responsible day at a time. Their love was still expressed with money and possessions, but I had a feeling it wouldn't always be like that. I had a feeling eventually they would learn about love, just like I had to.

The exposed bulbs hanging on hundreds of strands, from tree to tree lit up the smoky night. They were large and romantic, and I felt like a hillbilly princess standing underneath them. Our lights had been interwoven with the lights his dad strung for his mom way back when and that thought alone made my heart swell and my future husband beam with pride. All the trees in the Wright's backyard were strung from branch to branch and Stockton had to shut off every single thing in his house to get them all to work, but he said it was worth it. He said our wedding should have as much light in it as I do. He said our love was light and our marriage should reflect that.

I melted every single time he said something like that, right into a giant puddle of mush.

Our friends and family had gathered in front of me, the only thing separating me from my groom. They spanned out across his back yard in a hodgepodge of chairs and benches brought by everyone in the county it seemed. The sparkling outfits of the women and polished shoes of the men seemed to glisten under the twinkling lights above them- because even if this was a redneck wedding, it was still a special occasion. And everyone was in their Sunday best.

The aisle stretched out in front of me, flowered with orange, yellow and red mum petals. But it felt too long, kept my groom too far away from me. Because even while it was breathtaking and beautiful, I wanted to be with Stockton now. I wanted to have his arms around my waist, and his ring on my finger. I wanted his delicious lips on mine.

I was painfully anxious to become his wife. I could hardly stand the waiting and all this ceremony.

He looked so handsome standing on the other end of that long aisle. His gray suit jacket fit him perfectly; his long legs encased behind expertly pressed pants- his silvery tie the perfect accessory. His head was freshly shaved, his face newly groomed. He was all of my hopes and dreams, all of my love and devotion. And he was waiting for me. Me, his bride.

I took my father's offered elbow and clutched him tightly. I was excited to get down that aisle, but now I was nervous too. People stood on either side of us as we walked to the sound of a country string quartet- complete with upright bass and banjo- and watched me. I didn't know what their expressions looked like- although I hope they all shared in just a piece of the happiness Stockton and I felt today. But I had my eyes trained on one man, only one man.

Even in the dark night, I could see his minty green gaze focused wholly on me. He fidgeted just a little, but for the most part stood as unmoving as ever- my stable, solid blacksmith.

My father guided me down the long aisle, past all of our guests, past the Mason jar lanterns hanging on the chairs that lined my walk and past my family that had flown all this way to support me- even Katie and her fiancé, who were still in the painful negotiation stage of wedding-planning. Well, painful for them because they had so many snobby friends to impress. And because they actually cared.

Stockton and I had planned this whole shindig in two hours the night he proposed to me. The night he took me back to the river- our river- and knelt down in front of the gurgling bank and promised me the world. He didn't remove the citrine ring he'd first given me but added a band with matching tiny gems that encircled it. More light to signify his deep, everlasting love for me. Tonight he would add one more band to my finger- one that expressed him. A plain, silver one that he made himself; that he forged out of love and life and eternal dedication.

Finally my father stopped us in front of Stockton, the pastor and our attendants. Stockton had his two brother's stand with him while I chose Willa as my maid of honor and Mallory. She hadn't wanted to draw that much attention to herself at first, but after I started babbling about the wonderful things she had done in my life, and gone on and on about how much I loved her and couldn't live without her she had eventually agreed just to shut me up.

That was how I usually got my way with Mallory these days.

The Richter children wiggled and fidgeted as they tried their hardest to hold their places in front of our attendants. I had my choice of ring bearers and flower girls to pick from that beautiful family and since I adored them all, I chose them all. I did the girls' hair myself and Stockton tied the bow ties on each of the wild boys. They loved being part of our special day, even if now they looked like they were ready to drop down and roll around in the grass just to feel normal again.

We stood under an arbor hand-crafted by Stockton. It arched above the pastor and when Stockton took my hands the pastor would move back and we would move under it together. It intertwined two pieces of metal- one gold-plated depicting me and one iron portraying him. Stockton's iron was firm and thick while my gold was slender and delicate. They interwove in intricate patterns and displayed the genius talent that was making Stockton so wealthy these days. One day I was determined to build a garden around it, treat the ground with endless love and spend hours dedicating my care to it- just like I was planning to do with my marriage.

A garden? I really had gone through a hillbilly conversion.

Stockton's smile reached ear to ear as he looked down at me, his eyes glistening with unshed tears that mirrored my own. The pastor asked my father if he was sure he wanted to give such a lovely daughter away, and while the congregation laughed at his joke, I just kept staring up into the intense green eyes of my future.

My dad finally turned me so I could give him a kiss and he could sit down next to my mother. I passed my bouquet of sunflowers and orange daisies to Willa and then turned to face my soon to be husband.

Stockton reached for my hands and I gave them over, happy to be touching him. He looked so handsome I could barely stop myself from leaping on him and demanding we start the honeymoon this very second.

He winked at me as if he knew what I was thinking and I blushed immediately. It was amazing he could still do that to me.

I had a feeling he would always have this effect on me.

The pastor started the service but it was nonsense in my ears. I couldn't remember a single phrase he preached until the part where I promised my love and life to Stockton eternally. I remembered and revered those words as I vowed them to my husband. And soaked in his promises as he swore them back to me. My heart swelled with each declaration of our love to come. And even though they were all things that we'd been whispering to each other in stolen moments and intimate evenings, they meant even more tonight. Tonight we didn't whisper or murmur them, tonight we avowed them, in front of family and friends and God himself.

Before I knew it the pastor was announcing us husband and wife and Stockton was devouring my mouth in front of those same people. I came up gasping for air, beat red and so turned on my legs quaked and I could hardly stand up straight.

Only a few more hours until I had him all to myself!

Gah! Why did that feel like forever?

We walked down the aisle to a declaration of "Now I present to you, Mr. and Mrs. Stockton Wright!" Cheers and applause greeted us immediately and we practically glowed from the support and fellowship with us tonight.

We signed the marriage license immediately after and that was it. We were husband and wife,

man and woman. He was my forever and I was his. And nothing could have been more perfect.

The rest of the night was spent dancing under iron chandeliers that hung from more big trees and displayed more Mason jar lanterns. Stockton had fashioned everything himself, made every single detail of our night special.

And I knew that would be how the rest of my life would be.

He would always make me feel special.

He would always go above and beyond for me. Because he loved me.

We danced with each other and then everybody else, but finally we were back together and as alone as we could be on the dance floor. He swayed me slowly back and forth under the stars, under the trees his grandparents had planted and under the moon that felt like he held it in his hands for me.

"My wife," he murmured against my temple. "My lovely wife."

"My husband," I giggled softly. "My wonderful husband."

"Can I kick these people out yet?" he asked sincerely. "You're gorgeous in this dress. You know you are. But I'm dying to explore everything underneath it."

"Now, now hillbilly," I tsked. "All in good time." Even while I was as desperate to remove every piece of clothing he was wearing too.

"Just as long as you let me take my time, Duchess," he murmured suggestively. "Every single minute of what's left of this night. And all those good hours leading up to daylight too."

"You can have as much time as you want, Stockton. I'm yours for the rest of my life."

"I knew that the moment I saw you."

I laughed, because he was joking, because even if he didn't know that I was his the moment he'd laid eyes on me, I had been. The moment Stockton Wright walked into my life everything changed for me, for the better. And I knew that from this day forward every day would be a testament to that, every day would continue to make me a better person and deepen the love I felt for this man.

This wasn't a life I'd ever envisioned for myself and it wasn't in a place I'd ever imagined I'd set up a family. But this was where my happiness took root; this was where I bloomed into something good, something worthy, something honorable.

And this was where I would live out my happily ever after with a man so great I would stand in awe of him for the rest of my life.

Keep Reading for an excerpt from the Forged in Fire series, Book 2, Brazing

Rachel's Acknowledgments

To God, first and foremost. Thank you for this ability, for this opportunity and always this daily grace.

To my husband, Zach, you inspire me, you encourage me and you push me. You are the reason I can write a beautiful love story, you are the reason all of my characters are capable of great love. Thank you for your commitment to me and this career. I love you. And to my children, thank you for putting up with a chaotic household and a disheveled mother. You guys are the best thing that ever happened to me.

To my mom, thank you for the endless hours of babysitting, all that PR that happens at the grocery store, or bank or post office or wherever you are!! But most of all thank you for your never-failing support. That you are my biggest fan is the most important thing in the world to me. And I thank you for that.

To Candice, thank you for being the best Beta there ever was. Thank you for reading half books, half chapters and half sentences. You are so amazing!!

To my Hellcats- Shelly Crane, Amy Bartol, Samantha Young, Georgia Cates, Angeline Kace, Michelle Leighton, Quinn Loftis and Lila Felix. Words cannot explain how much love there is for you ladies!!! Thank you for your continual support and encouragement. Thank you for your listening ears and words of advice. You girls are the best thing that ever happened to the book world.

To The Reckless Rebels. You girls are seriously wonderful. I am so blessed by your commitment to my work and your infinite support. You have become something more than a team- you have become friends and I am honored to call you that.

To the bloggers. Girls. You are incredible. Your time, your encouragement, your creative posts have meant the world to us! Most specifically- Reagan, Caylie, Christina, Christy, Mary, Kat and Candace. Thank you for taking time out of your day to promote this book and us. And thank you for falling in love with Stockton and Cami just as much as we did.

To the readers, thank you for supporting me through everything. Thank you for taking the leap from my Paranormal worlds to this very real, very contemporary story. I get to write because of you and my gratitude could not go any place greater. Thank you.

And finally, to Lila. This was one of the best writing experiences of my life- and I truly mean that. I have you to thank for that. Thank you for being laid-back, thank you for making this easy and thank you for making this fun!! Most of all, thank you for making Stockton such an incredible character, for making every chapter inspiring. He was perfect for Cami- the only man that could be for her. I am so proud of what we created and I look forward to every future project with you.

About Rachel Higginson

Rachel Higginson was born and raised in Nebraska, but spent her college years traveling the world. She married her high school sweetheart and spends her days raising their growing family. She is obsessed with bad reality TV and any and all Young Adult Fiction.

Look for more from Rachel in 2013.

The remaining episodes of this novella series will be released twice a month. Look for Episode 5 coming September 6th, 2013.

Other books by Rachel to be released in 2013 are Sunburst, the second book in the Starbright Series, The Relentless Warrior, the sixth book in The Star-Crossed Series and The Fall, the second book in the Siren Series.

Other Books Out Now by Rachel Higginson:

Love and Decay, Episode One

Love and Decay, Episode Two

Love and Decay, Episode Three

Reckless Magic (The Star-Crossed Series, Book 1)

Hopeless Magic (The Star-Crossed Series, Book 2)

Fearless Magic (The Star-Crossed Series, Book 3)

Endless Magic (The Star-Crossed Series, Book 4)

The Reluctant King (The Star-Crossed Series, Book 5)

Starbright (The Starbright Series, Book 1)

The Rush (The Siren Series, Book 1)

Bet in the Dark (An NA Contemporary Romance)

Follow Rachel on her blog at:

www.rachelhigginson.com

Or on Twitter:

@mywritesdntbite

Or on her Facebook pages:

Rachel Higginson

Or

Reckless Magic

Lila's Acknowledgements:

First and always first to God for giving me a brain that could make up stories and put them to paper.

To my husband and children, for putting up with me being handcuffed to my computer and helping me celebrate when I'm set free.

To my Rink Rats, who are so much more than a street team!

To Mandy, Candace, and Amanda for giving it to me straight and pointing out my mistakes—your truthfulness is always appreciated.

And to the Hellcats, Shelly Crane, Michelle Leighton, Amy Bartol, Angeline Kace, Samantha Young, Georgia Cates, Quinn Loftis and Rachel Higginson, for all the support and love of the Hell-Kitten—your guts are loved.

And last but not least to Rachel: This has been the most fun I've had with writing for a long time. Thanks for the late night texts, the comedy with picking out pictures, the non-productive Skype session and the inspiration each time I opened up a new chapter of yours. My friend and now co-author, cheers to a novel that we are both proud of—and wishes for more to come.

Wanna catch more of my antics?

www.authorlilafelix.blogspot.com

Facebook: Lila Felix (Author)

Twiiter: @AuthorLilaFelix

Spotify, Pinterest, iHeartRadio: Lila Felix

Other Contemporary Romance novels by me:

Emerge, Perchance, Hoax, Seeking Havok (September 2013), and AnguiSH

The Love and Skate Series:

Love and Skate, How It Rolls, Down 'N' Derby, Caught in A Jam and the upcoming False Start.

Chapter One

Brazing

Bridger

"Come on, man. Get your ass in gear. You've been studying too hard. Everyone needs a break."

I heard his words but I wasn't listening, my little brother had become quite the partier, but I just wasn't interested. Partying was nothing but trouble and the last time I'd been to one, was the one time I'd wished I hadn't gone.

I'd taken a chance on Jesse, even though she was my sister's best friend—even though it felt wrong—she swore she wouldn't do to me what Alice did before. And I'd looked into her deep brown eyes and somehow saw some truth. I walked into the big, white mansion, more plantation estate than animal house, but the bass pumping from inside was louder than a freight train. She'd made friends with some of my college buddies and they'd invited us all to a party. I was kinda stoked. It was gonna be great to see Jesse in my world instead of having to go back home to see her.

I walked into the front door and weaved my way through the hordes of dancers and drinkers, some loners, some plastered to each other in the thralls of lustful rhythm, others happy enough to dance with their beer. I saw my friends but didn't see Jesse. I figured she must be late. I grabbed my own cup of the cheap stuff from the keg and explored the house. One room held a piano, with a girl passed out underneath the bench seat. I didn't dare venture upstairs, instead, I finished my beer walking around the enormous house.

I made one last pass of the back of the house and stopped to look at the partiers in the hot tub. And that's when I saw Jesse. It seemed innocent. She had the same red cup as me in her hand and she was talking to everyone in the bubbling tank. But then the guy next to her, looking like some kind of Vin Diesel in Fast and Furious wanna be, ran his finger under the string of her bikini top. And that's when she leaned forward, practically crawled on top of him—and ruined me for parties and women for good.

"I hate parties. You know that."

"You just hate them because of Jesse. I won't even drink. I'll be the DD and you can got sloshed."

I looked back at my desk. Business ethics textbook or beer?

"Ok, I'm in. Let me get showered and changed."

I showered and threw on some clothes, nothing too nice as beer didn't need to be impressed to give it up.

"Hey," West threw me a cell phone when I got back in the room, "Stock."

I put the phone to my ear, "Hey, Stock, what's up?"

"I want you both to come home for Thanksgiving. Will's coming home too and Cami and Mallory are cooking. And there's something I want to talk to you about."

"Yeah," I looked at West who was spraying some gunk in his hair, "We'll be home."

"Good. Y'all be careful tonight. Love y'all."

"Gross, you're so sappy now."

"Shut up."

"Love you too, Stock."

Six techno songs and seven beers later, I had glued myself to the wall. I knew if I tried to move, my drunken legs would fail me. But even in my drunken state, I could see a girl across the way with brazen red curly hair, her arms in the air, her hips popping back and forth. She was perfectly content to dance by herself in the middle of the room. As if she heard me, she opened her eyes and looked my way. She crooked her finger in my direction, inviting me to join her. But as beautiful as she was, she was just another one of _them._ And I was a fool for love—always had been. I'd fallen for Jesse, and she'd broken my heart.

I pushed off the wall and went for a refill.

"Hey, can I get one too?"

"Sure," I refilled the cup next to mine without even looking at the owner.

"Thanks."

"Yep."

"So, you don't dance or you're not into chicks?"

That got my attention. I looked up to find the questioner to be the redhead. Her nose and the apples of her cheeks were speckled with freckles and it made her look a little less wild, a little more innocent. And her light pink skirt and white button up shirt tried to prove her case more—but I knew the truth.

There were no innocent girls.

They were all out to eat my heart.

Except Cami.

But she was a rarity.

I wasn't so lucky.

"Nah, I'm not into guys. But I'm not into random screws either."

And with that, I walked away.

Cami's Playlist

We Can't Stop/Miley Cyrus

Skeleton Key/Dessa

Wake Me Up/Avicii

Breakable/Ingrid Michaelson

Prove You Wrong/He is We

Feel Again/One Republic

I Need Your Love/Calvin Harris and Ellie Goulding

You and I/The Violet Archers

Kiss Me/Jason Walker

Love Love Love/Of Monsters and Men

The Funeral/Band of Horses

InExile/Thrice

I Believe In Love/Matisyahu

Still Into You/Paramore

Stockton's Playlist

Lonely Man/Alpha Rev

Move on Me/Fink

Between Us/Peter Bradley Adams

Darling Divine/Wild Child

Lexington/Alpha Rev

Minds Made Up/The Frames

Black Heart, Blue Eyes/Tigers That Talk

Our Window/Noah and the Whale

Each Coming Night/Iron and Wine

Do You Remember What You Came For?/Biffy Clyro

Stay With Me (Acoustic)/You Me At Six

Walk Off/The National

Face Down/Alpha Rev

Fear Is Like Fire/Fink

Perfect Darkness/Fink

Buried Myself Alive/The Used

Either Way/Beta Radio

To Travels and Trunks/Hey Marseilles

Light Me Up/The Pigeon Detectives

Yellow Light/Of Monsters and Men

Marry Song/Band of Horses

Darling I Do/Landon Pigg

