by Dora Hiers
Rubber soles squeaked against the tile floor, determination in the fast-paced steps as they echoed down the long, narrow hallway. Martha’s shrill voice came from right outside Camdon’s office. “Guess you’re it, young man. Just the person I need to see.”
Strange how Martha’s words firmed the loose thought clanking around in her head. When Sierra visited City Hall, Camdon’s office was the first place she headed, and sometimes, she even stopped in again after she completed her business. At first, because she had business to discuss with him. But not now. She sought him out because he was the one person she needed to see.
“I’ll be there.” He leaned in, his whisper tickling her ear and doing all sorts of funny things to her insides. What was up with that?
She nodded, forcing a smile, but inside she was quivering. She greeted Martha and high-tailed it out of Camdon’s office, leaving behind his intoxicating scent and replacing it with the stale coffee smell that always lingered just outside the break room in City Hall.
She’d never relax her “no dating” policy. Not after what happened with Steve.
But, if she did, Camdon would be the one guy she could really fall for.
2
Standing on Wilma’s front porch, Camdon stared at the faded red numbers, the number four always hanging slightly lopsided, his knuckles poised to rap on the ancient wood door.
The faint notes of Violet practicing her flute came from the bowels of the house. Soft lights glowed from the family room window, spilling out a homey welcome, but he was quite certain Sierra and Wilma would be hanging out in the kitchen at the back of the house.
A stiff breeze rippled against the back of his neck, bringing with it the sweet sound of Sierra’s laughter and a metal pan clanging into the stainless steel sink from the open windows, confirming his assumption.
He’d been to this house hundreds of times over the years. He knew what he’d find inside, wanted it with a desperation that sometimes threatened to swallow him whole. Peace. Love. Family.
Sierra. And Violet. Even Wilma and the hundreds of seniors that loving Sierra entailed.
He straightened the number four then rapped his knuckles on the door since the doorbell didn’t work, and Sierra refused to let him fix it. Waited to hear the scraping of the kitchen chair and the sock-muted footsteps that padded through the family room to answer his knock.
A smile lifted the corners of his lips as the deadbolt slid back and a curtain of dark-as-midnight hair peered out. His heart responded with a silent sigh. This was just what he needed after a long week at work. He was glad she’d refused his invitation to Germain’s. This was where he’d rather be, anyway.
“Come in.” She swung the door wide and flicked her head in the direction of the kitchen.
He slipped off his shoes, depositing them on the mat just beside the front door and followed her, trying his best not to pay attention to the gentle sway of her slim hips or inhale too deeply the fruity fragrance she left behind. But that was useless where she was concerned. Now that he’d finally made up his mind to make a move, he wanted to haul her into his arms and kiss her silly.
That wouldn’t work with Sierra, though. Patience was the key, but lately, his supply seemed to be running thin.
She stopped abruptly and turned, and he reached for her arms to keep from bumping into her. Her dark eyebrows arched as her gaze landed on his hands.
“Sorry. Wasn’t paying attention.” Liar. He’d been paying entirely too much attention.
“Do I need a stop sign on my back?” The smile she flashed at him kicked his pulse up a notch.
She was worth every minute he’d invested in waiting for her to come around. Definitely. He just needed to take it slow and accept that it might take her a little longer to realize he was worth it.
“Good evening, Wilma.” He dragged his gaze away from Sierra to acknowledge her grandma, stirring a pot on the stove.
Wilma swiveled around and parked a bony hand on a scrawny hip. Her skinny legs were swallowed up by the sweatpants she always wore, no matter the temperature. A bright orange t-shirt hung like a limp rag over the faded pink pants. Suspicion glittered from tired blue eyes, her irises as tiny as beads. Nostrils flared as her gaze skittered from him to Sierra.
What was she staring at? He followed her glance. Oh, right. His hands. Still wrapped around Sierra’s arms.
Gotcha. He flicked his head once in acknowledgement of the woman’s unspoken message and dropped his arms, immediately missing the connection with Sierra. With a hip planted against the counter, he folded his arms over his chest.
No sense in giving Wilma something to fuss about. As it was, Wilma barely tolerated him and his frequent visits. He had his work cut out for him where Sierra’s grandma was concerned. Maybe he should focus on wooing Wilma first?
“Camdon.” Wilma’s acknowledgement came out rather curt. Her fist left her hip, and her attention turned back to the stove. She banged the metal spoon against the side of the pan a few times, and then plunked it on an old-fashioned spoon rest sitting on the counter.
His lips curved in a smile. Wooing Wilma was a challenge he wasn’t sure he was up to. He’d rather concentrate on Sierra.
“It smells absolutely divine in here.” His nose picked up on the tantalizing scents of thyme and turmeric, of comfort food and…apple cider?
“Hope you like chicken and dumplings.” Sierra glanced over a shoulder then went back to pouring iced tea into four glasses. She turned and handed him one.
“Thanks. Love dumplings. Especially if Wilma made them.” There. Not bad for his first attempt. He took a sip.
Wilma’s head whipped around from the open cabinet door. She fumbled with the bowls, looking much like a clown in a circus act, until they all landed on the counter without breaking.
He hid his smile behind a cough, almost choking on the sweet tea sliding down his throat.
“Camdon!” A feminine squeal of delight shrieked from the kitchen opening. Then stockinged feet scrambled across the wood floor, and a warm body slammed into his chest.
Would Sierra ever wrap her arms around him so tightly or greet him with such abandon? Laughing, he planted a kiss on the top of Violet’s dark head and tugged her arms back to look at her, the spitting image of her mama with midnight black hair that bobbed to her shoulders and stunning emerald orbs. “Well, hello to you, too, sweetness. How are you?”
“Peachy.”
“Peachy?” His brows hiked as he glanced first to Sierra and then back to Violet. “Is that the word of the week?”
“Yep. Peachy. As in peach-y keen.” She stressed the last two words, dragging them out.
Smiling, he shook his head and wrapped an arm around her neck. Where did she come up with these phrases? Always retro, and she always managed to make them fit.
“Are you staying for dinner?” Adoring eyes peered up at him from the hollow of his arm.
“Yes. Dinner and homework. You got any?”
She wiggled out from under his arm, squinting and rubbing her cheek, apparently trying to remember. “Hmmm…I’m thinking my English teacher wouldn’t appreciate your assistance with my homework.”
Laughter bubbled out from Sierra as she tilted her head back, clearly enjoying the sparring.
He gave Violet a gentle bop on the head. “Smart aleck.”
“No. Just want to keep the good grades rolling in.”
“I heard you had all A’s on your last report card. You’re doing a great job,” he said, pride infusing his tone.
“Yes, you are. I’m so proud of you, honey.” Sierra added her praise.
“She works hard for them A’s. Never seen a kid work so much on school stuff. Not even your mama, and she worked hard to put herself through school, especially since she had you to take care of.” Wilma nodded her head once at Violet, her pale lips firm.
High praise indeed, coming from Wilma. Camdon schooled the shock on his face and stole a glance at Sierra. Gratitude shimmered from her eyes.
“Thanks, you guys,” Violet said, wrapping an arm around Wilma’s skinny waist. “Camdon, if you really want to help, I could use some with math. I have some complicated word problems tonight, and Mom—”
“Doesn’t like them. At all.” Sierra cut in, wrinkling her nose.
“You got it. Meanwhile, what can I do to help with dinner?”
“Hungry?” Sierra grinned.
“Starving. Remember, I’m a single guy.” It couldn’t hurt to point that out, could it? “The opportunity to enjoy a home cooked meal doesn’t come along too often.” Usually only when Sierra or his mother invited him.
Sierra scoffed. “Right. I know how that goes. You’re not fooling me. I’ve seen you lugging out casserole dishes from City Hall. Your freezer’s probably loaded with them. All those single ladies—”
He shook his head, a slow wag back and forth. “Don’t go there.”
She grinned, one dark brow arching behind the curtain of hair, clearly enjoying the challenge gleaming from his eyes. “What’s the matter, Camdon? No fun in a while?”
He took a giant step in her direction then another. Two could play at that game. “Nope. And I intend to fix that.” In a single fluid movement, he scooped her up in his arms and whirled her around in the cramped kitchen.
Violet backed out of the way, a hand covering her mouth, her eyes wide.
“Put me down, you crazy nut!” Sierra hollered, one arm untangling to give him a playful whack in the neck region, but he ducked sideways, avoiding the blow, and feigned falling.
Her brows arched, and her jaw dropped, mouth gaping. Then, a loud squeal emerged from such a tiny frame.
Violet, who’d been paying close attention to their clowning around, broke out in giggles.
“Can you two act like the adults that you’re supposed to be?” Wilma scolded, plopping the last bowl on the table and turning around with a huff. “Let’s eat. Don’t want this to get cold.”
“Her bark is worse than her bite.” Violet stopped giggling long enough to stare at her great grandma, the words spilling out as if by rote.
With a sigh, he lowered Sierra until her feet landed on the floor. Wooing Sierra was going to be tough with a crowd of spectators. Especially fifty of them next week.
He looked down, his heart doing a double take at the mischief still dancing in Sierra’s eyes.
Tough, maybe. But oh so much fun.
****
What was going on with Camdon tonight? He was acting even stranger than he had this afternoon in his office.
With soap bubbles from the warm dishwater clinging to her hands, Sierra stole a glance over her shoulder. Camdon and Violet had taken over the kitchen table to work on Violet’s math homework. Their dark heads huddled close together. Camdon’s deep voice murmured something to her daughter, his finger pointing to the paper where Violet’s pencil scribbled furiously. Her daughter’s bottom lip was hidden under a top row of crooked teeth and deep vertical furrows marred her forehead.
Sierra smiled at the concentrated expression on her daughter’s face. She knew where Violet got that look. But the crooked teeth meant Sierra could kiss the dream of buying her own house goodbye. And going back to college.
A sigh escaped her lips, but it came from the deepest part of her soul. She’d worked so hard, saved so long. But Violet came first.
“What’s that big old sigh for?”
“Just tired is all.” She hadn’t heard Camdon sneak up behind her. She dried her hands on the dish towel and turned to face him. Mercy, he was close. So close she could make out the purple smudges high on his cheekbones, could figure out how long it had been since he’d shaved from the length of his whiskers. Could only breathe in sky and earth and hints of basil. Camdon’s cologne.
She backed up, pressing her rump against the sink, and crossed her arms over her chest. Wouldn’t hurt to put a little space between them in case Wilma appeared back in the kitchen. She wouldn’t want to give her grandma the wrong idea. If Wilma caught them standing this close, Sierra would never hear the end of it. As it was, she’d probably catch an earful later for Camdon’s silly behavior.
But it had been fun. With the professional environment of his job, the poor guy didn’t have much opportunity to let his short hair down or to share the playful nature that lurked under the serious expression. She’d seen it, though, plenty of times over the years.
He cleared his throat. “Violet finished her homework.”
She didn’t realize she’d been staring at the shadow smattering his jaw until she looked up and caught the crinkles edging out from his gleaming eyes, the arched eyebrows, and the slight curve of his lips. Busted!
“Thank you for helping her with it.” She had this sudden strange urge to reach out and run her palms along his whiskers to see if they were as rough as they looked. She blinked it away and forced her hands to stay right where they were.
She glanced over at Violet. The teen was loading her books back into her school bag. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.” Her gaze landed back on him.
“You’d figure it out.” Confidence oozed from his voice and in the solid look he gave her.
“No.” She shook her head. “Math isn’t my thing. I’d probably need to invest in a tutor.” And drain the rest of her savings account. Another sigh lifted her chest. She smiled in response, but it was a mite on the weak side.
“How about we go sit out back?” With his head cocked, he studied her, his lips pressed firmly together, his expression serious. He must have sensed her need to talk. That was just like him. He could always sense her moods.
“Sure. Want some hot chocolate?” They were moving into safe territory. They’d spent many an afternoon or evening on the back deck sharing iced tea or hot chocolate, conversation and laughter. And it wasn’t that cold that the hot chocolate wouldn’t keep them warm enough.
“Yeah. That sounds good,” he agreed, nodding.
She grabbed a couple mugs from the cabinet while Camdon opened the fridge and pulled out the milk jug. She heated the chocolate milk then doused it with whipped cream. Camdon’s slender fingers grazed her hands as he took the mugs from her. Her pulse did a little zig and then a zag. She gave her head a little shake, stunned.
She’d known Camdon for so long, they were practically siblings. Actually, she was tighter with him than any of her younger stepbrothers or sisters, or even either parent. Not that she ever saw any of her family members that often, but that was their choice, not hers.
And besides, they’d done this same dance a hundred times in this cramped kitchen. Why was tonight any different? What was wrong with her? “Violet, if you need me, I’ll be outside.” Fresh air. Maybe that’s what she needed. She’d been cooped up inside her office all day, which wasn’t normal for her.
“Okay. Later, gator.” Violet heaved her book bag off the table.
As they headed toward the back door, suddenly Violet lurched at Camdon, slashing her arm through the air near the man’s head.
Like a game of limbo, Camdon shifted backwards, but only his torso and head, while juggling the mugs of hot chocolate to keep them from spilling. Even though he was much taller, Violet still managed to ruffle his short hair.
“Violet!” Sierra scolded, reaching to put an arm under his back, but he seemed to recover well and didn’t even slosh hot chocolate onto the floor. Even so, fear left her limbs weak and wobbly.
Straightening to his at least six foot six height, he flashed a mock glare at the girl, obviously not able to retaliate because his hands were full, his voice full of tease and dare. “Better watch it, kiddo. I’ll get you back when you least expect it.”
“You two.” Shaking her head, Sierra stuffed the sudden spike of fear and slid her arms into a sweater then opened the door leading to the deck, hanging onto the door for support. Was she coming down with a bug or something?
“Sock it to me anytime. I’d like to see you try.” Violet called back over a shoulder, clearly challe
nging him with her tone and the silly grin plastered over her entire face.
“Where does she come up with all this stuff?” Camdon smiled as he nudged the back door open with his elbow.
“That’s not too hard to figure out, is it? She spends more time hanging out with her great grandmother than the kids at school.”
Sierra angled over a shoulder, caught the saucy way Violet’s hips swung as the teen sashayed from the kitchen, the bulging book bag hanging over a bony shoulder. Mercy! Violet’s hips were straining against the seams of last year’s faded jeans. Not only did Sierra need to take her daughter shopping, again, but how long would it be before Violet passed through the threshold of womanhood? Oh, joy.
And was her thirteen-year-old daughter actually flirting with Camdon? Seriously? She needed to have a heart-to-heart chat with Violet about the proper way to act around boys. Especially grown men.
Or maybe she’d let Wilma handle that one. After taking her in, Wilma had done a decent job planting the fear of dating into Sierra’s heart. She hadn’t gone out on an actual date since Violet was conceived.
No dating while she lived in her grandma’s house. Simple as that, Wilma always used to say. And since Sierra still lived with her grandma, that was that.
But Camdon was different. He was her best friend who just happened to be a male. Over the years, she’d grown comfortable chatting with him at work, especially in their early days when he worked as the Finance Director. Every afternoon, late in the day, her job was to bring in the receipts for the Rec Center. Some days he was the only one left in City Hall to accept the money. During a dark time in her life, he’d been the bright spot in her day, always saying it was his duty as a public servant to ensure that she left City Hall with a smile on her face. That friendship had naturally spilled over to hanging out together after hours.
He’d never once condemned her for getting pregnant while still in high school or choosing to raise Violet on her own. He accepted her as she was, never even hiked an eyebrow when she showed up at the front door wearing ratty sweatpants and a tank because that’s just how she rolled.