Page 45 of One-Track Pride

"Your model program."

"My model program." A crooked smile tugs at her mouth. "I took the job because it's the best engineering work I've ever been handed. I want that on the record. Not because a certain lion looked pathetic every time I mentioned leaving."

"I have never looked pathetic in my life."

"You looked pathetic in Ruth's kitchen when I said I might sublet in Missoula."

I can't argue that one, because my mother had watched it happen and then handed Camille a second slice of pie like she'd already been adopted. Ruth decided months ago that Camille belonged to us, and my mother's decisions have a habit of becoming everyone else's. Amy took longer only because she enjoyed making Camille earn it, and even that collapsed the day Camille out-stubborned me in front of the entire pride and Amy declared her a keeper on the spot.

"For what it's worth," I say, "I wasn't going to ask you to stay for me."

"I know. That's half of why I did." She leans into my side. "You gave me the choice instead of the guilt. Do you know how rare that is?"

"I'm learning."

The train levels out as we crest the high point of the pass, and the descent toward Stonehaven begins. I keep finding reasons to touch her — her hand, the curve of her wrist, a loose strand of hair near her temple — and she catches me at it every single time.

"You're aware I'm not going to vanish between here and the station," she says.

"My lion isn't taking chances."

"Your lion needs a hobby."

"He has one. He's sitting next to it."

That earns me a startled laugh, the real kind, the one she only lets loose when I've genuinely surprised her. I file it away with the rest of them.

Stonehaven comes into view below, and the platform is full. Half the town has turned out, bundled and stamping their boots, banners strung between the posts. Leah is there with her old red bag out of habit. Leonard leans on a cane near the front, cap on, watching his railway come home. Owen stands with his arms crossed, pretending he isn't pleased. When the train slides in and stops — smooth, safe, exactly as designed — a cheer goes up loud enough to rattle the glass.

"They're happy," Camille says, and there's something soft under it.

"They almost lost this. All of it. The line, the town, the reason any of them can stay." I stand and offer her my hand. "So am I, for the record. Happy."

We step down onto the platform together into the noise and the cold. I stop her before she can be swallowed by the crowd, both hands on her arms, and I make sure she's looking at me.

"Months ago I got on the last train out because I couldn't stand to watch you disappear into these mountains without me," I tell her. "I didn't have a plan. I just knew I wasn't letting you go alone."

"And now?"

"Now you came back on the first train in. Same pass. Same lunatic beside you." My throat tightens on the next part, and I let it. "Except this time we picked the same place to end up."

Camille reaches up and fists her hands in the front of my coat and pulls me down and kisses me, right there, in front of my mother and my sister and every person in Stonehaven who's ever wondered what the Shaw family was hiding. When she draws back, snow has started to fall, catching in her dark hair.

"Tell me something," she says. "Are Montana winters always this eventful?"

"Most years," I say gravely, "involve significantly fewer explosions."

"I'm going to need to verify that claim personally."

"That could take a lifetime."

"Then I'd better get started." She's grinning now. "Slowly. With documentation."

I pull her in as the platform roars around us, the railway secure, the pride safe, the mountain still keeping its oldest secret. She doesn't pull away. Neither of us is going anywhere.

For once, that's the entire point.