Page 54 of Savage Heart

His eyebrows raise. “I meant work on one, but owning one would be so cool!”

“Ranch life isn’t easy. But it’s worth it, and I have no doubt you’d do it well. You have a gift, Linc. Not everyone is as comfortable around the horses and cows as you are.”

His eyes shine with pride as he looks up at me. “You really think so?”

“I know so.”

Later, we’ve got logs stacked high at the bonfire. The kids are wrapped in hoodies and blankets, faces glowing orange, and marshmallow sticks poking out in every direction.

Teddy’s got his guitar out and launches into a song he claims he learned back in the day. Code for nobody knows what the hell he’s playing.

“Is this . . . a country song?” one kid whispers.

Teddy squints at the strings, teeth in his bottom lip as he tries to groove. “I’d like to think so. I like to play what I feel.”

Grady leans over to me. “Is he seriously pulling out rando shit with this crowd? Why can’t he ever do something they can sing along to?”

“Do you know what they’d sing to?” I ask.

“Well, no, but . . . Charlie probably does.”

The kids try to sing along anyway, half of them off key and the other half just shouting words behind Teddy.

Someone drops a marshmallow into the fire and panics. “My marshmallow!”

“Grab another,” Cameron says as he goes to poke the fire. “And back up—don’t stand too close to the fire.”

Turns out, Cameron’s the one who’s too close to the fire, and he’s smug, so of course, something would go wrong. A loud pop sounds from the fire, and a white flaming marshmallow missile lands square on Cameron’s chest.

For one stunned second, nobody moves.

Then Cameron yelps and starts slapping at his shirt.

The kids are horrified, but the fire quickly goes out, and Cameron keeps hopping around like a madman. He’s definitely playing it up for the kids, and they lose their minds, laughter exploding around the fire.

Teddy strums a dramatic chord. “I’d like to dedicate that song to the cursed marshmallow.”

Cameron finally gets it off, holding up the sticky, charred mess between two fingers and then sticking it in his mouth.

“Ewwww,” the kids yell.

“Yum,” Cameron says, smiling with charred bits between his teeth.

“He has no shame,” Billie says, laughing.

Linc holds his stomach, still laughing. “Marshmallow attack,” he says between gasps. “I didn’t even know that was a thing.”

I shake my head, chuckling. “Cameron likes to bring a little excitement to every party. You okay, Cam?”

He puts his hand on his chest, playing it up. “I’ll live . . . I think.”

The kids chant his name.

“Cam-er-on! Cam-er-on!”

He holds up his hands. “Please. No autographs.”

Eventually, things calm down. Someone starts telling a ghost story that’s immediately derailed when another kid insists ghosts couldn’t survive the cows.