Chapter 8 #2
“See, Daddy. Sadie and Master Derek, see? And there’s Wren and her Daddy. And Daisy and… I think I heard her say her Daddy’s name was Rett!”
Her excitement was immediate and unfiltered, and it hit him square in the chest. There was no sadness in her voice. Just pure, joyful exhilaration. God bless the resilience of Littles.
“Can we sit with them? Can we? Um… please?” She looked up at him, bouncing on her toes with hope filling her eyes and her voice, despite how hard she tried to keep it light and casual, like it didn’t matter all that much.
But it mattered. He could see that as clear as day.
Mace followed her gaze. He knew all of them now, except for Rett. Derek had mentioned the day before that his cousin, Rett Hawkins, would be visiting the Ranch for summer camp with his Little girl, Daisy.
Mace already knew how this evening would go. There would be music, games, ghost stories, and, of course, s’mores. That was what his little firefly was looking forward to, that and spending time with her new friends.
He wanted that for her, especially after that scene with Laura. He, however, looked forward to how things slowed and softened once the fire burned down to coals and people started talking instead of performing.
More importantly, this was a chance to see his little firefly without him right beside her. He was curious about how she would interact with her group of new friends, who she would gravitate toward, and what she would do to fit in.
He glanced around to make sure he didn’t see Laura waiting in the wings to ambush his girl. When he couldn’t spot them, he let go of her hand. “Go on. Find a spot and sit with your friends.”
She faltered at his words. “Aren’t you coming?”
He pulled her in for a hug before he could stop himself. “Don’t you worry. I’ll join you in a minute.”
Her smile hit him full force. It lit up her entire face, like he’d given her something precious rather than something simple. It made him feel like the king of the mountain.
“Thank you, Daddy,” she said.
Darting off toward the group, she wove around logs and people with that effortless, kinetic grace of hers. Mace turned slowly, positioning himself so he could see the whole clearing, but still keeping his focus on Fiera. He tracked her every movement from the corner of his eye.
She dropped down beside Daisy, legs tucked neatly under her, the sweater he’d insisted she wear after they left the lodge pooling around her like a cocoon.
Rett passed her something, probably a graham cracker, and she laughed, bright and unguarded, tipping her head back as if she hadn’t laughed in a while.
Something in Mace’s chest tightened.
He’d had Littles before. He wasn’t new to this. He knew the rhythms, the boundaries, and the responsibilities. He understood how attachment could form, how attraction could spark, and how dangerous it was to let either of those cross the line into places they didn’t belong.
And yet, watching Fiera laugh like that… free and open and trusting… he had the unsettling feeling this Little girl was going to test every line he’d ever drawn.
The guitars came out not long after, and it turned out they had a few to spare. They passed the guitars around, trading songs the way people traded stories. They sang children’s campfire songs, folk tunes, old country ballads, and something someone half-remembered from a road trip ten years ago.
Mace joined in when the guitar landed in his lap, his fingers finding chords without effort. He wasn’t a showman, but he could carry a tune, and the firelight softened everything, even his voice.
Fiera watched him openly as he played. Her head tilted, eyes bright and mouth parted just a little, as if she were trying to memorize the sound.
When he finished and passed the guitar along, she clapped enthusiastically, then caught his eye and beamed like he’d done something extraordinary. Heat curled low in his gut.
Once they’d sung every song they knew, they played telephone.
Squeals of laughter rippled around the circle as messages got hilariously mangled.
Fiera leaned into Daisy at one point, whispering something with exaggerated seriousness, then dissolved into giggles when the final version came out completely wrong.
S’mores came next.
Fiera assembled hers with intense focus, roasting the marshmallow with precision, until it was perfectly golden, but not burnt. When it slid off too fast and landed crooked between the chocolate and graham cracker, she gasped like the world might end.
“No, no, no… wait… okay, okay, I can fix this,” she muttered, reaching for the piping hot marshmallow.
“Do not touch that, young lady,” Mace barked, stopping her just in time to keep her from burning her sticky fingers. He straightened the marshmallow as the melting chocolate oozed over the graham cracker. He blew on it to make sure it wasn’t too hot, then held it out for her to try.
She took a bite and froze. Her eyes went wide. “Oh. My. Gosh.”
Mace laughed. “Good?”
“Good? It’s amazing. It’s… incredible,” Fiera breathed in an almost reverent voice. “This is… why don’t people eat these every day?”
Mace smiled without meaning to. There was something about the way she experienced joy that he’d never seen before. She felt it fully and unapologetically. It chipped away at his defenses, piece by piece. She never held anything back. Didn’t apologize for her delight.
And when chocolate smeared at the corner of her mouth, it took all his self-restraint not to lick it off.
The night wound down the way good times always did, the campfire crackling lower, conversations dwindling, until the Littles began to yawn.
Master Derek cleared his throat and called for everyone’s attention. “I think it’s time for bed. We have a big day tomorrow, and tomorrow night we’ll have our camp talent show. Classes and events will be posted again in the same places. So, everyone to their tents. Lights out in thirty minutes.”
Mace leaned toward Fiera. “Ready?” he asked quietly.
Without waiting, he stood, stretching, and held out a hand to help Fiera up.
She nodded, slipping her arms back into his coat, the one she’d sheepishly borrowed a few hours earlier when she got cold and confessed she had no clue what had happened to her sweater.
He’d not fussed at her when seeing her shrug out of it when the flames had been so high as he’d agreed the bonfire had been rather warm.
As they turned toward the path back to the cabins, he spotted the sweater abandoned on a nearby log.
“I’ll grab that,” he said.
She blinked. “Oh, I forgot I left it there.”
He picked up the sweater and draped it over his arm. The scent—clean, sweet, unmistakably her—hit him like a wave of joy. The walk back was short. Lanterns strung between posts lit the path. Gravel crunched underfoot. All was quiet in that wide-open Montana way.
As they were almost at their cabin, Fiera stumbled over a loose stone. Mace reacted on instinct, his hand snapping out to catch her around the waist and pull her against his chest before she could hit the ground.
For a heartbeat, neither of them moved. Her hands came up, bracing against his chest. His grip tightened reflexively. He could feel her breath on his neck, quick and warm. She fit in his arms like she’d always belonged.
“Whoa,” she breathed, laughing a little. “Guess I should watch where I’m going.”
“I think you should let me do that,” Mace growled.
Fire slammed through him the instant she stumbled and crashed into him. It was like fate had conspired to shove her straight into his arms. His reaction was hot, fast, and violent enough to scatter his thoughts like ashes in the wind.
For the first time in longer than he cared to remember, his mind went blank. For a heartbeat, everything went silent. There were no rustling pines, no sounds from the campfire, and no rules.