“Well, as much as I hate to say it, Camden Daniels qualifies for a voting membership seat,” Milton told the council. “We now stand at twenty-seven voting members and nine council members.”

“And what personal property does he list for inclusion of the historical district?” Xander asked.

My heart sank. Xander was actually speaking out against his brother? Even on our worst days, I’d never stand opposite Charity.

Cam didn’t show a single sign that he was surprised. He’d expected Xander’s lack of support?

“Come on up here, Cam,” Dorothy urged, waving him up.

Cam walked up the center aisle, his head high.

“This is the best Historical Society meeting I’ve been to in ages,” Thea remarked.

That earned a good glare from the three women ahead of us, but I noted that Mrs. Rhodes didn’t glare at her. She aimed that sour face right at me. “It’s not like he can claim the bunkhouse as his property, now, is it?” she remarked with a hiss. “You barely made it out of that fire alive yourself, Willow Bradley. I would think you’d know better.”

My jaw slackened as she turned around with a judgmental shake of her head.

“He didn’t—” I started, but Thea put her hand on my leg.

“Don’t bother. They’ll think what they want to anyway.”

“I’m glad you asked, brother,” Camden said into the microphone. “I am the owner of the Rose Rowan building on Main Street. Cal bought the property from the mining company and left it to me in that same will.”

If my muscles tensed any more, they were going to snap in half.

“Are you serious?” Xander asked as Dad smirked.

“I am,” Cam insisted. “And though it is not in any condition to—”

“There’s three feet of snow sitting inside that building right now, because it doesn’t have a roof,” Xander continued.

“Correct, and according to section two, paragraph four of our bylaws, an owner wishing to exercise his vote has two seasons to renovate his property to be considered for the benefit of the Historical Society but may use his status as a voting member immediately.”

“What would he want with it, anyway?” Mrs. Rhodes snapped.

“Probably wants to burn the place to the ground,” another woman answered. “That boy’s never cared about this town.” I didn’t bother to see who said it, not when it would have taken an act of God to look away from Cam.

“You understand you’ll need a restoration expert,” Dad fired into his microphone. “A Historical Society–approved expert.”

My scalp tingled. Oh God. I wasn’t going to have to say it, was I? Surely—