Page 10 of Snowed-in With The Mountain Man
The way she says it makes it clear exactly what she's heard—and who she heard it from. "Nice to meet you," I manage, feeling oddly territorial.
"Ridge was supposed to join me for dinner two nights ago," she continues, a pointed glance between us. "But something came up."
Family emergency. Us. I resist the urge to step closer to Ridge, to stake a claim I have no right to make.
"Sorry about that," he says, voice neutral. "Been busy getting the cabin ready for the storm."
"Well, when things settle down..." she trails off meaningfully, then spots Chellie by the fish tanks. "Is that your daughter? She's adorable."
"Thank you." I smile tightly, disliking the way she's clearly calculating possibilities.
"Speaking of the storm," Ridge interrupts, checking his phone, "we need to get moving. Weather's turning faster than expected."
We make our purchases quickly, including a tiny blue betta fish that Chellie names "Sparkle" on the spot. Ridge carries her to the truck while I manage the fishbowl and supplies, snowflakes clinging to my eyelashes as I climb into the passenger seat.
"Quite the fan club you have," I comment as we pull away, unable to keep the edge from my voice.
Ridge's laugh holds no humor. "Kimmie? She's just persistent."
"And beautiful."
"Not interested." His hand finds my knee, a brief squeeze that feels like a brand through my jeans. "Never was."
The simple declaration shouldn't affect me so strongly, but warmth blooms in my chest nonetheless.
Main Street is eerily empty as we stop at the general store, most residents already hunkered down at home. We work efficiently, gathering extra batteries, candles, non-perishable food, and medical supplies. By the time we finish loading the truck, snow coats the windshield in the few minutes we were inside.
"Roads are getting bad," Ridge observes as we carefully navigate back toward the mountain. "Another hour and they'll be impassable."
I glance at the dark clouds hanging low over the valley. "Will we make it back in time?"
"We'll make it." His confidence steadies me. "I know these roads better than anyone."
The drive takes twice as long as normal, the truck occasionally fishtailing on slick patches despite Ridge's careful handling. Chellie falls asleep in her car seat, Sparkle's bowl secure in a cardboard box beside her.
When we finally reach the cabin, the snow is falling so heavily I can barely see the porch from the driveway. Ridge carries Chellie inside while I manage the fish and a few light bags. It takes three more trips to unload everything, snow accumulating on our shoulders and hair with each journey between truck and cabin.
"That's the last of it," Ridge announces, stamping snow from his boots. "Just in time."
I settle Sparkle's bowl on the kitchen counter while Ridge gets the fire roaring in the great room. Chellie wakes from her nap, immediately entranced by her new pet, pressing her nose against the glass.
"Gentle," I remind her. "Fish need quiet to be happy."
Ridge appears beside me, handing me a mug of hot chocolate. "Generator's full. Firewood's stacked. We're as ready as we can be."
Our fingers brush during the exchange, and this time neither of us pulls away immediately. Something in his eyes makes my breath catch—hunger barely leashed, a promise of things to come.
"I need to split more wood before the snow gets too deep," he says, voice lower than necessary. "To be safe."
I nod, not trusting my voice. Through the window, I watch him stride to the chopping block at the edge of the yard, already disappearing in the thickening snowfall.
He shrugs off his coat despite the cold, leaving him in a thermal henley that clings to his broad shoulders as he works. Each swing of the axe reveals the play of muscles beneath the fabric, the power in his arms and back. My body responds instantly, heat pooling low in my belly at the sight.
"He's strong," Chellie observes, now standing beside me at the window.
"Yes," I agree, throat suddenly dry. "Very strong."
"Is Widge our family now?"
