Page 3 of Snowed-in With The Mountain Man
"Big," she murmurs, eyes fluttering open for just a moment before closing again.
A tectonic movement of emotion happens in my chest that I'm not prepared for. This child doesn't know me from Adam, but she settles against me like she belongs there.
I carry her inside, where Stella has already brought in a small suitcase and her purse. She watches us with an unreadable expression.
"Guest room's ready," I say quietly. "Second door on the left."
She nods, leading the way. The room is simple—queen bed, nightstand, dresser—but I turned down the covers earlier, and the reading lamp casts a warm glow over the space.
I lay Chellie on the bed as if she's made of glass. Stella immediately starts removing the girl's shoes and jacket, her movements practiced and efficient.
"I put some towels in the bathroom for you," I say, backing toward the door. "And there's food in the fridge. Not much, but enough for tonight."
Stella looks up at me, her brown eyes swimming with tears again. "Ridge, I don't know how to thank you."
"You don't have to." I shove my hands in my pockets to keep from reaching for her. "Get some rest. We can talk in the morning."
She nods, clearly exhausted. "Tomorrow," she agrees.
I close the door quietly behind me, then stand in the hallway for a long moment, trying to process what just happened.
Stella Brooks is sleeping in my guest bedroom. With her daughter. The woman I've been in love with since we were seventeen years old is under my roof, looking broken in ways I don't understand yet.
Tomorrow. We'll talk tomorrow. I'll find out what happened, who hurt her, what she needs.
And then I'll move heaven and earth to give it to her.
Because that's what I've always done. That's who I've always been.
The man waiting in the wings. The one who picks up the pieces of her life and hands them back to her before she walks away again.
Only this time, as I head to my own bedroom, I can't shake the feeling that everything is about to change.
CHAPTER TWO
STELLA
Morning light filters through unfamiliar curtains, rousing me from fitful sleep. For a disorienting moment, I can't remember where I am. Then it all crashes back.
Ridge's cabin. Ridge's guest room. Ridge.
I turn to find Chellie still sleeping beside me, her dark curls splayed across the pillow, thumb tucked securely in her mouth. Safe. We're safe.
The thought brings unexpected tears to my eyes. After months of looking over my shoulder, of jumping at every phone call and text message, of living with the constant fear that Rick would show up drunk at our apartment door again, we're finally somewhere he can't reach us.
I slide carefully from the bed, tucking the blankets around Chellie's tiny form. The wooden floor is cool beneath my bare feet as I creep to the bathroom. The face in the mirror looks like a stranger. Dark circles under bloodshot eyes. Skin pale from too many sleepless nights. Hair limp and unwashed.
This isn't who I used to be. This broken, frightened woman isn't Stella Brooks.
But she's who I am now. At least for a little while.
I splash cold water on my face, brush my teeth, and pull my hair into a fresh ponytail. Not much improvement, but it'll have to do. The smell of coffee drifts under the door, and my stomach growls in response.
Ridge is awake.
My heart thumps painfully against my ribs at the thought of facing him in the light of day. What must he think of me? Showing up on his doorstep after years of sporadic contact, with a toddler in tow and desperation in my eyes.
But I know the answer. He thinks nothing bad of me. He never has. That's why I called him yesterday when I finally worked up the courage to leave everything behind. Because Ridge Reeves has always been my safe place, my constant, my person.
