Page 1 of Snowed-in With The Mountain Man
CHAPTER ONE
RIDGE
The buck pauses at the edge of the clearing, nostrils flaring. My clients freeze behind me, breath held as I slowly raise my hand in the signal to wait. The animal is majestic, twelve points at least, exactly what Marcus Sullivan flew all the way from Texas to hunt.
I remain motionless as the deer turns its head our direction, a perfect broadside shot presenting itself. Sullivan raises his rifle with trembling hands, the excitement getting to him. I can feel his nervousness radiating off him in waves.
"Easy," I whisper, barely a breath of sound. "Take your time. Breathe out and squeeze."
The shot cracks through the winter air, echoing across the mountain. The buck bolts, disappearing into the thick pine forest without stumbling.
"Fuck!" Sullivan curses, lowering his rifle. "I missed. I fucking missed!"
I keep my face neutral. "These things happen. Even to experienced hunters."
"I had him." Sullivan's face flushes red with frustration. "A perfect shot and I blew it."
His son Tyler, a teenager on his first real hunting expedition, looks disappointed but doesn't say anything. Smart kid.
"We can track his path," I offer, though I know the shot went wide. "Sometimes they run a distance before dropping."
My phone vibrates in my pocket. I ignore it. Out here, no calls are urgent enough to interrupt a client's hunt.
It buzzes again. And again. And again.
Whoever's calling isn't giving up.
"Excuse me a second," I tell Sullivan, stepping away to check. When I pull out my phone, my heart stops.
Stella.
No one else's name on my screen has ever had that effect. Even after eight years of her being gone, of me watching her life unfold through sporadic texts and phone calls, rare visits home where she was always too busy with her "real life" to spend time with me. Even after she met someone, got pregnant, got married.
Even then, seeing her name still feels like a fist around my heart.
I answer immediately. "Stella?"
A sob comes through the line, the sound shooting straight through me like a bullet.
"Ridge." Her voice is shaking, thick with tears. "I need help."
The entire world narrows to those three words. I need help.
"What's wrong?" I move farther from my clients, voice dropping low.
"I'm coming home." Another sob breaks through. "Me and Chellie. We need somewhere to stay. Just for a little while. Until I figure things out."
Chellie. Her daughter. The two-year-old I've only seen in photos, her existence a constant reminder that Stella found her happiness elsewhere.
"Of course," I respond without hesitation. "My place is yours. When?"
"Today," she says, and I realize I can hear road noise in the background. "We're already driving. Maybe four more hours. I'm so sorry to spring this on you, but I didn't know where else to go."
Today. Four hours. My brain races to calculate. "I'm on a guided hunt. Should be done by sunset. I'll meet you at the cabin."
She exhales shakily. "Thank you. I didn't know if..."
If I'd still be there for her. If I'd still drop everything when she called.
