Page 24 of Snowed-in With The Mountain Man
"That's right." Stella zips Chellie's pink coat, tugging the hood up. "And you stay with me or Ridge the whole time, okay?"
Chellie nods solemnly. "Okay, Mama."
The drive into town is quiet, each of us lost in our own thoughts. Main Street is bustling with activity as residents emerge from their storm-imposed isolation. The snow is piled high along the sidewalks, but the roads are relatively clear, slush rather than ice.
I park in front of Darlene's Diner, cutting the engine. "We're early."
Stella checks her watch, nodding. "Good. I want to get settled before he arrives."
Inside, the diner is warm and noisy, half the town apparently having the same idea about lunch. Darlene herself, a sixty-something woman with bottle-red hair and a no-nonsense attitude, greets us at the door.
"Well look who survived the storm!" Her gaze travels from me to Stella to Chellie, a knowing smile spreading across her face. "Got a booth in the back for you. More private."
As she leads us through the crowded diner, I notice several familiar faces turning to watch our progress. Whispers follow in our wake, no doubt the town gossip mill already churning with speculation about Stella's return and her daughter.
Darlene seats us in a corner booth, dropping menus on the table. "Coffee?"
"Please," Stella and I answer simultaneously.
"Milk for the little one?" Darlene winks at Chellie, who nods enthusiastically.
When she bustles away, Stella leans closer. "Everyone's staring."
"Town’s gossip mill doesn’t shut down in a storm," I remind her. "You've been gone eight years and return with a kid during the blizzard of the decade. You're headline news."
She sighs, glancing at her watch again. "Forty minutes."
"I'll move to that table by the window once he's due." I reach across, covering her hand with mine. "You've got this."
Her eyes meet mine, vulnerability shining through. "What if he makes a scene? What if he tries to take her?"
"Then he'll have to go through me, half the sheriff's department having lunch by the counter, and Darlene wielding her cast iron skillet." I squeeze her hand. "He won't get near her."
Some of the tension eases from her shoulders. "Thank you. For being here. Even after last night."
"Where else would I be?" The question isn't rhetorical. For eight years, I've been exactly where she could find me when she needed me. That isn't changing now.
We order lunch, trying to maintain a sense of normalcy for Chellie's sake. She chatters happily about the melting snow, about Sparkle the fish, about the "snow angel army" she wants to build when we get back home. Home. The word slips so naturally from her lips.
At twelve-forty, I move to the window table as planned, positioning myself where I can see both the entrance and Stella's booth. She straightens her shoulders, pulling Chellie closer to her side of the booth.
At precisely one o'clock, the diner door swings open.
Rick Carlisle is nothing like I imagined. I'd pictured someone physically intimidating, but the man who enters is of average height and build, wearing a button-down shirt under a designer jacket. His dark hair is carefully styled, face clean-shaven. He looks like he stepped out of a catalog for overpriced weekend wear.
His gaze sweeps the diner, landing on Stella almost immediately. A smile spreads across his face that doesn't reach his eyes. As he approaches their booth, every muscle in my body tenses, ready to intervene at the slightest signal from Stella.
"Stella." His voice carries across the now-quieter diner. "And little Emma. It's been too long."
I catch the mistake immediately. Chellie, not Emma. He doesn't even know his daughter's name.
Stella's spine straightens. "Her name is Michelle. We call her Chellie."
He waves this off, sliding into the booth across from them. "Semantics. She's still my daughter."
"A daughter you abandoned before she was born." Stella's voice remains even, controlled.
"Water under the bridge." He reaches across the table for Chellie, who shrinks back against Stella. "Come to Daddy, sweetheart."
