Page 39 of The Mountain Man's Fake Christmas Bride
His smile is soft, the one reserved just for me. "Seems fair."
The cabin door opens, bringing a blast of cold air and the sound of excited chatter.
"Hello?" Ridge's voice calls out. "Anyone home? We have a freezing three year old who was promised hot chocolate!"
"In the kitchen!" I call back.
Chellie barrels in first, a pint sized tornado in pink snow boots and a puffy coat, her dark pigtails flying. "Aunt Jen! Uncle Jared! Is the baby here yet?"
I laugh, bending awkwardly to hug her. "Not yet, munchkin. She's still growing in my tummy, remember? But she'll be here in about two months."
"Two months is forever." Chellie pouts, then brightens as Jared produces a mug of hot chocolate topped with mini marshmallows.
"Only if you're three," he tells her, earning a giggle.
Ridge and Stella follow more sedately, baby Noah bundled in a carrier against Stella's chest. At six months old, he's all chubby cheeks and curious eyes, taking in the Christmas lights with apparent fascination.
"Let me see my nephew." I make grabby hands toward the baby. Since becoming pregnant, my baby fever has extended to every infant in a ten mile radius. "I need practice."
Stella laughs, unwrapping Noah and passing him to me. "Practice all you want. Especially at three AM when he decides sleep is for the weak."
I settle Noah against my shoulder, inhaling that addictive baby smell. "Hello, handsome. Are you giving your parents a hard time? That's what babies do, you know. It's in the manual."
"Speaking of manuals." Ridge hands Jared a gift bag. "Early Christmas present. You're gonna need it."
Jared pulls out a book titled "Surviving Year One: A Dad's Guide to Not Completely Screwing Up." He snorts. "Thanks for the vote of confidence."
"Hey, I didn't write it. But I have highlighted the relevant parts. Particularly the chapter on diaper blowouts."
"Charming." Jared tucks the book under his arm. "Drinks? Wine for everyone except the pregnant lady and the designated driver?"
"God, yes." Stella collapses onto a bar stool. "Noah decided sleep is an optional activity this week."
As Jared plays bartender and Ridge entertains Chellie, I bounce Noah gently, swaying in the natural rhythm that seems to come instinctively. In just two months, I'll be doing this with our daughter. The thought sends equal parts terror and excitement through me.
"Scared?" Stella asks quietly, noting my expression as she walks over to me.
"Terrified," I admit. "What if I'm terrible at it? What if she hates me? What if I drop her or feed her something wrong or emotionally scar her for life?"
"All normal fears." She pats my arm. "And I can guarantee you'll make mistakes. We all do. But look at you with Noah. You're a natural."
"This is just the cuddly part. What about the rest? The crying and the not sleeping and the constant worry?"
"You'll figure it out." Her gaze drifts to Ridge, who's now spinning Chellie in circles while she shrieks with laughter. "We all do, eventually. Besides, you've got Mountain Man over there. He may look intimidating, but that guy was born to be a dad."
I follow her gaze to my husband, who's now pouring wine and listening intently to something Stella is saying about Noah's sleep schedule. The thought of Jared with our daughter makes my heart swell. He's already talking to my belly every night, telling her stories about the mountains and promising to teach her everything from tracking wildlife to identifying edible plants.
"Yeah," I agree softly. "He's going to be amazing."
By the time Mason arrives with Dr. Matthews, followed closely by Chloe and her new boyfriend (a perfectly nice wilderness guide who survives Jared's subtle interrogation with admirable composure), the cabin is filled with conversation andlaughter. Christmas music plays softly in the background. The fire crackles in the stone hearth. Snow falls gently outside the windows. It's perfect. Everything I never knew I wanted until Jared Calloway hired me to be his fake wife two Christmases ago.
After dinner, as everyone gathers in the living room for dessert, Jared pulls me aside.
"Come with me for a second?"
I follow him curiously to his workshop, now attached to the main house thanks to the renovation we completed last spring. The space still smells of sawdust and varnish, comforting scents I've come to associate with my husband's creative side.
"Close your eyes," he instructs.
