He had the terrible urge to reach out, thumb away the tear sliding down her nose.
“Anyway, Ollie never really remembered our parents. The Blairs are the only parents he knows. But I remember everyone. It’s my job to keep Ollie safe. He’s the only real family I have left. And I have to make my parents proud—all of them. They’ve given me so much. And I need to—”
“Save the world, apparently.”
Her mouth tightened, and he guessed he wasn’t too far off. So he softened his voice. “I’m so sorry, Ella. I didn’t know.”
“I should have told you. I wanted to . . . but I didn’t know how, and then . . . well, it doesn’t matter anymore.”
There was something so painfully honest about her sigh.
“You’re right, it doesn’t matter. Not now.”
But she shook her head. “I’ve been so fortunate. And I’m so grateful. And when my parents came to me with the McMahons’ lawsuit, I told them we’d help them. I didn’t think about what would happen. And then, suddenly, I was being given the case, and . . . well, my hurt and ambition took over. Until I saw you . . . and then, I just wanted to run. I felt caught between two worlds, and I chose . . .”
“You chose your family.” And now he couldn’t help it—he touched her face, caressed his thumb over her nose. Rested his hand on her cheek. “I get it.”
She touched her hand to his, and for a long moment, he stared at her, caught in her beautiful blue-gray eyes, watching the dawn turn her hair to fire and highlight the freckles on her nose.
Wow, she could take his breath away. His voice emerged low. “Okay, so we both have baggage. And made some mistakes. And are pretty good at blaming ourselves, apparently.”
She slid her hand from his. “But that’s the thing, you really shouldn’t blame yourself—”
A gust of wind raked the tent. She gasped and closed her eyes.
“Shh, we’re going to be okay.” He tugged on her stocking cap. “Close your eyes. We need our sleep if we want to get down this mountain alive, okay?”
He felt her nod.
Exhale.
And he finally said the words building up in his chest, freeing them in a soft whisper. “You said you know you don’t deserve my help—but that’s the thing. No one in trouble should be worried about whether they deserve help. They need help, and that’s the point. I’m glad you called me.”
He wanted to say more, but when she backed away and looked at him, tears in her eyes, maybe that was enough.
For now.
Brette opened her eyes and tried to get her bearings. Right, the PEAK ranch house.
The last time Brette had woken up in a public place, she’d been following the early presidential campaign of Michelle Bachman, a senator out of Minnesota, vying for a private meeting to pitch her biography.
But even at the Hilton, she’d woken up on the sofa, alone, and not cuddled up to the very safe presence of Ty Remington.
This was much better. She wouldn’t exactly call it cuddling, maybe, because he sat, his long legs propped on a pillow on a straight back chair, his head to the side while she curled in a ball on the rest of the sofa, her head on a pillow next to him. But he had let his other arm drop and settle on her shoulder, as if checking to see if she might be okay.
Maybe she’d been groaning in her sleep, because her stomach still ached.
But not so much that she’d turn down whatever was cooking in the kitchen. She pushed herself up with a moan.
“Are you okay?”
Ty had come alive beside her and was scrubbing a hand down his face. He leaned up.
“Yeah. I think so. How did the movie end?”
He looked up at her, and for a moment, it struck her how incredibly handsome he was. Wavy black hair, dark whiskers, beautiful green eyes. And a little smirk to his mouth that only added that sense of some personal humor, a kind of secret behind his eyes.
She might just be dreaming that part, but she liked it all the same.
“The cowboy saved the day, got the girl, and they lived happily ever after. Just the way it’s supposed to happen,” he said in an easy Montana twang.
She hadn’t realized how much she liked cowboys, really, until this moment.
A bang sounded in the kitchen as the microwave door slammed shut.
She glanced over, a little surprised to see Pete at the helm, holding a flat spatula, his back to them. The microwave hummed. And if she wasn’t mistaken, coffee gurgled in the pot.
“Hey, Pete,” Ty said.
Pete didn’t turn, and when Brette glanced at Ty, he was frowning.
Outside, dawn had barely begun to dent the night. She got up and headed to the window.
Light scraped across the freshly fallen snow, and the wind lifted it in soft layers and drifted it up against the house and fencing in white waves. But it seemed the worst of the storm had abated.