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By Root 938 0

Ashley and Amanda, they completed the rest of the family she didn’t have. Settling the three of them into a home of their own was the least she could do, given all they’d been through. Married to an abusive husband who was about to be an abusive father, Stephanie had found Hope House for her and the girls. The secret shelter was for battered women and their families. Melanie’s mother had long been a financial supporter of Hope House. It was there that Melanie found Stephanie and her girls. Grace Landry, the founder and a therapist, had taken the family of three under her wing and given them their first real chance for a normal life. The little garage apartment Grace had secured for them was owned by Melanie’s parents. Melanie lived right down the road. And as they say, the rest is history.

Melanie adjusted the heater controls on the dash, then stretched her arm over the seat to reach for a large blanket, which she placed over Odie and Clovis. Both readjusted their positions, allowing the blanket to drape comfortably around them.

“Okay, we’re outta here,” Melanie informed her two passengers.

They both shot her a look that said, “Duh, we know that.”

She smiled from ear to ear as she engaged the four-wheel drive and skillfully maneuvered the steep, winding road leading to Stephanie’s. Careful not to slide off the side of the mountain, Melanie safely pulled into Stephanie’s freshly shoveled driveway ten minutes later.

Patrick. It was his new mission in life to take care of Stephanie’s every need, no matter how great or small. And the girls had him so tightly wrapped around their little fingers, their wish was his command even before they asked. Patrick of all men. A confirmed bachelor, he’d always intended to remain single. And then Stephanie Marshall entered the picture. Though they’d had a few rough patches, anyone who saw them together knew they were madly in love.

One evening after Stephanie invited them all over for dinner—making her specialty, threecheese manicotti and her famous homemade garlic-knot rolls—Melanie, Grace, and Grace’s husband, Max Jorgenson, along with their new baby daughter, Ella, listened intently as Patrick told them about Shannon, his niece, who’d died of an extremely rare blood disorder called thrombocytopenia on the day she was supposed to graduate from high school. Suddenly, Melanie understood his fear of getting close to Stephanie and the girls too soon. He was afraid of being hurt all over again. But Patrick, being a truly decent guy, had taken another look at Stephanie and her girls. And just as his best bud, Max Jorgenson, famous Olympic gold medalist skier, had proposed to Grace, Patrick asked Stephanie to marry him. On New Year’s Day, they were planning to take their vows at the top of the slopes, and, together, as husband and wife, they’d ski down Gracie’s Way, and at the bottom of the run all would celebrate the muchanticipated union of the couple.

Melanie hopped out of the Jeep, stomping her tan-colored Uggs on the cleared pavement. “You two sit tight. I’ll be right back,” she called out to her menagerie. She hurried up the short steps to the front porch, where she grabbed the door knob, only to have it slip from her grasp before she even had a chance to twist it.

“Auntie M, Auntie M, are you really taking us skiing today? Are we still gonna go back to your house and learn how to . . .”

“Shhh, Amanda. We’re not supposed to tell, remember?” Ashley chastised her little sister.

Stephanie chose that moment to join them at the front door. “Seems like I almost overheard a secret.”

Amanda and Ashley looked away, not meeting their mother’s stern look. Melanie broke in before the girls revealed their afternoon plans. “I’m teaching the girls a new skill. We’re just not telling what it is,” Melanie said.

“Good. I don’t know what I’d do if you were to . . . to . . . do something like you did last year.”

They all broke out in laughter, even the girls. Melanie tossed her long blond braid over her shoulder. “I don’t think I’ll be able to top that gift, at least not for a while. At the rate