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Sage blinked. “What do you mean, good job? You don’t even know—” She stopped herself, cheeks warming. “You’re a mother. You always know.”
Mary Sue chuckled, warm and rich. “That’s right. Now come help me.”
Together they carried a large, heavy basket from the truck bed into the kitchen. It smelled incredible—fresh bread, roasted herbs, something sweet and cinnamon-laced. Sage tried to peek under the cloth cover but Mary Sue gently swatted her hand away.
“It’s a surprise, sweetheart. Cal asked me to bring it.”
Sage groaned dramatically. “What is the big deal? What does he want to show me up there?”
Cal’s voice floated in from the mudroom, light and teasing. “That’s for me to know, sweetheart, and for you to find out.” He came around the corner, freshly washed up, sleeves rolled on his thermal shirt, and dropped a kiss on Mary Sue’s cheek. “Hi, Mama.”
Mary Sue searched his face, eyes soft with love and worry. “You okay, baby?”
Cal nodded, glancing over at Sage with open affection. “Yeah, Mama. Princess here straightened me out.”
Sage grinned, arms crossed under her breasts. “Damn right I did.”
Mary Sue laughed and pulled Sage in for a quick, tight kiss on the cheek. “That’s my girl.”
Sage sighed happily. “Well, should I pack a bag or something? Do I need to bring anything?”
Cal shook his head, eyes sparkling. “Nope. I took care of everything. We’ll head up as soon as you’re ready.”
She was moving in an instant, snatching the picnic basket with a delighted little squeal. “Great! Let’s go. Bye, Mom—we’ll see you tomorrow!” She was already halfway out the kitchen, flannel shirt flapping around her bare thighs.
Cal laughed. Mary Sue waved a hand. “You better follow her, sweetheart. That girl is on a mission.”
Cal gave Mary Sue a quick hug. “Mama? Would you mind spending the night? We’ll be about an hour away, but I’ve got the satellite phone. Your room’s exactly how you left it.”
“Of course, baby. I’ve been meaning to catch up on some Netflix anyway.” She patted his cheek. “Now go. Sage is probably halfway up the hill already.”
Cal stepped outside, slung the last pack over his shoulder, and spotted Sage waiting impatiently at the bottom of the porch steps. She was shifting from foot to foot, practically vibrating with excitement, while Brutus lumbered up behind her, still licking salmon grease from his muzzle. He saw she had managed to put on her jeans and hiking boots as well as her jacket.
“Come on, Daddy!” she called, eyes bright. “What’s taking you so long? I want to see this thing!”
Cal’s deep laugh rolled across the yard as he fell into step beside her. The setting afternoon sun painted everything in warm amber and rose, catching in her hair and turning the snow into glittering diamonds. Brutus led the way up the trail, massive paws crunching through powder, while Sage kept glancing back at Cal with that eager, loving grin that made his whole chest feel too small.
Whatever happened tonight, he was ready.
The hike up the ridge took just under an hour, but every step felt lighter. The late-afternoon sun had slipped behind the western peaks, painting the sky in deep indigo and streaks of rose gold.
The air was crisp and biting, the kind of cold that made your lungs tingle and your cheeks sting, but the sky above was perfectly clear—no clouds, no wind, just endless velvet darkness beginning to sparkle with the first brave stars.
Snow crunched softly under their boots, and Brutus padded ahead like a proud escort, his massive shadow cutting through the powder.
When they crested the final rise and stepped into the clearing, Sage stopped dead.
A soft, stunned sound slipped from her throat.
How in the world did he do this?
Cal had transformed the ridge into something out of a dream.
A large, elegant base pavilion stood at the center—a sturdy wooden frame draped with heavy canvas on three sides for shelter from the cold, while the roof and one full wall were made of clear, transparent panels. Inside, a generous fire pit crackled with freshly lit logs, orange flames dancing and sending up the sweet scent of pine smoke. Thick Arctic flannel sleeping bags were layered over insulated pads, piled high with oversized pillows in deep reds and creams. A small fold-out table and two camp chairs waited nearby, already set with a soft lantern, plates and silverware.
All around the perimeter of the clearing, soft golden Chinese lanterns glowed—dozens of them, strung in gentle loops, their warm light powered by hidden solar batteries. They cast a magical halo over the snow, turning every flake into tiny sparks.
The view… God, the view. The entire valley stretched out beneath them like a living painting. Their home glowed warm and tiny far below, chimney smoke curling upward. And way off in the distance, the scattered lights of Blackthorn Ridge twinkled like fallen stars.
