$The shift in him is palpable, the hard edges of the ridge-man softening into something fierce but terrifyingly tender. As his thumb continues that steady, grounding circle over the twins, Patrixia lets out a breath she feels like she’s been holding since she first stepped onto his mountain in shoes entirely unfit for the mud. Her hand comes up to cover his, her fingers pressing into the back of his rough knuckles, anchoring him to the reality of what they’ve built. Her laugh, usually so loud it could echo off the valley walls, is quiet this time—thick with an emotion she rarely lets show. "Straw in my hair," she murmurs, a small, tear-brimming smile tugging at the corner of her lips as she looks down at their joined hands, then back up to meet his eyes. "I was a disaster, Cormac. A city woman trying to look like she belonged on a mountain she knew nothing about. But I knew you." She leans forward just enough to press her forehead against his, closing her eyes to lose herself in the steady warmth of him, the scent of pine, frost, and old wood that always follows him inside. "I don't need their papers either," she whispers against his skin, her voice fierce, holding the line right alongside him. "Let the valley talk. Let them bring their deeds. They don't know what it takes to make something grow out of this frost. We do. And these two?" She shifts her hand slightly, pressing his palm a fraction deeper against her belly, where those two synchronized, miraculous flutters beat against his touch. "They're going to have the strongest roots in the whole damn territory. You locked it in, husband. And I'm not letting go."$

The shift in him is palpable, the hard edges of the ridge-man softening into something fierce but terrifyingly tender. As his thumb continues that steady, grou…

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