The Mountain Man's Babies Books 1-5

by Frankie Love

  I mean, I know that is an option, and I’m not ashamed exactly -- that night was bliss... it’s just I don’t even know his full name.

  “We didn’t use protection. I’m on the pill. I thought it would be fine.”

  “That was stupid, Stella. You could have gotten an STD. He’s a stranger!”

  “I know.” Heat rises to my cheeks. I acted so irresponsibly. But try telling that to stick-up-her-ass Anna.

  It’s not like she’s going to understand that my night with Wilder was magic. That I needed to be filled by him, entirely. It wasn’t even a question, it was a given. I needed to feel him inside of me.

  “So what are you going to do now? Have you called him?” Anna dips a biscotti in her latte.

  I drop my head in my hands, moaning, “I don’t even have his number.”

  “Shit.” Anna grimaced. “I mean s-h-i-t.”

  Nicolette looks up at her mom. “Naughty mommy.”

  My eyes reach hers. “No sweetie, naughty Auntie.”

  Chapter Seven

  Wilder

  I don’t remember what sleep is. What showering is. What having a life is.

  Sex? Damn... I haven’t even had time to jack-off to the memory of Stella more than once.

  Briar is crawling around at my feet; Finn is throwing blocks at his stuffed animals. And I’m drinking lukewarm coffee, hanging on by a thread.

  A knock on the door jars me from my daydream.

  I know what day it is.

  And I know what I’d like to be doing. Who I’d like to be doing.

  But I also know my priorities.

  The twins.

  “Open up,” Harper calls.

  Frowning I walk to the front door of the cabin. The cabin that is overflowing with baby apparatus.

  Baby gates and baskets of toys that blink and bop and bug the shit out of me. Can’t say they’re going anywhere, though, the twins love anything that is loud and bright. The more obnoxious the better.

  “What are you two doing here?” I ask, Rosie and Harper.

  They walk past me, into the house. “We are here to give you a day off,” Rosie says, helping herself to a cup of coffee.

  “You might want to make a fresh pot.”

  She nods and gets to work.

  “Not just a day,” Harper says. “A day and night.”

  I run my hand over my beard. “What’s this about?”

  “It’s about you telling us that you had plans for May tenth a month ago,” Rosie says, adding coffee grounds to the filter like she owns the place. Truth is, she and Harper have been my saving grace these past months.

  Being a mom is no easy feat, and these two don’t necessarily make it look easy, but they make it bearable. They stop by with casseroles and DVD’s or tell me to load up the jogging stroller and meet them for a walk at the lake.

  Jaxon and Buck never give me hard time about it either, playing house with their wives. They weren’t lying or just talking shit the day of the funeral, we’ve all been in this together since day one.

  I wanted a nanny, but apparently finding one who wants to move to the middle of fucking nowhere with a single man is a mighty hard task. No one has been up for the gig.

  “No way, I can’t go to Spokane tonight. She might not even show.” I shake my head, I haven’t left the twins for a night since they came home. Briar and Finn are my entire world now, and being here is how I can show them they are my priority.

  “That’s ridiculous, if the connection you felt was real, she’ll be there, it’s too romantic for her not to come,” Harper says, grabbing half and half from the fridge. “Besides, it’s all set. Jaxon and Buck have our kids, and I’m taking yours. Rosie is going to stay here and clean house -- because honestly, this place is a man slash baby cave, and when you come home tomorrow you will feel like a new person.”

  I sit on a stool at the kitchen island, trying to think this through. Of course, I want to see Stella, but then I look over and see Briar fussing, reaching out her arms, and I know she needs me more.

  Rosie sees where my eyes land, and she walks right over and grabs Briar, resting her on her hip. “Listen, we aren’t asking. We are telling. You need a break.”

  Harper hands me a mug of coffee, and I take a sip knowing if I were going to trust anyone with the babies, it would be these two women and their men. Still, I have my reservations.

  “I just get scared that something might happen to me,” I admit. “Then what would happen to them?”

  Rosie’s eyes soften as she sets Briar in her jump-a-roo. “When I was pregnant with the twins, I was so scared, had so many what ifs, but Wilder, sometimes you have to take a chance. I did, I left my uncle’s and it saved my life.”

  Harper nods and we all know her story is just as messed up as Rosie’s – she had to run away from an abusive family. “I remember when you talked about what you did in Seattle, after the meeting with the show, you got so happy remembering Stella. You haven’t smiled like that since.”

  I shrug. “How could I? There’s nothing to smile about, my brother and his wife died.”

  Harper sighs. “I know, but you didn’t, Wilder. You still have a life to live.”

  “Go see her,” Rosie prods, and I know I need to do what these two say.

  I’ve been around them with Jax and Buck long enough to know who is the boss in their houses. It may seem like the big alphas are in control, but these women have those boys whipped.

  Damn, I wouldn’t mind Stella whipping me into shape, either.

  Then I’d pin her against the wall.

  “Alright, I’ll do it.” I press my hand against the counter, going all in.

  “Good. But first,” Harper says, furrowing her brows. “You seriously need to shower.”

  Chapter Eight

  Stella

  This is insanity. Straight up crazy making.

  Straight up baby making.

  I still can’t believe I am pregnant. But I’m twelve weeks along and have my first ultrasound scheduled in two days.

  It’s the busiest week of my life.

  The day after the ultrasound I go on my first assignment for the show -- and will be crisscrossing the country working for six weeks straight.

  But before that, I’m staying at the Davenport.

  The plane lands in Spokane and I turn my phone on while I wait to disembark.

  Me: Landed. Safe. Wish me luck.

  Anna: You need to be firm. Honest. Don’t get sidetracked.

  Anna and I had talked ad nauseam about this rendezvous. I have no clear indication that Wilder will even show, but I hope he does. If not I might have to hire a PI to track him down. It will be so much better if I can see him, talk face-to-face, and explain my plan.

  Me: I hope he shows.

  Anna: He will. Keep me posted.

  I get off the plane and head to the Davenport hotel where the design conference is. The last thing I want to do right now is sit in a stuffy room listening to speakers, but my mom paid for me to attend, and I am wanting to up my game any possible way I can before the show starts next week. Besides, if I sit in the hotel room for hours alone, I’ll only obsess about the future.

  About Wilder.

  I drop off my suitcase, make sure my hair and makeup look alright... and deem that I look fine-ish.

  The dark circles from a restless sleep and a gaunt face because I can’t manage to keep a single thing down isn’t exactly bringing sexy back, but there’s nothing I can right now about that.

  He’ll either take it or leave it.

  After hours of listening to interior design experts talk about this year’s new colors, the best way to feng-shui, and the top five ways to keep clients happy -- my brain is more than full of practical information.

  Now I need something totally impractical.

  Something like Wilder.

  So, when the last speaker presents, I look at the clock and see it’s five pm. Happy hour is in full swing, and time to make my appearance.
/>   I walk slowly to the bar because the truth is I’m scared. Scared he won’t be here, and scared that he might be, but that he might be high-tailing it out of here the first chance he gets.

  Not everyone wants a baby from a one night stand.

  Not everyone wants a baby at all.

  But I do. I mean, I never expected to have a baby now, like this, but it happened. Sure, I’m overwhelmed with the details of what my life will look like six months from now, but I can take it one day at a time.

  Still, that doesn’t mean Wilder wants to be a father, wants a baby he never asked for.

  Looking around the bar, I don’t see him, so I slide into a stool at the bar and order a club soda with lime. Taking a sip, my eyes scan the space.

  Hoping.

  Praying.

  Needing him to show.

  “Stella?” A warm hand is on my back. Wilder’s voice, that slow steady tone covers me. Relaxes me. Instantly I’m transported to the last time he relaxed me, my thighs spread, his body pressed inside of me.

  “You came,” I say, breathless. Not realizing how terrified I was of him not showing.

  But he did show. He came. He came back for me.

  “Sure did, baby,” he says, sitting beside me, ordering a whiskey neat. He looks tired, his eyes weary, his hair too long, and he isn’t dressed in a business suit.

  He’s in a flannel shirt, sleeves rolled up, looks like just took off a trucker cap, and he’s in blue jeans.

  He looks different. I mean, hotter than he did last time, but different. Older. Or maybe not actually older, just more experienced.

  Finally, I remember to speak, my eyes adjusting to this different version of Wilder. “It’s been a long time.”

  “A lot has changed.” Wilder’s eyes dart away, and for a moment my stomach drops. Maybe he’s with another woman. I swallow, suddenly regretting all of this.

  Then he meets my gaze again, presses his hand to my face and turns my cheek his direction. “Not that sort of change, baby,” he says as if reading my mind.

  “So you’re single?” I ask, needing him to clarify.

  “Very.”

  “Me too.”

  He smiles. Grins, really, like he is just completely relieved. He raises his glass, and I clink mine to his. We take a sip and I try to get the courage to say I am pregnant with his child.

  But before I can, his hand is already on my thigh. “You wanna get out of here?” he asks.

  I nod, not trusting myself to speak. And maybe tonight we don’t have to speak. Maybe tonight I can just give in to what my body has been begging for since I saw him last.

  “Then let’s go to your room,” he says. “We have a lot of lost time to make up for.”

  Chapter Nine

  Wilder

  She’s better than I remembered.

  First of all, she’s here. That had been my number one concern the entire drive up. Would she even show?

  But she did.

  And damn, it’s crazy, but I feel like I’ve known her for a hell of a lot longer than one post-happy-hour hook-up. I feel like I’m connected to her in a deeper, forever sort of way.

  Not that I’m going to lead with that and scare her off like I did last time... but I’m certainly not going to beat around the bush. I want to spend more time with her, even though I have no idea what that looks like.

  In the elevator, she turns and faces me. “I can’t believe you came. It was a long shot.”

  “Was it though?” I ask, wrapping my arms around her waist. My cock twitches as I pull her to me. Damn, all I’ve held in my arms since I saw her last is the twins.

  Holding her feels like family, too.

  “I don’t know,” she says. “We’re strangers. I mean, aren’t we?”

  “Depends on who’s asking. Far as I’m concerned I saw you on your back, your tits in my mouth, your pussy in the palm of my hand. Doesn’t seem like we’re strangers, when you think of it like that, does it?”

  She blushes, and presses her hand against my chest. “That’s true. Still, there are some details I’d like filled in. For example, what’s your full name?”

  “Fair enough,” I say, following her out of the elevator. She swipes a room key against a lock and pushes the door. “My name is Dean Wilder. And you?”

  “Dean?” Her eyes go wide as she slips off her heels. “Hmmm. Like, James Dean? I can see that. Sexy, confident, smooth talker.”

  “So you’re saying I’m sexy?” I strike the slickest pose I’ve got, all profile, stroking my beard. She laughs.

  “Yes. You are sexy Dean Wilder.”

  “And you, Stella, who are you?”

  She swallows. “I’m Stella Saint Claire.”

  Now it’s my turn for my eyes to widen. “Saint Claire like the shipping company?”

  “That’s the one.” She licks her lips, clearly uncomfortable.

  “Damn, girl.”

  “It’s my family. Not me. I mean, I don’t want you to judge me. I know the name conjures up tons of money. But I support myself. I don’t do handouts, just so you know.”

  I step toward her, my hands on either side of her arms, steadying her. “Shh, baby, I’m not judging you.”

  She looks up at me, her eyes dark, and I realize she looks worn out. What have her last few months have been like? I sure as hell am guessing she’d never imagine what mine have been.

  “It’s okay if you do. I never lead with my full name, my sister seems to love that detail about our life, but me, it never seemed to fit who I am.”

  “And who are you really, Stella?” I ask, cupping her face with one hand, wanting so badly to kiss her, make love to her, enjoy this night for what it is. An absolute gift.

  She sighs, her cheek resting against my palm, and I feel like I could hold her like this forever, looking in her eyes and trying to unravel her. Learn everything about her. She has spun me up in ways no one ever has before.

  How did I ever consider not showing up here today?

  “I’m a little over my head, to be honest,” she admits.

  “With me, or with everything?”

  She laughs softly and answers indirectly. “Everything. I start a new job in a few days, but the isn’t all of it.”

  “No?”

  “No.”

  “What’s all of it?” I ask, kissing the lobe of her ear, inhaling her soft rose scented shampoo, pushing back the hair from her neck and kissing her there too. Wanting to kiss her everywhere.

  “I’m pregnant, Dean Wilder. With your baby.”

  The words take my breath away.

  She’s pregnant?

  I swallow my shock. “A baby?” I ask, trying to understand. I know one plus one equals three but I already have two at home.

  Tears are in her eyes, crashing down her cheeks. A flurry of fear spilling over her face. “I know. We didn’t use a condom and my pill, I don’t what happened but it didn’t work and you are the only person I’ve been with in over a year or more. And.”

  She stops talking then, squeezing her eyes shut, shaking her head, and instead of asking another thing, I pick her up and carry her to the bed. Setting her down I wrap my arms around her as she cries against my chest.

  “Sorry I’m crying,” she hiccups, before another onslaught of tears escapes, my shirt soaked in her emotions.

  “Baby, shhh, it’s okay, you can cry, it’s okay.” I smooth her hair, trying to find the words that will help her right now. But if she’s overwhelmed and scared, telling her about the twins right now won’t help anything.

  “I’m three months along,” she whispers, wiping her eyes, but her face still against my chest. I run my hand over her back, resting it on her thigh, pulling her closer still. “And I’m keeping it. I want the baby. I just… I don’t know you. And it wasn’t the plan.”

  “What was the plan?” Maybe if I know her big picture I can try and see how our lives might fit together. I mean, damn, I already know I want her. Need her. She is the mother of my child,
dammit, she is mine. But she doesn’t seem to know that yet.

  “I didn’t have a grand plan. I’m an interior designer, which is good, I can do that anywhere. And I travel a lot for work. And I have a new job.”

  “Well, you can have a job and be a mother,” I tell her. But even as I say it I know having a job, while I have a job that keeps me planted firmly on the mountain, not to mention Briar and Finn -- it’s a lot to squeeze in.

  “I have to work, take care of the baby.”

  “Well, Stella, I work, you know. I’ll take care of you.”

  She looks up at me. “Just like, quit my job? Wilder... I really care about my career.”

  “I understand that. So do I.”

  “What do you do?” she asks, sitting up, tucking her legs under her.

  I sit up in the bed too, remembering she is a woman, and women need to make plans. Hash it all out. I can do that. Sure, I wanted to get straight to the fucking, but damn, she dropped a hell of a lot of news in my lap.

  “I build houses.”

  She nods. “That’s good, right. Stable?”

  I grin, slowly. “It’s stable. You worried about the baby being taken care of?”

  “Of course. My sister says I’m an idiot. That I should have married some douche canoe of an investment banker and not ruined my life by hooking up with a stranger. But I never wanted the investment banker.”

  “What do you want?”

  “Well, the night we were together, I wanted you.”

  I clench my jaw, knowing there is always a but.

  “You live in Idaho, would you be willing to move? I mean.” She shakes her head. “This is crazy talk. I mean, Wilder, maybe you don’t even want this baby.”

  My eyes narrow, and I pull her to me, instinctively. Desperately. I pull her to my lap and let her sit there, not letting her go. She doesn’t want to, though. She wants me to tell her what to do. She wants help.

  I can help her.

  Damn, I can be a hell of a lot more for her, too.