The Mountain Man's Babies Books 1-5

by Frankie Love

  I’m a freaking freight train with broken brakes, headed to the station at top speed.

  Hawk makes the calls and the whole time I’m screaming at the top of my lungs.

  Minutes pass, next thing I know Hawk has me by the shoulders, looking right in my eyes. “Angel, calm down, steady now, you got this, baby.”

  Sweat rolls down my face, how was it just a few minutes ago, I was looking out at our property getting a breath of fresh air, and now I’m on my back in my living room with contractions rolling through me one right after the other?

  I focus on Hawk’s eyes.

  He tells me the boys are fine, that Josie is here. I nod, closing my eyes tightly as I brace myself for the pain.

  The next time I open my eyes, he tells me that Harper, Rosie, and Stella are here as well.

  Rosie brings me a washcloth and wipes my forehead, Harper and Stella have a sheet tucked underneath my rear, holding onto me as they help me breathe, in and out, in and out.

  “You can do this now, you got this,” Rosie says gently, and I believe her. I believe anything Rosie says right now, she had her twins at home, unexpectedly, too. If she can do this, I can do this too.

  I push. I push again.

  I’m not scared. I’m ready to find out if I have a baby boy or baby girl... Hawk and I decided to keep it a surprise.

  “You got this, Angel,” he tells me.

  And I nod, believing him. I close my eyes and push.

  I’m ready to meet our babies.

  —

  An hour later I’m in our bed, Hawk beside me, each of us holding one of our babies. The paramedics arrived after I gave birth, and it didn’t take long for them to realize we had things under control.

  Between all of us, we had delivered more children at home than those paramedics certainly had.

  The babies were two weeks early, but they are healthy, happy. Beautiful.

  Girls.

  Two perfect daughters who I already know are going to be Daddy’s Girls, through and through. Hawk looks like he has died and gone to heaven, his eyes glisten with tears, he wears a grin—he has everything he never knew he wanted.

  “They’re perfect,” I say, my eyes glistening with tears. “Are we still going to give them names that mean love?” I ask.

  My heart surges with pride as I look at my rugged mountain man. The man who gave me a home and a family and a forever.

  He nods. “I think this one should be Ettie, and she should be Imogen.”

  I nod. “That’s perfect. They were born out of love, after all.”

  Hawk brings my face toward his and cups my cheek with his palm. I breathe him in, accepting his strength and sinking into his courage. I’m so proud of my husband, how he’s transformed from a man into both a husband and a father. How he never faltered in his commitment to us.

  “I love you,” I tell him, feeling weepy again. Thinking I might always be this way. I’m the luckiest woman in the world.

  He kisses me and I know it’s both a promise and a prayer.

  “May we always be this happy,” he whispers. “May we always see our children as a gift, our life as a blessing.”

  I lift my daughter to my breast, brimming with pride, nestled in a cocoon of commitment.

  Knowing I found my happily-ever-after in the least expected way.

  And knowing my mountain man will never leave my side.

  Chapter One

  Cherish

  When we were four, I made him a mud pie and he told me I was as sweet as his mama's lemonade.

  When we were seven, we sang in the choir together and he held my song book and I told him his voice was as clear and beautiful as a sunny day.

  When we were ten, we pinky swore we'd be best friends forever and when he held my hand I vowed to never let it go.

  When we were twelve, the Pastor told us we could no longer whisper in the back pew. That we could no longer practice duets for service unless an adult was with us. That we could no longer roam the woods alone, guitars in hand, and sit in our spot by the edge of the creek, singing until the sun set.

  His hair was light, and mine was dark. His eyes shone, and mine were heavy. They always were, even when I was a little girl. But where I was hard, he was soft, and where I wavered, he always believed. When my mother died, he wiped away my tears and told me to hold on to hope.

  That all was not lost.

  He kissed me when we were fourteen even though they told us it was sinful—for my lips were supposed to be saved for my husband alone—but he didn't care. Not about rules, at least.

  He said he only cared about me.

  I believed him.

  His kiss was the sort of kiss I could write songs about. And I did. We were poor, our families always on the verge of losing it all. Not that we had much to lose. Electricity and hot water were never guarantees.

  But there was one thing that could never be taken from me, even if there was no extra money.

  No one could take the journal I hid under my pillow each night.

  And I wrote pages and pages of lyrics on his lips alone. One single kiss, under the shade of an old oak tree, the branches swaying in the September breeze, but my heart was sure and I wrote the song of my heart, binding it to my chest.

  But when my father found the blasphemous words, he handed them to the Pastor, who burned them in front of all the other youths’ eyes. We were the example, the dirty ones.

  He told us to repent.

  I cried.

  He held my hand.

  Everyone we grew up with in the church bore witness to this public humiliation.

  He said he wasn't ashamed.

  He said he loved me.

  I told him I didn't love him back.

  It was weak, I know––but I feared the wrath of my father. Of the pastor. Scared of them breaking me in ways that might never mend.

  I can look back now and see that it was the final nail in the coffin, but back then we were still the Lord's Will Assembly, not the cult we became a few years later. He wasn't sent away—not then. Not yet. Instead, he was called a sinner like his older sister Harper. They made him make his wrongs right by constructing the church buildings. He would hammer nails into the wood until sweat dropped down his neck; until his hands bled.

  It still wasn't enough.

  The elders saw him as a marked man, though he was still a child.

  I would see him working every time I entered the church... his eyes would find mine. And even though I was just a girl, I was no fool. I was a woman in enough ways. My body was alive, it had woken when he kissed me.

  It would not go to sleep.

  He loved me and I loved him and that should have been more than enough.

  But it wasn't.

  Because I was living in a world that was so small, so constricting, that I didn't know how to think on my own—how to stretch my wings, let alone soar.

  Soon I was eighteen, and so was he. And he wanted me to run away with him, but I was scared.

  "Let's go," he whispered, pleading with me. "Take my hand, and let me take you somewhere—"

  I shook my head. I may have loved him, but we had no money, no car, and no education. My father told me daily where I would end up if I turned my back on God.

  I may have been a woman... but I was a weak one.

  He had been my lifeline when we were small—problem was, I'd never learned to swim. And suddenly I was drowning, I didn't think I could make it to shore.

  If I'd been stronger, my story would have ended up differently.

  His would have too.

  But I wasn't. And when he asked me to go, I was too scared to follow. So, he stayed too. Refusing to leave without me, even if it meant he was at the mercy of elders who thought of him as a sinner, and of themselves as saints.

  For three years he watched and waited, making sure I was okay. Three years of never turning his back on me. In stolen conversations, he would tell me that I was his and he was mine and that he'd never leave. He
was patient and he was relentless. The church changed my name from Abigail to Cherish, and I was more lost than ever about who I really was.

  He got stronger each day with the back breaking work they asked him to do, his muscles stretching the seams of his ironed church clothes. His chiseled jaw and tanned skin became more dominating with each task they gave him.

  As he grew strong, I grew fragile. Though I'd never admit that to him. I wanted him to believe I was as beautiful as I'd ever been. But I wasn't. So, I rarely left the house; I spent my days cooking and cleaning and helping homeschool my younger siblings, since our mother died years ago, and I needed to be here for them. My hair got long and my bones grew weary. I didn't want him to see me then... see what had become of me.

  I was ashamed. I didn't deserve his heart anymore. He deserved a woman who was brave enough to leave when he had asked.

  I was older now. Old enough to be married.

  And my father promised me to a man.

  A man older than my father. A man who already had three wives.

  A man who would pay my father ten thousand dollars to take me off his hands.

  The family needed the money. I looked at the faces of my four younger siblings, hungry and longing for more than they had.

  I had let him down, but I wouldn't fail my family too.

  I agreed.

  Tomorrow I would be bound to a husband who paid for me, my sole job to give him children.

  The man I loved could let the dream of me go.

  I wasn't enough for him anymore.

  And deep down I wondered if I ever had been.

  No, that isn't true. I didn't wonder.

  I knew.

  He deserved the world, and by marrying a stranger, I could give him a future bigger than the one he had here.

  Chapter Two

  James

  The sun beats down on my back, feeling like this godforsaken garage will never get done. I look over at Jonah wiping the sweat off his brow.

  "I'm exhausted," he says. "Ready for lunch?"

  I nod, and the two of us climb down the ladder.

  "I'm ready to call it a day," I tell him. "It's hot as sin out here." It's barely noon and already it's ninety-five degrees. Idaho summers are no joke.

  "What's going on over there?" Jonah asks, pointing to a group of women gathered around the entrance to the church.

  I frown, not having heard about an event at the church today. Not that I care for the bullshit religion practiced at the compound—but still, I usually know what is happening and where seeing as I do most of the grunt work to set up different events.

  I head to the communal kitchen in the back of the church and see my cousin Honor there, a baby on her hip, her free hand mixing coleslaw.

  "Hungry, James?" she asks. Her eyes are lowered, and I wish she'd meet mine, but she’s become withdrawn over the last few years, ever since she was forced to marry Luke, the head pastor of this congregation—which is a fancy way of saying brainwashed followers.

  Though I sure as hell would never use a word like that.

  "What's going on out front?" I ask, grabbing a ham sandwich from a platter on the counter. Jonah follows suit, and Honor pours us glasses of ice cold water.

  "There's a wedding tomorrow. The sister-wives are getting the place ready."

  I frown. "Whose wedding?"

  Honor twists her lips, her voice small, nearly a whisper. "It's Cherish."

  The white bread is caught in my throat, and I cough, trying to dislodge her words. How did I not know this was happening? The only reason I’ve stayed here for so long is to make sure Cherish is safe. All I can think at this moment is that I’ve failed her again.

  Jonah whistles low beside me.

  "I'm sorry, James," Honor says.

  "I've gotta go find her."

  "They won't let you get near her," Jonah says. "Not today."

  But my heart is already racing. I've asked her, too many times to count, to come with me. To leave this life behind. But she’s always refused.

  Now there is no more time. Now she’s getting fucking married.

  I can't let this happen.

  I refuse.

  "I have to go try. I have to convince her—"

  Honor nods. "You should go to her, James. Maybe she'll feel differently now that the reality is setting in." Honor looks up at me, tears in her pale blue eyes. "I know I would have left if given an out the night before my wedding."

  I run a hand through my hair, jaw clenched, wondering how I can get through her father's front door without him pulling out his shotgun. That bastard hates me something fierce.

  All because of a kiss.

  A perfect, holy kiss.

  A kiss I'll never forget. A kiss I received when I was just a boy; a kiss that made me a man.

  I grab another sandwich, eating as I walk to the door. Honor hands me a few cookies in a napkin. "Jonah, you'll cover for me?"

  "Of course, man," he says. Jonah is a solid guy—though only eighteen. He's another part of the reason I can't just leave this place. I'm scared of what might happen to him when the elders try their damnedest to tear him down. Being here ensures I can help him stand up again.

  But if I can get Cherish to leave with me, I'll go in a heartbeat. She is my heartbeat. My everything.

  Has been ever since we were little.

  I gave her my heart and never looked back.

  Out on the dusty road outside the church, I try to think it through. If she's at home, it's gonna be hella hard to get to her. Still, I head in that direction. If she is getting married tomorrow, I literally have nothing to lose.

  When I pass Elder Luke, I drop my head. He is in the middle of a conversation and doesn't notice me. His house is in the center of the compound, and Honor's sister-wives are on their front porch with a bunch of little ones. The farther out on the compound I go, I pass a row of trailers and know I am getting close to Cherish's father's place.

  Before the church became so fundamental, we were all living in town, in our own places, but once Luke came back with a vision of the future, everyone moved to this plot of land that he owned. My father was an associate pastor, so he got set up pretty nice—thank God too because I have a bunch of younger siblings.

  Cherish's dad, though, wasn't as lucky—though the truth is, he's always been down on his luck. There has never been enough money to go around for Cherish's family... and without a mother to help, the weight of the family has been on her shoulders.

  When I get to their trailer, I see her younger brother Abe out front.

  "What do you want?" he asks. He's only eight but already looks like he's seen better days.

  "Is Cherish around?" I ask.

  "Who wants to know?"

  I pull back, not expecting this. Then again, I haven't been out here in a long time. Cherish turned me away so many times, I decided to wait her out for a while, not wanting to push her.

  Now I wish I'd pushed her harder, faster. Stolen a van, taken all her siblings with me, got the hell out of this place.

  "Just tell me where she is. Is she inside?"

  He scowls, crossing his arms. A tougher sell than I expected.

  I look down at my hands. "I'll give you a cookie."

  He twists his lips. "Both of 'em," he barters.

  I grin, liking his go-get-‘em attitude. "Sure." I hand them over.

  "She's at the creek. She's always at the creek when she's not here.

  I nod in thanks, my chest constricting at the memories that well to the surface.

  The creek.

  Our creek.

  Of course, she would be there.

  I haven't been there in years.

  "Thanks, little man," I tell him, already backing away from the trailer, snapping twigs as I run.

  Needing to find her.

  Needing to keep her.

  Needing her to know she’s always been mine.

  Chapter Three

  Cherish

  On the edge of th
e stream, I sit with my guitar propped under my arm, strumming the most familiar song I know. The one that I made my personal anthem a long time ago.

  Before the church became so conservative, my family used to listen to music on an old record player my mom had from when she was a little girl. And she loved the Beach Boys.

  I loved If God Only Knows... and I would sing that song, playing it on my guitar until my fingers were raw.

  Now I sing it, my words barely audible because my face is streaked with tears.

  I've been sitting out here for an hour, not wanting to be around anyone else right now. I don't think I could bear it.

  So, I’m here alone, there’s nothing here but the creek that has always run with crystal clear water. Even before Pastor Luke brought us to this land, this was the spot I would come to with James. We've always lived within a mile of these woods.

  I hear a branch snap, leaves rustle. Someone is here. I close my eyes, not wanting this moment to end.

  "Abigail?"

  I don't want James to see me here; to ask me why I didn't come find him first. I don't want him to see how fragile I feel, how undeserving I am. I didn't choose him because I was scared and I know how much I have hurt him.

  He is here for me now.

  Again.

  Always.

  I press my palm against the guitar strings, stopping them. I look over my shoulder and see him standing under an oak tree. Our oak tree.

  His dark hair is pushed back from his forehead and he looks larger than ever, looming several feet above me. He looks like a real man, a man who could swoop in and protect me, a man I have denied. The only man I have ever wanted.

  "James." My eyes sting with tears, and he rushes down to the river bank where I'm sitting on a fallen log.

  "Abigail," he says again, now sitting beside me, lifting the guitar strap over my shoulder, setting the guitar behind us. He opens my palms and takes the guitar pick with a music note on the smooth surface, and he places it in his pocket. For safe keeping, he tells me.