by Frankie Love
BUCKED
The Mountain Man’s Babies
Frankie Love
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Edited by Teresa Banschbach
Cover by Mayhem Cover Creations
Copyright © 2016 by Frankie Love
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
For all my readers who believe in the power of quickies, insta-love, and dreams coming true.
Oh, and babies.
Lots and lots of babies.
All of the babies!!!
xoxo, frankie
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Epilogue
WILDER: The Mountain Man’s Babies
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Claimed By The Mountain Man
Prologue
Also by Frankie Love
About the Author
1
I’m not a complicated man.
And the things I want in life are pretty damn simple.
A woman to love and a family to protect.
That’s not asking for the goddamned sun and stars. I just want to go to sleep under the moon; in this cabin I built with my own two hands, knowing that I have some fucking meaning, purpose. You know, a life that is bigger than myself?
I’m just a man who lives in the forest who hunts in the winter and fishes in the summer.
Of course, I work, too. I’m not some lazy sack of shit living on canned chili and moonshine. I make a good living as an artist–an unconventional one, sure. I use a chainsaw and carve sculptures. I work with my hands, making something out of nothing.
It’s what I’ve done my whole damn life.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. My chest is bare, my jeans slung low, and leather gloves protect my hands. I power off my chainsaw, placing it on the sawdust covering the forest floor then wipe the sweat off my neck.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Buck, it’s me Jax.” There’s a helluva lot of hollering in the background and I pull my phone from my ear.
“Everything okay?”
“You mean besides three six month old babies all wanting the same thing at once?” Jax laughs. “Damn, I love these kids, but Harper and I have our hands full. You better be living up the bachelor life for me, okay?”
I shake my head, knowing Jaxon is all talk. He found his woman and made a life with her. “You know having your girl and those babies is better than drinking shitty beer alone.”
“I know. That’s the difference between us though, Buck. I don’t drink shitty beer.”
It’s my turn to laugh now. Jaxon may live in the woods, but he’s a city boy in his bones–brewing fancy-ass beer and sporting hipster flannel shirts. I, on the other hand, was born and raised in these woods. This is no lumberjack phase; I’m a man who knows this mountain like the back of his hand, who’s been playing in these forests since I was a boy.
“You call to talk about beer or you got something else on your mind?” I ask, eyeing the chunk of wood I’ve just started ripping up. It’s going to be a bear, but it has a long way to go before it starts looking like a grizzly.
“Nah,” Jax says. “Harper wanted to know if you want to come for dinner tomorrow. She’s making chicken potpie. Your favorite.”
My stomach’s already growling for some of Harper’s home cooking. “Damn, you sure I can’t come this afternoon?”
“Just a sec.” Jax covers the phone and I hear him and Harper talking. Jax comes back on the line, “No, sorry man. Harper says tomorrow. She lives by a schedule these days. Hell, we all do. You can’t exactly do whatever you want when three babies are demanding your attention.”
“Alright,” I say, grabbing my chainsaw and carrying it to my workshop, ready for a shower. “But I’m hungry now and the ham sandwich I was planning on isn’t goanna cut it.”
“Not my problem.” Jaxon laughs, not realizing how good that fool has got it. “Go into town,” he tells me. “Go to town, get lunch at your mom’s diner and stop your complaining.”
“You know my mom can’t cook worth shit.”
Jax laughs, it’s a joke around here, how the one restaurant in town is owned by my mother, a woman who buys prepackaged everything and serves my dad cold cereal half the nights of the week and calls it supper.
“In fact, if you go to town,” Jax continues. “Grab me some sandpaper at the supply store and bring it tomorrow. I’ve run through most of mine and there’s no way in hell I’m getting a get out of jail free card today.”
“Your girl is locking you up?”
“Hell no. Harper’s taking the afternoon off and there isn’t a woman on earth who deserves it more. She’s going a few towns over and getting her hair and nails done, some girl shit. I’ll be here with the babies.”
I nod, knowing Harper and Jax have a healthy relationship, always giving one another what they need.
“Alright then, good luck with Cedar, Alder and Spruce. I’m sure the afternoon will go fine,” I tell him.
“I don’t need luck, Buck. These are my boys. I can spend the afternoon with them without a pep talk.”
I laugh. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I hang up and head inside to change. And damn, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t jealous. I’ve been waiting my whole damn life to find a woman, a wife–and Jaxon was just sitting in his cabin drinking whisky when a snowstorm hit and Harper showed up.
Lucky bastard.
2
Somehow I ended up here, wearing a polyester uniform, a ponytail, and pink lipstick – looking nothing like my former self – which is pretty much the entire point.
I needed out. Away from Spokane, far from my uncle who thought selling my virginity to the highest bidder was a reasonable choice. The Russian mob considers women to be property, assets to be bought and sold.
I wanted more than that.
So I left.
Well, ran.
Fast and far.
It’s been over a week and no one’s found me yet. Somehow I got myself here, to this sleepy Idaho town, at the base of a forest, where there’s nothing but pine trees and pick-up trucks. I got a room at the one and only motel and in an effort to bulk up my completely diminished savings, I walked into the not-so-cleverly-named Diner where they hired me on the spot.
I’d say I got lucky – but there was nothing lucky about me winding up here. It’s a sad story – orphaned and raised by people who planned on using me for their gain. The mob is an ugly chapter I’d rather have ripped from the story of my life.
Today is a new day.
A fresh start.
In the diner, the owner, Cherri, gives me directions. She seems much more flustered than when I met her the previous afternoon.
“Everything okay, Cherri?” I ask, tying the half apron she hands me around my waist. My uniform is tighter than I’d choose, but it’s all she had. Apparently she’s been wanting to hir
e someone for months, but she says no one’s moved here looking for a job.
“Oh, my husband is all bent out of shape. Apparently the dogs got loose, and are running up and down the highway.” She waves her hands in the air. “I mean, he’s calling me every five minutes as if I can do something about the mutts. I’m here. Working.”
“Does he not work here?”
“It’s really a one woman show,” Cherri tells me, giving me a tour. “Here’s the restroom – but do not give out the key to just anybody. If they place an order, then fine. Otherwise, no can do.”
“Okay. But what about the food? Who makes that?” I follow her into a tiny kitchen that has a deep fryer. A griddle, cold. And a microwave front and center.
“Well, that’s the thing, honey. There’s never what you’d call a rush here. So, I make up one order at a time, keep the menu simple, and smile.”
I make a pointed attempt to smile per her request. I can’t lose the only job option in this town. There is a bar down the ways, but considering I turned twenty-one a month ago and have never so much as poured a beer in my life, I don’t think I’d get the job.
A diner, though, I can handle. I grew up in my uncle’s mansion, making meals for fifty men most nights of the week. I may not be the most educated woman, but I can do a few things exceptionally well.
Cook. Clean. And keep my mouth shut.
I follow her back to the front of the diner.
“So, I’ll take the dining room and you’ll be in the kitchen?” I ask, looking at the laminated menus in a stack by the register. There are half a dozen booths, all currently empty.
“Actually, darling, I was thinking you could man this place while I go help my hubby.” Cherri takes off her apron and grabs a jacket hanging over the chair next to the register. A week-old edition of US Weekly with Jack Harris and his wife Tess are on the cover, holding their new baby.
I bite my bottom lip, not so sure about running this place on my own.
“Um. So you aren’t going to train me?”
“Sweetie, look at that menu. If anyone pulls up here, wanting a Hot Pocket, you can make them one. Odds are, no one is coming back, most of the customers come for breakfast - black coffee and a slice of pound cake courtesy of Sara Lee.”
I scan the menu. Hot Pockets. Taquitos. Pizza.
This is the strangest diner ever. I mean, it’s more of a gas station without the fueling pumps.
“If you’re hungry, help yourself,” Cherri says. “And I’ll be back in two hours. Three tops.”
“The dogs are that wild?”
“We have about six of them, Rosie.”
“I see.” I swallow, looking around, uncertain. “You just trust me with your restaurant? You don’t even know me.”
“I know you’re clean, your eyes are clear and you’re smiling. Besides, what are you going to do? I know you don’t have a car. And there’s just some change in the till. You want to run off with a pack of frozen burritos, that’s fine by me.”
“Okay.” I nod. “Is there a number to reach you? If there’s an emergency?”
“Good idea. See?” she says wagging her finger at me, “I knew you weren’t just pretty. You’re smart, too.” Cherri writes a number on a receipt pad, and then points to the rotary phone on the counter. “Call if you need me, I left my son’s number, too, just in case you can’t reach me.”
She leaves through the front door, and I watch her drive off in a beat-up truck.
Okay. So. It’s just like being at home. Sitting in an empty house while everyone else is off doing something exciting.
I pick up the magazine. Flip to the article on the famous DJ and his wife, who may even be more famous than her husband on account of her childhood kidnapping.
They just had a baby boy, named him Mac after her brother McQueen. I smile, looking at pictures of their professionally designed nursery in a new wing of their home on an island in the Puget Sound. They are beyond lucky.
They have everything they ever wanted.
But looking at the picture of the mother, Tess, who was kidnapped as a child and grew up in a motorcycle gang, I’m reminded it wasn’t all easy. She had a hell of a road to get to her happy ending.
I swallow, looking around this empty diner, feeling lost and so very alone.
No money, no home, no family. Running from the people who think they have a hold on me.
I have no idea if I’ll ever end up with a man who loves me, a baby in my arms, a house to call home.
But Lord, I hope so.
3
Driving into town, I listen to the radio, but the local news keeps blaring about cops in Spokane, WA looking for a Russian Mafia ring that is selling girls as brides. I scroll through the stations, landing on some old John Denver song that makes me sentimental as fuck.
Damn, I’m getting soft.
I pull into the parking lot of the diner, only to see that my mom’s pick-up truck isn’t here. She’s always here.
The lights are on though, and the sign is flipped to open, so I get out. Maybe Mom’s truck wouldn’t start and Dad drove her to town or something.
The bells on the diner door jingle as I walk inside, and that’s when I stop dead in my motherfucking tracks.
Whoever this woman is, sitting on a stool, reading a magazine, her dark hair pulled back, revealing a heart shaped face, her lips pouty and parted, her brown eyes so big they look drawn on. She stands, a smile on her face, and I see she’s wearing a tight uniform, pressing her huge tits up high, her waist narrow, accentuated by the apron tied on.
Fuck, my cock is twitching at the sight before me, and I want to know everything about this girl. Her name. Where she comes from. If she just fell from fucking heaven because I swear she looks like an angel. I know that’s as cheesy as hell, but damn, this girl just made it real.
“Sit wherever you like,” she says, walking toward me with a menu, her curvy hips made for carrying babies, swaying as she comes around the register.
“You new around here?” I ask. She’s coming closer, and I know it’s insane. but all I want to do is wrap my arms around her and kiss those luscious lips.
“Pretty new,” she says. “Just got hired. Don’t even have a name tag yet.” She looks down at her chest, and so I don’t feel even the tiniest bit bad for looking at her round globes in that uniform. Standing closer, I see her nipples poking through the thin fabric.
I run my hand over my beard wanting to show restraint when I really want to take the front zipper on her uniform and tug it down, exposing her milky skin in one fell swoop. Instead, I head toward a corner booth. “You just got hired and the owner let you man the place all on your own?”
She shrugs, following me to the booth and setting down the menu I’ve read a thousand times. “She had an emergency. Said she’ll be back in a few hours and was confident I could handle the few customers she expected.”
My brows narrow. “Emergency?”
She must see my concern because she waves her hands in front of her, and I see she’s holding a notepad to take my order. “Not a terrible emergency. Her dogs got loose.”
My shoulders relax and I shake my head, knowing my parent’s dogs are getting pretty good at escaping. “Yeah that sounds about right.”
“Oh, you know them, the owners? I don’t know who’s from around here and who’s just passing through.”
“I know the owners all right. Grew up in this forest, too.”
“Well, what can I get you today?”
My stomach’s growling, and I honestly don’t want some microwaved shit. What I really want is her, but I don’t think she’s on the menu. “You have any specials?”
She laughs softly. “Um, well, the menu is pretty....”
“Shitty?”
Her eyes go wide and bright–which is saying something considering they are fucking round and beautiful to start with. “I was going to say the menu is pretty limited”
“Yeah, it’s been the same thing for a decade.”
“And you want something else?” she asks.
I smile, knowing that is exactly right. Instead of bending her over this table and pulling down her panties, I just smirk and say, “You make things to order?”
“Depends on what I can find in the kitchen,” she says, twisting her lips. “Not sure if there’s anything that doesn’t come from a box.”
“I can help you look.”
She tilts her head to the side, considering. “I don’t even know your name, it’s my first day on the job, and you want me to break rules for you?”
“Rules?” I ask in mock exaggeration. “I’m not asking you to get in any trouble on my account. I just thought maybe you could make me a home cooked meal. It’s been too long since I had one.”
“Hmm.” Her eyes squint, considering.
“My name’s Buck,” I add. “And I promise not to rat you out to the owner if you make this one exception for me.”
“Well, Buck, let me see what I can do. No promises, though. The kitchen’s pretty sparse.”
“I know.”
“You know?”
I shrug. “Truth be told, this is my mom’s place.”
“You’re Cherri’s son?” She eyes me like she doesn’t believe me.
“Promise.”
She walks to the register and grabs a receipt book. “What’s your phone number, then?”
I rattle off the numbers, and she tabs the pad of paper.
“And your mom’s?”
I recite those too and she nods. “Okay,” she says slowly. “I believe you.”
“Tough sell, darling. And you never even told me your name.”
“I’m Rosie,” she says, offering me her hand as she walks back. Her eyes meet mine and without thinking. I take her soft hand and kiss it, like I’m some chivalrous knight, and not a man who lives and works in the woods.