Make Me a Mommy: A Mother's Day Secret Baby Romance

by Liz K. Lorde

  If not for the starkness of the room, it might have a cozy feel, but I’m shaking with crippling fear and anxiety from the lack of knowledge of my whereabouts.

  More importantly, how the hell did I get into this cabin⸺and where is it? The last time I checked, the bustling island of Manhattan didn’t have cabins made from what appears to be pinewood.

  I decide to investigate my body for damage or any kind of injuries like cuts, welts, or bruises. I run a trembling hand over my bare thighs and sigh with relief that I appear untainted down there…you know…between my legs.

  Taking a deep breath, vulnerability surges through me. A woman all alone in a mountain cabin. Of course, I don’t know for sure it’s a mountain cabin, but my imagination is now running away with me.

  Nearly dizzy from fear, I sit back down on the couch and try not to allow the panic in my mind to completely consume me.

  I can get through this. Let’s re-create what the fuck happened to me before coming here.

  What’s the last thing I remember?

  I got home after a long day at work. I was feeling exhausted from the bullshit and missing Dylan terribly.

  At some point in time, Jen rang to remind me we’re going out. Of course, the troll-like dude comes back to mind. Had he…? No, I dismiss the thought instantly.

  Then what happened?

  I was tired as shit when I left the club, nearly falling asleep in the cab. When I got to my apartment, I completely stripped down naked. When I sank onto bed and slid under my sheets, I remember feeling weightless, as if I were floating on pillows that were really fluffy clouds.

  Eventually, I drifted off into a restless slumber.

  It’s been hard for me to adapt to Dylan leaving me, and still, after all this time, I think of him, am consumed by him. I mean, you’d think after five fucking years, I’d have my shit together, or maybe even be engaged to be married to a new bachelor in question.

  Nope, I’m still all alone, refusing to let go of the past.

  Now, here I am in some dark cabin in the middle of God knows where, unable to piece together the events of what happened.

  I want to call out for help, but fear immobilizes me as the words get stuck in my throat.

  For what seems like forever, I sit and listen to the silence. Nothing.

  The only thing I can hear is my heartbeat pounding in my chest.

  If I sit here still and quiet enough, maybe I’ll find some clues about my surroundings.

  After a few more agonizing minutes, I come to the conclusion that I need to get up from this unknown couch in the middle of nowhere and look around.

  Why am I even still sitting here? Shouldn’t I be trying to escape or something?

  When I stand up, my knees crack. I brace myself, wincing in the darkness for fear that somebody might have heard me.

  Perhaps my kidnapper is in another room, sleeping soundly. I could only pray to be so lucky as to slip by whoever the hell it is.

  On the other hand, what happens when I do get outside the door? Where am I going to go? I swallow hard and lick my lips, disgusted with how astoundingly filthy I am right now.

  I try to rub the soot off my elbows and hands, but it’s no use. The stuff is matted on there pretty hardcore, and I don’t want to lick my fingers to help rub it off.

  Right now, I look like a fucking hobo, but does it really matter? I carefully walk over to one of the windows to see if I can look outside.

  As I cross the room, I glance over my shoulder with paranoia, fearful that some man with giant glasses and a receding hairline will be looming over me with a gleaming axe and a smile on his face.

  Okay, so maybe I watch too many shows on the ID channel about murder. Whatever. I vow to live life to the fullest if I ever make it out of here alive.

  At the window, I place my slender fingers, still caked with soot, on the curtains, uncaring about whether or not I transfer any of my caked-on dirt to its surface.

  I stick my tongue out in concentration and slowly peel back the layers of fabric until the night sky is exposed outside.

  Okay, so it looks like I’m in the woods, as I expected. I mean, naturally, it’s the first thing you think of when in a log cabin.

  There are shadows in the darkness, peaks blending in with the trees that I assume are mountains but can’t be truly confident about because it’s just too damn dark outside.

  With a deep intake of breath, I place my clammy hand against the surface of the window. Immediately, the condensation from the night leaves my handprint plain as day on the glass.

  Gently, I push on the glass, but the window doesn’t budge an inch. It’s sealed shut or something.

  Okay, so now what? I brainstorm an escape route while scanning the room for the door. But before I can even form a decent plan, I hear a faint rustling noise from another room.

  I freeze in place as my lungs work hard to swallow the air that just won’t come. I stand there, as still as a statue, straining to figure out where the sounds are coming from.

  Finally, I work up the nerve to spin on my heel, however excruciatingly slowly it happens, and dash back to the couch and the safety of the bearskin.

  Pain shoots through me, and I call out in fucking pain.

  Then I see a figure in the doorway. Holy fucking shit.

  There is a fucking bear in this room, and it’s standing upright, staring at me with wild eyes and fuzzy fur as if it’s ready to dive right in and eat me as a snack.

  My trembling hands clutch the cover and hang on to it tightly as if it can save me from the savage beast. But I’m afraid nothing can save me now.

  Dylan

  I can’t fucking believe I have her here. After all these years, she’s with me.

  And I don’t know what the fuck to do about it.

  I stare out the window while I wait for the tea to steep, lost in my thoughts. When it’s ready, I take a sip of it to make sure it’s not too bitter for Emma.

  I grow the leaves myself—a trade I’m proud of—another form of living out here in the wilderness. Living off the land. Something I never thought I’d be doing, but something that I seem to have a knack for anyway.

  It’s a hit—I’ve nailed it yet again. This is probably one of the best batches I’ve harvested, and I know that Emma will love it. I want to watch her savor every drop.

  In the next instant, I nearly choke on the tea as it slides down my throat. Way too fucking hot. I gasp and lean forward on the counter, spewing the liquid into the sink and coughing.

  Emma’s muffled scream startles me, scaring the living shit out of me. I whirl around, cursing myself for being so damn skittish.

  I slam the tea cup down on the counter in the kitchen and rush to Emma’s aid. What if she’s hurt? Why is she screaming?

  I checked her body when we first landed back at the cabin, but there were no major visible injuries. Perhaps she’s stumbled in the dark? The cabin gets pretty dim at night, making it hard to navigate for those who aren’t used to it.

  Rushing into the room, alarm bells in my head are going off, just like the fire alarm at Emma’s apartment.

  From where I’m standing I can’t see any obvious signs of distress. I stare at her for a moment in the darkness. She’s so fucking hot, just the way I remember her—maybe even hotter. The sex appeal oozes off her.

  Should I take her to the hospital or will she be alright with me here? It’s a hard call to make—but I can’t let my face be seen in the outside world. I just can’t.

  Decision made, end of story, the end.

  It’s not my looks I’m concerned about, no. It’s much deeper than that. But heck, no point dwelling on it now.

  Slowly, I approach her.

  Emma cowers as I approach, curling up in the corner of the couch and clutching my bearskin to her chest. Her first instinctual move is to cower, hunkering down on the couch in fear. I see her body trembling under the bear skin I provided her for comfort and warmth when we first got back to the cabin.


  “Emma…” I whisper and stop. Why is she shaking so bad? There’s no fucking way she can be cold.

  Is it me?

  Absentmindedly, my right hand strokes my beard. It’s long and a little unkempt, but hell, surely she’s not frightened of me? I mean, she knows me.

  “Emma?” I try again and wait.

  “Who…” Emma swallows hard and whispers meekly through the shadows. I can hear her shallow breathing. “Who…are you?”

  At her words, my insides tighten, as if squeezed by some powerful vice. Did she really just ask me who I am?

  Surely I misheard?

  “Emma, are you okay?” I try again to reach her. Maybe she’s suffering from shock.

  I crouch down on the floor to draw nearer to her, at eye level so as not to appear threatening.

  “What do you want from me?” Emma recoils and protectively draws her knees up to her chest. “How do you…know my name?”

  She sounds pitiful and weary. Instantly, I regret my decision of bringing her here. I reacted rashly and should have thought it through a bit better.

  “I…you…I mean,” I stutter but can’t form a proper sentence. Fuck. The bare skin of her shoulder’s fucking driving me mad.

  Tea, my mind’s screaming at me. Get her the fucking cup of tea you made.

  “I’ve got some tea,” I mutter and stride out of the room.

  Emma’s eyes follow me as she sizes me up. Then she shakes her head with genuine confusion. She has no clue who I am.

  The mirror I pass in the hallway has me stopping in my tracks. Okay. So maybe it doesn’t quite look like me, like the fucking Dylan she last saw.

  My beard is bushy, my eyes are shadowy, and my features are mainly hidden behind mounds of unruly hair not just on my head and face, but also all over my body.

  When I return with her cup of tea, she shakes her head, pushing the mug away.

  “Where am I? Who are you? Why did you bring me here?” Questions shoot out of her mouth at machine gun intensity.

  And I don’t know how to answer any of them.

  Emma stares, and when I offer the tea again, I try to reassure her. “It’s perfectly safe to drink. It’ll make your throat feel a bit better.”

  She narrows her eyes, but she takes the steaming mug with a shaking hand.

  “What do you mean on fire? Where am I? Who are you?” There she goes with all the questions again.

  “Your apartment was on fire,” I start, trying really fucking hard not to stare at the spot above her breasts where the bearskin is about to fall down and expose her. “You were all alone and had no way out. I rescued you.”

  I wince at my choice of words. Maybe I shouldn’t be so blunt.

  Emma’s eyes widen to the size of dinner plates.

  “I don’t—” she starts, then stops. Now she does try some of the tea. Briefly, she closes her eyes.

  “Fire…my apartment…but why…” she mumbles.

  It seems as if she’s forgotten I’m in the room because she’s let go of the rug shielding her naked body from my prying eyes.

  “Mmm.” I try clearing my throat to get her attention, but it’s not working.

  Her eyes are staring off into the distance. I wonder what the hell she’s thinking about now. Is she able to remember the fire and the rescue, or is she able to recognize me and—my own fucking thoughts trail off now.

  The situation is stressing me out, and the whirlwind of the night is catching up to me emotionally. If I’m not careful, I’ll need a whole lot of therapy I can’t access up here in the middle of fucking nowhere.

  Now Emma stares at the tea for a second and then shifts her gaze back to me.

  The longer I stare at her naked upper-body glory, the harder this becomes. I need to get some clothes on this girl.

  “I’ll be back,” I growl and leave the room.

  When I return, I’ve got a spare flannel shirt. I toss it at her.

  Recognition dawns. Her free hand frantically grabs the shirt and holds it protectively in front of her.

  “Could you stop perving?” she hisses at me, and I turn away.

  Fucking shit.

  I’m a fucking man after all. I mean who wouldn’t look when the opportunity presents itself?

  “As I was saying. I saved you from your burning apartment and, well, you won’t be able to return for a while.”

  “Where am I? Who are you?” Emma repeats, covered now from head to foot in clothing way too fucking huge for her.

  Unfortunately, it makes her look even hotter. It takes every ounce of self-control I’ve got in my muscles of steel not to jump her bones.

  My lonely cock’s about to take over and send my brain on vacation. One thing is for sure—if I stay, the consequences will be ugly.

  “You’re safe,” I grumble and stand up again. “Nothing will happen to you up here.”

  Without another word, I leave the room. I can’t stay any fucking longer.

  Already, my self-control has been stretched to its limit. I feel like a million isotopes are pulsing through me, ready to set the entire fucking cabin on fire.

  “Hey, wait. You can’t just leave me here without answers,” Emma yells after me.

  Briefly, I hover on the threshold of the door.

  No. No fucking way. Don’t go back.

  “Come back here, Grizzly, or whatever your name is. I deserve some answers.”

  Silence. I’m leaning against the wall in my hallway. My heart’s racing in my fucking chest.

  “Can you hear me? You can’t do this to me.” Her yelling is a little softer, and my heart is being ripped in two.

  I’m torn between maintaining my distance and running back in and telling her everything.

  Without another word, I rush out into the snow. A fucking ice bath should take care of quenching any urges I’m feeling right now.

  Emma

  I yawn and rally my brain cells into action. My body feels like it’s filled with lead, and my joints are slow to come to life.

  How long did I sleep?

  Another yawn escapes me. I stretch, catlike, to get myself moving. So much is happening in such a short amount of time. Millions of questions are buzzing around my head, and I’m entitled to some answers.

  I don’t think that’s too much to ask, particularly when a bear-man walks into your blazing apartment and whisks you out of bed, taking you to some far-off mountain cabin, hut, or whatever the fuck this is.

  So far, I’ve not been given the grand tour. Still, I can tell it’s not a New York penthouse we’re hiding in, or an executive suite in Vegas.

  Wherever we are, I’ve got to get away ASAP. An hour or two ago would’ve been good, last night would’ve been even better.

  I sigh and swing my legs over the side of the bed. It’s about time I find the bear-man and ask him some of these questions. They’re still buzzing around my head like crazy, even more annoying than flies in the summertime.

  A girl is entitled to answers, and I resolve to get them.

  It takes me a few minutes to get my bearings. As I look around, my insides feel as if an icy wind is blowing through me. The reality of the situation is sinking in.

  “How is this real?” I ask no one in particular, because I don’t think anyone could answer that buzzing question.

  I go through the surreal series of events in my head. Some crazy man kidnaps me from my luxurious lifestyle and deluxe penthouse apartment, telling me my place was on fire, and he happened to come along at just the right moment to rescue me and take me to some remote mountain cabin.

  I stop mid-step.

  What the fuck am I doing?

  My heart starts to race in my chest, and it sounds like waves are crashing in my ears.

  I’m walking right into this dude’s trap. People are after me? My ass they are.

  This crazy bear-man’s either in cahoots with these crazy idiots, or there is no them, only him.

  The icy feeling spreads. It’s as if long, frozen fingers
are raking through me. They touch everything, each and every one of my pores and cells. Everything they stroke turns icy cold.

  The world shakes a little bit and goes fuzzy. It’s as if the focus of my eyes needs to be adjusted.

  Pull yourself together, girlfriend.

  I hear my friend Amanda’s words in my mind. I haven’t seen Amanda in a while, but once, a long time ago, she was a good friend. She disappeared from my life, just like Dylan.

  Of course, Amanda’s reason for leaving me was different than Dylan’s—whatever his was. Amanda’s working for some charity, traveling to different poor, remote villages in developing countries.

  She’s not reachable by the usual means of email or mobile phone. The only time we ever catch up is when she graces my world with her presence, which, as far I’m concerned, isn’t often enough.

  Dylan is a different kettle of fish.

  Dylan.

  There I go, thinking of Dylan again.

  Man, oh man. I must really get this guy out of my fucking head.

  The minute I get back home I need to find a good therapist for this shit. I’ve avoided seeing someone about it so far, and even though I’ve been managing fine, it might be time to put skeletons to bed.

  I mean, if I can’t even go a minute without thinking of the prick, even here in the middle of nowhere, it’s still pretty freaking bad. I’ve tried to do it on my own, but it’s time to face facts: if I want to get that prick out of my head, I’ll need help.

  I wonder how I can find a good therapist? There must be someone I know who can give me a recommendation.

  Fuck it, I need to stop thinking about this shit. I need to focus on the here and now and try to find out what the hell is going on.

  It’s so quiet here. I listen for any signs of the man-bear, or any signs of anything, really, but there’s only silence.

  Where is the crazy man-bear person this morning, anyway?

  There’s that fear again. Maybe he’s behind me? I spin around, suddenly convinced I can hear breathing.

  There’s nothing there.

  Emma, I tell myself, take a deep breath and stay calm.

  Okay, so this man-bear creature who’s holding me captive could be the same man who set fire to my apartment.