Mountain Daddy: The Single Dad's New Baby (A Baby for the Bad Boy Book 1)

by Layla Valentine

  With a sigh, I turned around and began to trudge back up the mountain, knowing that I couldn’t give up that night. It wasn’t like I could turn around and drive home.

  As I pushed, my thighs screaming, I heard the chug of a vehicle behind me, slowly creeping up the path. Darting to the side, I tilted my head, gesturing for the driver to pass me. I sensed how pathetic I looked, and I didn’t want to look him in the eye.

  But as the car approached me, it began to slow. It crept up beside me. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw that it was a dark brown truck, an old-fashioned one, with large wheels and wide windows. Determined not to look weak, I continued to walk, my chin up and my eyes focused on the way ahead. The truck’s window began to slide down, forcing me to hear the crackling of its radio. It was the same station I’d been listening to on the route up. Early ‘90s.

  I heard the giggling of a little girl. Flashing my eyes to the left, I found myself peering into the bright blue eyes of a young girl—perhaps six or seven years old, with slightly crooked, yet adorable front teeth. After a moment’s pause, the girl giggled again, giving me a smile.

  “Hi,” she said, her voice high-pitched. “Are you all right?”

  I stopped walking, nearly falling backwards due to the steepness of the mountain. Adjusting my bags, I couldn’t help but smile back at the girl.

  “Hey there.”

  “You look lost,” the girl continued.

  Blinking several times, I peered over the top of the girl’s head at the driver.

  With a jolt, I met with a pair of dark blue, gorgeous eyes, belonging to a man of about 32 or 33. He was handsome, his face somber yet kind. Even from where I stood, I recognized that he had a seriously muscular frame, that he was tall and broad. After a pause, he gave me a small smile—something that seemed a rarity for him. It seemed that he normally let the girl do the smiling for him.

  “I’m not lost,” I sighed, trying to make myself smile. “I’m just…”

  “That’s your car down the road, then?” the driver asked. His voice was deep, steady. I wanted to cling onto it.

  “Sure is.”

  “What happened?” he asked.

  “It just stalled out,” I sighed. “I wanted to call a mechanic or something, once I got back to my cabin.”

  The man gave me a nod. “We can take you the rest of the way.”

  My brain began to rush with all the facts of the forests I’d learned over the years. First off, that any random stranger you meet on the road is probably out to murder you. But I sensed that I had another quarter of a mile to walk, all up hill, and my thighs were straining.

  “Come on, now,” the man said. He dropped his hand to the seat between him and the younger girl. “Gracie, scoot over.”

  Gracie. For some reason, the humanity of this name was something to cling to.

  I gave them a soft smile and ducked forward, trying to reach for the handle of the truck door. But as I strained, the brown paper sack began to fall to the ground. With a jolt, the strange man darted around the car, showing me his incredible, muscular shoulders, and his height, perhaps 6 foot 3.

  “I got it,” he said, opening the door wide. He brought his hands beneath the brown paper sack, bringing it toward him. In the exchange, his hands brushed mine.

  I shivered. For some reason, as I passed him the brown paper sack, I couldn’t look him in the eye. It was like staring into the sun.

  “Thank you,” I whispered. I stepped up to the truck seat, giving Gracie another smile. “You’re Gracie, huh?”

  “Sure am,” she said, bouncing slightly. She adjusted a seatbelt over her waist. “And what’s your name?”

  “I’m Serena,” I told her. “And this is your dad, I assume?”

  The handsome driver slotted the brown paper sack behind the seats, then dropped back behind the steering wheel. He gripped it, raising his dark eyebrows high.

  “I’m Ethan. Ethan Tiller. Great to meet you, and glad we caught you. Walking this road is a killer. People come out here from the city to lose weight doing it.” He laughed with a wonderful boom, glancing down at my trim frame. Suddenly, I felt completely aware of every crevice of my body. My every angle. My every curve. “Course, you don’t need that,” he offered.

  Wait, was he complimenting me?

  I swallowed sharply, waiting. I wondered what on earth I was getting up to, allowing this strange mountain man to whisk me off. What was I doing, so far outside of the city? What was I trying to prove?

  Chapter 3

  Serena

  Ethan cranked up the engine once more and Gracie giggled as we burst up the incline. There was a long moment of silence, during which I scrambled to find something to say. Anything to make me sound interesting, enticing. I was incredibly conscious of the sweat that had bubbled up on my forehead. I swiped at it, hoping he hadn’t noticed.

  “Do you guys live up here?” I asked, hardly able to recognize my own voice.

  “We do,” Ethan said. “We’ve lived up here for a few years now. Gracie doesn’t even remember another world. She’s my little mountain girl.”

  Gracie gave me a side smile, peering up at me with incredible innocence. I felt my stomach shift. It had been a long time since I’d interacted with a child, and I wondered if my years in the courtroom had hardened me, made me unapproachable. Although I’d always longed for children, I felt a sense of nervousness around Gracie.

  “It’s gorgeous up here,” I sighed, returning my gaze to the pine trees around us. “I swear, I haven’t left the city in years.”

  “That would drive me wild,” Ethan said. “I need to feel like I can breathe. I’ve lived in cities, in towns, everywhere. But I don’t feel more like myself than when I’m up here in the woods.” He paused, listening to the crackling radio. “What drew you here in particular?”

  “Erm…” I paused, remembering the day I’d been half-crazed, slightly drunk, pointing a finger at the various national parks surrounding the city. “I think it was the right distance from everything I knew. It was far enough away that I wouldn’t just turn around the minute I got here.”

  “You’d have to stick it out,” Ethan affirmed. “Now, with your car troubles, looks like you really can’t run back.”

  I shot my finger toward the front, pointing. “There’s my cabin,” I said. “Tucked away into the trees, there. You see it?”

  “A-ha.”

  Ethan eased the truck down the gravely driveway, parking it beneath a large pine. Its limbs whipped above it, taking on the crisp, evening wind.

  Knocking my elbow against the door, I opened it, adjusting my crackling paper sack. I blinked into the truck at the two of them—Ethan and Gracie, who, as I looked at them closer, began to resemble one another more and more. They were a perfect father-daughter pair. I wondered in the back of my mind where Gracie’s mother was, but with a brief glance at Ethan’s hand, I saw that he wore no ring.

  Suddenly, without being entirely conscious of it, I began to develop a plan. I should’ve known better. I could have talked myself out of it, probably, if I hadn’t been so hungry and fatigued. But all at once, I was leaping off the edge, into the unknown.

  “Why don’t you come inside?” I said, surprising even myself. “I’d love to cook dinner for you both as a thank you.”

  Ethan’s lips pressed together firmly, into a flat line. I could already read the “no” in his mind.

  I took a tentative step back, feeling flustered. He was wary of me. He’d come into the mountains to be left alone, and I was asking him to step into my world.

  In the silence that followed my question, my tongue traced my teeth, over and over again, wishing I could plot my way back to the inside of the cabin, to return to my weekend of solitude. I never did anything like this. Why on earth had I attempted bravery now?

  But Gracie bucked up, unbuckling her seat belt. “Oh, what are you making for dinner?” she asked, her eyes glittering.

  “Gracie, you know we need to get back home,�
�� Ethan said.

  Gracie whipped her head around, flashing her blond ponytail.

  “For what?” she asked.

  “You know we can’t push ourselves into Serena’s vacation,” Ethan offered, his voice sounding unsure.

  “Don’t be silly,” I said, brightening my smile. “I have plenty of food and wine, and I’d love to share it. I even brought chocolate.” I gave this additional tidbit to Gracie, who leapt up from her seat. She danced slightly on the sidewalk, her knees bobbing together.

  “Daddy, she really wants us to come. Why not? I don’t want to go home. You were going to make fish sticks.” She stuck out her tongue, looking like a cartoon version of herself. I felt laughter bubbling up in my stomach.

  Ethan cut the engine, exhaling deeply. With a jolt, he pushed open the door of his truck and stepped out, his boots crunching on the gravel. This sound alone made shivers rustle up and down my spine. Now that I’d offered, and he’d agreed, I couldn’t turn back.

  So often, people took chances that changed the course of their lifetime. I tried to tell myself, in a flurry of thoughts, that this wasn’t one of those times. That this was just dinner, for a man who’d helped me out. It couldn’t feel bigger than that, even though my heart swelled.

  After he pushed the door closed, he marched to our side of the truck, looking at me with those dark blue, penetrating eyes. He seemed dominant, powerful, a force to be reckoned with. I took a tentative step back, my stomach feeling tense.

  “All right then,” I whispered, ducking my head toward the cabin. “Why don’t you come in? I’ll pour the wine. Gracie, you want some juice?”

  My voice was no longer my own. It didn’t have the certainty of a defense attorney, nor did it sound like the city girl I’d been my entire life.

  I shuffled toward the house, feeling uneasy on my feet, and opened the door. Splaying the groceries on the counter, I listened as Gracie and Ethan entered behind me.

  Gracie flumped onto the bed, mere feet away from the kitchen, and wiggled her feet back and forth. With a small cackle, she said, “Your bedroom is in your kitchen!”

  Feeling warmed, I turned toward her, the wine opener in my hand. I began to uncork the bottle of red, grinning.

  “When it’s just me, I don’t need so much space!”

  “I guess that’s true,” Gracie said, giving me a shrug. “I don’t need anything else but my bedroom. Has enough room for my toys and stuff. Dad’s got the big room.”

  “We can trade when you get enough toys, squirt,” Ethan said, grinning.

  He took a step forward and began to unpack the brown paper sack, drawing out vegetables, bread, cheese, and oil. With the certainty of someone who’d been in the cabin before, he reached for the first cabinet and drew out a skillet. After placing it on the stovetop, he drew out a small matchbook and struck it, opening the gas and beginning to heat the bottom of the skillet.

  Having been single for longer than I cared to admit, it had been years since I’d watched a man do something so intimate yet so normal for me. He poured the olive oil into the skillet, lifting his muscular forearm. After snapping the lid on the oil, he reached for a knife and cutting board, sending a whistle into the air. Perhaps he didn’t notice I was staring at him. Or, perhaps he did, and he didn’t care.

  “Your daddy knows how to cook,” I told Gracie, filling the silence.

  Gracie bobbed her head. With a quick motion, she undid her ponytail and allowed her blond curls to fall. “Don’t let it get to his head,” she laughed.

  As I poured the glasses of wine, I fell into conversation with Gracie, listening to the sizzle of the vegetables as Ethan tossed them into the skillet. I passed him a glass, and he didn’t thank me, choosing instead to be a silent force behind me. Gracie began to tell me tales of her first grade class, which had just begun the previous week.

  “We’re learning about coloring right now, which is silly,” she sighed. “I’ve known how to color since I was four.”

  “Oh, so long ago,” I said, hopeful she didn’t pick up on my teasing. Two years ago had been just a few minutes ago, at least in my eyes. But for Gracie, it had been an entire lifetime.

  “I just know I’m the best colorer in my class,” Gracie continued, sipping at the juice I’d poured her. “I don’t need any more help. I’m going to be an artist,” she continued.

  “Oh?”

  “Like Picasso,” she said decisively.

  I glanced back at Ethan, loving the fiery passion of this little girl. I nudged him with my elbow, making eye contact.

  “How’s it coming back here? Did you hear that you’re the father of the next Picasso?”

  “If she ever leaves California for Spain, I’ll hunt her down,” he said, his eyes glowing. “This Picasso isn’t leaving the West Coast.”

  “Daddy!” Gracie said, laughing. “He doesn’t want me to grow up.”

  “You never should,” I told her. After nudging Ethan, I interrupted his stirring of the vegetables, saying, “I was meant to be the one cooking. Not you.”

  “Got carried away,” Ethan said, taking a step back. He passed me the spatula and gripped his glass of wine, giving me another steamy look, which I couldn’t quite identify. I began to butter the bread, turning on the oven beneath the stovetop, and chopping up garlic.

  “I hope you like garlic bread,” I told them, feeling my heart hammer in my chest. Why was this man making me so anxious?

  “So you said you’re just escaping the city?” Ethan asked. He leaned heavily against the counter, sipping the wine. “Needed an escape from your normal life?”

  “Something like that,” I said, placing the pieces of bread on a large baking sheet and slotting them into the oven. “I’m a defense attorney, and I noticed the stress creeping in on me. Years were passing, and I needed to do something for myself, you know? Anything.”

  “You should try coloring!” Gracie called from the bed, bringing a grin to my face.

  “I don’t suppose your dad’s all that into art, is he?” I asked.

  “He’s pretty good, but not as good as me,” Gracie said, sounding wonderfully serious, in the way of young kids.

  I gave Ethan a sneaky smile, hoping he would return it. He didn’t. But his eyes seemed to shine with a kind of light, an assurance that he was safe, happy, relaxed in my little, rustic home.

  Chapter 4

  Serena

  I finished cooking, sliding the vegetables, garlic toast, cheeses, and fruits onto plates for our hodge-podge, improvised dinner. No one complained. The steam rose up from the vegetables, and I watched as Gracie began to slice at hers with her fork, gobbling quickly. The wine had already gone to my head, making me feel giggly, wide-eyed.

  As we ate, Gracie and I struck up another conversation about her favorite animals, about her future plans, about the kids in her class. As we spoke, I couldn’t help but feel a pang of sadness. Having kids had always been a part of my “life plan,” sometime down the road, but I’d always been so busy, rushing from one case to the next, with many sleepless nights in between. Going to the gym was almost too much to ask, sometimes.

  As I snuck closer and closer to 30, I had begun to think that romance, love, and children were things that happened to other people. People who weren’t as committed to their careers, maybe. People who had given themselves space.

  As it stood, I couldn’t even imagine raising a child in San Francisco. It was far too expensive, and the rent on my tiny one-bedroom apartment was astronomical. I felt continually like I was chasing after some kind of dream, some kind of paycheck. Something that would bring me eternal happiness, allow room for romance, for children. But I wasn’t sure it would ever come.

  Gracie continued to chatter. I lowered my piece of garlic toast, blinking at it wistfully. I felt Ethan’s eyes upon me, assessing me. I’d never been such an open book in front of someone. With my nostrils flared, I swallowed sharply, asking if either of them needed anything else.

  Gracie popped up
from her chair, rubbing at her stomach. “I’m so full!” she said, emphasizing her words. “Do you mind if I go out on the porch, Daddy?”

  I glanced out toward the porch, which was about a half-football field from the lake. As evening crept along, the lake was becoming a deep blue color, reflecting the surrounding pines.

  Ethan cleared his throat, saying, “Just don’t go down by the lake, baby.”

  Gracie ducked from the house and onto the porch, perching on the swing. She brought her legs up and down, creaking the swing forward and back. As she sat, she unzipped her backpack and drew out a small coloring book and a pack of crayons. As Ethan and I sat in silence, she began to scribble, using first the green crayon, then the blue. I could sense her mind whizzing away, at work.

  “She’s pretty incredible,” I finally said, feeling myself stutter.

  “She’s a force of nature,” Ethan agreed, laughing. “Sometimes I feel like she knows more about the world than I do. She’s always bringing up stuff she learns at school. Stuff I think I forgot about on my long road to becoming an adult. You know. When things like knowledge no longer matter so much. It’s more about survival.”

  “I hear you,” I said. “For me, it’s just one bill after another. One day after another. I haven’t said the word ‘Picasso’ in years. It really opens up your mind to hear her thoughts, though. I mean, it gives me some semblance of hope that she cares about creativity. That she has such an active mind.”

  Ethan dabbed a napkin across his mouth, giving me a slight smile.

  “It’s too bad we can’t live in the city, actually,” he offered. “I think the schools might be better out there. I wish I could give her the whole world.”

  I tilted my head, sensing a story brewing behind Ethan’s eyes. As Gracie’s swing continued to creak back and forth, I heard myself ask, “Why do you live all the way out here, anyway? Just because you can think more clearly? Like the privacy?”