Burning Hearts: A Second Chance Secret Baby Romance

by Vivien Vale

  Maybe it’s the relief of knowing what we just did or the anxiety of trying to be ready for Amelia showing up—but I can’t stop laughing.

  This sets Amelia off again as we both laugh, and Amelia points a shaking finger at Margot.

  “You look like you have white hair!” Her innocent observation makes her mother scowl.

  “What!” Tossing her hair a bit, she flips it over her shoulder and throws her hands on her hips. “I don’t look gorgeous?”

  “Of course you do, Mommy!” Amelia throws her own hands on her hips, mimicking her mother’s stern look.

  I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything cuter.

  “Gorgeous and irresistible,” I add with a wink.

  “Will you be long? I want you guys to play with me.” Amelia started bouncing on her toes. Each time she hops brings her a little closer to us.

  “Careful, sweetie. Not too close.” Margot makes a shooing motion with her hand, waving her back. “It won’t take long. Just go back in the living room so I don’t have to worry about cleaning you up, too.”

  “Okay, Mommy.” Amelia is now hanging off the door, a knob in each hand, swinging back and forth. “I’ve been drawing. I want you to see my pictures and draw, too.”

  Luckily, I store the broom in here. Grabbing it, I start sweeping the flour off the shelves to the floor.

  “Don’t swing on the door like that. We’ve talked about that. You might break the knobs. Just give us a few minutes, and I’ll be out.” Margot starts brushing the flour off her shirt into the worst area on the floor. “Can you shut the door, honey? I don’t want this flour traveling out there.”

  Amelia drops off the door and slams it hard. “Hurry!” Her muffled demand is followed by her retreating footsteps.

  I can’t help laughing again as the loose flour swirls across the floor.

  What a character. That sassy attitude definitely comes from her mother.

  “I’m sorry.” Margot’s quiet words have me stopping immediately.

  Leaning on the broom, I look at her curiously as she continues to brush the flour to the floor.

  “What for, exactly?”

  She better not be sorry for what we just did!

  Since she won’t look at me, I lean the broom against the shelves and pull her snugly against my chest. I’ve trapped her hands between us and dip my head to snag her attention.

  “Just for her hyper attitude in general…and swinging on your door… and interrupting us…”

  I cut her off there. “You don’t ever have to apologize for her to me.” I shake her slightly in my embrace until she looks back up at me. “This is all new and exciting. She’s happy, so I’m happy. And I get that she’s going to be interrupting us. We’ll just have to figure out a way to work around it. Right?”

  More rides on this question than she realizes.

  I didn’t want this to be a one-time thing. I hope she didn’t fucking think it was. I hold my breath for her answer.

  The slow smile spreading over her face gives me hope.

  “Right.”

  “Damn right!” Punctuating this with a quick kiss, I pull back to look her over a little closer. “Oh, wow. We have a little work to do.”

  Her laughter rings out. “It be easier if I had a mirror.”

  “I’ll be your mirror. Don’t move.” Running my hands lightly through her hair, I gently shake it until no more white is coming out.

  I’ve always loved her hair. The blond silky strands hide the flour well.

  Brushing lightly on her face, I blow along her hairline and down into her ear. She’s just so fucking irresistible.

  Of course, she giggles and pulls away slightly.

  Becoming all business, I put on a stern face and start working my way down her flannel shirt. From the shoulders, down the arms, I remove any trace of our fun.

  Her back is even worse, but it doesn’t take long. I end with a few firm swats on her butt.

  The side effect of touching her this way is becoming evident.

  Wrapping my arms around her waist, I bend a bit to rub my semi-hard cock against her ass.

  She feels so damn good.

  Dropping my head to her shoulder, I breathe in her scent.

  Briefly, her head drops back to my shoulder. I can feel her long inhale as she relaxes against me.

  Unfortunately, it ends too soon with her pulling away. Her business-like look as she assesses me from head to toe makes me smile.

  Her hands are gentle and quick as she strokes me down. “I don’t think you had quite as much flour on you as me.”

  Her teasing assessment is an understatement. She was pretty covered.

  “I wonder why.” I can’t help teasing her back.

  “But this is super cute.” She’s begun unbuttoning and re-buttoning my shirt. “Were you in a little hurry here?”

  Her beautiful eyes flicker up to me before continuing her task.

  Under the stark light of the pantry, her hair and skin glow. She looks ethereal. Like an angel.

  Cupping her face gently, I lean in and meet her surprised eyes as I take her lips.

  Nothing with Margot can be simple, and as she sighs, I push my tongue between her parted lips.

  Sucking my tongue eagerly, I savor her sweetness. I’m vaguely aware that her hand is slipping beneath my shirt in the back.

  Stroking the arch of her back, my fingers tenderly brush her spine as I pull on the curve of her ass with my other hand.

  Squeezing her tightly, I gradually pull her forward until she’s flush against my eager erection.

  She breaks our kiss reluctantly by dropping her weight lower and slipping from my hands. “Amelia won’t give us much more time.”

  She’s right. And now I’m hard again.

  “Go on out, and I’ll sweep this up and be out in a sec.”

  She hesitates. “Are you sure?”

  “Oh, I’m sure.” I smirk as I lift the hem of my shirt to flash the front of my pants.

  She’s laughing as she opens the door and heads towards the living room, leaving the door open behind her.

  I can hear Amelia’s excited squeal as she comes into view.

  I’m eager to join them so I make quick work of sweeping up what ends up being a fairly small pile of flour.

  It sure looked like a lot more all over Margot.

  This gives me some ideas. There are a lot of other more edible treats I’d like to cover her in.

  Chocolate, peanut butter, whipped cream…but I’m getting distracted.

  She’s just so damn irresistible, and I can’t wait to taste her again.

  Heading to the living room, I see Amelia and Margot are coloring at the coffee table.

  “You’re back!” Amelia immediately hops up and follows me onto the couch.

  She snuggles in against my side as I drape my arm along the back of the couch.

  Peeling her precious drawings from her chest, she holds them out excitedly. “Look at my drawing. That’s me and mommy and you and Crockett!”

  She points to each of us as she explains, and I dutifully nod and smile.

  She’s just such a character.

  “Beautiful, Amelia. And that looks just like me.”

  Actually, they’re stick figures, but she’s given me a nice beard.

  “Yeah!” Amelia has already flipped to the next drawing.

  It’s clearly a picture of the cabin with woods all around it.

  “And this is your cabin. See your woodpile. See the landslide where you saved us?”

  I nod automatically as she points to all its highlights.

  “And this is the bad man who lives in the woods and watches the house.”

  Wait.

  What the fuck?

  Did she just say that?

  There is definitely another stick figure in her picture in the woods.

  What would’ve made her think that?

  I’m speechless, and I hesitate.

  Before I can question her, Margot
beats me to it.

  “The bad man, sweetie? What do you mean?” I take my cue from Margot’s calm questioning and try to relax.

  Maybe she’s making this up.

  “You know. The bad man. I saw him watching the house.” Amelia is already flipping to the next picture and is thrusting it into my lap.

  “When? When was he watching the house?” Margot slides onto the couch on the other side of Amelia.

  Reaching out, she rubs Amelia’s leg to get her attention.

  “Before today.”

  “You mean yesterday?” Margot slides the remaining pictures from Amelia’s grasp and puts them on the coffee table. “Just talk to me for a minute. Look at me. You saw this man yesterday?”

  Amelia settles in response to the seriousness we both hear in her mother’s voice. “Yes, yesterday. I saw him yesterday, and he was watching the house.”

  Who could she have seen? This is fucking serious.

  A chill runs down my spine, and I try to shake the ominous feeling.

  I don’t have neighbors for miles, and they always let me know before they stop by.

  We’re all pretty remote out here, and it’s better to give a heads up. Otherwise, you could be mistaken as a trespasser. That could get you shot.

  I look to my gun case, under lock and key in the corner of the room.

  If there really is someone watching us, and it’s not just Amelia’s imagination…

  I’ll protect my family no matter what.

  Chapter 22

  Margot

  A sideways glance at Boone is all it takes.

  I see it all: his clenched fists, the pulsing muscle running along the side of his face, and the thunderclouds crossing his face.

  They let me know he’s worried, and I think he’s probably right to be.

  Amelia’s description and possible sighting of a stranger have left us both a little troubled.

  Actually, troubled is an understatement.

  Before I can talk to him, discuss strategy, or debate the existence of this alleged bad man, he heads for the door.

  “I’ll be back,” he tells us, and then he’s gone.

  Amazing how quickly bliss can turn to worry in a matter of seconds.

  To think a few minutes ago, we were in the pantry with half of our clothes off, blissfully unaware of any potential threat lurking outside.

  Amelia has stopped swinging her legs and put her pencil down.

  “Did I say something wrong?”

  My heart goes out to her.

  “No, sweetie, not at all.” I wrap my arms around her.

  “Where’s Boone gone?”

  I may be imagining things, but it sounds like there’s a mixture of fear, worry, and anxiety in her small voice. These are the tough moments in parenting.

  What do you say? If you say too much, you risk increasing their anxiety; if you say too little, you leave them worried about having said and done the wrong thing.

  One thing is sure: I don’t want to leave her feeling she’s done wrong by Boone or me.

  “He’s just gone to make sure no one’s around.” I opt for the truth, or part of the truth.

  Amelia looks at me. Her big deer eyes search mine.

  “Is he okay?”

  A lump forms in the back of my throat. I nod.

  “Of course he is, darling.”

  She seems to contemplate my words.

  “He’s not mad I drew the bad man watching the house?”

  Children hate to disappoint us adults, when I’m sure it’s really us who so often end up disappointing them.

  “Boone would never be mad at you,” I reassure her and give her my biggest smile. “You did the right thing telling us about the bad man. We need to know these things.”

  Tempted as I am to add that, of course, she should only be telling us about the bad man if he exists, I don’t. Making too much of this could potentially do more harm than good.

  At the end of the day, Amelia is only four years old. I’m pretty sure most of the time she understands the concept of telling the truth. Trouble is, sometimes a good story may get in the way of the truth.

  And there’s a difference between truth and reality—a difference Amelia may not understand yet.

  Not to mention her reality may not be my reality. What worries me is that this alleged bad man is simply a tree she mistook for a human being.

  It can be easy, if you’re a child with a vivid imagination, to see something that an adult may not see.

  But I understand why Boone’s rushed off to investigate. If there is a ‘bad man’ lurking around, it could spell all kinds of danger.

  Although I can’t quite see why anyone would be up here in this isolated part of the world if they didn’t belong here.

  It’s a magnificent place. Nature at its best, and yet, it’s so isolated, it’s not really a place where you’d expect a bad person to hang out.

  With a sigh, I look at Amelia.

  Her head’s now drooping, and the spark in her eyes has gone. The smile is replaced with a frown.

  “Hey, cupcake, why the sad face?”

  She doesn’t answer, only shrugs.

  I use my index finger under her chin to push her face upwards so she’s looking at me again.

  Now I’m starting to wonder if she made this entire story up about a bad man. It seems far-fetched.

  And yet Amelia doesn’t tend to make up stories about bad men. Any story she has made up has been about unicorns, dragons, and flying horses.

  “Are you worried?” I need to know how she’s feeling.

  Because I’m holding up her face, she drops her gaze.

  “Yes,” she whispers.

  Her admission almost makes me cry.

  What can I do to take her mind off this terrible situation? We don’t have any of her favorite films here, so we can’t use television as a distraction. There are no books to read either, or at least no kid’s books.

  “What about a story? Would you like me to tell you a story?” I stroke her hair and lean forward to kiss the top of her head.

  “Yes, please.” She beams, and I’m pleased to see some of her old spark return.

  “How about—” I start, but she interrupts me.

  “Can you tell me a story about dad, please?”

  I resist the temptation to groan out loud.

  Of all the times to ask for a story about her father, she’d have to ask here and now. What do you call that again? Murphy’s law or something?

  “Okay, princess, a story about dad it is.”

  With one arm around her shoulder and the other around her waist, we settle down on the couch together. She snuggles right into me, and I see her eager face peer up at me.

  She certainly sprung that one on me. I didn’t see it coming, and I certainly am unprepared. There’s no script I can reach for, no book to consult, and no one to turn to for help.

  Boone, her actual father, is out looking for some potential imaginary bad man. Actually, apart from Boone, there’s no one else to turn to anyway.

  “Once upon a time,” I start and watch Amelia’s smile widen. “There was a lovely young woman with beautiful blonde hair.”

  “That’s you, mommy, isn’t it?”

  I nod before I put a finger to my lips.

  “Shhh,” I whisper. “And this lovely young woman lived happily in her parents’ house until it became time to go and study at college.”

  “What did you study, Mommy?”

  I chuckle. “If you keep interrupting me, I won’t be able to tell the story.”

  “Sorry,” she mumbles, eyes on me.

  “She went off to college and studied really hard. She spent many hours and days in the library, reading books and learning. Then one day, she met a young man. He was very handsome and very kind. He was a real-life prince charming.”

  “That’s dad, isn’t it?”

  “The first time they met was in the library. He normally didn’t go to the library much. His life was divi
ded between studying, attending lectures, playing on the football team, and sometimes even saving people from burning buildings.

  “But this time, he came into the library to look for a book. As it happened, the lovely young lady was looking for the same book. Just when she reached for it, so did he. Their eyes met, and she knew he was the one. He told me later he felt the same way.”

  Amelia is clapping her hands together.

  “Then what happened?”

  “Well, let me see,” I pretend to think to stall. What am I going to say? “Prince Charming was very good at saving people, and one day, he saved the lovely young lady from a fire as well.”

  “You were in a fire, Mommy?”

  Oh…well, fuck.

  Maybe I shouldn’t have mentioned the fire to her.

  “I was. But luckily, your—I mean, Prince Charming was there to rescue me.”

  As I ponder how to continue my story, Amelia takes my hand.

  “Mommy,” she sounds all serious now. “Is Boone my daddy?”

  Her words hit their mark. I try not to flinch. Of course I’ve always known children are perceptive, but I didn’t realize how perceptive.

  What will I say? She’s opened up the door for me to tell her, and yet I can’t do it.

  At least not now. Not without Boone here. If I tell her, he should be here. But I don’t want to lie to her, either.

  “Boone is a very good man,” I start to tell her, my eyes drifting to the door, almost willing the man of whom I speak to walk right through it this very second. Alas, no one comes. “He’s strong and caring and kind.”

  They are all true words. I’m not sure if I’m going to get away with my limited response or not.

  “He’s good at saving people,” Amelia adds, and I almost breathe a sigh of relief. “He saved us.”

  “He did, sweetie, he did.” I sit in silence for a while. “And you know what?”

  My daughter looks up at me and shakes her head.

  “He’ll look after us while we’re here and make sure we’re safe.”

  Chapter 23

  Boone

  To say my heart is pounding in my fucking chest would be an understatement. I’ve never felt like this before.

  As soon as I heard about this bad man, a bad feeling settled in the pit of my stomach. And it hasn’t shifted. If anything, it’s increased in intensity.