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  WILDER

  The Mountain Man’s Babies

  Frankie Love

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  Edited by Teresa Banschbach

  Cover by Mayhem Cover Creations

  Copyright © 2017 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.

  Created with Vellum

  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

  PREVIEW

  Also by Frankie Love

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  The longer I’m out here, the harder leaving the mountain becomes.

  Damn, it’s crazy to think that just a few years ago I was giving my business partner Jaxon a bad time about selling his shit and staking a claim in the woods, and now, here I am.

  A few trips out to these woods sold me on them. The pine trees, the clean air, the clear blue sky, and the quiet.

  Well, it was quiet.

  Not too quiet anymore. I swear this place ought to be called the Fertile Mountain. There are babies fussing all over the place. They’re cute as hell, but there are a lot of them.

  Jax and Harper have four, their three-year-old triplet boys and a one-year-old baby girl. Rosie and Buck have their three daughters--two-year-old twins, and a six-month-old baby, and my brother and his wife have a set of newborn twins to boot.

  That’s a helluva lot of babies.

  I close my suitcase, wishing I were packing clothes that are a little more me. Flannels and blue jeans. But I’m going to Seattle to fucking charm the pants off some exec who wants to film a reality show out in the woods. Apparently, they think mountain men that build custom homes who have a bunch of babies might equal good television.

  What the fuck do I know about TV? Not much, but Jaxon and Buck don’t want the crew around their women unless they’ve been vetted first. We need to know their intentions before we set them loose on our property.

  That’s why I’m out here. Before I went into business with Jax, I went to law school. Fuckin’ A, right? But I didn’t last long. Hated the bullshit then, and I hate it now. I didn’t want to be in an office–I wanted to use my hands.

  But I’m also the right person to go meet with this show, find out what they are planning. Hell, I don’t have a woman and children to look after. God knows no one is gonna miss me.

  After pulling on my winter coat, I lock my front door. Toss my luggage in the truck, and head down the mountain.

  On my way out of town, I stop at Rosie’s Diner to have lunch with the guys. Jaxon and Buck are already there, sitting in a booth, shooting the shit.

  I slide in next to Jaxon. Facing Buck, I watch as his eyes land on his woman who’s walking toward our table.

  Lucky bastard to have a woman like Rosie. Funny, sincere, genuine. Both these jackasses won the goddamn lottery when it came to women landing on their doorstep.

  “You boys having your usual?” Rosie asks, pouring us black coffee.

  “Yes, ma’am,” I tell her, having a sweet spot for her meatloaf sammy. “I need a Rosie Special, I’ve gotta long day ahead of me.”

  “Flying out of Coeur d'Alene?” she asks.

  I nod. I’m gonna drive the two hours to the city, then fly over to Seattle for tomorrow’s meeting.

  Buck asks for a burger and fries, and Jax grunts out his order.

  Rosie pauses before heading to the back and says, “You boys think this is a good idea? Because from where I’m standing, a TV crew is going to make a racket we aren’t prepared for.”

  “I know, baby,” Buck tells her, threading his arm around his wife’s waist. “But this fell in our lap, we might as well see it through. Things tend to happen for a reason, you know? And the exposure for the company could be huge.” Buck is a chainsaw artist by trade, but after the babies came, he joined our custom home company. Gotta put food on the table, and all that shit.

  Rosie smirks. “I don’t know, Buck. Right now I think Harper and I are mostly worried about our boy Dean Wilder, here,” she says, pointing to me. “About finding him a good, solid wife. And I don’t see how that’s going to happen in Seattle.”

  Jaxon laughs. “Yeah, you don’t want some woman who can’t hack it in the woods.”

  Rosie furrows her brow. “Buck tells me you weren’t always a mountain man yourself, Jaxon. Careful now.”

  Jaxon runs his hand over his beard, shaking his head at us. “Yeah, but you and Harper have the right disposition for this life. Not every woman does, is all.”

  “I’m right here, you know,” I tell them, raising an eyebrow at this crew who thinks they know what I need.

  “We know, Wilder, we know.” Buck laughs, lifting his coffee to his mouth. “We just feel bad for you. Never getting laid, all by your lonesome up there in your tiny cabin.”

  I laugh, “You guys are a bunch of fuckers, you know that?”

  Rosie clucks her tongue. “Regardless, we know that you need a woman, but not some city-slicker girl who won’t play nice with us.”

  “You’re telling me not to get laid when I’m in Seattle?” I shake my head, knowing I’d never tell Rosie this, but the prospect of getting laid tonight is half the reason I said I’d go.

  “You can sleep with whomever, Wilder. I’m just saying, don’t knock anybody up that we haven’t approved.”

  “She talks to you like that, too?” I ask Buck. He just grins like a lovesick puppy. Rosie winks at her husband before going back to the kitchen.

  “You know she’s just giving you a hard time, right?” Buck says.

  “The girls just want you to be happy,” Jaxon says. “And selfishly they want another friend. It’s lonely up here for them, too.”

  Living in the mountains is great. I set my own hours, am my own boss, and work with the greatest guys I’ve ever known. But damn, Jaxon, my oldest friend, hit the nail on the goddamn head.

  “I know, I know,” I tell them, before I take another drink of my coffee, knowing just how lonely it can be up here.

  Damn, maybe I need to get off this mountain more than I thought.

  I need to go get laid. And badly.

  Chapter Two

  “I’m not trying to be a pessimist,” Anna assures me, raising her hands in defense. “I just think a reality TV show is so...”

  “So what?” I furrow my brows not understanding why my sister can’t just support me. That’s what I need. That’s all I’ve wanted. My family to have my back.

  She takes a sip of her mimosa before answering. “It’s so tacky.”

  We’re having brunch in a swanky Seattle bistro, something French and something expensive and she doesn’t seem to understand that we all aren’t married to stockbrokers living in posh waterfront homes. Some of us are just trying to pay rent and a reality TV show seems like the best offer I’ve seen lately.

  “You are such a talented interior designer, and you’ll make mo
re money updating the homes of my friends. That house you did for Alana was gorgeous.”

  I frown. “Buying furniture for mansions is redundant. I want something more exciting.”

  “Well, this reality show is a bad idea. Those shows always make someone out to be the villain. What if that person is you? Your entire career could be ruined.”

  I take a deep breath; frustrated that she doesn’t understand me. “This show could pay my bills for the entire year.”

  “Or you could just move into our spare bedroom and help watch Nicolette.”

  My mouth is in a tight line. “You know I love helping with my niece, but I don’t want any handouts. I want to make it on my own.”

  Anna spears a piece of pineapple, eyes narrowed. “Mom and Dad think it’s embarrassing. The idea of you flaunting around on television.”

  “Mom and Dad could call and talk to me about it. If they had their way I’d already be married to a guy like Brent. And that’s not going to happen. Ever.”

  My sister’s husband is the last sort of guy I want to be with. I want a man who cares about more than his bank account.

  Anna purses her lips. “You may think being married to Brent sounds like your worst nightmare, but he is able to support me and Nicolette. That counts for an awful lot.”

  Anna married for money, not love. Just like our mother. And we may be family, but our priorities have always been different.

  “It’s out of the question.” I fold my napkin and set it on the table. “I want my freedom, and I need some money in order to do that. So I’m going to try and get this gig.”

  Anna shakes her head, confused. “Don’t you want a family? A husband? A baby?”

  I shrug; because of course, I want those things. But I also want them on my terms. In my own time.

  “One day,” I tell her. “But I’m not in a rush, Anna.”

  “I know.” She pouts, and for a split second, I feel bad for her. Then I remember she chose this.

  As if ignoring my comments about what I want, she launches into a new plan.

  “Ohh! Brent can set you up with someone from work and we could have a double date. God, I need a night out.”

  She is literally the last woman I know who needs a night out. She sends Nicolette to a fancy-pants preschool, has a private chef and a personal driver.

  “No thanks, and I doubt Brent would want to help me,” I snort, thinking about her husband and the way he was condescending when I told him that I wouldn’t be taking my father’s money.

  “It’s because you aren’t grounded. Once you have your shit together, a husband, a house, and a 401k, then you and Brent will get along.”

  I swirl my mimosa, wondering what planet my sister lives on. I love her, I do. But she’s living in a completely different galaxy.

  Anna must sense my irritation because she softens her stance. “Listen, I just care about my little sister. You’re twenty-five and don’t have a plan.”

  I groan. “I do have a plan. The reality TV show is going to fund my life,” I explain, circling back to where we started.

  Anna raises her hand and signals for the check. “And if you don’t get the job?”

  I down the rest of my mimosa. “Then I guess we’ll have to go on that double date.”

  Well. That sucked.

  I was so not supposed to eff up that interview. I was supposed to be classy and smart and current. I was supposed to speak clearly and look at the camera.

  Instead, I was a bumbling mess of nerves.

  A complete disaster.

  I was thrown the moment the concept was pitched. I thought the show would entail me making over some mansion in the Hollywood Hills, not designing the interior for a cabin in the woods. My ideas were all wrong. I was thinking gilded tables instead of buffalo plaid.

  My design work had not prepared me for this. At all. I couldn’t be less suited for the job.

  “Ms. Saint Claire,” a television producer says, stopping me in the hall. “I want you to know I was rooting for you. I saw some of the work you did in the last Seattle City magazine, and it was gorgeous, which is why I brought you in for an interview.”

  “Well,” I tell her, swallowing tears. “Thank you for your time. I know I don’t have experience with this sort of design and would be all wrong for the project.”

  “I wish this show was a better fit for you.”

  I take a deep breath, wishing I hadn’t pinned all of my hopes on this, and say goodbye.

  In the hotel lobby, I order a well drink, gin and soda, grateful for the happy hour prices. Sure, I could ask my parents for money, but that has never been my mode of operation. And I’m not destitute. I have a few more projects lined up for the spring, and by then I will have found a few more.

  I look down at my phone, not having the courage to text my sister. I swear to God the moment I do she’ll be making reservations for our double date.

  Instead, I lift my eyes and look down the bar.

  A man raises his pint of beer to me, smiling. Unabashedly. They aren’t tiptoeing around anything. His eyes say, Slide down, sweetie. Let’s make this a night to remember.

  I smile back, because, well, it’s nice to have someone flirt with me, especially after the afternoon I’ve had. Especially this someone.

  He’s the opposite of Brent, even though he’s in a dress shirt and tie. His shirtsleeves are rolled up, revealing tattoos on his forearm. He may clean up nice, but it’s clear he’s rough around the edges. His beard could rival any of the hipsters in town and he has a look that says, Let’s do this, baby.

  Without hesitation, I pick up my drink and move four seats down the bar.

  I may not have gotten a television gig today, but I can certainly end the night with a bang.

  Chapter Three

  For a woman flying solo at a bar, she doesn’t have that hungry look in her eyes, a look that screams, I want you to want me.

  No. This woman has a look that says, I don’t give a fuck. No false pretenses. She isn’t trying too hard, she isn’t trying at all.

  But damn, she likes the vibe I’m sending. When she scoots down one stool, two stools--four--I know my night is going to go even better than my day.

  Which is saying something.

  My day was fucking insane. The producers had a hard-on for my buddies and me, and it showed in the way they wooed me all the way to a contract.

  Jaxon and I aren’t hard up for cash--our timber hauling business was successful, but I know Buck and Rosie don’t have a ton in the way of savings. And with their babies, I know the offer from the studio could really set them up nice.

  I’m not talking college tuition, but I am talking a car big enough for their tribe, or hell, a cushion in savings so they don’t have to stress about lean times.

  And when they pitched the concept of the house we would build for the show being Buck’s new place, it was a done deal, too good be true.

  “You here for business?” she asks, swirling the straw in her glass. She doesn’t meet my gaze, but my eyes can’t help but drink her in.

  Her top is sheer, the black straps of her bra leave little to the imagination. But it isn’t flashy, it’s effortless. And when she licks her lips, I lick my own. Her hair is shiny, black and in a messy pile on her head. Like she just woke up and ended up here. For me. Like I am her final destination.

  That’ll work just fine.

  With my cock twitching, I raise a brow. “Yeah, business brought me to the city. You?”

  “Me too. Well, I mean I live here, though. So to be specific, business brought me to this hotel.”

  Knowing the hotel is one of the biggest in Seattle, I’m sure there are tons of conferences and meetings happening in every wing of this plaza.

  “Business go well?” I ask, not wanting to pry, but feeling weird about not asking a follow-up question.

  She lifts her empty glass, smirking. “Not great. Otherwise, I’d be home, not wallowing at a stuffy overpriced bar.” Her eyes go wide an
d she covers her mouth. “Shit. Sorry. Maybe you love this bar. Awkward.”

  I shake my head slowly. “I don’t give a shit about this bar, but I’m pretty damn interested in the person I met here.”

  She sets her hand on mine. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. We haven’t properly met. I’m Stella.”

  “And I’m Wilder,” I tell her lifting her hand to my lips, kissing the soft skin without any intention of letting her out of my sight for the rest of the night.

  “Wilder?” She flicks a loose strand of hair from her face, leaning closer to me. Close enough that I could kiss her. Close enough to know she wants to get filthy as badly as I do. “That’s quite a name. Can you live up to that?”

  “Oh, baby, I was born wild. It’s in my blood. All I’ve ever known.”

  She inhales, and my eyes swallow her whole. Memorizing the soft dimple in her cheek, the icy-blue shade of her eyes, her slightly upturned nose.

  “Show me,” she says, looking at me straight on. “Show me how wild you can be.”

  Minutes later we’re in my hotel room, neither of us interested in wasting any time. Maybe Stella understands that life is short, fucking precious. Maybe she understands that heat like this, between two people, doesn’t show up every day.

  Or maybe she’s just hot and bothered.

  Which is fine by me because my cock is fucking raging, ready for her to touch it, taste it, be filled with it.

  Facing one another, we begin to strip. No tease, we are here for the fucking show. I loosen the tie that choked me all day, set it aside, unbutton my shirt, watching her lift her sheer top, unbutton her pants. I drop mine the same time she does, and slacks and shoes are kicked away.