Page 16 of The Mountain Man's Secret Baby

“By the window would be great.”

“Is this booth okay?”

“Yes, thanks,” I rasp, taking a menu. “I’ll have a coffee to start, with bacon, eggs, and some rare steak if you have it.”

“We do,” the waitress burbles with a nod. “I’ll get that order in and have your coffee ready in just a moment.” Then Tanya, as her name tag reads, bustles away, and I take a look around. There’s no one I recognize in the diner, but then again, when I was at my cabin, I wasn’t exactly social. I came into town to get groceries once in a while, but that was about it. I didn’t hit up the bars or cafes, nor frequent the farmer’s market, nor meet any of the locals. I was a fucking hermit, savoring my alone time in the peace and quiet of my cabin in the woods.

Tears prick my eyes unexpectedly, and I dash them away because what the fuck? It’s been two years since Emily died, and yet I haven’t recovered from her loss. I think of the beautiful blonde every day, images of her sweet smile and curvy form invading my thoughts at the most inopportune times. I’d see her while making my coffee in the morning, or during an important meeting with investors. I’d work up a sweat in the gym, only to catch a glimpse of a curvy blonde figure in the mirror. I’d glimpse Emily crossing the street, but when the person turned, it was just a random woman with long blonde hair.

The shock always made me despondent. My heart would leap, thinking it was my love come back to life, but then the stranger’s face was jarringly different. My stomach would plummet to the ground as I ground my teeth with frustration and disappointment.

So I went berserk. I threw myself into work, and the Degas Hotel has never been more successful. People the world over flock to stay in our suites, losing millions in our casinos. Our food is world-class, helmed by TV chefs who promote cookbooks, products, and tchotchkes, along with a fine dining experience perfect for Instagram. Not only that, but we’ve become renowned for our entertainment, which currently features a Cirque du Soleil-type show helmed by lithe, beautiful ballerinas who dance to a mix of Top 20 hits and jazzy show-tunes. It sounds cheesy and fucking lame, but that’s what people expect from their time in Vegas, and I’m just the man to deliver.

Unfortunately, none of it gives me joy anymore. There’s no excitement at seeing my name lit up in lights. I don’t give a shit about the millions hitting my bank account each day, nor the women who throw themselves at me daily, vying for a piece of my attention. Instead, my life is empty, and I know I look empty too. I see myself in the mirror each day, and despite the immaculate suit and chiseled male features, my eyes are vacant. There’s no feeling, no hope, and no nothing in them. I’m a ruthless automaton who goes about his business, shielding a hidden pain within.

Fairview isn’t making things much better either. Sure, it’s a sunny day and the sun’s rays warm my skin as I sip my coffee. But this is the scene of where everything went wrong, and I wonder if I’ve made a mistake coming back. Sure, I still own my land up the mountain, but there’s nothing to see. It’s just a pileof burned-out detritus, and I curse myself internally. What am I thinking, coming back? This was a mistake, and I reach for my wallet while standing, getting ready to throw a couple bills on the table before I leave.

But then, something catches my eye. There’s a woman walking along the sidewalk pushing an enormous truck of a stroller, and something about her is familiar. It’s the long, blonde hair draped over her shoulders in soft waves, as well as the generous sway of her hips. She’s curvy as she strains to manage the stroller because that fucker is heavy. I see that it’s got six babies loaded into it, all of them with sun hats covering their faces and warm jackets to shield them from the chill.

She comes closer, and I stare, my hand still on my wallet.Could it be...?My heart leaps into my throat, my pulse quickening. I can hardly breathe as literal drops of sweat break out on my forehead. Adrenaline surges through my veins and I think I might pass out.

But then my conscience speaks.Stop, asshole, it commands.This has happened before. How many times have you glimpsed a beautiful blonde on the street, only to find out that it wasn’t her? Emily’s dead. There’s nothing you can do to change it, so calm the fuck down and get yourself under control.

Yet I can’t look away. The curvy girl draws closer, and my heart hammers in my chest, my hands trembling.Is it...? Could it be...?I can’t stop myself from hoping because somewhere deep inside, I miss Emily so much that I’d do anything to get her back.But you can’t bring back people from the dead, the voice whispers again.Sorry, asshole. Even Christian Degas can’t make that happen.

Yet I can’t stop staring. My chest wheezes as I watch the woman approach, pushing with all her might at the giant stroller. But then a baby sitting in the middle wails, and she pauses on the sidewalk before coming forward to pick him up. She’s loving and tender, cradling the child in her arms as he sobs, knocking his little hat off in the process.

That’s when I literally stop breathing. I’d been straining for air already, but now, my lungs contract as my heart squeezes tight. Not only is that unmistakably Emily, with her sweet smile and plush pout blowing kisses at the baby, but the child has dark hair, a dimple in his chubby cheek ... and eyes just like mine.

14

Emily

Ihardly have time to grasp what’s happening. One moment, I’m comforting Blaze, the baby sobbing in my arms as he screws his little fists into his eyes. The next, there’s a massive male figure looming over us, wrathful and practically shooting off sparks.

“What. The.Fuck?” Christian bites out. “What the fuckity fuck?”

My cheeks go pale as all the blood drains from body, leaving me weak-kneed.

“Christian,” I gasp, eyes wide. “What are you doing here?”

Despite my terror at being confronted by my babydaddy, I can’t help but notice that the alpha male’s even more gorgeous than I remember. The mountain man is huge, at least six four, although his cheeks are hollowed somewhat, with dark circles under his eyes. His mouth is twisted with rage, and yet the woman insideme melts a bit, remembering how he worshipped my curves with those lips, kissing me where I’d never been kissed before. I remember those big hands too, coarse and roughened, and how he’d skim them over my body, careful never to hurt me even as he struggled to contain his lust.

I love you, the thought appears magically in my head.I’ve missed you so much, Christian. You can’t even begin to imagine how much I’ve longed for you.

But the man is staring wild-eyed at me, and then at the baby in my arms. The whites of his eyes show, and I swear, he’s about to start frothing at the mouth.

“Emily,” he rasps, his voice low with warning. “Tell me that that’s my son.”

“Christian, I can explain,” I say quickly, holding up one hand. “Blaze was conceived—”

“Blaze?” Christian roars. “You named our baby after a fucking fire? After what you put me through?”

“Christian,” I start again while trying to remain calm. People on the street are stopping to turn and stare because my man is causing a scene, and yet he doesn’t give a fuck. “I can explain, if you’ll just give me a chance—”

But the alpha male is incensed.

“Tell me that’s my son!” he roars as those blue eyes throw sparks. His hands curl into fists at his sides, the knuckles white. “Or help me god, I will kill you myself, Emily! I will throttle you with these bare hands and –”

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