“You're trouble. You know that, Wavy?”
“Good thing you like getting in trouble,” I laugh as he unlocks the door to his cabin. I step inside the cold cabin, realizing it's not as chilly as I was expecting. There is a fire already crackling and the place is cleaned up. It doesn't look anything like it did when we left. When Tiny and Beam were spread out on the floor.
“Jameson must've come up here before we arrived to make the fire,” Walker says. “He’s a good man.”
“Do we really trust him?” I ask. Since everything went down in the warehouse, Walker and I have been able to talk, and I know Jameson was doing drug runs.
“Hey,” Walker says. “He took care of Tiny for us and he helped the police up here close down the commune. He's a hero around these parts.”
“I wonder what his family thinks,” I say. “You said that they're the rich and powerful oil guys up here in Alaska, didn't you?”
Walker nods. “Yeah, Jameson is loaded, but he doesn't come off like it. He works hard and he helped us when we needed it most.”
“Maybe I'll bake him some cookies as a thank you,” I say smiling.
“You’re gonna make him cookies?” Walker frowns. “What about me?”
I roll my eyes, laughing, as he kisses me, looking at me like I’m the most beautiful thing in the entire world. God, when he looks at me like that my belly flip-flops and my spine tingles.
I run my hands over his broad shoulders, down his solid chest, watching as the diamond ring he slipped on my finger glitters in the firelight. “We're finally home.” I wag a finger at him. “And if you'd like me to put on an apron and make you some cookies, I will. Don't want you to get grumpy our first night back.”
“Oh, I don't want you to make cookies.”
I purse my lips playfully. “Then what was the fuss about me making them for Jameson?” I lick my lips the way I know he loves.
“I like to tease you is all. I don't want you making something sweet for the neighbor if I don't get the first helping.”
“Walker, you are a jealous man, aren't you? You don't ever have to worry about someone getting the first helping. It's all for you—firsts, seconds, thirds. However much you want.”
He runs his hands over my body, squeezing my ass. “However much I want?” he asks.
I nod. “That's what I said. You know I'm not one to lie or exaggerate.”
“That's true,” he says. “It’s one of the many things I love about you. You say it like it is, Waverly.”
I look up at him. “When are we going to get married?” I ask saying the first thing that comes into my mind. Even as he is on his knees tugging down my jeans and pushing my panties over my hips. He continues kissing my mound and squeezing my butt cheeks. My eyes close and I run my fingers through his hair.
“When are we getting married? That's what you're thinking about right now?” He grins up at me.
“What are you thinking about?” I ask playfully, knowing full damn well what he is thinking about. It's what I'm thinking about too, I'm wet for him and I want him so damn badly. I've been sick so much since I've gotten pregnant. We didn't make love the last few days as I’ve been so nauseous. And now my body is hornier than ever.
“I’ll get married as soon as you want,” he tells me. “I figured you'd want a white dress, a church, the whole nine yards.” He looks up at me. I lift my shirt up over my head and toss it aside. Unhook my bra, wanting him to touch my nipples, massage me, feel me, touch me, take care of me the way only he can do.
“I don't want any of that,” I tell him.
“What are you talking about? You were a virgin when we met. I had a feeling you wanted a white wedding.”
“You're wrong.” I shrug. “See, there are still things we need to learn about one another.”
“You're not backing out of this, are you?” he asks, looking up at me.
“Hardly,” I say. “I just… I was thinking after everything we've been through; I don't really want all that a fuss, a show, and it's not just because we don't have a lot of family. I know we could invite Jameson and Maker and Bellamy. Beam even. We could have a ceremony and a party, but…”
Walker pulls me to him. “But what, baby?”
I blink back tears I wasn't expecting to shed. “But I don't want all that after everything we've gone through. What I really want is to make a promise to you. A promise I will always keep. To have and to hold, now and forever. I will be your wife.”
“And I will be your husband,” he says solemnly. “I will never let you down, Waverly. I'll be the man you need and the man you want. I'll be more than the father to your children. I'll be their protector.”
“Oh, I love you so much, Walker.” I wrap my arms around him and his head rests on my belly.
“I love you more.”
“Can that be our wedding? Can those vows be enough?” I ask.
Walker smiles at me, standing, and our foreheads touch. His finger traces my lips. I breathe him in and God, I like how he smells.
“Those vows just aren't enough, Waverly.”
My eyes widen. “No?”
“No, baby. Those vows are everything.” He kisses me again and he holds me close.
We fall on the couch and his clothes are pushed down and tossed aside. My body is bare and naked. I run my hands over his thick cock and his fingers find my folds, opening me gently, but with a touch that sends a flutter through my belly, straight up to my heart.
“I love you, Walker.”
“I love you more.”
“So, is this our wedding night?” I ask him, a smile on my face. Love blossoming ever brighter in my heart.
“Yes, Waverly, this is our wedding night.”
“But you don't have a ring,” I say biting down on my lip.
He swallows. “Actually, my father's ring was in that safe on Maker’s yacht.”
“Really? I ask.
He nods. “Yeah, it's in my bag. The police officer gave it to me. Strange. Huh? The ring my mother gave him. And she was the best woman I ever knew before you.”
I get up off the couch, even though it's painful to move away from his deft fingers and his hardening cock. He tells me where in his backpack he stowed the ring and I find it in a small pouch. It's a simple gold band and I think about what it must have been like when his mother slipped it on his father's finger. How much their lives changed over the years they were married. Their love started out as pure from what I gather and after she died, his light was gone. He turned dark.
I pray that never happens for Walker and me. I want our love to burn brightly until the day we die.
“With this ring, I thee wed,” I say slipping it on my husband's finger. We're married now. Heart, mind, spirit, soul.
“Now,” he says. “I think I'm supposed to carry you over the threshold.”
“Oh, baby,” I say laughing, “You can take me anywhere you like.”
So, he does. He takes me on the floor in front of that fire on a bearskin rug. His mouth between my legs, licking my pussy, up and down, making me wet, making me his, making me come all over again. That beard of his, it’s trouble and I like trouble. So, does he.
I climb on top of my mountain man, running my fingers over his chiseled chest, sinking down on the cock I’ve come to know so well. The cock that gave me a baby. That gave me two.
“I love you, Walker,” I say, our fingers lacing as I pin his hands over his head, my breasts swaying in his face. He kisses them, his tongue rolling over my nipples, his fingers in my hair, tugging it back tight. We make love, repeatedly in front of the fire, on the kitchen table, on the couch.
Later, wet and sweaty and slick with desire, we manage to get up to the loft. I dip my mouth over his cock, and I suck him off the way he loves. I grind on top of him, my ass on his face. He licks my pussy until I’m lost in oblivion. It's our wedding night and it's sexy as hell, and I promise him there'll be more of this. Plenty more.
I fall asleep with his fingers in m
y hair. My body's so spent and shaky, I can't see straight. I'm dizzy with love and lust, but not longing because what I have, what I've always wanted, it's all right here.
Walker pulls me against himself, tucking me under his arm like it’s a wing.
He is my protector, my shelter, my strength. He’s my husband and I somehow ended up here on Whiskey Mountain, falling asleep against the chest of the man who has my whole heart.
Epilogue
Walker
Seven months later…
The light shines through the cabin window where I’m hanging blackout curtains. The room is cozy, and I’m grateful the addition was done in time.
We built two bedrooms behind the kitchen, facing the lake. It was hard, with most of the work done over the winter, but we spared no expense. The twins will need a bedroom, and Waverly and I sure as hell weren’t going to sleep in the loft and have our newborns downstairs all alone.
“Just a little more to the left,” she says, directing me. “There we go, perfect.”
I smile to myself knowing I had the curtain rod in that position an hour ago before she decided she needed to be sure, pulling out a measuring tape to triple check my work. I hold my tongue, loving the way she insists on making everything absolutely perfect.
I understand her need to have everything in order. After a lifetime of Waverly fighting for the clothes on her back, the ability to provide for our children, to prepare for them in every possible way, is all she wants.
The fact I am the man to give that to her fills my heart with pride.
I drill in the brackets and thread the curtains on the rod. “That good?” I ask.
She smiles up at me. “Perfect.”
I set the drill down on the baby changing table. The room is filled with every necessity known to man. Baby wipe warmer and a sound machine and a double swing and a double all-terrain stroller. I didn’t even know half this stuff existed. I thought all you needed was a stack of diapers and a pile of onesies.
But Waverly has all sorts of dreams about motherhood and I make it my life’s mission to make sure every last one of them is fulfilled. She’s nervous. Even now, she is refolding baby clothes and making sure baby booties are lined up straight. She’s scared, my wife. This is all new to her. She never had an example of motherhood, and this is territory neither of us knows much about.
We took parenting classes in Anchorage. Have read all the books. We want to get this right. We want to make a new family tree, one that has solid roots and a firm foundation. I won’t be like my father, and she doesn’t plan on being like her mother.
“Hey,” I say, pulling her in my arms, I see worry lines on her face. “You doing okay?” Her baby bump is so big with the twins ready to arrive any week. Our bags are packed and the place in Anchorage is leased, ready for us to move in, so we are hospital-ready for when the time comes.
“I think…”
I sweep a strand of hair from her eyes, “Think what, Wavy?”
“I think I’m having contractions.” She grimaces then, and I see it is more than worry. It’s fear. “Oh God, Walker, it hurts.” She presses her hands to her tummy, closing her eyes.
“How badly?”
“I don’t know. Maybe it’s all in my head. The doctor said I should take a bath if they start, to see if they go away on their own.”
“I know, but I don’t need you going into labor on the cabin floor if we can get you to a hospital. We should go.”
“I don’t know, Walker. I’d feel silly if it was nothing.”
“Baby,” I say, knowing my wife all too well. “We have our bags packed. We have a place to stay. We go to the hospital, get you checked out and if it’s a false alarm, at least we will know.”
“You’re sure?”
I shake my head, kissing her. “Waverly, we’re going.”
My words are firm, and I know she appreciates it.
“Okay,” she says, breathlessly. “I’ll get my shoes.”
“And I’ll get my keys, and I’ll radio Jameson while I’m at it.”
“Walker,” she says tears in her eyes. “I’m scared.”
I pull her in for another kiss. “Waverly, you are going to be such a great mother. And you aren’t alone in any of this. We can get through anything, together.”
* * *
Soon, we’re in a hospital room with nurses and Wavy’s doctor surrounding us.
The ride to Anchorage made it clear that jumping in my plane was the right call. Her contractions kept increasing and when we landed, her water broke.
Now, she’s in active labor, holding my hand so damn tight I think it might break. And she looks more gorgeous than ever. Sweat on her brow and her long hair loose around her shoulders, and she’d hate me to say it — as another fierce contraction whips through her — but it’s the truth. She is a goddamn goddess and somehow, she is mine.
“It’s time to push, Waverly,” her doctor explains calmly. “Focus on breathing, and yes, there you go.”
Waverly closes her eyes and bears down, pushing with all her might, legs held by nurses, and her hand held by me and after several minutes, there she is.
“It’s a girl!” the doctor announces, lifting a tiny baby in the air.
Our daughter.
Jemma.
“Look at all that hair,” the nurses exclaim as happy tears run down both Waverly and my cheeks.
“She’s perfect,” Wavy whispers and I kiss her forehead, so damn proud of my wife, the nurse wraps a blanket around our daughter as the doctor tells Waverly she can’t lose focus yet.
“You need to push again, Waverly. I see the hair, the second baby is on its way, you’re almost there.”
Waverly is exhausted, but the doctor guides her hand to her opening, and Waverly feels the baby’s head, giving her a renewed fervor to bring her child into the world.
“There you go, Waverly,” I say. “You’re so strong.”
She looks at me, eyes burning with tears. “I love you.”
“I love you more, Wavy.”
It takes longer for the second baby to arrive, but when she does, pride fills my heart. Two little girls, for me to love and protect, all the days of my life.
We spent lots of time picking out names, even though we didn’t know the gender.
Jemma, after her sister, of course.
And the other girl is named Sofia, after my mother.
The nurses bring us our little girls, placing them both in Waverly’s arms, and even though she is exhausted, giving birth appears to be an endorphin rush — her eyes are bright, and her smile is wide. She glows.
I lean down, kissing my girls. I’m nothing but a hardened criminal living in the wilderness, yet somehow, in the Whiskey Mountains, I found more than a home — I found a family.
“Look at them,” I whisper, in awe of their beauty, of my wife’s strength. Of this circle of love and life wrapping around my heart.
* * *
Hours later, once the babies are cleaned and bathed, Waverly is showered and propped up in bed, eating a greasy cheeseburger and milkshake — her comfort food. I’m settled with Jemma in my arms, in a rocking chair next to Wavy’s bed, when I get the call that I should have made several hours ago.
“Man, sorry I didn’t call. It’s been crazy.”
“False alarm?” Jameson asks.
I laugh. “Not even close. We have two healthy baby girls. Delivered earlier this afternoon.”
“Well shit, man. That’s great.”
“Sorry I didn’t call earlier,” I say. “Hope you weren’t worried.”
“No, it’s fine, actually, I’ve had my hands full myself.”
“How so?”
“Well…”
“Well, what?”
“It’s just… someone showed up at your cabin, I was down there at your place, making sure it was all closed up— a rainstorm just hit us.”
“Yeah?” My jaw tenses. The idea of someone showing up brings fresh visions of Tiny and Beam
showing up a year ago. I know Waverly is still pretty traumatized by everything that went down — with good reason. And now, with two little girls, the last thing our piece of heaven needs is our past showing up.
My brother, Maker stayed with us for a few weeks last winter, but as soon as the snow thawed, he started out on a trek that he said was going to clear his mind. Not sure where he was headed exactly, but he had a tent, a hiking pack, and a map. He radios us once a week or so, letting Wavy and me know he’s okay. And Beam, well, odd as it is, he’s in Alaska too, working on a fishing boat.
“It’s not what you think,” Jameson explains.
“How do you know what I’m thinking?” Waverly looks over at me, frowning. Mouthing the words, is everything okay?
I nod, holding up a finger. Placing Jemma in her bassinet, I step outside to finish the call, not wanting to worry the mother of my children.
“So, then who is?” I ask. “Who is there?”
“It’s a woman.”
“At our cabin?” I shake my head, not understanding. I expected him to tell me it’s the cartel. Father John. Some shady shit — but a girl?
“Not just any woman, Walker,” Jameson tells me. His voice gravely and low. “It’s Jemma. Waverly’s sister.”
THE END
Preview
TIMBER: The Mountain Man’s Babies Book 1
Chapter One
JAX
I swing down against the trunk a final time before getting out of the way. I call out to Buck, making sure he moves.
My dog, Jameson, barks wildly as he watches the swaying pine.
The tree falls with a strong, heavy rush that sends a chill over my skin.
It happens every time.
I feel most alive when I've taken something, using my own hands, and brought it to the ground.
I used to do that with women. There was nothing I liked more than fucking a woman I'd just met, giving them my solid wood, something they would remember. Then they could go home to their pansy-ass boyfriend or husband, and think of my trunk when someone else tried to get them off.
WALKER: The men of Whiskey Mountain Page 14
