Now take a look at the first three chapters of…

Mountain Man Baby Daddy

A Billionaire + Virgin Bride Romance

By Vivien Vale

Copyright 2018 by Crimson Vixens

All rights reserved

This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons is entirely coincidental. This work is intended for adults only.

Vivien Vale

Jack

The crystal blue waters of the lake are ice cold, but my cock is hot and thick and rock fucking hard.

My coat is laying back on the cooler I brought with me. So are my boots. My coveralls, my flannel, my jeans—every fucking piece of clothing that most men need to survive this kind of cold, I’ve left high and dry back on shore. Right down to my socks and my goddamn underwear.

Shit like this takes time to learn. You have to train your body to endure the harsh conditions, the deadly chill and most of all, the pain.

I prepared myself for this. Got my aim just right. I’ve been doing this for ten fucking years now, and I can’t remember the last time I missed.

Diving into the freezing waters of an iced-over lake like this would kill most men. Even those hot shot billionaire bad boys in the city who think the whole fucking world ought to bow to their horny little pricks and hairless little balls.

It won’t fucking kill me.

At this point, I don’t think anything can.

My body breaks the surface of the water with all the finesse of an Olympic diver. Like I said—practice. I dive down deeper than I need to, all the way to the lake’s bottom. When I get there, I open my eyes and take in the full scope of the lake life beneath the frozen surface.

At this point, most people would be enraptured in awe if they weren’t fucking dead already. The beauty of it all still gets me sometimes, and I’ve marveled at this more times than I can count.

Up above me, through the big Jack-sized hole I sawed into the ice, the last rays of an early winter sunset light up the water, illuminating my exit. All around, the lake life continues, business as usual, despite the blanket of ice shutting them off from the outside world.

It’s breathtaking, sure.

It’s also like reading a fucking menu.

I select my prey with ease, swimming up and snatching a sizable bass with my rough, thick fingers. I rip it right out of its path.

It struggles hard, but my grip is tighter. What a fucking beauty this is going to be. I can already feel my stomach grumbling in anticipation.

My body is still so hot as I swim back up to the surface, the water practically boils where it meets my skin. I follow that light shining up overhead, though it’s dimmed a bit by now. Winter days turn to long winter nights pretty quick out here in the mountains.

It’ll be dark soon, and I’ll be glad to be back in my hand-built cabin, dinner in my belly and not a fucking worry in the world for the rest of the night.

I hold the bass between my teeth as I hoist myself up back out onto the thick sheet of ice covering the surface of the lake, kicking my feet to raise my legs behind me. Fuckers as big as me and as heavy with muscle as I am are in danger of cracking even the thickest layers of ice if we don’t come up out of it properly.

Not that there are many fuckers as big as me.

When the cold air hits my body, the beads of water tangled in the thick, dark hair of my arms and chest turn to steam against my skin. I toss the fish off to the edge of the lake adding to the pile of what I already caught with my homemade fishing rod. It usually does the job, but some fish are just better caught with your own two hands.

WHIP! WHIP! WHIP! My hair cuts the still air as I shake my head, getting out any extra wetness. I ring out my beard and towel off my skin with my flannel. Nothing like a brisk fucking day to put a little more hair on your chest—not that I need any.

My bare feet sink down into the snow as I make my way over to my tree-stump seat. Part of me just isn’t fucking ready to call it a day and trudge home yet. Days like this, it’s easy to remember why I came out here in the first place.

On the other hand, I have my days where I can’t help but be haunted by the memory of my fallen brothers. They trained for shit like this too, same as me—shit like this, and shit far fucking worse. And after all that training…it just blew up their goddamn faces. Literally.

I relive those tortuous fucking moments every fucking day. The nightmares might not happen with every sleep anymore, but they still won’t leave me alone.

I can still see their lifeless faces as clear as day. I did nothing to save them. Couldn’t have done anything, even if I’d tried.

I just ran. We all fucking did. That’s all we could do to save our lives from certain death. It was instinct kicking in.

Unfortunately, the only one still alive by the time my breath tore through my chest and my legs gave out was me.

I lived. But the guilt still fucking kills me. Moving back home after my so-called “honorable discharge” was too much pain to bear. I saw their faces in the newspaper, on TV.

Worst of all, I saw their families. Every fucking one of them wanted to chit-chat with me after their funerals. Lay their hands on my big, broad shoulders and tell me that they were glad I survived.

I can’t even say that for myself.

Their loved ones died, while I walked away unpunished. Pieces of shit like me don’t deserve the privilege of living in the comfort of society surrounded by the people who love them.

I’m a fucking failure. A disgrace to my uniform.

And when the night terrors come…

I’m not safe for anyone to be around, period.

I left home in the middle of the night, not a word to anyone. As much as my parents tried to reassure me that I did nothing worthy of bearing guilt, I didn’t fucking buy it. Unconditional love wasn’t made for assholes like me, and if there’s one thing I can’t stomach, it’s living a lie.

So here I am, ten years later. I’ve built a cozy, structurally sound environment for myself. No people, no problems. Every month or so, I run some firewood into town in exchange for a ration of some minor groceries.

There’s a little old lady down there who keeps me stocked with eggs in exchange for silly little honey-do tasks she can’t complete herself, and the general store is happy to operate on trade. Good fucking thing, too—I’d be lost without flour for my pancakes.

Just thinking about the past has left my breath ragged. It billows out in front of me, the vapor manifested in the air. I peer around through the trees and see an orange-yellow sun veering off to the west in the sky.

That’s my cue. Dinnertime.

I get my clothes back on my body, lickety-split. When it gets too dark, I’ve been known to leave garments out here on occasion and just walk back up the mountain in my boots and my manhood. All this thinking about the past, though…tonight, I just don’t wanna fucking deal with it.

On the bank of the lake, I gather a bundle of sticks and logs and pile them on each other. I take my flint and starter and get a quick flame going. It catches immediately on the wood. Sure, I can ignite a fire with just my sticks, but some days I like to reserve myself. Even a monster can use a break once in a while to stay sane.

I take my big old cast iron skillet, settle it over the flames. When it’s nice and hot, I toss in a knob of butter half the size of my fist. While that melts, I gut the bass in a few easy strokes of my knife and slap it into the pan. Nothing like the smoke of a homemade fire and the sizzle of something you’ve caught yourself to make you feel at home.

As the pan sizzles over the fire, cooking my fish nice and thorough, a hellish screech comes shrieking through my quiet habitat.

Sounds like a car. For the driver’s sake, I fucking hope it ain’t. These mountain roads have been nothing but black ice for a week now, and with a storm coming in…

I just fucking hope it ain’t a car.

I stand up and look through the trees to see a red sedan swerving out of control up on the path. I watch its movements, bracing myself to bolt if it comes this way.

Suddenly, the car flies off the road and starts rolling down the mountainside. I hear it crash into the mountain each time a side hits the terrain.

I don’t even think about it. In my line of work, you weren’t trained to think. You were trained to just do . There’s someone piloting that car and no matter how dumbshit I might think they are, I need to help them.

I swiftly scoop up my flashlight and charge in the direction of the crash. I know one thing for sure: if anyone is even in that car anymore, they’re in rough shape…if they’re even alive at all.

My heart races as I strain myself, using trees and natural footings in the mountain to climb my way up to the crash.

When a person is injured, you waste no time. You don’t look back. You just keep pushing on.

And that’s what I have to do right now, for this driver and who knows how many passengers. I’m already mentally preparing how much I can ration out of my own supplies to be able to help them.

That’s the trouble of living alone. I used to worry about it a lot. Hospitality was a big part of my family’s lessons growing up. You don’t hog to yourself what you can give to others. But when you haven’t shared with a soul in ten years, you become relaxed and tend to keep less around you.

I continue forward. Damn, it’s a trek up here. I’m surprised the car tumbled so quickly. They’re lucky they stuck where they did, but still…I’m not expecting the best-case scenario with this.

The headlights are still lit, shining against a snow-covered mountainside. From what I can tell, the car is about a foot shorter than it was when it started at the top. Not a good sign at all.

As I make my way up the tree-littered hill, I realize just how strong I’ve become out here. I’m tearing through trees, breaking branches, moving earth as I launch myself towards that car.

I finally arrive at the crash site. The car landed upright, but there’s a big tree that must have crashed on top of it when the vehicle made contact.

I peer through the window, shining my flashlight inside, and I see a woman. She’s young. Blonde. Admittedly, even unconscious, she’s the most beautiful fucking thing I’ve ever seen in my life.

Only fucking problem is, she’s covered in blood, gasoline and who the fuck knows what else, and I just heard the sizzle of the car engine catching fire.

I reach for the door handle and pull it with all my might. It won’t budge. I push my foot against the side of what could formerly be considered a car to get more leverage. Still nothing.

Panicking, I take my elbow and slam it against the windshield, shattering the glass. This woman is already cut to hell, so I feel bad. But I have to help her out in time, if she’s even still with me.

I lean into the car and see that she’s in a big, fancy wedding gown. What in the world was this girl doing all the way out in the woods like this? What a wedding day to have come crashing down the side of a mountain.

I reach my hand out to her neck, and feel that there’s still a pulse. Shallow breaths rise and fall in her chest. There’s hope for her yet. But first, I’ve got to get this fucking tree out of the way.

Avery

I need to focus on the road like, so bad right now, but this stupid freaking bridal veil keeps falling over my stupid freaking eyes. I guess that’s the purpose of a veil, when you really think about it…but right now? Not helpful.

I rip it out of my hair, undoubtedly damaging my precious blonde locks in the process, roll down the window and toss it out. I can see it flutter behind me in the rear-view mirror, catching on the cold winter wind and floating away.

That’s exactly what I need to do right now. Float away, down from this mountain and into a new freaking life.

As my foot continues to add pressure onto the gas pedal of my car, and my hands tighten their grip around the steering wheel, I can’t think of anything other than how badly I needed to get away from that resort.

Never in my life have I ever been so hurt, so devastated by the people who are supposed to care most about me. What a day. What a freaking time! People are supposed to pamper a bride on her wedding day, aren’t they?

Instead, I got to discover that everyone I know and love is a liar and a traitor—and not just to me.

Seriously? What kind of a life is this nonsense? My entire childhood, I was an obedient and loyal daughter. I held on to every word Daddy spoke. I entertained every idea he put forth. The children of some congressmen don’t take to it well. They feel the need to rise up and rebel and make some kind of statement about how the State doesn’t own their lives.

But me? I took to it like a fish to water. I fulfilled every freaking request, asking for absolutely nothing in return.

I guess I should have asked for honesty.

Especially before I agreed to marry a man just because Daddy said so.

How didn’t I see this before? How could I have been so blind?

I admit, I was naive. But Adam was so handsome! So charming! And it was all arranged by my father, who I was so sure loved me. I believed he would never do anything, anything at all, if it would put me in danger of any kind. If there was any risk of me getting hurt.

I trusted my father to do right by me, just as I’ve always done for him. After all, that’s how parents are, right? They want what’s best for their children.

Instead, I’m here, mentally broken and physically jarred.

Adam’s grip around my arm is still so fresh in my mind. Feeling the ghost of his lust and anger brings tears to my eyes.

Part of me knows I should stop driving. I’m emotional and all out of whack. I’m not a great driver even on a good day. I’ve never had to be. On a day as bad as this one, I know I’m just as much of a danger to others on the road as I am myself.

But there aren’t any others on the road. Not tonight. And I have to leave. I need to go as far away as possible, so I can finally try to remember what it’s like to feel safe again.

Safe from my father and his political manipulations. Safe from the man who was supposed to be my husband. God, I can’t even think of him like that anymore. I won’t let myself.

Yesterday, everything was normal. Our wedding was set in stone. Our honeymoon was arranged. My paperwork to change my last name was filled out and sitting on the vanity of my luxurious bridal suite, ready to be signed and dated.

A January wedding. Mommy loved that. Her little princess bride, all decked out in holiday red and ice blue with a backdrop of snow just as pure as I am.

But all of that’s changed. It’s out the freaking window and I’m never letting it back in as a thought, let alone an option.

The Avery that was supposed to marry Adam is gone. The Avery that was interested in Daddy’s career over her own happiness has died.

Maybe I’ll dye my hair brown. That would really throw both of them for a loop. It would make it so much harder for them to find me, and I never want to be found. Green contacts could be good too. A trench coat. I’ll get a trench coat—something from Burberry. I’ll start wearing sunglasses. I’ll buy a hat!

I’ll start over. Become someone new. How I’m supposed to achieve all of this without Daddy’s money, I don’t know, but I’ll think of something.

I need a new phone number too. In fact, I’ll need a new phone.

God, that phone. I thought it was cute when Adam bought us matching cells. Picking up Adam’s by accident just before the ceremony ruined everything. Now, nothing will be the same again.

But do I really want it to be? I consider it for a second. Like, really freaking think about it. It’s the world’s most tortuous “Would You Rather?”.

Would I rather live in the dark, married to a man who nearly just raped me? Making a home for him and filling it with children without ever realizing what goes on behind closed doors?

Or would I rather have the truth, and all the fear and uncertainty that comes with it?

I push the pedal to the floor.

The truth. I always want the truth.

There’s no point in living if the life you’re living is a lie.

Doubling down on the gas makes me feel powerful, but the car doesn’t like it one bit. I can feel it starting to fishtail. The last thing I need is to crash this freaking car right now. But now that I’ve hit this speed, I know slamming on the breaks is the worst possible option.

I have to maintain my speed, easing off it little by little.

Driving on ice is a hard thing for even a professional driver to do.

And like I said. I’m not a great driver on a good day, and this is a bad one.

As I try to focus and try not to panic, I feel it coming. The water works. I can’t help it. When your entire world turns upside down on you, you just want to break down and cry.

I won’t accept judgement from anyone for that. It’s perfectly healthy to have real feelings. It’s okay to not know what to do. I’m going to figure this out.

But I don’t even know where I’m going, even if I don’t die on this mountain tonight. Driving aimlessly isn’t smart. It’s uncalculated, it’s underprepared. It’s a grown-up version of a childish impulse to escape from whatever it is you don’t like.

But how do you expect me to react? I always have my parents’ support on major life decisions. My life was good, and I never really needed to get out of my comfort zone much. I thought it’d always be sunshine and rainbows in my perfect little life.

Mommy and I spent an entire year preparing for this wedding. Now, I’ve got to put together an entire new life in one freaking night.

Maybe if I wasn’t such a perfect girl my entire upbringing, I’d have some skill at rebellion. But nah, let’s just stay obedient and wait until your wedding day to give it a go, Avery!

All my life, things have been moving in one direction on a path that was already laid out for me. Now, I’m veering off that path and taking the scenic route. Plan B: no plan at all.

I’m going to drive and drive until I can’t see signs, billboards, or brochures at my stops for that resort wedding location.

That is, if I don’t die first. With roads this slick and the state my driving is in, there’s a very real possibility that I’ll die first.

Maybe Mommy can reorganize the wedding reception caterers to make all that fillet mignon for my funeral.

My thoughts return to Adam. And, I guess, to Daddy as well. I haven’t fully stitched together what I read in their correspondence with each other, but I got the freaking gist.

Sweet little Avery’s virginity for a great deal on machine guns.

Machine guns that, judging by what I saw in Adam’s emails, might not even work .

How am I supposed to trust anyone at all after this? My sense of good judgement is shattered and I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to let someone in like that again.

I grip the steering wheel tighter and push down on the gas again.

Which is stupid. It’s freaking dumb. It’s probably the second worst decision I’ve made in my life.

At first, my car listens to me and glides along the road evenly.

Which is good. I’m starting to feel like I might not be all that bad of a driver after all.

But of course, as I marvel at my own driving skills, my car fishtails hard over some black ice on the road. I turn my wheel with it, trying to recover control.

It doesn’t work.

I jerk the steering wheel in the other direction in a panic, and—knee-jerk reaction—I slam on my brakes.

The next thing I know, my car is flying off the side of the road, over the guardrail and onto the bare mountain.

I scream and let go of the wheel. Not like I can correct this now. Instead, I reach my arms over my head and protect my skull, bracing for impact. In my mind, I’m torn between figuring out how to move forward from this, and just praying that I make it out of this car alive at all.

The car starts to tumble down the mountainside. I cry and scream, kicking and jerking every direction as I plead and beg to survive. The car rolls for what seems like an eternity to me.

Luckily, I thunk my head against the steering wheel, blaring my now-broken horn. My body goes ragdoll at the sensation, and then everything is a blur.

But suddenly, I’m stopped. I’m alive. The car is upright, stuck halfway down the mountain. My headlights are even still intact, reflecting blindingly against the snowy terrain.

I lower my arms back down to my side and wince every second as they fall and rest against the back of my seat. I’m panting hard, my head is pounding, and my throat is scratched from all of my screaming.

I can’t believe I’m even still breathing at all. There are some people that don’t get to walk away from an accident.

As I attempt to count my blessings on what I have here, I hear a big CRACK . Subsequently, smaller, frequent, spreading cracking noises follow, and before I can even look around to see what’s going on, a large oak tree comes crashing down to the roof of my car.

The impact hits the passenger side of my car, leaving the damage just millimeters away from my head.

My heart should be racing right now, but instead it’s steady and slow. My vision is blurring out. Blackness creeps around the edges, moving in.

This is it. I’m going to die here.

I start to make my peace with the world and everyone in it, except my father and Adam.

I smell smoke. The engine must be catching fire.

Those bastards can burn.

Jack

I’ve lived in the wilderness for more than a decade now. That means I’ve done my share of heavy lifting.

Hauling a goddamn log to the edge of a river, standing it on end and shoving it over to the other bank to form a makeshift bridge? I’ve done it a thousand times. Moving freshly fallen trees to my chopping stump to turn into firewood? Daily fucking occurrence.

Picking a tree—and I’m talking an entire fucking tree—off a burning, twisted car? No, this is a first.

But that doesn’t mean it’ll be any trouble.

I can still see that pretty little number in the front seat, knocked out cold. I thought maybe I’d get used to her beauty after I got over all that love at first sight bullshit, but every time I lay eyes on her it still takes the wind out of my chest.

I’m doing this for her. And if it’s for her, this will be no trouble for me at all.

I stomp my big, heavy boots down into the snow, planting them firmly. Sounds stupid, but once I’ve got my stance set, I open my mouth and let out a yell that echoes down the whole fucking mountain, fists beating against my chest.

Sounds stupid, but it gets your blood pumping. And right now, my blood is pumping just right. My cock is rock-hard, my muscles are rippling in anticipation of a challenge, and I’m ready. I’m going to tear this massive-ass tree off this little lady’s car and get her somewhere safe.

My meaty fingers curl around the old oaken bark. The smell of fresh splintered wood fills my nostrils. This is a hearty, healthy tree—or at least, it was until this hot little piece’s car came crashing into it.

I squat down under its trunk and push up high. I can smell the fucking pheromones pouring off me in my sweat. The scent only charges me further. I lift that sucker up and toss it straight to the side. It feels like it shakes the very ground I stand on when it hits.

I take a step back and clap my hands against each other to dust off the bark. Piece of cake. My muscles are aching with the exertion, but it’s a good kind of ache. The best kind.

Now for the car.

Thick black smoke is pouring up from beneath the hood. It mars the freshness of the winter air with its oily, cloying scent. Black smoke doesn’t bode well for this runaway bride’s future—or mine, if I don’t get us both out of here and away in time.

I climb on top of the hood of the car and squat down, leaning myself in through the freshly busted windshield. It’s all bent out to hell from that fucking tree.

I spit on my hands and rub them together. If I was a smarter man, I’d have my gloves on me, but time is of the essence—and she’s worth the risk of picking a little glass out of my palms later. I find a couple spots where the glass is completely knocked out and I pry the rest of the windshield open, enough to grab her by the arms.

I pull her out slowly, careful not to jostle her head too much. Even as I do it, I feel the hood of the car go hot with flames beneath me. I’m being torn between my need to make sure I don’t hurt her more than she’s already been hurt and the reality of the situation: if I don’t hurry the fuck up, we’re both going to end up dead.

I pull her against me, cradling her body to my chest to keep her away from the ragged bits of metal and shattered pieces of glass.

Unconscious still. Not a good sign. Beautiful as ever—I have to keep myself from staring at that lovely face just to keep myself in the right state of mind—and barefoot. Barefoot in this weather, with no fucking coat.

Her wedding dress is ripped down the front, and it doesn’t look like any car crash did that. No sir—that tear looks man-made. Makes my blood fucking boil at the thought of some man putting his grimy hands on this beautiful little angel and ripping her ridiculous little dress.

But this isn’t the time to get all pissed off at whatever hypothetical aggressor she might have been fleeing from. This is a time for action.

Don’t think. Act.

I take my coat off my own back and wrap it around her, sliding us both off the smoking car.

As I bundle her up in my arms, I hear something crackle nastily, then the smell of burning oil fills my nose.

That’s the point at which I just fucking run.

This little angel is covered in oil and gasoline, plus enough hairspray in that pretty blonde hair of hers that she’s not much more than a lovely little matchstick in my arms.

When this fucker blows, I need to have her as far away from it as possible.

We take flight back up the mountain, my big boots finding purchase on even the smallest of footholds. Seconds into our trek, the car erupts in flames. I turn back and see the bright yellow and orange embers escaping the sides and the big black cloud of smoke at the top.

That hot air traveling up with us feels good. It has me sweating harder and is making my smell stronger. I take in a big breath of it, easing my shoulders back with the satisfaction of a mission successfully completed... then, we really take off.

As fast as she tumbled down this mountain, my feet fly us back up the side. I traipse us through thorns and brambles that rip at the shins of my coveralls to do it. They could tear clear through and slice up my skin and I wouldn’t care.

The snow has started to fall down around us in tiny little ice crystals. They gather on her long, dark eyelashes and flutter down into her pale hair.

Up this way, once the snow starts falling, it doesn’t fucking stop. My brain is dead set on getting us back to my cabin as fast as possible, before the pretty little princess bride in my arms catches cold or before we find ourselves stranded in a fucking blizzard for the next five days.

The girl’s weight adds virtually nothing to me. I’ve carried deer heavier than this back up to my cabin. Suddenly I’m reminded of my fish I left cooking—the smell of it is still in my beard, although the snow has probably smothered out the fire and started to bury it by now.

It fuels me even harder to get back home. Once this fallen angel is somewhere safe and warm…dammit, I’m going back to get that fucking thing. A man does not waste a fish, especially not one caught with his bare hands.

It’s not long before my cabin is in sight. Not too far off the main road, but tucked away down a side path lined by evergreens that most people easily miss. First thing I hear is my dog, Buck, barking happily at my return.

Dumb mutt has been sitting right there on the porch where I left him this whole time, pouting. Would have taken him with me, but the big bastard would’ve eaten every damn fish that I caught and then some.

Buck is big, black and just as shaggy as I am. Scares some people, which is fine by me. I found him as a stray when I first came up here—skinny, dirty, half-starved, chasing squirrels for his supper, but too hungry to have the energy to catch them.

Now, Buck eats what I do. If I’m being honest, he’s turned into a bit of a porker, but that doesn’t bother me none. I figure he’s earned it, after the life he’s had. Sheriff in town thinks he might be part wolf—wouldn’t surprise me a bit if he was.

As I clomp up the porch steps, Buck perks up and pants excitedly. Silly mutt is usually pretty excited to see me, seeing as I usually have the courtesy to bring him back a consolation fish. But when he sees the woman in my arms, I watch his ears stiffen and his nose twitch with curiosity.

Don’t I know it, boy. We don’t often get visitors up here, least of all, beautiful unconscious brides-to-be.

Buck sniffs at the foot of the angel with his big wet doggy nose and I cluck at him with my tongue.

“Down, boy,” I say. “This ain’t no fish.”

Tentatively, Buck licks at her toes anyway. Can’t even say I blame him. If I was a dog, I’d want to lick this beauty too.

Even as a man, it’s a tempting prospect.

But I need to shove those thoughts out of my head and get this poor girl warmed up and cared for. She’s been through a lot tonight. Last thing she needs right now is some grizzly old bachelor nosing between her legs.

I lay her down on the couch and am pleased to discover she’s still breathing. Well, that’s something, at least. Buck curls up on the floor in front of her, occasionally casting glances up at her beautiful face.

“Behave,” I tell him, not that I need to. Buck is a good dog. A nosy old mutt, but a good dog. And I can tell he’s already just as protective of this girl as I am.

Blankets. She’ll need blankets, enough to lose herself in. When she comes to—if she does—we’ll sort out what to do with her next then.

I cast a tentative glance to the window, watching the snow pour down harder than I’ve ever seen it.

I just hope her plans don’t involve going anywhere—because this shit won’t be letting up any time soon.

!