RAISED: The Mountain Man's Babies: The Mountain Man's Babies, #9

By Frankie Love

I came to this mountain to move on.
I've been through enough, and so have my six kids.
They deserve a Christmas with new memories.

When I find a rental house that's big enough for my brood, that comes with a live in cook, it feels too good to be true.
It's an undertaking, but the owner Virginia doesn't flinch. She's a beautiful woman who has seen hard times.
With a gentle ease about her and a depth I long to reach — I know I've found more than my equal.
I've found my Christmas miracle.

But when my oldest daughter takes her teenage rebellion one step too far, it threatens an avalanche on this mountain.

Dear Reader,
No need to put on your mittens and parka. We're not hiking up the snow-capped peaks this Christmas. Just open that kindle and let the newest man on Miracle Mountain decide if you've been naughty or nice.
xo, frankie

• Language: English
• Publisher: Frankie Love
• Release date: Sep 30, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201007898

Frankie Love

Frankie Love writes filthy-sweet stories about bad boys and mountain men. As a thirty-something mom who is ridiculously in love with her own bearded hottie, she believes in love-at-first-sight and happily-ever-afters. She also believes in the power of a quickie. Get ready to fall in love … you deserve it! **Frankie also writes under the name Charlie Hart!

Book preview

Chapter One

Tanner

I roll down the window of the SUV and take in a long, deep breath of the mountain air. It’s freezing as fuck, but it clears my mind. Maybe it was a crazy idea, heading to the middle of nowhere this time of year but after Thanksgiving, I knew we couldn’t spend another holiday in that house.

And now — breathing in the air filled with wood smoke and pine trees — I know I made a good call.

The kids knew it was coming, although I told them it was just a break we’d be taking until after the New Year. Five weeks in the mountains will do us all some good. When we head back to Nashville after the holidays, maybe we’ll all have our heads on straight.

Still, not all the kids are on board with my plan.

I look in my rearview mirror, eyeing my children. Faith, the oldest is in the passenger seat and the other five are either sleeping or wearing headphones, zoned out. It’s been a long few days. Well, really, it’s been a long year.

This is a terrible idea, Dad. Faith is looking down at her phone, judging me in the way only an eighteen-year-old daughter can do. I mean, it’s been a year of terrible ideas — but this is the worst one yet.

What did I do this time? I run a hand over my beard and look at my eldest girl.

There isn’t even a Starbucks in this town.

I think there might be one a town over. Eagle Crest, maybe?

All I can find on the map is a diner called Rosie’s. But it looks old-fashioned and like, ancient.

Don’t judge a book by its cover.

She rolls her eyes. Dad, you are such a cliché.

Hey, I laugh, not offended. Getting a reaction from her sometimes is worth the cheesy lines. The kids and I have had a hell of a year, and Faith has felt it just as hard as anyone. The reviews are what matters. Are they any good?

Actually, everyone says you can’t beat the coffee or the pie.

See, my plan wasn’t too terrible. This town has unbeatable pie.

The littles are gonna love it. I bet you’ll have a heck of a time wrangling them into doing their schoolwork, Faith says wistfully. They are going to be so excited to play in the snow and go sledding. But Levi and I are too old for that. We’ll be bored out of our minds. I just wish we could have stayed home.

I scoff. Too old to make a snowman? Come on, Faith, no one’s ever too old for that. I turn on the radio and Faith instantly reaches for the volume, turning it up.

Dad, it’s your song, she says, smiling now, and in the backseat Lily and Willa perk up, singing along.

The lyrics, at least. When I wrote this I never expected—

She cuts me off. I know, you never thought a pop star would be singing it. You want old guys in Nashville with dusty guitars to sing your stuff.

So, what? You saying I have old man taste, Faith?

She laughs, pointing to the road on the left where I need to turn. She turns down the music. You aren’t that old, Dad. You’re thirty-six.

My large SUV with a trailer hitched to the back, loaded with suitcases and boxes, rumbles down the long country road and in the heart of the mountain valley, sits the house we’ve rented for the next five weeks.

Mom would have loved it here, look at the wraparound porch with swings, it’s so sweet, Faith breathes, and I reach for my daughter's arm, squeezing it. Losing Savvy this past year nearly broke us all, but here we are—still standing. Savvy always said what doesn’t kill us makes us stronger. I hated the sentiment, but damn, there’s some truth in it.

She would have, I agree. Savannah was a country girl at heart. She never sang, but she wore cowboy boots and bandana in her hair.

I miss her so much, Faith says softly.

I know, sweetheart. We all do.

I’ve been a widower just over a year, the kids without a mother. But it feels longer than that. Savvy was so sick for so long that, in the end, it was a relief to finally know she wasn’t in any more pain.

Before we park the vehicle, there is one more thing I want to say to my daughter. It’s the reason I wanted her to ride up front with me for the last stretch of the drive. Faith, you’re done with high school, so I don’t expect you to stick around your old man forever. You said you wanted to come on this trip with us — but if at any time you want to spread your wings, don’t be scared to ask. I want to help my girl fly, okay?

Faith smiles and I know she heard me. Still, she’s her mother’s daughter and likes to defuse hard times with jokes. Dad, she teases, stop being so sentimental. You live in the mountains now. You need to get tough.

I grew out this beard, I say, running a hand over my jaw. As I park the car, we both laugh.

It’s a start. Maybe chop us down a Christmas tree, okay?

The moment I kill the engine, the back doors open, and my children begin to tumble out.

Willa, who is twelve, argues with Lily, who is ten. They’re bickering over a pair of gloves. Behind them, the eight-year-old twins, Clover and Cash, immediately reach to the ground, make snowballs, and begin chasing one another around the yard. Levi, my sixteen-year-old, lifts his arms to the sky as he stretches after the long drive, and Faith is in the trunk grabbing her backpack.

I want a bedroom with a bathroom, Faith declares.

No, I want one like that! Lily cries, forgetting the argument over the gloves.

There will be plenty of room, I promise, I say, reaching for bags in the open truck. I hand everyone something to carry before heading toward the farmhouse. Let’s go meet the owner.

I hope she can cook, Cash mumbles. I haven’t had a real meal in ages.

Is that a dig at me or Faith? I ask with a laugh.

Both.

Faith shoots him dagger eyes and it shuts him up. I hate cooking, I don’t know why everyone always expects me to do it.

You’re the oldest, that’s why, Clover moans. No one trusts me to make anything.

Remember the eggs you made? Willa laughs, and I can’t keep a straight face, remembering the fire alarm that went off as my youngest daughter attempted to flip fried eggs on a gas stove.

I’m a work in progress, Clover sighs dramatically. Maybe this owner will let me help her in the kitchen.

How do you know it’s a she? Levi asks.

Well, look at her, Clover says, pointing straight ahead.

I look to where she’s pointing and practically trip over my own two feet. On the front porch of the farmhouse stands a woman in her mid-twenties with a messy blonde bun on the top of her head, wisps of hair falling in her eyes. She wears a pink apron that is covered in flour and a bright smile. Her eyes are as blue and as bright as the sky and she lifts her hand on greeting. Her cheeks are rosy as if she’s been running a marathon, and the closer I get the more frazzled she seems.

You made it, she says, taking us in with her eyes. And you’re early. I can only imagine the motley crew we must appear to be.

"We did, and I hope that’s not