by Elaria Ride
Falling Hard
A BBW Mountain Man Romance
Elaria Ride
Falling Hard:
A BBW Mountain Man Romance
Babes of Biggal Mountain: Book 4
Elaria Ride
Copyright © 2019 by Elara Ride. All rights reserved. Cover by Mayhem Cover Creations.
No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in articles or reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Contents
1. Autumn
2. Asher
3. Autumn
4. Asher
5. Autumn
6. Autumn
7. Asher
8. Autumn
9. Autumn
10. Asher
11. Autumn
12. Asher
13. Autumn
14. Asher
15. Asher
16. Asher
17. Asher
Epilogue
Thank You
Elaria Ride
Next from Elaria Ride
The Booty Guard
1
Autumn
My ancient sedan rolls into the empty parking lot at 7:05 a.m. I’m five minutes late for work — but for me, this is positively timely. I’m not much of a morning person, but when duty calls, I answer!
Luckily, my supervisor doesn’t come in until 9… and the bears and raccoons haven’t tattled on me yet.
A smile flits across my face as I pull between the faded yellow lines of the parking spot that’s rapidly become mine. I know it’s a little weird to have a personal attachment to a parking spot. I also know that it’s beyond weird to give your favorite parking spot a name. But this spot is Charles, dammit... and there are a number of reasons why I love him.
I put my car in park and take a sip from my steaming thermos. Oddly, my car doesn’t have a name — and from this, you can probably gather that I’m less attached to my car than I am to the place I park it. I’d gotten this beater for a few hundred bucks after moving to the Pacific Northwest six months ago. It’s been a fairly decent vehicle thus far, but it still hasn’t earned a term of endearment like Charles has.
I peer out my frost-covered windshield, unsurprised by what I see. It’s so early it’s still pitch black, so dark that it’s indistinguishable from the middle of the night. Stars twinkle merrily from up above, bright and blaring against the crisp and cold.
I grin and take a deep breath. For the thousandth time, I’m reminded of how lucky I am to do what I love. This job makes every single inconvenience worth it, even if it does result in things like (occasionally) peeing in the woods. Or naming parking spots.
You see, Charles was named my first day on the job — and while (I’m sure) he has many fabulous qualities, chief among them is his proximity to the visitor’s center. I learned the hard way that using Charles for my parking needs limits my risk of doing super casual stuff. Like losing my footing, tumbling ass-over-head, and landing right at the feet of my supervisor.
This entire incident with… er… gravity would have been embarrassing with an average Joe for a boss, but I managed to hit the mortification lottery! My supervisor — Senior Park Ranger Asher Bosco — continues to be the most attractive man I’ve ever laid eyes on.
And that had been our introduction.
I blush at the memory, even though it’s over six months old. On that fateful day, I’d been young(er), dumb(er), and fresh off the heels of a desert placement. I hadn’t even considered obvious things, like the fact that some places are colder than others. Or that parking lots might freeze over. Even in July.
Still, I wish someone had been around to record the incident. The clip could make decent me money on an embarrassing moments TV show. Because I’m a weirdo (and maybe a sadist), I sometimes like to imagine how this experience on broadcast television might play out. It’s kind of hilarious, if I say so myself…
Imagine a packed studio audience, a sea of beaming grins stretched taut across glowing faces. There’s cheers! Applause! As a viewer, you know (just know!) that the good stuff is about to get started. Suddenly, a clip plays across the screen as a narrator’s voice booms.
“A chubby, curly-haired park ranger emerges from her car,” announces the narrator, a smug edge in his voice, “and look! She’s taking a deep breath of the mountain air!”
(At this, there’s some scattered laughter at his words, because they’re completely accurate — but the narrator isn’t deterred. He knows things are about to get a lot funnier!)
“This ranger certainly looks all businesslike,” he continues in a conversational tone. “There’s a length of rope draped around her arm — perhaps for a demonstration she plans to lead later today! But whoa, what’s happening now?!”
Laughter erupts again as the narrator draws a deep sigh for dramatic effect.
“Oh no!” he cries, unable to keep the mirth from his own voice. “She’s lost her footing! The poor girl! She’s tumbling, ass-over-head! Ah, but yes... she’s found a solution! Yes, yes, you can cling to the handle of that car door — but no! That doesn’t work, either!”
By now the audience is in stitches, wiping tears from their eyes at the wild expression on the ranger’s face.
“Oh no!” the voiceover repeats. “Bad luck! Her door handle is frozen, too! It slips from her hands like it’s greased with butter!”
At this point, the narrator is overcome with hysterics — because in a blur of flailing limbs and an ugly brown uniform, the ranger finally skids to a halt right at the feet of the most ruggedly handsome man the world has ever seen!
The narrator doesn’t voice this last part, but it’s something everyone watching understands: the ranger looks for all the world like a fat-tummied teddy bear sitting on a shelf, even as she, herself, laughs so hard she can hardly breathe!
I giggle at my bizarre fantasy and wonder if normal people think about this. I’m sure my brothers (for instance) would’ve loved to watch the entire thing — but I’m not convinced anyone else is batty enough to construct an elaborate fantasy where their own clumsy antics end up on TV.
You see, there are quite a few things that aren’t my strong suits. I’m a terrible baker, I’m dreadful at keeping plants alive, and even though I‘d gotten decent grades in school, most subjects aren’t interesting to me.
But I have one skill that shines above the rest: I’ve always, always, been able to laugh at life’s embarrassments. I feel very blessed and fortunate to have this general approach — because I also happen to be a fat girl.
Now, when most people hear me refer to myself ‘fat,’ their gut instinct is to interpret my remarks as self-deprecating. Or to think I’m fishing for a compliment. Or to give me some advice.
I’ve heard every dismissal from an outright lie (“Uh... no... you’re not!”) to a weird logical leap (“But you’re beautiful!”) — and to be honest, these responses crack me up. They’re so well-intentioned, and yet misinformed... kind of like when your grandma claims you won’t get pregnant if you jump on a trampoline after sex.
Explaining science to my grandma is a waste of time, but I’ve always politely clarified the word “fat” for anyone who asks. I’d never correct anyone unprompted, but there are three things I share upon request. Firs
t, yes I am fat — which is something we both know. Second, it’s possible to be fat and beautiful (and I never said I wasn’t!), and third, I don’t consider “fat” to be an insult, and if I’m owning it, you use that to describe me, too!
Still, I’ve never been preachy or in-your-face about this. At age 26, I’m finally at a point where I’m fat and happy. If you’re thin and happy, good for you — but that’s just not me. I like to think being fat isn’t the reason I’m a virgin at age 26, but life takes you strange places.
Still, I had some experiences in high school and college, but I’ve never been in a longterm, solid relationship. Maybe it’s just my old-fashioned Southern roots talking, but without an established relationship, I’ve never really cared to take things further.
Besides, by now, virginity is serious baggage — probably enough to scare someone away. Simply put, I know I’m fat… but I’m happier being fat and single than I might be otherwise.
Thankfully, being a virgin doesn’t mean I’m naïve to the ways of my own body; I definitely know how to take care of things if the occasion arises. Still, between my varied hobbies and interests (and my hobby which became my job), I’ve never felt the pull to embark on a relationship of convenience.
The life of a park ranger doesn’t lend itself to dating opportunities, anyway. Rangers work long hours on our feet, have more solitary late nights that we’d like to admit, and, yes, I can definitely vouch that the old adage is true: We get paid in sunsets. Of course, those of us who are suited for the job would never do anything else. Being outside is like a drug; I’m just amazed I get paid to do it at all.
That being said, I won’t pretend everything is sunshine and rainbows. My first few desert placements in the National Nature Service (NNS) weren’t ideal, mostly because part-time positions don’t come with any benefits. Besides that, I’ve always craved the forest over the desert. There’s something so comforting about a canopy of trees swaying gently overhead, almost like greenery is enveloping you in a tight hug.
So when then NNS had offered me a mid-level ranger position last summer, it had felt like all the pieces were finally coming together. Accepting the job here at Biggal had been a no-brainer; it was an actual full-time position in the forest, a sign that I’d made it in the world. I’d get a pay raise too, along with my lodging.
I would’ve been totally elated to live as my fat, happy self for the rest of my days… but six months ago, something happened that shifted my entire perception on life. And nothing has been right since then.
Yep, you guessed it: my very first day of work — and my very first experience not using Charles for my parking needs — had resulted in my magnificent tumble.
Which is how I ‘met’ Asher Bosco.
Yeah…
Even now, I shudder at the memory. And not from embarrassment. The enormous bruise from taking that fall had lasted a month, but the weird feelings that shoot up my spine whenever I think about Asher have persisted for the past six.
From the very moment I’d stared at him from my slumped position on the ground, I’d felt my entire world tilting on its axis. I’ve obviously seen attractive men in my life; I’m a mid-level ranger, after all. I see buff, brawny dudes on a daily basis, but most of the time these men exist in a generic blur of muscles and tendons. These features are undeniably hot, but they’re just not intriguing enough to catch my attention for long.
But Asher… Asher is different.
Even as I’d landed at his feet, all I’d been able to do was sit there, my pulse racing, as I’d stared into his gorgeous green eyes. He’s got a classic, sharp-cut, all-American jaw — and he looks for all the world like he’s just stepped out of a jeans ad. Asher’s the type of person who is so extraordinarily handsome that you can’t rip your eyes away.
So I hadn’t.
I’d just stared at him, and he’d stared at me, but for the first time in my life, nothing about this prolonged gaze with another person had been awkward or uncomfortable. Instead, it had felt like the missing pieces of my life were sliding into place. It seems ridiculous now, but this look made me question every single-girl dedication I’d professed for nearly 30 years…
A couple seconds later, Asher had broken the weird silence by reaching for my hand and hoisting me to my feet.
“Welcome to Biggal,” he’d said stiffly, his large hand gripping mine.
I hadn’t been able to suppress a retort. “Well,” I’d said dryly, gesturing to my backside. “As you can see, the mountain and I have already been introduced!”
There had been a pause… and then I’d peered up at him, and the second our eyes met, we’d both exploded into uncontrollable laughter.
“Looks that way,” Asher had murmured, his eyes warm and comforting. “But um… let’s get inside. Ok?”
With that, we’d headed into the visitor’s center — and in retrospect, if his behavior during our first introduction hadn’t been so markedly different from how he’s acted since then, I probably wouldn’t have memorized this conversation. Or the way his hand had gripped mind as he’d helped me up. Or the way his eyes has turned down at the corners, almost like he’d felt genuine concern.
Sadly, that little bout of laughter we’d shared — while we’d stood on what I’ve since dubbed as Charles — had been our last for a long, long time. As soon as we’d stepped inside the visitor’s center, it was like another personality had come over Asher. I’m sorry to say that this personality is the one I see more often than not.
I’ve learned over the past six months that there’s a reason all the part-time staff have given him the nickname Automatic Asher. Since our first introduction, the man has been so monosyllabic that he reminds me of a robot. I’ve basically convinced myself that our first ‘introduction’ was all in my head. Perhaps it was a fantasy induced by a fall on the ice, or perhaps his good looks had just taken me by surprise. Either way, the Asher I’ve known for six months is not the Asher I’d met that fateful day in July.
That being said, he’s not an asshole — not really. It’s more like he’s just constantly detached, like he’s deliberately preventing everyone from getting to know him better. Still, I can’t deny there’s something with Asher that’s different, something I’ve never shared with another person.
We have this weird, unspoken ability to communicate, and if I’m being honest, this connection scares me a little. Sometimes I’ll just shoot him a look during work hours, or I’ll give him a casual nod during a ranger demonstration. Even though I haven’t said a word, I know he’s able to interpret my silence.
Oh, yeah, and it doesn’t help that he’s sexy as hell.
I remain professional during the day, but the second my head hits the pillow, all bets are off. In my fantasies, I return to that first meeting, time and time again. I pretend his eyes had zeroed in on mine, too. I imagine that he’d given a sharp intake of breath the moment his eyes scanned my body. I fantasize that the prolonged beat of quiet when we’d locked eyes had been something sensual and primal… not a moment where Asher had cursed the universe for sending him another bumbling trainee.
Apart from a drunken pub night soon after I’d started, though, I’ve never exchanged a single word with the dude beyond simple, gruff instructions… and our inexplicably prolonged stares.
As such, most of what I’ve gathered about him has come from gossip around Biggal Mountain — which is never the best way to get information about anyone.
I don’t believe everything I hear, but there are a few things I’ve confirmed from the whispers around the park: Asher Bosco is a park ranger who usually wears a cowboy hat. His family has lived on this mountain forever. He has a bunch of siblings. He’s perpetually single, despite his good looks — and as rumor has it, something mysterious and awful to him happened a long time ago.
Asher also lives close to the park, he’s at work all the time, and although he’s this imposing, muscular figure, he’s very sweet and gentle with injured animals.
Ok, ok — no one told me that last part. It’s just something I’ve observed. Over the past six months, we’ve experienced our fair share of wildlife mishaps, and Asher has been Johnny-on-the-spot every single time. He’s rushed over to injured birds and raccoons and bear cubs alike, never caring about his own safety. I gather he takes the animals to his cabin to rehabilitate them, but this (again) is speculation.
Because — like I said — the dude never talks.
Still, as quiet and aloof as he is, I have to admit that it’s getting harder and harder to justify some things I’ve felt around him. It’s getting harder to pretend his eyes haven’t followed me, especially when it’s just the two of us working in the center.
But if Asher shares my feelings (and I try to tell myself that my feelings are just feelings of lust), he surely would have made a move by now. Or given me any verbal indicator he knows I’m there. Or said anything, really, beyond monosyllables.
I heave a final sigh and switch off the ignition to my car. Life is just too short to take things so seriously. I cringe when I think of him knowing the extent of my little crush, but I’ve got bigger things to worry about. Like how it’s cold as balls out here, and I don’t want to waste more gas before payday next week.
With that, I hoist myself out of the car, taking extra care to note the slippery ground beneath my feet. Things have only gotten icier as the seasons changed from ‘summer’ (ha!) to fall, to winter, but I’ve loved every minute of my job — Asher or not!
I take one final, cleansing breath of the thin mountain air before I lock my car and head inside, gently measuring my steps as I go. I’m giving a ranger-led hike later focusing on northern spotted owls, but unfortunately, I’ll spend most of my time behind the desk.
