Falling Hard: A BBW Mountain Man Romance (Babes of Biggal Mountain Book 4)

by Elaria Ride

  Asher shakes his head. “Yeah,” he agrees. “I’ve lost track of how many times I’ve proposed eco-friendly cleaners to the state parks committee. But honestly?” He wipes his arm across his forehead. “It’s more work for them to change the rules. So they don’t.”

  I scoff at that. “Talk about lazy! You’d still be helping the environment. Do people in the NNS even work in parks?!”

  Asher chuckles darkly. “Do high-ranking government officials usually know anything about the actual jobs they oversee?”

  I snort. He has a point there.

  “Anyway,” he sighs, finishing up the last corner of the spill. “At least this soap is biodegradable. I had to bug them for years to get that. Before that, we’d have to wash it after we soaped.”

  Ugh. I shiver again as another gust of wind cuts through the clearing. The thought of being out here for much longer is seriously miserable, especially in my half-soaked clothes.

  Asher’s still giving the space a final-wipe down when I spot a stray candy bar wrapper a few feet away; it looks like it’s gotten caught between two rocks. We must’ve missed it before.

  I’m about to squat down to pick it up… but then a wicked thought occurs to me.

  Yes.

  I glance over at Asher’s hunched form; on an impulse, I decide to find out just how far this little attraction of his really goes…

  So with absolutely no finesse, I bend over at the waist. I hoist my ass high in the air, making no attempt to cover it. To the contrary, I go out of my way to sway my hips as much as possible, humming to myself as I reach to pick up the wrapper.

  Of course, I realize how ridiculous this looks; if Asher could see what I’m looking at, he’d know I’d gotten the wrapper long ago.

  But Asher can’t see what I’m looking at.

  It’s hard to detect over the wind whistling through the canyon, but all of a sudden, there’s a soft groan.

  I remain crouched over, oddly vindicated for someone with a candy bar wrapper in her fist.

  Because the results of my little experiment are clear: he’s very attracted to me. There are no more gray areas. Not anymore.

  “If you don’t stand up soon,” Asher manages from behind me. I’m pleased to note that his voice sounds deeper and more strained than I’ve ever heard it. “I’ll have a much different mess to clean up.”

  I suck in a sharp breath as my cheeks flood with heat. I whip around, confusion and arousal splashed across my face. In my hubris, I forget something quite crucial: Asher makes me clumsy.

  We make heated eye contact from across the rock, and without thinking, I jam the wrapper in my pocket and take a single stride in his direction. I’m so driven, so lost in his eyes, that I actually manage to forget where the hell we are.

  But gravity doesn’t hesitate to remind me: We’re on a rock. Covered in soap. Covered in snow. And I’m wearing wet boots.

  The second my foot hits the soap-covered surface, it slides out from under me — and that’s when the world starts spinning. In a blur of hands and limbs, I hear a shriek ripping from my throat as I flail wildly through the air.

  But this time, it’s not something to laugh about. It’s not something I’ll text my friends about later to commiserate. No… this is serious.

  A second later, the world spins around me, obscuring my vision into a macabre blur of Asher’s horrified expression and the flat rock surface and the towering red cedar to our left.

  Then I fall… and it happens almost in slow-motion, like I couldn’t stop it if I tried: My head slams on the sheetrock surface with a sickening crunch, one that almost drowns out Asher’s agonized roar.

  And with that, everything goes black.

  7

  Asher

  If you’d told me this morning that I’d be responsible for Autumn Walker slipping and smashing her head against the clearing of Holiday Canyon, I’d have told you where to stuff it.

  If you’d then told me I’d have to figure out how to get Autumn to safety — while she’s unconscious, while a massive blizzard rolls in — I’d have replied that you’re misinformed, at best.

  If you’d taken this one step further and told me she’d be lying in my bed only twelve hours after I’d make her spill coffee all over herself, I’d tell you you’re absolutely fucking insane.

  But karma has a funny way of surprising you, eh?

  Let’s backtrack a little, though, to how life had provided me with this bizarre circumstance in the first place.

  Right before closing, Nick had snuck up behind me, tapped me on the shoulder, and informed me of a spill down on the overlook. I assume he’d seen it during a final perimeter check, but I hadn’t bothered to ask; after all the chaos of the day, it had really been the least of my worries. Nick had then informed me that “Autumn and I would be all alone” and that we’d “better enjoy the perks of doing our actual jobs.”

  I’d just rolled my eyes before heading down to the spill, but in retrospect I wish I’d asked more questions. The combination of his phrasing and Autumn’s accident is a bit... much for me.

  Regardless, Nick had only been partially correct in his assertions — but I’m not about to tell him that. He’d been right that it isn’t his job to handle severe bio spills, but he’d been wrong in the notion that the two of us would be strictly alone. Before heading down to the clearing, I’d programmed the overnight motion sensors to detect any odd activity. So on the off-chance there’s a real poaching threat (or a moose scratching his back or a bear climbing up a tree), the motion sensors will have us covered.

  Great.

  Not that I’m not thankful for the help the NNS gives us. Two years ago, I’d received a grant to cover motion sensor coverage of the park during off-hours. On the surface, this seems great — but you’ve got to consider that these tiny, microscopic, underground sensors (spaced near the red cedars) have yet to detect anything beyond a moose scratching his back.

  Oh, and I have certain rules associated with these sensors. Which is irritating.

  The first rule of having underground sensors around my park is that I’m forbidden to tell any of my employees. In the words of the NNS officials, a park as rural as this one “provides a more significant risk of internal threat.” Whatever the hell that means.

  The second rule of the censors is that I have all mandatory NNS alerts synced to my cabin radio — which is how I’d been awoken this morning. And again, this is annoying; thus far, these alerts have done little but wake me up early. I don’t have a choice about the content of the warnings, either; I get blizzard announcements in the same breath as alerts about LARGE ANIMAL ON TREE. Usually, sensor vibrations should detect a poaching rig, but I haven’t been able to opt-out of alerts about bears and moose.

  Autumn moans in her sleep, shifting just a little — but nonetheless jolting me back to reality.

  I swallow and stare at her sleeping form, at the soft chestnut curls cascading around her creamy shoulders. Right. She’s here now, isn’t she? Her color is a lot better; she’d been pale before, ashen almost, but now her cheeks are finally returning to tones of peach and red.

  The fire roars behind me, cracking and popping in the otherwise silent cabin, but all I can hear is the echo of her surprised shriek as she’d slipped on the soap.

  And the sickening crack of her skull against the sheetrock.

  The memory makes me shudder, even now… even though I know she’s fine.

  But back on the overlook? Things hadn’t looked so promising.

  Just as a startled cry had come from her lips, a matching roar of horror had ripped from mine. I’d only been able to watch as Autumn had tumbled and fallen — and before I knew it, this perfect, beautiful person’s life had hung in the balance.

  Granted, I don’t have the most extensive medical training, but even I know that slamming your head against a rock is bad news; as such, I hadn’t hesitated to act. I’d blinked the snow out of my eyes on the way over to her, trying not to slip and fall. Alth
ough truth be told, I’d been just as likely to slip into the guilt reverberating through my chest… into the darkness of a memory that had reminded me a little too much of the scenario playing out in front of my eyes.

  Somehow, I’d gotten a grip on myself. I’d sunk to my knees beside her, the tips of my boots pressed against the side of her body, and as I’d stared at her unconscious form, at the woman I’d scarcely allowed myself to glimpse at during the workday, I’d been filled with a newfound sense of clarity.

  Because right then and there, I’d known exactly what I had to do. My survivalist training had kicked into full gear, somehow allowing me to put my feelings aside to focus on the now.

  With a precision honed over the course of fifteen years, I’d collected the remaining cleaning supplies, rushed over to the storage shed, and haphazardly shoved everything inside. By then, the snow had been swirling in earnest as the wind howled even louder through the canyon. Leaving Autumn prone and unconscious had killed me, even if I’d only been gone a few minutes.

  I’d dashed back to the overlook without bothering to properly lock the storage shed, even if NNS guidelines would state that the structure is ‘only to be used for utilities.’ I know that most of the funding for my job is contingent upon passing inspections, but I couldn’t have summoned the strength to give a shit. A life was at risk — Autumn’s life — and if the state cared more about their silly rules, I’d have some choice words.

  Then again, NNS might have told me I should have just abandoned Autumn out there on the clearing instead of selecting the only ironclad option to keep us both alive.

  As I’d stared at the snow furiously swirling around the canyon overlook, I known that walking back up the trail (which is already precarious in the darkness) would be a very, very stupid idea.

  But walking back up while carrying someone else… during a blizzard?

  No. That’s a suicide mission. If I’d followed protocol, the chances of me falling and slipping on the way up were much higher than the chances of getting us both to safety in the visitor’s center. And even if by some miracle I got us up there, we’d have to rely on an ambulance to help.

  In a blizzard.

  So it had taken about two seconds to decide what I had to do instead: I’d shifted Autumn across my arms and started the trek to my cabin, thanking my lucky stars that A) I’m as familiar with the park as I am, B) There’s a straight cutaway to from the canyon grove, and C) There aren’t any uphill climbs required to get there.

  Then again, it probably wouldn’t have mattered how far away we’d been, not when fear had been pumping through my chest faster and more powerfully than my own heartbeat.

  I’d marched through the flat plane of the woods in an adrenaline-fueled haze, somehow reaching the cabin in minutes. I have almost no memory of the actual trek over. It had all passed in a blur of terror and dread, with a single thought pounding through my head: Get Autumn safe.

  She’s been so ashen, so pale, that I’d been convinced she’d die before I got her inside. Her breath had been coming in these tiny little pants, and you don’t have to be a world-class surgeon to know that’s a seriously bad sign.

  Fortunately, though, we’d gotten a series of lucky breaks.

  The moment I’d kicked open my back door, Autumn had stirred in my arms — and I know that responsiveness to noise is a good sign.

  Emboldened, I’d rushed us over to my bed and laid her down as gently as I could. With trembling fingers, I’d removed her coat and pushed up her shirt to inspect the damage — and that’s when I’d gotten my second lucky break of the evening. Soon, I discovered that her upper back absorbed most of the fall. Under normal circumstances, this isn’t ideal… but in the middle of a blizzard, I’ll take it over a skull fracture.

  I’d then brushed my fingers up her neck until I reached the goose-egg sprouting up on the back of her head — and as soon my fingertips had grazed across the blood matting her brown curls, my heart had plummeted. I legitimately feel terrible about what I’d had to do next, but I’d had no choice.

  I’d just drawn a deep breath and reminded myself that this was about survival. That I had to be objective. That I had to be clinical. That I’d do this for anyone, really — even if I hadn’t been harboring a secret crush for months. I’ve sustained enough injuries (and had enough cursory training) to know that bleeding to the head significantly increases risk of skull fracture… and that if Autumn truly had one, we’d be in serious shit.

  Obviously I don’t have an X-ray machine here in the cabin, so I’d relief on the next closest thing: Inspecting the site of the wound.

  So with that in mind, I’d taken her shirt off. And cleaned her up.

  All the while, I’d tried my hardest not to look at her; I really, really had. Even when I’d pulled her sweater up over her back and shoulders, I’d done my best to be a gentleman. I won’t deny that the sight of that lacy black bra strap laying firm across her back had… done certain things to me. And made my pants rather uncomfortable.

  With still-shaking hands, I’d then run a warm washcloth over her shoulders, across the coffee-drenched locks that she’d never gotten the chance to wash…

  Fuck. Even now I wince, adjusting myself in my seat.

  I’m not proud of my body’s involuntary reaction, but all things considered? I hadn’t done too bad of a job. Cleaning up the back of her head had given me a little more information, and most of it was good. She had no bleeding from her eyes or nose, no depressed spots at the site of injury, and no raccoon eyes from hidden sources of bruising.

  Still, losing consciousness isn’t a good sign, no matter what. I’d known she needed medical attention, and sooner rather than later.

  So as soon as I’d cleaned her up (and calmed myself down a little), I’d tried to contact someone on the walkie. As I’d suspected, though, we have absolutely zero signal. Even in the best weather, the radio signal in the cabin is hit-or-miss; more often than not, I can receive messages — but I can’t send them.

  At that point (having exhausted all of my options) I’d finally accepted that the only thing to do is wait until the storm passes… and then try to flag down some help. Hopefully, a bear or a moose will trigger a motion sensor as soon as the blizzard stops. If I don’t respond to the alert via radio, they will automatically send someone from the NNS down to help. In the meantime, I’ll keep trying to reach local authorities with my walkie — but I know there isn’t much chance, not with how far I am from civilization.

  But for now? Yeah… I’m just stranded in my cabin in the middle of a blizzard with my extremely attractive, half-naked employee.

  Who I’ve been attracted to the first second I saw her.

  Who I’ve fantasized about being in this very bed as we’d fit together like spoons, my hips cradling hers. I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve imagined the plump curve of Autumn’s ass tucked right against my crotch while I rock us both to oblivion.

  I moan, sliding a hand down my face. If I make it through the weekend without making a complete fool of myself, ruining my career, and terrifying the object of my affections, it will be a damn miracle. These things together would be bad enough… but I’m still painfully, painfully turned on. That little thing we’d experienced this morning (before we’d been so rudely interrupted) hadn’t resolved itself. In fact, it had only gotten worse.

  Right before things had fallen to complete shit out on the overlook, I think we’d actually had a decent conversation. Then I’d had to ruin everything by being a colossal douche, hitting on her, and almost killing her in the process.

  I swallow, my eyes raking over her.

  I’m a damn goner.

  Even before I’d felt her in my arms, even before I’d cleaned her up, I’d known as much. If I’m lucky, my attraction to her will only cost me my job.

  Firelight dances across her face, and just like as always, I love what I see. I love her almond-shaped eyes. I love the full curve of her lips. I love the creamy skin con
trasting perfectly with her shoulder-length, chestnut brown ringlets. I love the way her hair bounces — or the way it normally bounces, when every single ringlet isn’t coated with coffee. I will my eyes not to travel further down her body, resisting as hard as I can with every fiber of my being…

  Ugh.

  I rip my head away, staring at the far wall. I’m disgusted with myself. It would be too easy — far too easy — to lower the blanket, just a little. To get a peek at what I’ve craved for half a year…

  I clear my throat and rise from my chair. I’ve spent the past hour shoveling the gathering snow, or at least making enough headway to distinguish a path for when we head back to the visitor’s center.

  I could definitely use a shower. For more than one reason.

  I take one last, lingering glance at Autumn’s sleeping form before I head into the bathroom. I vow to make it quick; I can only hope she won’t wake up while I’m in there and wonder what the hell is going on…

  Shaking my head, I close the bathroom door and turn on the faucet. My cabin isn’t much — but it’s home. I’ve never needed more than the basics. My sister, Sylvie, furnished the place in red flannel accents. Apparently, this had provided my cabin with ‘a rustic flair.’

  I chuckle as I shuck off my jeans and boxers. Sylvie is… a character. I’m not sure there’s another way to describe her. Because I like to torture myself with the impossible, I sometimes like to think about what would happen if she ever met Autumn. They’re both undeniably quirky; I’d imagine they like the same movies and TV shows, too.

  Since meeting Autumn (and hearing her nonstop pop culture references) I’ve tried to learn a little more about the world I’ve tried too hard to tune out. This isn’t easy, though, when you don’t have Wi-Fi; I usually rely on Sylvie to fill me in about movies and sitcoms so I’m not totally in the dark when Autumn screams at stuffed wildlife.

  I step under the shower spray with a few deep, cleansing breaths. I’m not introspective with my feelings — never have been. I guess that’s why it’s taken until now for me to realize that it’s not normal to take an interest in something you’ve deliberately avoided. And to think about introducing a totally platonic co-worker to your family.