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

by Elaria Ride

  Nick lets out another furious swear and gives the tree a violent kick, just like he had on Friday.

  Autumn shudders beside me. Yeah. He’s an ass.

  Even earlier today, I’d thought Nick was a lifelong friend — albeit a strange one. But now, as I watch this moron decimate an irreplaceable part of our ecosystem, everything becomes much clearer: It’s obvious that he’d used the blizzard to his advantage. He’d intended to sneak out here in the snow, tether a pulley system to the NNS van/snow plow, and drive away with enough force to break off a branch.

  I don’t know where he’d intended to go with a branch that size, but the clipped walkie talkie screeching from his back pocket gives me a big clue: Nick probably has someone waiting to receive and process the bark before he gets too far.

  I squeeze Autumn’s hand even tighter, hoping to convey my frustration without alerting Nick to our presence. How have I been so blind? I briefly wonder if it’s possible he’s been doing this for a while (and I just haven’t noticed) — but a quick glance at the sheer amateur quality of this setup tells me that this is probably his first attempt. Good. At least there’s that.

  You see, there are certain things about this plan that Nick hasn’t accounted for; I’m suddenly happy, for once, that he’s so willfully ignorant about the forest. For starters, Nick has no idea about the motion sensors; this is one of the things the NNS has forbidden me to share with the staff, just in case of calamities such as this. If he’d been doing this before, the sensors would have informed me.

  Thus, Nick doesn’t know that I know he’s doing this — which means he also doesn’t know that I’ve alerted the local authorities. With any luck, they heard my SOS. Hopefully, the locals (and maybe even the NNS, too) are forging a path up the mountain as we speak.

  From what I can tell, the second fuck-up in Nick’s plan is that he actually thinks a van with a snowplow attachment (tied to a makeshift pulley) will be capable of downing a hundred-pound branch.

  I’m allowing myself a foolhardy moment of celebration — because seriously, that will never work — when Nick angrily mutters something and brandishes his handgun at the tree.

  Shit. My hopes vanish; Nick’s not as dumb as I thought.

  Clearly, he’s already figured out that his pulley system alone won’t be enough to finish the job. He’s reverted to shooting at the branch as much as he can to cause some splintering. He’s playing with fire, I’ll give him that… but between how long he’s likely been out here and how carelessly he’s made this much noise, I doubt he’ll succeed before the authorities arrive.

  But then Nick moves aside to kick the rope some more, but in doing so, he exposes more of his little setup. I trail my eyes up the trunk of the tree, peering into the branches as best I can from this distance — and with a sinking sensation in my stomach, I realize there is something he will manage to do: I’m not sure if he knows, but it’s a near-certainty that he’s chosen the wrong branch.

  There’s one about ten feet from his target that’s a much, much better contender for poaching: it’s older, it’s drier, and it’s already weighed down from the heavy snowfall. And based on the way said branch is ominously wobbling with every frigid gust of the wind, Nick’s already grazed it with a bullet at least once.

  Which is not good.

  Unlike his initial target, this older branch is as big and thick as most oak trees. It could very, very easily kill you if it fell the wrong way. I actually had plans to tear that sucker down before state inspections, but it looks like Nick’s done the work for me. Good job, jackass, I think, sucking my teeth. You might be the only person alive who can be both proactive and incompetent.

  But as incompetent as Nick is, he’s still wielding an axe and a handgun. Like my dad always said, an idiot with a gun is an idiot in charge… and I’ll be damned if I like this particular idiot control me.

  I let go of Autumn’s hand and reach for the weapon in my back pocket. With any luck, someone else will be here soon, but I don’t want to take any chances in the meantime. My fingers slide around the cool metal of the gun and I inch it out, moving as slowly as possible. Nick seems focused, but any sudden, eye-catching movement isn’t worth the risk.

  So I continue sliding the gun out of my jeans, as slowly as I can… my palm is just wrapping around the pistol grip… so close… I draw a deep breath, gently shifting the gun around my waist… just bringing it up front…

  Unfortunately, the exact moment I’m certain I’ve got it, the exact second I’m positive I’ll have the upper hand, Nick turns everything to shit. As he has a tendency to do.

  In the blink of an eye, he leaps up from where he’s been muttering and kicking the rope. With an enraged scream, he marches over to the tree, aims his gun at the pulley-rigged branch, and pulls the trigger.

  In retrospect, I probably would have been able to keep it together if the gunshot had been the end of it… but the second he fires the gun, the sickening cry of a wounded bird pierces the air.

  I watch in horror as the spotted owl I’d nursed back to health falls, falls, falls, plummeting to the ground, her prone wings spread in a macabre imitation of a white, sinking kite. At least, I assume it’s her; she’s the largest inhabitant of a tree, one of the last adult of her kind in the area.

  My mind reels with memories of feeding her with a syringe, of keeping her eggs incubated, of cleaning her wings with a cotton swab and taking her to a specialized avian vet. I’m so wrought with emotion, so dismayed and horrified, that I cry out in a mixture of rage and sadness. Before I realize what’s happening, the gun I’d so carefully extracted slips from my numb fingers and tumbles to the icy ground.

  I frantically grapple for it, but it’s no use… it lands on its side, and then the gun is spinning, spinning spinning, skidding across the parking lot, until it finally stops. Right at Nick’s feet.

  Fuccckkkkk.

  I watch as Nick’s spine stiffens, his posture straightening as the gun taps the backs of his boots. He takes his time turning around, his feet shuffling in a semi-circle until he’s facing the two of us.

  When I finally see his expression, though, it’s not what I expected. Not at all.

  I’d assumed he’d be surprised to find us here — or at least alarmed.

  But he’s not.

  He’s regarding us with a vile, shit-eating grin, his face down-turned, his yellow teeth in stark contrast to the whiteness of the surrounding snow. Autumn shivers, gripping my hand again, and I know what she means: He looks evil.

  Without breaking eye contact, Nick lets out a ghastly giggle. “Welcome to the par-tay!” he shrieks, waving his weapon-clad hands around.

  I shift uneasily, gripping Autumn’s hand even tighter. He’s either forgotten his carrying the gun and axe — or he doesn’t give a shit. Each option is equally horrifying.

  “Get the fuck over here!” Nick calls, that malicious leer still stretched across his face. “I want you to see this, Asher! This is perfect… too perfect!” He cuts himself off with another disturbing giggle, his eyes never wavering from mine.

  But Autumn and I don’t move. We just stand there, gripping each other even tighter, utterly unsure of what to do.

  Nick doesn’t like this.

  “I said!” he screeches, his voice even louder, “that you and Miss Piggy need to get your ASSES over here — or I will fucking shoot you!”

  Before I have the chance to object to him calling Autumn anything at all, Nick lifts his right arm into the air and gleefully pulls the trigger of his handgun.

  It’s amazing a dude as small as he is possesses the hand strength, but sure enough, the hollow crack echoes through the air, silencing any objections I’d dare voice. There’s a time and a place, I remind myself, stealing a quick glance at Autumn. There’s a time and a place to correct behavior.

  And honestly, we don’t have a choice.

  I peer at Autumn from the corner of my eye, and she nods back, confirming everything I’m thinking, too: We have to.
I don’t want to, but we have to.

  So with that, we each draw deep breaths and begin our slow, uncomfortable trek over to the psychopath we’ve been working with.

  Our shaking hands are still joined when we approach Nick and his perch by the tree trunk. I’m sure Autumn’s mind is racing as frantically as mine, but like always, she’s keeping it together, never letting her fear show. Which is a good thing, because I won’t want Nick to have the satisfaction of knowing we’re scared, at all.

  “Welcome to the fucking party!” Nick crows, beckoning us towards him with the barrel of his gun. “Lovely of you to join! Just splendid! Ha!”

  He finishes with a giggle so shrill and piercing it nearly drowns out the creaking from the branch above. The branch he hadn’t lassoed. I gulp and wonder if Autumn’s on the same page; now that he’s forced us closer, we’re definitely within range of being hit.

  Nick, in his apparent insanity, seems oblivious.

  “You know,” he continues, speaking quickly, his eyes darting around the parking lot, “you weren’t part of my original plan, Asher Bosco!” He shoots me a dramatic wink before breaking into another fit of disturbed giggles.

  Fuck, he’s crazy… so much crazier than I thought. My goal quickly shifts: Now that I’ve gotten his attention, I just need to keep him from doing something bonkers long enough for the cops to get here.

  “What… uh… what was your original plan?” I ask, trying to sound unperturbed.

  Nick scoffs at this. “God, you’re a fucking idiot. Isn’t it obvious?” He makes a wild gesture to the tree.

  Autumn clears her throat. “It’s not obvious, no. Because you’re just… you’re a lot smarter than us, Nick,” she soothes. “I mean, look at us. Do we really look like the brains of any operation here?”

  Unbelievably, this works.

  Nick throws his head back, cackling up at the gray sky. “Of fucking course not!” he booms, beginning to pace back and forth in front of us — and for the first time, I get the distinct impression Nick’s not exactly sure we’re even here. It’s like he only falls in and out of lucidity long enough to make a few choice comments.

  “This,” he mutters, jerking his head toward the smaller branch, “is why you’d never guess… you’d never fucking guess… my original plan was just to steal this little mama, poison the rest of the trees, and retire a happy man!”

  Autumn lets out a low whistle. “Wow,” she says, somehow managing not to sound condescending, “you really planned this out pretty well! Much better than I could have!”

  Nick shrieks in delight and closes the gap between us in a few steps. “Oh you fat-ass, useless bitch!” he exclaims, shaking his head. “You don’t know the half of it.”

  But I only hear the first part as my world fades to furious shades of red. I’ve never had patience for fatphobia — especially not from people who know better.

  “Don’t call her that!” I snap, giving Nick’s chest a hard shove with both my hands.

  I’ve underestimated my own strength, though. I’d intended a warning push, but Nick flies backwards, stumbling on his feet, before he finally lands on his ass with a furious yelp.

  And that’s when I notice the hand-axe sitting on the ground. The one he’d been using to hack at the tree.

  What can I say? I’ve never been the smart brother.

  Nick follows my eyes; a malicious grin splits his face as he realizes he has the upper hand. He lunges for the axe from his place on the ground and seizes it in his fist. Without a word, he furiously reels back his right hand and throws the axe right at me — as hard and fast as he can. The weapon-turned-missile flies through the air in a blur of red and white, handle tumbling over blade. I growl and shove Autumn out of the way, ducking just in time for it to whistle past my ear.

  “What the FUCK, Nick!” Autumn shouts, pushing her hair from her face. There’s an ire in her voice I’ve never heard before; in a strange twist, that makes me proud.

  But if Nick hears her outburst, he pays it zero mind. If anything, throwing the axe has calmed him. With unnerving composure, Nick brushes his hands on his pants and stands up, still regarding both of us with pure loathing. His chest is still heaving, his eyes still narrowed, but as he begins pacing between the two of us, I can see how he’s managed to contain his crazy for so long. If you weren’t looking for it, you might not see how nuts he is.

  For a couple of minutes, I think he’ll be content to pace back and forth, but Nick would never forgo an opportunity to gloat. Like it or not, I’m about to hear the specifics of his little plan.

  “When I caught the two of you canoodling a couple days ago in the visitor’s center,” Nick starts, his voice returning to that high pitch, “it was my goddamn lucky break! Do you know how easy it was to pour water over the rock and wait for it to freeze?”

  He punctuates his words with a maniacal whoop, throwing his head back in laughter.

  Oh.

  Nausea settles in the pit of my stomach; and Autumn’s gasp tells me she’s on the same page.

  “And of course,” he plows on, still pacing back and forth, “the two of you would go to clean that up. Of course. Because you’re fucking goody-two-shoes Boy Scouts who always play by the fucking ruuuuules!” He stretches the last word into a roar, his face contorted in rage.

  “It was easy,” Nick seethes, “so fucking easy! All I had to do was tell this cunt” — He cuts off, spitting in Autumn’s direction. My fist clenches again and she grabs my free hand (Not now!) — “that she wasn’t wearing regulation attire! And you know what?!” He pauses for dramatic effect, his mouth gaping. “SHE FUCKING FELL FOR IT!”

  Nick cackles again, brandishing his gun in the air. For a split second, I think I might have a gleaming window of opportunity to knock him to the ground and seize the gun — but then the older branch gives another ominous creak.

  Shittttt.

  It’s hard to tell from where we’re standing — but years spent in nature have given me a hint of what’s coming. And it’s not good. That branch is about ready to fall, even closer than I’d realized before. It’s swaying dangerously, like a stiff breeze could send it crashing down.

  But because Nick is continuing to rant and rave, I gather he has no fucking clue — and for once, his ignorance is a good thing.

  Still, I need a plan. And now. Autumn stands beside me, looking equally appalled and confused.

  She doesn’t know either, does she? Horror rips across me in white-hot waves. And why should she know? She’s not the one who was raised in these woods. She’s not the one familiar with this terrain.

  I shake my head ruefully, but I know what I have to do. For once in my life, running away isn’t an option. For once in my life, my existence isn’t limited to my little cabin, hidden away from the world.

  I swallow, setting my jaw. If I’m being honest, my life probably hadn’t been about me from the second Autumn tumbled on the ice all those months ago — even if I hadn’t been man enough to accept that until recently. With her, I’ve found my purpose; even if we’ve only technically been intimate twice, I already know she’s it.

  And there’s no running away. Not from her.

  I suck in a sharp breath, but even as I do, I’m not sure why I’m so surprised to reaffirm what it means to be in love with her. I’m not sure why I’m shocked to accept I’d do anything — absolutely anything — to make her happy. I glimpse once more at the teetering tree branch from above me, my heart pounding in my throat. A younger, dumber Automatic Asher would have turned on his heel and high-tailed it away, using speed as his only defense.

  But then I allow my eyes to drift to the gorgeous, strong, beautiful woman to my left… and my chest fills with a much different feeling. Glowing warmth replaces ice and fear, melting away the last remnants of the man I’d been. All at once, I understand terror and joy and love and sacrifice… the things I’ve spent the last fifteen years running from.

  Because right now, there’s no running.


  Nick’s now devolved so far in his own head that I don’t think he’s even trying to make sense to anyone else. He keeps blurting random words like “fucking pay” and “fat-ass whores,” randomly emphasizing some of his points with jerks of his weapon. He’s never been good at shooting, but he still has a gun… a gun he knows how to shoot. The chances of me knocking him flat before the tree comes down — and before he shoots either of us? No… it wouldn’t take a card shark to tell you the odds aren’t in my favor.

  Simply put, I have to do what I have to do.

  So with that, I reach down and squeeze Autumn’s hand. It fits perfectly in mine, just as it always has… it’s so soft, so lovely. Just like the rest of her. I only hope she understands what I’m saying (Goodbye. I’m sorry.)

  Autumn turns to me with an expression of bewildered acceptance. As I meet her eyes and offer her a warm smile, I know she won’t question me. I give her another significant look, hoping it conveys what I’m trying to say — what I need to say, to get her out of this one alive: Don’t move. Stay put.

  She just arches an eyebrow, pursing her lips… but she gives my hand one final squeeze, and I know she gets it; I trust you is written across her face as plainly as if she’d said the words herself.

  I turn my head away, both relieved and saddened that we’ve shared this connection from the second we met… this unspoken ability to communicate. This level of trust I’ve never shared with another human being. The same trust I’m about to betray, right in front of her…

  But there’s never been another option. I don’t have a future without Autumn, even if that means I don’t have a future, at all. So I push the waves of building guilt deep down into my stomach, shoot her once last glance (Thank you), and do what I have to.

  For once, luck is on my side; Nick hasn’t paid attention to what’s passed between us. He’s still ranting and raving, his eyes unfocused in his malice. Good. He’s oblivious. This will help me.

  “Hey, Nick!” I boom, striding away from Autumn in three quick steps. She stays put, but I feel her uneasy stare on my back.