Page 1 of Mountain Maid

Chapter One

Elli

Kate Bush blares from my earbuds as I remove the bedding from the super king-size bed in Blueberry Hill cabin. What can I say? I’m a lover of eighties music, and Kate Bush is a genius with her unique voice and haunting lyrics. I bop my head and lift my arms dramatically as Kate and I sing “Babooshka!” in perfect harmony.

I sigh, thinking of my best friend, Harmony. She’s living her best life in New York City. I’m happy for her, but I miss her like crazy and can’t help feeling a little envious. We grew up together, and we’re more like sisters than friends, so it’s as if a piece of me is missing. My bestie is off touring the country and living the rock star life, and here I am, cleaning cabins and scrubbing toilets.

Although I have to admit, there are worse places to work. Set in the middle of a two-and-a-half thousand-acre nature preserve near the small town of Pembroke, Virginia, the Mountain Ridge Resort is stunning. Surrounded by the breathtaking Appalachian Mountains and with its freshwater lake, the resort was the location for a hit movie in the nineties, ensuring its ongoing popularity with guests of all ages and backgrounds. People from all over the world visit to see where movie magic was made. That and the glorious scenery, relaxed vibe, and vintage charm of the resort.

For the most part, I enjoy my work here at the resort, surrounded by nature and meeting people from all walks of life. But my heart yearns to break free from this small town and explore the treasures the rest of the world has to offer. Ha! As if that will ever happen. I barely earn enough to cover the rent and utilities each month. There’s no way I could afford to visit the fantastic destinations that appeal to me so much. My active imagination will have to suffice.

Once I’m done changing the sheets on the bed, I tackle the rest of the cabin, cleaning the kitchen, mopping and vacuuming the floors, plumping the couch cushions, and arranging the throw cushions perfectly on top.

By the time I’ve finished, the cabin looks immaculate and smells clean, fresh, and inviting. Sunlight filters through the windows, and the drapes flutter softly in the early September breeze. I nod with satisfaction. All ready for the next guests.

Locking the door behind me, I push my cleaning trolley toward Pineview, the final cabin on my cleaning schedule for the day.

I’ve worked at Mountain Ridge for three years since I graduated high school, and my job is the only thing keeping my family afloat—although I use the word “family” loosely. My stepfather never tires of telling me how lazy and useless I am. Oh, the irony because the man never lifts a finger around the house, and his two sons are even worse. God alone knows what my mom saw in him.

A familiar pang of grief throbs in my chest as I think of her. I miss her every day. She made me promise on her deathbed to look after my stepfather and stepbrothers before she succumbed to breast cancer. It’s a promise I’ve come to regret.

Unlocking Pineview cabin, I get straight to work, stripping and remaking the beds, gathering up the used towels and replacing them with neatly folded fresh ones, and scrubbing countertops and floors. The work is second nature to me, and the manual tasks help to calm my overactive brain, which is constantly tugged in ten different directions.

Music is another tool that helps me focus and keeps me motivated, so when the opening guitar riff from “Footloose” by Kenny Loggins hits my eardrums, the rhythm sinks into my muscles and my body takes over.

As Kenny sings about breaking free from the mundanities of life, I launch into an unrehearsed dance routine that would give Kevin Bacon a run for his money as I unleash my inner dance diva around the open-plan living room.

I leap and spin and pirouette, laughing joyously as my troubles melt away. Eyes closed, high on endorphins, I immerse myself in the music. Which is why I don’t see the cabin door open or the man who enters until I execute a beautiful leg extension kick that catches him right in the nuts.

He screams.

I scream.

I yank out my earbuds, backing up quickly and tripping over the rug behind me. My scream becomes a squeak as my arms cartwheel, and I land on my butt. Hard.

Meanwhile, the man has sunk to his knees, his face red and his eyes watering as he clutches his crotch.

“Oh, God, oh, God. I’m so sorry! I didn’t hear you and—”

He holds up a finger to halt me, his cheeks puffing as he tries to suck in a breath.

“Oh! Yeah, um, sure, I’ll give you a minute to, uh, catch your breath,” I say lamely, scrambling to my feet.

I brush my hands down my faded jeans and discreetly stuff my boobs back into my bra. I was so absorbed in my dancing that I didn’t notice they were on an escape mission from their underwired prison.

The man slowly pushes to his feet, his face now a slightly less angry shade of puce.

I wait another minute, shifting awkwardly on my feet until I can’t bear the silence any longer. “Can I get you anything? A drink, or, uh, some ice for your, um…” I stutter to a halt, pointing at his hand cupping his junk.

“I think… I’ll need more than ice… to dislodge my balls… from my throat,” he puffs, wincing as his gaze settles on mine.

The air around me stills, and all the noise bombarding my brain fades to nothing. He’s… gorgeous. Thick brown sexily-tousled hair, neatly trimmed beard over a defined jawline, and sculpted cheekbones. Dark eyebrows, straight nose, full lips. Even his nostrils and earlobes are pretty. But it’s his eyes that root me to the spot—two pools of gusset-scorching, ovary-swooning goodness currently searing their way over my body in a leisurely inventory.

My eyes wander down his body, taking in his broad shoulders, wide chest, and lean waist. His jeans hug his muscular thighs, and holy guacamole, I must’ve landed a good ‘un because that is some serious swelling he’s got going on in the twig and berries department, which looks more like a tree branch and melons right now. Unless…

My eyes widen. “Are you…?”

“Hard.” He nods, completely unembarrassed. “Seems to be a by-product of having my balls kicked into my throat.”

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