Page 2 of Whispers on the Mountain

I jumped at the chance to claim one of the company houses as part of my contract. Technically, my job description is Lead Engineer but as the only permanent resident of Turtle Dam Village, I'm tasked with more than just keeping the plant operating. I'm also the unofficial caretaker of the defunct little town...making sure the empty buildings stay clear of bears, raccoons, and unauthorized humans, and making sure the tourists who come up to make use of the reservoir's recreational status don't venture beyond the "no trespassing" signs designating the perimeter of the power plant's private lease.

Today's Sunday. The plant is operating a skeleton crew that spends the day deep in the belly of the machinery. Unless I get called in to handle an emergency, the closest thing I'll come to seeing another person today is watching the trucks passing by on the town road when the shift changes later tonight.

So, the sound of singing has me curious.

The area of the lake that's open to the public is too far away for me to hear all but the loudest of music when kids inevitably venture up from the valley to party over summer break.

No one should be close enough for me to hear, but there's a distinctively feminine voice accompanying the usual sounds of the early June river current coursing along the edge of the neighborhood and down to the reservoir and the constant chatter of birds and squirrels.

I have do have a few women on my crews, but no one who'd be on the grounds on a Sunday afternoon, let alone out there singing.

There's no way anyone can get this close without seeing the posted no trespassing signs the run the outer perimeter of the plant's private lease so whoever it is is either blind or blatantly ignoring the signs. Either way, it's my job to go out there and get them to turn back.

Heading out the door with my ID badge in hand, I follow the voice to the source.

Past the road that leads into the private neighborhood, I find her wandering the slope downhill from the plant's property.

From the road, I can already see enough of her to have me feeling unusually affected by the high elevation. My breathing has gotten labored and my heart is pounding, my brain says I'm standing still but my feet are carrying me toward her at an unusually fast pace.

Not standing still then, it's just that I can't take my eyes off of her, cataloging every detail as it comes into view.

Dark blonde hair with sun-kissed highlights gathered into a messy bun at the back of her neck. Curves that put the mountain roads to shame filling out a yellow sundress with all the best parts covered by a man's flannel shirt in a faded, blue plaid.

Something that feels suspiciously like jealousy rages through me, making me want to pull the over-size shirt off of her and toss it in the incinerator.

The ensemble is completed by a pair of short cowboy boots in a bright turquoise. She's got a basket in one hand filled with wildflowers in every color, and a small gardening trowel in the other hand.

Freckles are scattered over gently tanned skin like stars and suddenly, I'm thinking of the hours I could spend exploring their patterns and finding the constellations among them.

When she turns to look at me, I'm met with a wide gaze in stunning shades of amber and gold shining like tiger's eye as lips made for sin slowly stretch into a smile that looks like the best sort of invitation.

Everything in my selfish heart is screaming mine.

2

ZEPHYR

Augustus Damiani. In the flesh and standing so close I could reach out and lay my hand on his impossibly perfect body.

Suddenly, I wish I'd worn a bra.

Or maybe I don't.

Gorgeous, dark eyes sweep down my body and linger where my hardened nipples are straining at the snug cotton material of the dress's bodice before dropping lower and making their way back up again.

He could just as well have used his hands to map my body for how completely I feel his gaze. In fact-- I wish he would.

Augustus Damiani has been starring in my filthiest dreams ever since the first time I saw him.

He's shaved since I saw him leaving Alice's general store last month, with a load of groceries and a beard to rival any of the local guys down in Moonshine Ridge.

I'm a mountain girl, born and raised; I like a beard as much as the next girl, but the two-days-of-scruff thing that August has going on now is definitely working for me.

Now I can see the chiseled jaw that could cut glass, the high cheek bones, the lips that could... holy hell, those lips could do so much damage to me, I'd probably forget my own name.

"Huh?"

"What's your name?"

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