Lumberjack's Luscious Lady (Babes of Biggal Mountain Book 1) Read online

  Lumberjack’s Luscious Lady

  Fresh off the heels of a nasty breakup, BBW Jessie Pike isn’t expecting more than a relaxing weekend when she leaves the confines of Seattle for a cozy log cabin in the mountains. But she soon learns that Biggal Mountain is no ordinary place. Here, BBWs are worshipped. And Huck — a rugged, handsome lumberjack — is more than happy to show her around…and to treat her like the plus-sized goddess she is.

  Stay tuned for a red-hot, body-positive, happily-ever-after romance that celebrates size!

  Can be read as a standalone or part of the series.

  Lumberjack’s Luscious Lady

  Babes of Biggal Mountain: Book 1

  Elaria Ride

  Lumberjack’s Luscious Lady

  Book 1

  Babes of Biggal Mountain:

  Elaria Ride

  Copyright © 2018 by Elara Ride. All rights reserved.

  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. Jessie

  2. Huck

  3. Jessie

  4. Huck

  5. Jessie

  6. Huck

  7. Jessie

  8. Huck

  Epilogue

  Next by Elaria Ride

  Also by Elaria Ride

  About the Author

  1

  Jessie

  This cabin is the most beautiful home I’ve ever seen. And I see a lot of homes.

  Green awnings span proudly across oaken beams, and stained wooden panels extend so far into the sky that the pitched roof is almost completely covered by low-hanging clouds. Wooden totem poles adorn the exterior, their bright reds and turquoises popping against the pale yellow of the oak. It’s too cold to spend much time outdoors, but I spot at least three large hammocks draped over second story rafters, their thick canvases swaying lazily in the breeze.

  My breath hitches in my throat as I finally notice the mountains. Holy God.

  Different shades of smoky blue erupt around the house, their peaks and planes blending perfectly with the enclosure of pine trees. All I can do is stare, wide-eyed, at the massive structure and hope that I haven’t simply fallen asleep at the wheel on the long drive.

  I’m not sure if it’s just because I’m a realtor... but this place is sexy. Do houses like this even exist outside of Pinterest vacation boards?

  I shake my head. I’m still awestruck, but now I’m also managing to feel a little annoyed. I definitely would have made it here sooner if Uncle John had mentioned the four stories and wraparound porch!

  I adjust the straps of my overloaded weekend bag on my aching shoulders. I’ve never been great at packing light, even for a weekend excursion. As my mother always said, being a practical packer was one of those skills that had simply skipped me. Of course, this skill hadn’t skipped over my 5’2” stick-thin sisters, who pack and organize like it’s their job.

  But me? I’m the whimsical type. I prefer the method of throwing a bunch of stuff in a bag and hoping for the best. I’m a flexible person, always going with the flow, ready for any new adventure. This mentality helps a lot in my line of work. My specialty is selling vacation properties, but people in Seattle are interested in traditional residences more often than not. This gets a little dull, especially in the winter, when the housing market slows down. I spend most of my days at the office dreaming up big ideas and getting lost in my thoughts.

  To be fair, though, I have good reason for getting lost in my thoughts these days. Being fresh from a particularly nasty breakup will do that to a girl. I’ve been a mess for months, dragging myself to and from work, barely sleeping, hardly eating. I’ve somehow managed to lose 10 pounds since the fateful night when I discovered a Tinder profile on my ex-boyfriend Connor’s phone.

  That asshole hadn’t just been cheating on me — that wouldn’t have been embarrassing enough. No… instead of being a run-of-the-mill cheating douchebag, Connor had been the very specific type of cheating douchebag who body-shames women with his Tinder profile. His profile specifications, you ask? Only two words: “No fatties.”

  I knew the type he was seeking… girls with sizes in the single digits, ones who eat three bites of a side salad for dinner and get wasted off a half glass of Chardonnay. It was reasonable, I knew, for men to be interested in that body type... I’d just never thought that he’d be one of those men. During our entire two year relationship, he had gone out of his way to assure me that he was attracted to me and that he loved my curves. I suppose that when you’re getting blowjobs on the regular, though, you can be talked into saying just about anything.

  Connor had tripped over himself apologizing when I’d confronted him. He’d even gone so far as to claim his cheating had nothing to do with me, specifically. But I knew the truth: He just didn’t find me attractive. After all, he had solidly indicated his preferences, ones he hadn’t hesitated to share with the public. A single glance in the mirror could have told me that I didn’t come close to meeting his high standards.

  As Connor well knew, I’ve lived my entire life with an “overweight” classification. Specialty clothing stores, larger bras, and even larger shoes are the norm for me. I guess it just makes sense that he wanted someone smaller, that he wanted someone he was proud to take on dates, someone he loved showing off in public. In retrospect, it should have been a huge red flag that I hadn’t once met anyone in his family, although I’d introduced him to nearly everyone I knew.

  Still, my sense of self hadn’t been so shattered by his cheating that I tolerated his bullshit. I hadn’t hesitated to get his ass out of my apartment— the one I paid rent on while waiting on his “music career” to take off. While he sat on my couch and blubbered about second chances and forgiveness, I’d marched around the apartment, collected all of his stuff in a box, and promptly tossed it all out the window. That very night, I’d vowed that I’d never be with another body-shaming asshole for as long as I lived.

  As much as I’d wanted to pretend that the whole incident had never happened, the news of Connor’s infidelity had spread quickly in my family. We’d been together two years, after all; he was part of my life. My parents had both tried to call me and talk it over, but I just hadn’t wanted to hear it. I knew that nothing they could say would make me feel much better. I also knew my mother would mention my weight and how that might have been a contributing factor. No... all-in-all, it was just better to avoid the whole family scene.

  And so I’d moped for the past two months in a post-breakup haze, wondering where I’d gone wrong for dating a tool like Connor in the first place.

  It wasn’t until a call from my Uncle John last Wednesday that things finally started turning around. My uncle owns this remote cabin in Washington, one he’d been begging me to visit for years. As someone more comfortable in the city, I’d been politely declining his requests for ages. This had been easy while dating Connor; he absolutely detests the outdoors. A weekend retreat to a remote location was out of the question with him in the picture.

  But when Uncle John called me last week and asked, again, if I’d like to stay at his cabin, I had finally run out of excuses; I’d (literally) kicked my jackass boyfriend to the curb. And besides that, he was probably right — a weekend away, unplugg
ed from the hustle and bustle of the city, sounded like just what I needed to recharge my batteries.

  And so that’s how I wound up here — just a fat, single realtor removed from the comfortable, suffocating, beautiful city I call home.

  I sigh again, breathing in the mountain air. I can’t even imagine what else this home has in store... I’d probably sell my soul for a hot bath and a glass of wine right about now.

  “She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” A deep voice booms from somewhere to my left.

  “W-what?” I turn towards the trees, alarmed and confused. Uncle John hadn’t mentioned anything about other guests.

  But before I finish the question, the most ruggedly handsome man I’ve ever seen steps through a gap in the pines.

  This stranger is tall — well over 6 feet, much taller than anyone I’ve ever dated. His jaw is square, chiseled, but there’s an undeniable softness beneath his features, almost as if he’d be a classic pretty-boy if it weren’t for the rest of him. A red flannel button-up stretches snugly across his chest, and his open shirt tails just graze the waist of his jeans beneath. Black-booted feet crunch over pine needles and tree branches alike as he strides towards me, his steps full of purpose.

  Without realizing it, I’ve boldly allowed my eyes to rake up and down his body, traveling from his cropped brown hair down to the muscled tendons that jut across his exposed forearms.

  Fuck, he’s hot... whoever the hell he is.

  Now, the rational part of my mind knows that I should be afraid of him. Even in a place as idyllic as this one, it doesn’t usually bode well when a random man pops out behind some trees.

  And yet, I’m not afraid. Quite the opposite, in fact.

  I try to convince myself that this automatic feeling of security around this person is just because I trust my uncle. He’s my dad’s brother, after all. He wouldn’t live anywhere dangerous, right?

  But the other reason I’m not afraid — the real reason— is that a familiar liquid pulsing had started in my core. I can already feel the telltale trickle between my legs, pounding and insistent against the seam of my jeans.

  I suck in another deep breath.

  Have I ever been turned on this quickly? It certainly hadn’t been this easy, not with Connor. I swallow again, unable to stop myself from watching his muscles ripple as he pushes a low-hanging branch away from the side of my Jeep. If I close my eyes, I can almost imagine him throwing me over his shoulder with that same level of grace, tossing me on a bed as he parts my thighs and —

  I blush, catching myself just in time. What has come over me?! It’s just been too long since I’ve been with anyone…too, too long. I promise to keep my thoughts more chaste, but still say a silent prayer of thanks for the pink vibrator I remembered to toss in my bag.

  I’m jolted from my naughty thoughts by the sound of his chuckle. It seems he’s finally made his way over to me.

  “Sorry to startle you,” he says, grinning.

  Oh. He must have mistaken that facial expression for confusion. I’m certainly not going to correct him.

  He extends his right hand in greeting. “Name is Huck. Huck Bosco.”

  I weakly push my hand forward. His warm, tanned palm engulfs mine in an instant, and he doesn’t hesitate to step directly in my path. He’s so close now, towering over me even... my face only comes to the third button on his flannel shirt. I can smell the fresh, earthy clean of his soap, a hint of his aftershave. Or is that just sawdust?

  He laughs again, but it’s a gentle sound, like he’s just trying to remind me he’s there.

  My cheeks flush in embarrassment. Great… I’ve been staring at our joined hands a total idiot! What an excellent first impression!

  “And… you’re Jessie Pike, I’m assuming?”

  I nod, gently releasing my hand from his. I can’t help but notice, though, that our close proximity remains. For the first time in my life, I find that this doesn’t bother me.

  “Your Uncle John asked me to stop by,” he explains, his voice deep and conversational.

  The lack of space between us must not bother him, either.

  In one fluid motion, he removes the overstuffed bag from my shoulders and drapes it across his back like it weighs nothing. Which, to him, it probably doesn’t.

  “Thought I’d offer to lend a hand,” he adds, shifting his weight. “A pretty little city-slicker like you might need some help adjusting to the mountains, after all.” He finishes with a wink and a dazzling smile as he starts heading towards the house.

  … Ok, is it just my imagination, or is he actually flirting with me? I lock my Jeep from the key fob and quickly decide it’s just me. After all, people in the mountains are a lot friendlier than the ones in Seattle.

  But that begs the question: Who the hell is he?

  “So… how do you know my uncle?” I ask, starting to match Huck’s slow pace up the driveway. I’m thankful that he’s carrying the heaviest of my stuff. This gravel is deceptively steep.

  “My family owns a lumber mill on the other side of the lake,” he says, jerking his head towards the woods. “John’s a frequent customer. He called and said he’d gotten caught in the snow. Asked if I’d show you around.”

  “He could’ve called me,” I mutter under my breath. Give a girl some warning, at least!

  Huck’s dark eyes twinkle again as he looks back at me. “And how many bars of service do you have right now?”

  Good question... I haven’t even checked my phone since that rest stop in Olympia. I pause mid-step and start fumbling around in my cavernous purse. Huck stops walking too. After a few seconds, I can sense a smile tugging at the corners of his lips as I continue rooting around.

  “Aha!” I declare as I finally remove my phone and hit the button on the side.

  But that triumphant smile slides off my face in an instant. Shit — no service! How could I have no service?!

  I haven’t said a word, but my crestfallen expression must have given me away. Huck lets out that kindhearted laugh again and waits for me to shove my phone back in my bag.

  “For some reason, only local phones do well out here.” He shrugs. “If you don’t have our service provider, it’s hard for much to get through.”

  I make a face. I hadn’t realized that this vacation would make it almost impossible for the office to stay in touch me with me. Since ditching Connor, I’ve volunteered myself as their go-to weekend girl in the event of any emergencies. Everyone else in the firm has families, and I really don’t mind the overpay. I haven’t exactly felt up to hitting the club scene lately.

  “So what do you do for work?” he asks, checking the zippers on my overnight bag. After finding the closures satisfactory, he shoots me a sly grin and adds, “I know it’s something in the city.”

  I laugh. “I’m a realtor. But what gave it away — the huge bag or the sandals?” I glance down at my feet. Per usual, my shoe selection is stylish, but woefully inappropriate for December.

  “Neither,” he says firmly.

  I cock my head, but before I can question his response, he stops in his march up the driveway. He turns around to face me, his Adam’s apple bobbing, his eyes dark and penetrating and suddenly serious.

  I raise my eyes to meet his and I let out a tiny gasp before I can stop it.

  Am I... am I just imagining it? I have to be just imagining it, the way the air almost crackles between us. It’s almost like there’s a spark, one that’s pulling us together, one that’s pounding away and warming us with every passing heartbeat.

  If I didn’t know better, I’d say he’s actually checking me out. I’d say that his eyes are filled with a raw, pulsating desire, one that suggests he’d like nothing more than to fuck me in the way I’d just fantasized. I can almost allow myself to pretend that I see a wanton, greedy look in his piercing blue eyes.

  And I’m not exactly minding the view, especially since the weight of my bag on his shoulder has forced his shirt to ride up a bit. I bite back a groan; I
can just make out the sculpted V of his Adonis Belt from beneath his red flannel. His abs are hiding under there too, I’m sure, just begging to be touched.

  Damn, he’s hot... but someone that gorgeous must have girls hanging from his rippling arms. He’s probably got a whole army of skinny minnies who clamor for the chance to be a weekday lay. If he isn’t married, he’s definitely playing the field. And even if he’s not playing the field, he’s definitely, definitely not into girls like me.

  Whatever the reason, though, he continues to stare at me, and I’m certainly not going to deny him, not when I’ve never been looked at quite like this before. Even if I am completely misinterpreting the situation.

  I convince myself that I just imagine his eyes shifting to my feet and beginning a gradual, languorous ascent up my body. I swallow, confused. Could... could I possibly be hearing a sudden uptake of breath as his eyes graze over the bell shape of my hips? He shifts on the spot, his eyes still locked on my center... but as his unabashed stare travels upwards to my chest, I could swear he’s holding back his own frustrated moan.

  And as his eyes achingly, slowly, finally travel up the length of my neck and make contact, I feel it again. This time, I can’t deny it: It’s a spark, a jolt of electricity, that travels from his eyes to mine. We just stand there, staring at each other, both nearly panting despite the cold, humid mountain air, and I know that something’s coming, something just beyond my reach, some tangible connection with this lumberjack who has just shown up and changed my night…

  But then he rips his head away, breaking our heated stare. He turns around forcefully and clears his throat, rubbing a hand on the back of his neck. Without a second glance, he starts heading up the drive again.