Aisha walked along the trail from Silver cabin, carefully carrying the grungy bucket of mop water that she needed to dump, her mind wandering.
There’d been a slew of pre-arranged late checkouts today, so her cleaning schedule had been pushed back, but now, finally, each cabin was sparkling clean, perfectly restocked and prettily arranged again, ready for whoever its next guest might be.
She wasn’t feeling the satisfaction she usually did at the end of a cleaning shift, however. The glow she got from a job well done had been dulled by time spent training two college students who were going to work for them April through August. The two girls were all right, she guessed, but they acted like every chore was drudgery or somehow beneath them—an attitude Aisha never understood. No job was beneath her.
It wasn’t that she didn’t feel frustration or annoyance when clients were slobs—and thankfully, most of their guests were awesome, so messes like today’s were rare. It was that it was her job to clean it up and she took zealous pride in doing just that. Aisha had expected similar enthusiasm, or at least similar diligence, in the new hires and was disappointed. If they didn’t like scrubbing, didn’t get a tiny thrill over a gleaming toilet bowl, didn’t derive a mild sense of superiority from tidying other people’s messes, why did they even apply for housekeeping work? The north was booming again. There were plenty of other places hiring.
Then again, they were young. The thought triggered a wry smile because they were, no doubt, at least her age if not older. Nevertheless, she’d take it as a personal challenge to inspire them to be proud of their work. And she’d try to stop taking it personally that Jo and Callum were adding staff. It wasn’t a sign they felt Aisha couldn’t handle everything. It was that River’s Sigh B & B was growing. It was exciting—and an honor that she was in charge of new staff. She should be celebrating.
Yes, celebrating. She was not a whiny, whinging person. She didn’t bitch and moan. She changed things she was unhappy about. She would tackle—
Aisha’s mini pep talk ended abruptly. Someone or something was splashing ferociously in the creek behind Rainbow cabin. There was a muffled grunt. Then more splashing.
Her first thought was bear. Normally there was enough action around the property—not to mention, until recently, grizzled old Hoover barking his face off at the slightest whiff of forest dwellers—that wildlife stayed clear. But the season hadn’t really started yet, and the grounds were extra quiet since Hoover passed, something Aisha tried to avoid thinking about because it filled her with so much sorrow for Jo who mourned him like the closest of personal friends, which, of course, he was.
And even in Hoover’s day, barking maniac or not, it wasn’t unheard of to have bear visitors this time of year. They always spotted at least a couple of black bears—and once a Kermode came through—in the spring, skinny and scrounging for easy food. Aisha wasn’t scared exactly—no doubt it was just some hungry fella seeking dandelions and tender grass not available on the forest floor—but she wasn’t an idiot either. A bear, if surprised, interrupted or made to feel threatened in any way, was a dangerous thing.
Moving more cautiously, she continued along the trail as it rounded the cabin—then slammed to a halt.
Two shirtless guys crowded the creek’s scanty bank. One, incredibly massive with a shorn head and heavily tattooed back, was hunkered down, facing away from her. The other was . . . seriously hot. Wearing nothing but a well-worn pair of work jeans with suspenders dangling around his narrow hips, as if purposefully showing off his well-defined pecs and deeply cut six-pack, hell, eight-pack, of golden brown abs, and gleaming with droplets of creek water, he looked like he was modelling for some calendar featuring working men or something—not like he actually was a working man.
Wait—working man. Working men. Right. Aisha gave herself a mental facepalm. Jo and Callum had mentioned something about hiring some guys to fall dangerous trees around the property, do some of the heavier landscaping, and maybe even cut wood for the following winter.
She plunked the heavy mop bucket down. Filthy water sloshed over the rim, splashing her yoga pants with chemicals and stink. Awesome. She didn’t quite manage to hold back a disgusted groan. The two men visibly jolted and turned in her direction. Seeing her, the tall guy—he really was a monster height-wise—looked even more startled, not less. And she realized that Hot Guy had hotter guy competition. He looked like Jason Momoa, if Jason Momoa had a shaved head.
Hot Guy was first to recover from the surprise. He gave her a quick once over, which Aisha hated but figured was fair enough considering her own gawking. Then he grinned and winked. Ugh.
“Um, this is a work place,” she said, then winced. She’d intended to sound stern, but the comment came out like she was asking him, not telling him. Why was she having such a hard time stringing words together? Talking was her forte. And good grief. She’d seen half naked men before—even a fully naked man. Mo wasn’t an immaculate conception—no matter how much Aisha wished otherwise.
Still, it had been a long while . . . or, more honestly, never since she’d seen guys—men—this good looking. She especially liked how the big guy didn’t seem as cocky as Hot Guy who was already annoying her. He seemed shy and kept his head ducked, his eyes averted. . . .
Shit! Her hormones were making her stupid. This was another shift within her in recent months—maybe the most unwelcome of them all. For years now, it had been a relief, how totally not into guys she was. She’d gone on a few dates, even attended a three-day music festival with someone really nice—but it was like her brain, her body, her whole being had hung up a “Closed” sign. She hadn’t felt the slightest spark of romantic interest in forever—certainly nothing strong enough to make her willing to risk emotional rollercoasters, potential headaches, or pain.
Then Mo turned four, and the sign flipped back to “Open.” Completely against her will, Aisha transformed into a version of herself she hardly could accept as being her. A guy-obsessed weirdo. She saw men everywhere and was hyper-conscious of their presence—especially when they were in the middle of her usually private and safe woods, apparently.
Hot Guy laughed out loud, seeming to know exactly why she was uncomfortable. He stepped forward casually, thumbs hooked in his belt loops.
Just to avoid his brazen eyes, Aisha honed in on a felt-lined denim jacket and black sweatshirt that lay stacked on top of a big backpack, near a pair of heavy boots perched on a flat rock—a pair of boots so big they had to belong to the giant, who was still kneeling by the creek.
Like Hot Guy, Giant wore only a scruffy pair of low-slung jeans, giving Aisha an interesting-if-unexpected—and unwanted, she reminded herself—eyeful of his boxers and half his muscular butt.
He lumbered to his feet, and she realized he was well-muscled too, just his height camouflaged it a bit—stretching the muscle out over bone and sinew. His nipples were dark as plums against his light brown flesh which looked as firm as a wood plank. Said nipples were hard and erect, showing they felt the icy temperature of the creek water glistening on his skin, even if the rest of him didn’t. Scrolling text adorned his rib cage, but she couldn’t make out what it said from where she stood.
Unlike Hot Guy, he seemed uncomfortable at being caught washing up in the creek. His obvious discomfort made Aisha embarrassingly aware that she was staring, though she felt powerless to stop—until she caught herself following the line of fur that ran from his naval and disappeared into his waistband—
She gave herself another sharp mental slap. What was she doing?
The giant shifted uneasily and finally spoke. “I’m sorry. I, uh, was told the season hadn’t started yet, that the place was empty.”
Aisha’s brow furrowed and she arched an eyebrow. Who had told him that? And even if the place was empty, how did that explain the ice-water bath?
The stranger must’ve read the confusion on her face. He shook his head. “I’m Jason—call me Jase—Scott.”
Was he kidding? His name was actually Jason? Nerves made her earlier inner comparison of him to the famous actor seem extra hilarious and she snort-giggled.
Jason—Jase—took another step back. She tried to rein herself in.
“And this is . . . my brother. Colton Hislop.” He motioned at Hot Guy with a huge hand. “We’re going to be working here? We’ve been on the road a while, so we wanted to, uh, freshen up before presenting ourselves?”
So she wasn’t the only one afflicted with the awkward tendency to make statements into questions when nervous. The thought mollified her. “Well, too late for that. Consider yourself . . . presented.”
Jase the giant blushed—or else he was finally feeling the chill. Either way, his tan skin definitely went rosy.
“Um, you’re not . . . Jo, are you?” There was a soft, shy note in Jase’s voice, as if he was pleading that she wasn’t, but Aisha was distracted by Colton. He was pulling a soft gray Henley shirt over his head with what seemed to her an unnecessary amount of stretching and pausing.
A thunder bolt of irritation crashed through Aisha, way too large for such a tiny trigger, and she knew it.
“No, I’m not Jo, thank God,” she snapped.
Jase’s body quaked in a shiver. She guessed it was nice that he didn’t want to “present” himself to Jo and Callum without cleaning up first, but what an insane place to do it. He couldn’t rent a hotel room or something?
Still struck almost mute by the view, stupidly, humiliatingly, Aisha’s face started to burn. Jase’s height and size really were jaw-dropping. To her shame, she couldn’t think of one witty line or sharp comment to mitigate her discomfort.
“Follow your brother’s example and put on some clothes,” she finally managed through gritted teeth. “This is a family establishment. Geez.”
It was absolutely no consolation that Jase looked as uncomfortable as she felt as he obediently stooped over his pack and rummaged for a towel and a clean T-shirt.
Like she hadn’t sounded dopey or bossy enough, she added, “You guys’ll catch your death of pneumonia scrubbing up in a creek that had chunks of ice in it a week ago!”
She snatched up the mop bucket again and stalked off, knowing she looked—and sounded—like a complete looney. Put on some clothes? It wasn’t like the guy was naked. And “family establishment?” True enough, sure, but what was her point, exactly? Plus, he was right. There was no one around. She was being a freak—and not in her usual good-freak sort of way.
Still, it wouldn’t have been the worst exit, all said and done—except her stupid foot caught a root and threw her off balance. She managed, barely, to keep from falling, but upended the bucket in the process, drenching herself with the rest of the gloopy mess.
Behind her came a surprised, slightly dismayed grunt—and a low whistle, followed by laughter. Aisha didn’t have to turn around to know Giant Jase was the grunter and his brother was the hyena. She resumed a forward march, without a backward glance. She might have to listen to them laugh at her, but she didn’t have to watch.