Whispers on the Mountain: The Hart Family of Moonshine Ridge

Chapter 1

When I moved down to the valley last summer, I thought it was going to be permanent, but Slow River isn”t home.

This is.

I stand up straight and roll my shoulders back, stretching my stiff muscles and enjoying the early summer sun on my face.

All around me, the mountains are waking up to the late spring. The snow has melted away this far up, although there”s still plenty left on the highest peaks. Everything has turned green and the wildflowers are competing for best in show.

This is my favorite place to be any time of the year, but especially now. I have an impulse to spin around and sing, Sound of Music style.

I pick a song I actually know and throw myself a private dance party right here on the hillside, and when it turns out I don”t actually know the whole song, I flop down in the grass and the flowers and laugh at myself for being such a dork.

No wonder I can”t get a boyfriend.

Oh well, back to what I was doing.

Picking up my basket and the set of gardening tools I brought up with me, I walk up the hill to a patch of monkey flowers and dig the trowel into the moist soil so I can pull up enough to transplant. These are scarlet monkey flowers, Mimulus cardinalis, bright red flowers that will bring hummingbirds to the garden all summer.

There”s just enough room in the basket for maybe one more plant. I”d love to add some elephants’ heads to the garden, but it”s too early for them up this high still so I just keep wandering around, keeping my eyes open for something that looks good.

Slow River is okay, I guess. It”s a much bigger town than the little mountain community I grew up in. It has more restaurants to choose from, more bars to drink at, more traffic on the roads, and more options. As in, men.

I thought living there for a full year while I did a florist apprenticeship with Callie would get me out of my shell. I thought I”d meet a cowboy from one of the big cattle ranches in the valley and, well...I thought that even if I wasn”t married by now, at least I wouldn”t still be carrying my V-card.

Seriously? Doesn”t this thing have an expiration date on it?

Obviously, neither my heart nor my virginity got claimed by a handsome rancher.

My apprenticeship is almost up and I”m already packing my apartment. Honestly, I can”t wait to move back up to Moonshine Ridge. I miss Mom and Gran and-- yeah, I even miss my brothers.

Raine”s mellowed out so much since he got married last year, and he and April just found out they”re finally pregnant; Cane”s still a brooding, control freak, but running the camp keeps him from getting too annoying; and even gran hasn”t heard from Hayle in over a year now.

I miss my oldest brother the most, but he left the Ridge almost five years ago and hasn”t done much to keep in touch with us.

After my dad and grandpa were killed in an accident when I was just a baby, my oldest brother, Hayle, always promised me he”d be the one to walk me down the aisle at my wedding and I can”t imagine it any other way, so I guess it”s just as well that I”m not in any danger of getting married anytime soon.

My fingers absently run along the worn fabric of the latest flannel shirt I stole from Hayle”s closet. Mom and I have been taking care of his house while he”s gone; making sure pipes don”t burst in the winter, and that the mice and the bears stay outside, keeping the place ready for him in case he ever does come back.

But it”s a beautiful day and the flowers are blooming everywhere I look; a perfect day for filling in the garden so I”ll have flowers to keep in stock all summer.

Picking myself off the ground-- literally and metaphorically-- I grab my basket and tools and head farther uphill. Closer to the fence line that marks Turtle Dam Village. Population, one...smoking hot, brooding, mysterious as fuck, Italian electrical engineer that never seems to be around when I”m up snooping for another look at him.

A girl can dream, can”t she?

* * *

Augustus

Even when thecrews are here on their regular shifts, it”s a lonely job, but it comes with a house, it pays well, and I know the company-- and its money-- are legit.

The hydro project went in in the seventies, the state leased the land from the Hart family-- who still owns most of the land I can see out my office window-- Turtle creek was dammed to create Turtle Lake, and the power plant went in and has been in operation ever since.

At some point, the company built an entire town up here at the plant-- houses, a school, a post office, even a general store-- whatever it took to get the employees they needed for the plant. It must have been hard to get people up here, it”s an hour from the little town of Moonshine Ridge, and the Ridge isn”t much of a town. It”s another two hours down to Slow River where you finally start finding big box stores and fast food.

From my understanding, Turtle Dam was a thriving company town through the seventies and well into the eighties but then, I guess the workers started choosing to make the commute up from the valley instead of living so far from the conveniences of civilization. The little village was a ghost town long before I came along.

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.