Chapter 1
Sierra
There must be a mistake.
I stare at the woman in front of me. This can't be the client who booked a ten-mile hike through one of the toughest stretches of the Appalachian Mountains.
She looks like Mountaineer Barbie, with her blonde hair pulled into a high ponytail, and wearing brand new hiking boots, a tiny tank top, and barely-there shorts.
My eyes take in all the exposed flesh. She may as well be wearing a flashing sign that says, “Blood Motel: ticks welcome!”
Just my luck. It's my first day on the job at Mercury Ridge Outdoor Tours, and I've been tasked with the impossible.
"Ms. Lafleur?" I say a silent prayer that she'll tell me that's not her name, and that the real Laura Lafleur is an expert hiker with appropriate clothes and broken-in boots.
She grins, looking like she just stepped out of a commercial for teeth-whitening strips. "That's me."
Shit. "I'm Sierra Green. Welcome to—"
"Is it true what they say?" she interrupts. "Are the men of Mercury Ridge hot as hell?"
Hot as Mercury. That's what they say. And yes, it's true. If you're into mountain men with too much testosterone and too few brain cells.
It's on the tip of my tongue to ask what in the world that has to do with hiking, but I catch sight of her bare legs again, and quickly change course.
I absolutely cannot take this girl on a ten-mile hike on an unmarked trail.
I need to convince her to choose an easier trail.
Or, better yet, to skip the hike altogether.
"Oh, yeah," I say, laying it on thick, "you won't find sexier men anywhere on the planet. But if you want to see them, you'll need to visit Lake Mercury. Up on the mountain, we're unlikely to cross paths with another human. Plenty of bears, though."
"Bears?"
I nod. "Lots of them. And I hope you like snakes…"
She waves a hand dismissively. "That's why I hired a tour guide. Dealing with wildlife is your domain."
My eyebrows shoot up in surprise. My domain? Does she think I wrestle bears and charm snakes?
It's time to be blunt. "I'm sorry, Ms. Lafleur, but I can't in good conscience take you on the hike you signed up for. I can suggest several beautiful trails that will be more enjoyable for you. You could hike part of the Appalachian Trail, perhaps? Or I could take you to see some of the prettiest waterfalls in North Carolina.”
Her eyes narrow. "Your website said you could handle any of the local trails."
"I can. You can't," I say simply. "The trail you chose is an unofficial trail. It’s not maintained. We’ll have to bushwhack through thick vegetation, cross a few streams, and navigate several rock scrambles. It’s too dangerous for inexperienced hikers.”
She scowls, every trace of the dazzling smile erased. She looks me up and down, smirking as she takes in my curvy body. “How many miles a day do you run on a treadmill? Because I run—"
"It's not like running on a treadmill," I say through gritted teeth. Her words hit a nerve. Despite being in great shape, I have wide hips and a soft stomach. Over the years, I’ve learned to accept—and even love—my curves. But every now and then, the long-buried insecurities creep to the surface.
"Do you know who I am?" She gestures to her new boots. "I have sponsors."
I don't have a clue who she is, nor do I care. "It doesn’t matter who you are. You’re not qualified for a hike at this skill level, and you won’t enjoy it.”
"I'm a social media influencer." She accentuates every syllable of influencer.
I raise an eyebrow. "It's too bad Mother Nature doesn't have a TikTok account."
She slams her hands to her hips. "I paid upfront. I signed your waivers. You’re taking me over the mountain.”
With a reluctant nod, I gesture for her to sit. "If you insist. But there's one more waiver you'll need to sign."
As I hand her an ink pen, I ask myself the question that's been on my mind for over a week—since the day I moved back to Mercury Ridge: What the hell was I thinking?