Mountain Boss: Mountain Men Series Book One
Mountain Boss: Chapter 11

My alarm beeps, and I have to fight the desire to scream.

It feels like I just fell asleep.

Like literally. It feels like unconsciousness just took me under and that I hardly slept at all.

I reach my arm up over my head to where I left my phone on the edge of the platform, and groan in pain.

I’m thirty, and my body is way too old for this shit.

After silencing my alarm, I slowly lower my arm back to my side.

Six a.m.

I blink at the ceiling.

I took my time unpacking last night—feeling like a chicken for not wanting to go back outside for the rest of my stuff in the dark. And then, even though I was exhausted, I still couldn’t force myself to climb into bed until midnight.

When I finally did, it was impossible to get comfortable. Because, as it turns out, laying all your clothes out into a flat pile on top of a board does not a mattress make.

I shift and let out a pitiful whine.

Everything aches.

I’ve had some less-than-ideal sleeping situations in my life, but this… this takes the fucking cake.

I’m almost tempted to sleep in my Jeep rather than spend another night on this literal board. Even if the cold and fear of the forest would keep me up all night.

I blink, waking myself up more.

I wiggle my toes.

I rock my head side to side.

And I groan again.

Because I won’t sleep in my car.

I can’t give Mr. Black a single reason to fire me.

Filling my lungs, I mentally brace myself, then roll onto my side.

Soreness has me grunting, but I don’t stop.

And as I roll the rest of the way off the bunk, the rough edge of the plywood digs into my hip. I’m glad I slept in sweatpants and a hoodie last night, so at least I don’t have bare skin exposed, because getting a scrape or a splinter right now would truly be the final straw.

My feet hit the floor, and the impact radiates up my shins.

“Owie,” I whine.

I shift my weight around, trying to ease the pins and needles dancing up my legs. Through the socks I wore to bed, I can feel the coolness of the wood floor beneath my feet.

I’ve been living in hot climates for too long. This new chilled world is going to take some getting used to. But I did spot a baseboard heater behind that dinky table in the main room, so at least I won’t freeze to death.

Rolling out my shoulders, I notice the same thing I noticed last night… the quiet.

It’s so damn quiet out here I⁠—

My phone starts to beep again, and I nearly jump out of my socks.

I slap a hand over my heart before I turn it—and my backup alarm—off.

The sun isn’t exactly up, but there’s enough early morning light coming in through the windows. Especially from the front room since the curtains up there are a thin white linen.

I shuffle to the bathroom, and while I brush my teeth, I curse my cowardice from the night before, remembering that my food box is still in the Jeep.

It’s nothing exciting. A rather pitiful collection of ramen, peanut butter, crackers, and off-brand beef jerky. The basics, and all nonperishables, which is good because there’s no fridge in the Laundry Cabin.

I look at my phone to check the time.

I have fifty minutes before my first shift at Black Mountain Lodge starts.

Just enough time to shower, change into work clothes, get my food box, and eat a few spoonfuls of peanut butter.

I eye the front door as I shove my feet into my tennis shoes.

Knowing it was unlocked did not help me fall asleep last night.

Even if Mr. Black believes bears won’t be able to turn the handle, men can. And he was adamant about me not sharing the Bunk House with his male employees. So it seems a little counterintuitive that he wouldn’t care about an unlocked door.

But I suppose out here in the middle of the woods, there isn’t really a need to lock the Laundry Cabin. Because while there might be a platform in the back room, clearly this building wasn’t meant to be used as housing.

Still, I tried to wedge the little dining chair under the door handle, like how I’ve seen it done in movies. But the dinky chair wasn’t tall enough. So I just added a nice little layer of fear to my discomfort last night.

How cozy.

Going on my tiptoes, I reach over the dryers and pull the curtain aside.

I don’t see anything out of place.

No movement.

No bears or men or other creatures.

I let the curtain drop back into place.

“Looks clear,” I tell Spike.

My small cactus doesn’t reply. But that’s to be expected. She’s been a little testy after spending the last few days in a box.

I purse my lips and glance at the window above the table, then back at the one above the dryers.

Which way is west?

Do cacti do better in sunrise or sunset?

Does it make a difference?

Spike and I have been rooming together for two years, but it’s been in an apartment, and not a corner unit, so I’ve never gotten to choose what type of sunlight she gets.

“I’ll google the answer once I get on the Wi-Fi, okay?” I tell her, then I pick her up and set her on the windowsill above the table.

It’s not like Mr. Black couldn’t easily walk around the back of the Laundry Cabin and see Spike, but I figure facing her out back is better than in the window that faces the driveway. I don’t need my boss to accuse me of being too girly by decorating.

I glance at my phone again.

“Shit.”

Five minutes have passed, and I need to get a move on.

I snag the plastic grocery bag filled with my shower supplies off the counter and yank open the front door.

Cool air gusts through the doorway, and I hurry to step out, pulling the door closed behind me.

No railing, I remind myself and focus on my steps until I’m safely on the ground. Then I turn down the little path that leads to the driveway.

I’m mid-yawn when I lift my gaze from the ground and let out a sound that’s half scream, half choke.

Fifteen feet away from me, walking up the driveway, is Mr. Black. Carrying an honest to fucking god log on his shoulder.

He looks like a lumberjack.

An angry lumberjack.

And, unfortunately, he looks even sexier than I remember.