Mountain Boss: Mountain Men Series Book One
Mountain Boss: Chapter 17

I follow Mr. Black across the driveway and down a path that leads away from my cabin.

The trees are thicker over here but not oppressive.

As we walk, we pass larger cabins with numbers painted on the doors. I’m assuming they’re the guest cabins, but I’m not willing to break the heavy silence by asking.

Ahead of me, my grumpy boss lifts his hand and points to an even larger cabin farther down the path and to the left. “That’s the Bunk House. The guys clean it themselves, so you have no reason to go there.”

I’m not a cartoon lion, so I don’t feel the immediate urge to go where I was told I can’t. But still, being told I have no reason to irks me.

“Did you hear me, Court?” He stops as he asks the question, looking back over his shoulder.

Court?

I stop a step later, bringing us closer than we’ve been since last night, when I touched him.

“I said, did you hear me?”

Why does it seem like he’s looking at my mouth?

“Yeah.” I hold the clipboard tighter against my body. “Stay out of the Bunk House.”

He nods once, then continues walking.

Did you hear me? I mouth behind his back.

His attitude is making him uglier by the moment, and I’d take solace in that, except when I first met him yesterday—before he knew who I was—he was nice. Smiling. Pleasant. So I know he’s capable of kindness. He’s just also capable of turning it off.

When we hit a Y in the path, Mr. Black veers to the right, away from the forbidden Bunk House.

Following his footsteps, I spot our destination.

Same paint colors as the rest of the cabins, but this one is different because the roof extends over the front, creating an overhang that shelters four picnic tables.

Bossy walks around the tables to the door with yellow letters.

But instead of opening it, he turns to face me. “The code is on the top of the second page.”

I stare at him.

He stares back.

I look at the door.

The code?

And then I see the little keypad above the handle.

It’s locked.

The Food Hall locks, but the cabin I sleep in doesn’t.

I bet if I looked at the doors on all the other cabins, I’d replace locks.

Cool.

I dig my thumbnail into my index finger.

He made that damn comment about the bears and round handles and…

I grit my teeth.

And everyone else gets a damn lock.

Lock it down, Courtney.

I refuse to show him my frustration.

Not today.

Keeping my eyes away from Mr. Black, I loosen my hold on the clipboard and lift the top page.

In the corner, I see a four-digit number.

No label. No explanation.

3324

I lower the top page.

Moving to the door, I’m grateful that I’ve used these exact locks before, so I know how to work them.

I type in the code, the lock whirs, and I open the door.

Dawn is coming through the uncovered windows—windows that are much larger than the ones in the Laundry Cabin—but I still look for the light switch.

Finding it, I flip it on, illuminating the one-room building.

More picnic tables are inside, and a wood-topped island separates the tables from the back wall where the oversized appliances are. A fridge, freezer, giant oven-stove combo, and another stretch of countertop hosting a coffee maker from the same era as the washer and dryer in my cabin.

“Is this the⁠—”

When I turn around and replace myself alone, I stop talking.

The door is standing open, and I step back outside in time to see Mr. Black’s form disappear between the trees.

“Wow,” I whisper. “What a great onboarding session.”

My eyes dart around the woods, checking for bears. And coworkers.

I don’t spot any, but not wanting to be observed by either while I figure this machine out, I pull the door closed.

Just make some coffee, then you can work on the list.

Remembering that I’m still holding the clipboard, I quickly scan the pages. But—and this should not come as a surprise—there are no instructions on how to work the coffee maker.

Moving over to the machine in question, I set the clipboard down.

The stainless-steel monstrosity stares back at me.

“So, are you one of the old kind of appliances that performs like a workhorse? Or are you a finicky bitch?”

It doesn’t reply.

Propping my hands on my hips, I take a deep breath.

“You can do this, Courtney.”

Saying my name reminds me of Mr. Black calling me Court earlier.

I don’t mind the nickname. I’ve always wanted someone to give me one. But why he would call me the name that offended him so much yesterday, I don’t understand.

Unless this is him pretending I’m a guy?

Joke’s on him, though, because I’ve been working in the male-dominated field of maintenance for years, and I’ve heard it all. So a shortened version of my real name is hardly insulting.

I step closer to the coffee maker and start inspecting it. “Alright, Big Joe, you treat me good, I’ll treat you good.”

It takes some work. Some digging through cupboards. Some guesswork on quantities. But twenty minutes later, the scent of coffee fills the room.

While the oversized pot fills, I poke around in the large cabinets.

All the dishware is metal, which makes sense, durability and all that.

Then there’s bulk groceries filling the other shelves. Canned goods, dry goods, baking supplies…

Big Joe lets out a loud click.

I shut the cupboard and move back to the coffee machine to check out my work.

The pot is made of metal, like everything in this place, so I can’t see the color of the coffee, but it smells right.

The drips from the basket above slow to a stop, and I assume the click sound was meant to announce the shutoff.

I did it.

Feeling absurdly proud of myself, I try to release a little piece of tension by relaxing my shoulders. But the forced movement sends a twinge down my spine. Reminding me that Mr. Blackheart made me sleep on a goddamn board last night.

Pretty sure I’m gonna have to sleep on that board again tonight.

And tomorrow.

On and on until I can afford to buy one of those inflatable camping mattress things.

Afford.

I spread my fingers at my side, stopping myself from pressing my fingertips together.

The application for this position stated the flat per-week pay I’d get, but it didn’t say when I’d get paid.

Since the amount was listed as weekly, I’m hoping the pay is weekly. But I’ll have to replace someone to ask.

Someone other than my surly boss.

My stomach gives a twist, reminding me I’m hungry.

Along with leaving my food in the Jeep overnight, I also left my kettle and instant coffee, so I am both hungry and un-caffeinated. Which is practically a crime.

I won’t take food out of the pantry behind me because that feels far too much like stealing, but Mr. Black did say I was making coffee for everyone.

I purse my lips.

Everyone does include me, right?

I only stand in indecision for approximately four minutes before I cave and snag one of the metal coffee cups out of the cupboard.

The pot is heavy, and I embarrass myself with how much I struggle to pour it, but I manage to do it without spilling.

Winning.

Careful to hold the cup by the handle, I tiptoe to the window that faces Mr. Black’s house.

I don’t know what I expect to see, but I don’t see him. Or the house. Just trees.

Feeling safe from prying eyes, I step back and finally take a sip of coffee.

My eyes start to close but open wide as I swallow.

“Damn, that’s good.”

I stare down into the brown liquid.

Clearly, I made it correctly, but this is more than the machinery at work. This is good coffee.

My eyes move back to the window.

So, Mr. Black is a dick. But he still buys quality coffee beans for his employees.

Interesting.