Mountain Boss: Mountain Men Series Book One
Mountain Boss: Chapter 29

I slump in my spot on the bench.

The grilled chicken melt with potato salad was as delicious as it smelled, and I’m in definite danger of slipping into a food coma.

“Anyone want more before I put it away?” Cook asks as he gets up from the bench across from me.

Fisher gets up for more potatoes, but the rest of us pass.

Lunch wasn’t nearly as awkward as I expected it to be.

After everyone stood and shook my hand, reminding me of their names, the group spread out over two of the picnic tables, and I ended up in the middle of it all.

They included me but didn’t grill me with questions, and it wasn’t long before I relaxed into my meal.

The only person who didn’t talk was Mr. Black.

“Court.” Leon, one of the older guys, gets my attention. “You any good at baking?”

“Leon,” our boss snaps.

“What?” Leon holds up his hands. “I ain’t asking cuz she’s a lady. I’m asking cuz no one here can make a pie to save their soul.”

I smile at his argument.

Leon looks back to me. “Can ya, Court? You good at pies?”

I press my lips together, keeping my eyes off Mr. Black, and nod.

A chorus of whoops fills the Food Hall.

“What’d’ya say, Sterling?” Cook asks from across the room. “Can our Court here use her time to bake the occasional pie?”

Sterling?

Who’s Sterling?

Mr. Black, my boss, stands from his spot at the other picnic table. “I don’t care.” He picks up his plate. “If Court agrees, you two can make fucking pies.”

“Civil tongue.” Fisher fake coughs.

A few guys snicker, but Sterling ignores him. Just like he ignores the rest of us as he puts his plate in the dishwasher and strides out of the building.

My coworkers resume talking among themselves, but my brain is still stuck on the revelation that my Black-souled boss has a first name.

And, of course, it can’t be boring or bland. No. It has to be Sterling.

It has to sound strong. Masculine.

It has to remind me of the way his stomach felt under my hands.

Remind me of the way his muscles flexed under my touch.

“Earth to Court?”

I blink out of my stupor and replace Fisher grinning at me.

Mr. Black, a.k.a. Sterling, called Fisher a kid when he was doing introductions.

With his sandy-colored hair curling over his eyes and his long limbs that remind me of a growing teen, he is definitely the kid compared to the rest of the crew. Though he can’t be much younger than I am.

“Sorry, did you ask me something?” I smile back at him.

His grin widens. “Cook’s food puts me to sleep too.”

“That’s a compliment,” Cook hollers from across the room.

“Didn’t say it wasn’t,” Fisher calls back. “Anyway…” He shakes his head and turns his attention back to me. “I gotta hit up the Storage Shed after this. Has anyone shown it to you yet?”

“Uh, no,” I tell him truthfully.

There’s another building out past my Laundry Cabin, and I assume that’s what he’s talking about. But Mr. Black certainly hasn’t mentioned it.

His hands-off approach has been… trying. But it’s better than him hovering. I don’t think I could handle him looking over my shoulder all day.

Though I would think he’d want to at least check my work. Or ask what I did at the end of the day…

But maybe he has been checking and just hasn’t said anything about it.

“I’ll take you over there now.” Fisher stands.

“Okay, thanks.” I twist to the side to lift my leg over the bench, and a groan of pain escapes my throat before I can stop it.

Simpson, who is still seated, snickers. “You’re working too hard. It took Marty three days just to get started on one of those clipboard items. By my count, you’ve already crossed out a few.”

I pause, straddling the bench. “Oh.”

It’s good to know that the bar is set low if Marty’s speed was acceptable.

And it’s just for me to know that most of my pain comes from sleeping on a wooden bunk, not from the work I’ve done.

Keeping the rest of my groans internal, I get to my feet and put my plate in the dishwasher before following Fisher out.

“So.” He slows his long stride to match mine. “How’s the first couple days going?”

I open my mouth, then close it and purse my lips.

This guy seems chill, but they were all acting casual at lunch, so I don’t know how much I should share.

Fisher laughs. “Aww, it can’t be that bad.”

Not wanting to get in trouble for talking poorly about the job, I shake my head. “No, no, it’s going well.”

He chuckles again. “You don’t gotta lie on my behalf, Court.”

I eye Fisher as we keep walking, then sigh. “It really is fine. I just don’t know how I’m doing.”

Fisher tilts his head. “What do you mean?”

“I didn’t really get any… direction. Beyond telling me to make the morning coffee, Mr. Black hasn’t told me what he expects.” I give him the truth, if not all of it.

“Mr. Black?” Fisher chokes on those words. “Did Sterling really tell you to call him that?”

We’re approaching the driveway, about to cross right in front of the home of the man in question, so I lower my voice. “I didn’t even know his name was Sterling until someone said it at lunch.”

Fisher reaches a hand up and rubs the back of his neck.

Great. I made it uncomfortable.

“How long have you worked here?” I change the topic.

“Five years,” Fisher says with pride.

As we approach the building behind my cabin, he tells me about graduating from college but not knowing what to do with his degree. How he knew a guy who came to Black Mountain Lodge for a fishing retreat. How he himself loves fishing. And how he came here, knocked on Sterling’s front door, and asked to be considered for a guide position.

Fisher opens the door to the shed after typing in the same lock combo as the Food Hall.

“And he just hired you?” I ask, stepping into the space that’s more of a garage than a shed.

“Not exactly.” He snorts. “But I wore him down.”

I hum, wondering if he was also forced to sleep on the board in the laundry room.

As I wander around the Storage Shed—circling the large cluster of shelving in the middle of the space—Fisher explains about the guests. How sometimes there’s just one cabin’s worth of people at a time, and sometimes every bunk is full.

“What do you guys do when there aren’t guests?” I ask, wondering what they do on days like today.

“Mostly prep for the next round. Plan the routes we’ll take. Make packing and grocery lists. Prep gear… Each group fills out an intake form, and we adjust accordingly. So not every outing is the same.”

“Makes sense,” I muse.

We stay a few more minutes, and I make a mental note of where the items of interest are.

“You sure it’s okay I take this?” I hold up the short step stool as I meet Fisher back at the door.

He nods. “Totally. This stuff is for any of us to use.”

I stop myself from grinning like a fool as I imagine using the steps to get into bed tonight and how much easier that’s going to be than climbing onto the bunk like a clumsy koala.

I shift my grip on the step stool as I step outside. My sore shoulders remind me that climbing into the bunk might be easier now, but it won’t make sleeping any more comfortable.

Which reminds me…

“When is payday?” I ask Fisher as he locks the door.

His back is still to me when he answers. “Last day of the month.”

Last…

My back rounds, like I caught the answer with my chest.

Last day of the month.

But it’s only October second.

I won’t get paid for another twenty-nine days.

“We always go to the bar…” Fisher keeps talking, but I don’t hear him.

My brain is too busy calculating what I have in my cupboard, plus how expensive groceries are and…

That fucking board.

I can’t sleep on that fucking board for another twenty-nine days.

Tears burn in the corners of my eyes, and I try desperately to blink them away.

It’s okay.

I’m going to be okay.

I’ve been in shittier conditions.

I have a roof over my head.

A private bathroom.

Limited food.

Half a tank of gas.

Two hundred dollars.

And a board to sleep on.

“I’m headed this way.” Fisher’s words break through my spiral.

I glance up, making sure to smile. “Thanks again.”

“Anytime. See ya.” He spins away from me.

My smile drops.

End. Of. The fucking month.

Defeat feels heavy around my ankles, making it hard to lift my feet.

Maybe I could ask Mr. Black for an advance?

I take a step toward my cabin.

Maybe I could convince him to pay me weekly. Just for my first month.

Maybe…

My eyes lift at the sound of footsteps.

A pair of dark brown eyes stare back at me.

Sterling narrows his gaze.

And I feel it.

I feel the cool track of a tear sliding down my cheek.

My stomach sinks with that roller-coaster feeling.

I force my mouth into another smile.

But I think I get it wrong.

I think I make it too big.

And I know… I know I can’t ask this man for money.

Even if I’ve earned it.

Even if I’m going to keep working for it.

Even if I’m worth it…

I can’t ask him.

Because he’ll say no.

I feel a second tear ready to fall. But I can’t let it.

Can’t let him see it.

Dropping my gaze, I rush forward and off the trail, moving around Mr. Black without a word.

I see movement out of the corner of my eye as I pass him. As though he may have been reaching for me.

But I keep moving, silently cursing myself for being so weak.

It’s just one month.

It’s just twenty-nine days.