Mountain Boss: Mountain Men Series Book One
Mountain Boss: Chapter 34

Oranges and flowers.

I take a deep inhale as I close my eyes.

I didn’t want to know. Didn’t need to know what she smelled like fresh out of the shower.

But now I do.

Fucking oranges and flowers.

Some combination of shampoo and lotion. And I want to fill my palm with the scent before I wrap my fingers around my dick.

I open my eyes.

I will not jerk off in Courtney’s cabin.

Thinking about how she spoke back through the open cabin door earlier, I clear my throat.

I feel stupid talking to the empty space, but I do it anyway. “Hello?”

No one answers. Obviously.

I shake my head. This girl is always talking to herself, so I shouldn’t be surprised she talks to her damn cabin too.

It’s been a while since I’ve been in here, but it looks pretty much the same.

Courtney has a little kitchen area set up on the counter above the washers. It’s not much, but it’s neat and organized.

There isn’t a refrigerator in here, but she can use the ones in the Food Hall. Probably already has.

Doesn’t look like she uses the little table, and I’m hard pressed to remember where it even came from.

I grip the back of one of the chairs and wiggle it.

My mouth pulls down at how flimsy it feels.

I’m tempted to sit on it, just to see if it collapses, but I don’t want to leave any sign that I was here.

The thin curtain covering the window flutters.

It’s a nice day out, and Courtney must’ve opened the window above the table to let in some fresh air.

The fabric catches, and that’s when I notice the small cactus sitting on the windowsill.

I pull the curtain out of the way.

It’s in a little ceramic pot and there’s an orange string bow stuck in the spikes.

Cute.

I let the curtain fall back over the plant.

I’m tempted to open the cupboard, but that feels a little too intrusive. Though I have no trouble opening the bathroom door.

It’s perfectly clean, and there are a few bottles of lotion and other items lining the small sink.

I take one second to wonder if there’s a way to get a shower in here, but the thought is quickly dashed. There’s no room.

And she won’t be here long.

Which is what I want.

I say it to myself twice, trying to make it more true.

My mind is on Courtney as I step into the bedroom.

I let my eyes drift over the dresser.

Is she here because she really wants to work here?

Is she drawn to the mountains?

Did she replace the Lodge randomly, or did someone suggest it?

Did she just want to get away from the East Coast?

Is she running from something?

I step closer to the bed, seeing how she has the step stool positioned near the end, like it’s a top bunk bed rather than just a slightly tall frame.

But I suppose she is pretty short, so it’s probably hard for her to climb in and out of bed without the steps.

A single pillow with a gray pillowcase is on the other end of the bed, and a gray blanket to match covers the bunk.

The color surprises me. I would have pictured her with something else. Maybe green, because she wore that color on the first day. Maybe pink, because I’m a dumb man and don’t know what colors women actually like.

I reach out and place my hand on the bedspread, wanting to feel the material.

With the material between my fingers, I can’t help but picture her in bed with someone. Breathing heavy. Arms over her head.

Is she running from a relationship?

Is she married?

Getting a divorce?

That would explain a lot.

The move across country.

The vehicle filled with her possessions.

Does it explain the tears from yesterday?

I run my hand down the blanket and frown.

Why does this feel so lumpy?

I reach up and grip the top corner of the blanket.

I shouldn’t be touching her bed.

I flip the blanket back anyway.

And I stare.

At clothes.

“What the hell?”

I look back at the dresser.

Did she fill the drawers already and… what? Decided to hide her clothes rather than leave them in a stack?

I slide my fingers under one of the sweatshirts to lift it.

And I pause.

Because my fingers touch wood.

I shove the sweatshirt to the side.

Plywood stares up at me.

My exhale gets knotted in my chest.

I push more of the clothes aside, exposing more of the rough board below.

I…

I can’t make sense of what I’m seeing.

I shove all the clothes away.

There’s no mattress.

I turn away from the bed and look at the walls, like a mattress might be propped up somewhere.

There isn’t.

There’s no fucking mattress.

I look under the bunk.

But it’s just boxes and Courtney’s suitcase.

And the bunk is just a bare piece of fucking plywood.

I look back at the pile of laundry now bunched at the foot of the bed.

And I feel like the biggest piece of shit on the planet.

My Courtney has been sleeping on her clothes because I gave her a cabin without a mattress.

I plant my hands on the bunk.

The weight inside my chest threatens to drag me to the ground.

Why wouldn’t she say something?

Why the fuck wouldn’t she ask for a fucking mattress?

But the answer is obvious.

She thinks I did it on purpose.

Guilt glides over my skin, seeping into my being and filling me with a level of self-hatred I haven’t experienced before.

Courtney thinks I gave her this cabin knowing there was no mattress.

I didn’t know.

I swear, I didn’t know.

But why would she think otherwise?

I’ve been dismissive and rude to her since the moment I found out who she was.

Flashes of her filter through my mind.

Courtney seeing me that first morning and going right back into her cabin. After sleeping on a fucking board.

Courtney not eating lunch with us because I didn’t tell her.

Courtney with toilet water on her face and shirt after her second night sleeping on a fucking board.

Courtney last night, with tears in her eyes and a fake smile on her lips, on her way to spend another night on a fucking board.

Courtney asking when we get paid. Probably because she wanted to buy a fucking mattress to sleep on.

Courtney this morning, smiling over a trip to Costco, after sleeping on a fucking board.

I have to clench my jaw.

Have to press my lips together.

Have to force myself to breathe.

I wanted to make her leave.

But not like this.

Not like this.

Swallowing down the emotion that threatens to choke me, I bend over the bunk and claw her clothes back into place.

I need to know what it was like.

When I have her clothes back in a thin layer—the way I found it—I climb onto the bunk and lie down.

The clothes do nothing.

This feels exactly like lying on a sheet of plywood.

She must fucking hate me.

I fucking hate me.

I stay where I am, looking at the ceiling, forcing myself to experience this.

Courtney spent three nights sleeping like this, and my body is starting to protest after five minutes.

How she managed to work… and work hard, without a single complaint…

I don’t know how she did it.

Because she had no choice.

I may not know her circumstance, but I know no one would put up with this, and me, unless they had to. Unless they were desperate.

I think about the projects she’s already completed. Specifically the ones in the guest cabins. Each one fully stocked, each bunk covered in a mattress. And she still didn’t say anything.

She didn’t sneak one into her cabin.

Didn’t ask if she could use one.

Courtney didn’t say a fucking word.

I roll to my side, groaning because I’m lying on a fucking board, and swing my legs down.

The edge of the plywood catches my shirt.

If that was on my bare skin, it would have left a mark.

I glare at the bunk.

Then I turn and stomp out of the cabin.

I’m storming across the driveway when I spot Cook between the trees, walking from the Bunk House to the Food Hall.

I freeze.

Cook keeps walking.

I listen to the faint sound of him whistling until he disappears from view.

I should’ve been more careful exiting Courtney’s cabin.

If anyone had seen me…

How would I have explained being in there?

I can’t.

So I also can’t let anyone see me hauling a mattress around. And I can’t explain her not having a mattress without exposing the fact that I was snooping.

I can’t even pretend she asked me for one because why would she have waited three nights?

No. No one can see me.

I step off the driveway into the woods.

Moving quickly, I stay behind the trees and make my way to the cabin closest to the Bunk House. It’s the one we use the least, only when the rest of the cabins are in use. There’s nothing wrong with it. It’s stocked the same as the rest. But why put guests so close to my guys if I don’t have to?

A creak alerts me to the front door of the Bunk House opening, and I take a quick stride forward so I’m covered by the corner of the guest cabin.

Totally not sketchy behavior.

I lower my feet carefully, keeping the sound of my steps quiet as I circle the back of the cabin.

There’s enough forest between the cabin and the Bunk House that I can move around the other side undetected until I make it back to the front door.

We changed the locks last year—one of the projects Marty actually finished—so now all the buildings have code locks rather than key locks.

It’s handy. Especially now.

I type in my personal code that gets me into every lock on the property.

0690

Because I’m a child.

The door opens with a faint sound, but I step through quickly and close it behind me.

That shitty feeling hasn’t left my chest. And as I look at the four unused mattresses, that feeling just gets worse.

Unused.

I think about how many mattresses have been sitting unused over the last three nights.

How Courtney saw them.

Knew they were there.

“Fuck.”

I rub my hand over my stomach.

“Fuck.” I say it a little louder.

Then I stride to the closest bed, grip the bare mattress, and start to pull it off the bed frame.

It has a mattress protector on it. One of the kinds that zips all the way around the full-size mattress like a giant pillowcase. The bedding is in the closet, put away to keep it from getting dusty.

I pause my efforts, the thin material not feeling luxurious in my grip.

Growling in the back of my throat, I shove it back into place and climb onto the cramped bunk.

I lie down.

I roll on my side.

I lie flat on my back.

And I grit my teeth.

It sucks.

This mattress fucking sucks.

“God dammit.” I shake my head as I shove my hand into my pocket and pull out my phone.

As the call goes through, I roll out of the bunk.

It takes two rings before Marty answers.

“Hey, Sterling.” Marty greets me as I grip the mattress one handed. “Before you start, I saw the email already⁠—”

“Fuck the email, Marty. I need to know where to order new mattresses.” I grunt as I drag the mattress all the way off this time.

“Uh, a mattress? Like for your bed?” Marty’s confusion annoys me, even if it’s understandable.

“Not for my bed, for the cabins,” I bite out.

Marty makes a sound. “Have a round of food poisoning or something?”

I pause, propping the mattress up against the wall. “What… no.” I grimace as I visualize the implication of his question. “Hell no.”

“Oh.” He sounds even more confused.

“We just need new ones, alright?”

“Alright. No questions. Got it.” I can picture the old man rolling his eyes. He worked for me too long to not recognize my bad moods.

“Do you know where I can order… thirty-something mattresses?” I ask in a calmer tone.

I can hear him scratching his beard as he thinks. “I bet Rocky would have a connection. Want me to call him?”

“No, I’ll do it. Good thinking.”

“I live to serve.” Marty snorts.

I hang up. Then text Rocky.

He owns a bar and motel in the next town over, along with several other hotels.

I don’t know if we’re friends exactly, but I know him well enough that I should’ve thought of him.

Text sent, I go to the closet and pull out a set of sheets and a quilt, then I peek out the window next to the door, checking if the coast is clear.