Mountain Boss: Mountain Men Series Book One
Mountain Boss: Chapter 42

Sighing, I climb the steps to my cabin and let myself in.

I helped Cook sort the groceries while he explained how it works when guests are here. He makes three meals a day while they’re on the property, and all staff members are allowed to partake in each meal.

I tried to keep my eyes from widening because every time my boss does something dickish—like calling me freaking Cookie—I replace out something surprisingly generous.

After just a few minutes, Cook caught on to the fact that no one has explained anything to me, so he took the time to tell me the basic timeline. Like how the guests will arrive, spend a night or two here, then go off to another location—staying in either cabins or tents. They do their outings for a few days with their designated guides, leaving the Lodge very quiet. Then they all come back for a final meal, then leave after lunch. Occasionally leaving the next day.

Simple enough.

And all of this is important for my role as the resident custodian.

The day before guests arrive, I need to spruce up the cabins—dusting and making the beds. And after they leave, I have to deep clean and use my Laundry Cabin for actual laundry.

I also found out that there is a washer and dryer set in the Bunk House, and I’m eternally grateful for that fact.

The guys have all been great, but standing here in my cabin, I know I need this space to just be mine. No matter how uncomfortable, or unlocked, this cabin is my home for the rest of the year, and I don’t need to know who wears boxers and who wears briefs.

Heading to my little bathroom, I wash my hands, then go back out to my dining table and pick up my leftover cookie and the sandwich Cook saved me from lunch.

I nearly cried all over again when he handed me the turkey club wrapped up in wax paper.

But I kept it together.

Like a professional.

Snagging my water bottle, I take my dinner to my bedroom.

There’s still enough of a sunset outside that I leave the lights off.

I’ll have my food with some mood lighting and a little YouTube scrolling. Because honestly, logging onto the Lodge internet has been the only thing keeping my sanity around here.

I dump my armful of food onto the bunk, then move over to my step stool.

Gripping the top rail, I put my foot on the bottom rung, step up, then shift my palms to the bed as I lift my other foot to the second step.

And then I freeze.

My heart beats once. Twice. Three times.

“What?” I whisper.

I flex my fingers into my blanket.

Soft.

Squishy.

“What?” I say it louder.

I shift my weight around.

The surface under my hands shifts with me.

“What?” My voice cracks this time.

I scramble off the step stool and flip my blanket back.

There’s another blanket.

Another blanket.

That too-familiar feeling of tightness behind my eyes starts to build.

My hands start to tremble as I grip the edge of the new blanket and pull it back.

A huff that sounds too close to a sob leaves my mouth.

Because I’m looking at a mattress.

A mattress covered with a fitted sheet.

A mattress with several inches of padding.

I lay my hand on it.

It’s still there.

I put my other hand on it.

The mattress squishes beneath the pressure.

A laugh spills out of me as I bend and press my face into it.

I have a mattress.

I straighten back up.

I have a mattress.

After three nights of sleeping on that fucking board, Sterling gave me a mattress.

The smile I hadn’t realized was stretched across my face falters.

Why now?

I run my hands over the sheet.

Was this all some sort of test?

Was this his plan all along?

Or did seeing me cry last night convince him to cave early?

Is that why he sent me shopping today? So he could replace the mattress when I wouldn’t see it?

I purse my lips, thinking about him in here, all alone, with my things.

My eyes move to the edge of the bunk.

He would’ve seen my bed of clothes when he came in here.

My cheeks start to heat.

But I quickly tell my body to knock it off.

I won’t be embarrassed about trying to make myself comfortable. Even if it didn’t work.

Speaking of my clothes…

Glancing around the room, I don’t see a pile of laundry.

I grip the mattress and lift it.

No clothes.

But… there’s another bedspread. Under the mattress.

I tilt my head and look at where the edge of the plywood board should be visible. The rough edge that’s caught my clothing more than once.

There’s a thud as my water bottle rolls down the angled mattress, landing in the space against the wall.

But I stay focused on the bedspread.

“Are those…?” I try to reach out, but the mattress is awkward to hold one handed, so I let it drop.

Then I crouch down and look at the underside of the board, where the blanket has been wrapped around the raw edge and stapled into place. Confirming the little bits of silver I saw above were also staples.

I stand back up.

He covered the board with a blanket, securing it in place so it won’t scrape me anymore.

I lightly trail my fingers over the edge.

Was this part of the test too?

I frown.

That doesn’t feel quite right.

The mattress, though cruel, has the feel of a test.

A tough it out situation.

But the edge of the board, the bit that can inflict actual injury… even though I’ve endured it for days, it feels… wrong.

Like maybe he forgot.

Or maybe when he took the mattress out, it hadn’t occurred to him that it would expose the edge.

I shake my head.

He didn’t know it was me—a woman—arriving.

Sterling had planned for male me to sleep in the Bunk House. And after I blackmailed him into letting me stay, he brought me right here. No time to remove a mattress as a punishment or test.

He just knew there wasn’t one.

I run my hand over the newly protected edge again.

Hope he felt like a jerk while he was stapling the blanket in place.

Then I remember my clothes.

They aren’t under the mattress.

I don’t see them on the floor.

I turn in a slow circle.

No piles in the corner or on the dresser.

No…

I drag my eyes back to the dresser.

“He wouldn’t…”

I dig my teeth into my lip as I take the few steps over to the dresser.

He seriously wouldn’t…

I open the top drawer.

My socks, bras, and underwear look the same as I left them.

“Okay.”

I push the drawer shut, then pull open the next one, which should only be half full with tank tops.

I bite my lip harder.

It’s all the way full.

The tank tops are there… and so are the T-shirts I’d been sleeping on.

All folded.

My heart rate picks up a step.

I shut the drawer and open the next.

It’s filled with perfectly folded long sleeves and cardigans.

More items I’d been sleeping on.

The next drawer is the same, filled with folded sweatshirts and sweaters.

The next has my sweatpants and pajamas.

The final bottom drawer has all my jeans and cargo pants.

He… He folded my clothes.

I shove the bottom drawer shut, then reopen the one with my pajamas.

“No fucking way.”

I leave it open and rush out of the bedroom.

Stopping in front of the dryer, I yank the door open.

Empty.

“No. Fucking. Way.”

I stare at the empty dryer.

This motherfucker didn’t just fold the clothes that I’d been sleeping on. He emptied the dryer and folded those too.

I turn to Spike. “Why would he do that?”

She doesn’t answer.

I turn back to the dryer. “Why would he do that?”

Spike silently tells me to stop repeating myself. And I silently tell her to quit judging me. I’m having a moment.

Back to biting my lip, I look at the door.

If this is also part of the test, I have no idea how to handle it.

Am I supposed to go thank him?

I mean, I am grateful for the mattress. And the blanket over the board.

But the clothes…

Am I supposed to thank him for folding my laundry?

It seems… weird.

It is weird.

But would I rather he have tossed them on the floor in a pile?

I lift my hands and rub them over my face.

I can’t think straight. I’m too exhausted.

I lower my hands.

I won’t be exhausted tomorrow.

Because I get to sleep on a real live mattress tonight.

I shake my head.

I will never take a mattress for granted again.

Thinking of my new cushy setup, I head back into my bedroom and go straight for my step stool.

The moment my knees land on the mattress, I let out a squeal.

Then I plop onto my butt and drop onto my back, letting out another sound of excitement.

This boss of mine might confuse the hell out of me, but right now, I don’t care. He can Jekyll and Hyde me all he wants, so long as he doesn’t take this mattress away from me.

Thinking of the moment he called me Cookie reminds me that I still have half my cookie left.

I sit up and replace it, along with my wrapped sandwich and water, in the six-inch crevice between the mattress and the wall.

Crossing my legs, I peel the paper away from the sandwich.

Usually I take my time eating. A habit from mostly eating alone with no place to be. But tonight, I eat fast.

I’ll probably suffer a stomachache from it. But, again, I don’t care. I want to enjoy this mattress as soon as possible. And I can ride out my stomachache on my new mattress.

After finishing my food in record time, I brush my teeth and go through the motions, not thinking about Sterling folding my pajamas.

It’s still early, but with the lights off, the curtains closed, and both my blankets pulled up to my chin, I know I’ll be asleep in moments.

Clasping my hands together, I close my eyes and pretend.

I pretend that I could make friends here.

That I could make a life here.

That I could be wanted here.