Mountain Boss: Mountain Men Series Book One
Mountain Boss: Chapter 82

I slap my phone until the alarm stops.

My body aches in weird places as I roll onto my back and force my eyes open.

I’m pretty sure I didn’t move an inch once I fell asleep last night. Or rather, when I passed out the second I closed my eyes.

Last night…

I stretch my arms up over my head, and my forearms protest. Holding myself up against the cabin apparently strained some muscles.

I flex my toes, and my thighs reply with a similar ache.

Lowering my arms, I put my hands over my face.

In the cold light of day, I need to accept that we fucked up.

No matter how good it felt, nothing good can come from messing around with my boss.

The man whose property I live on. Who will be providing me with an income.

I groan.

What was I thinking?

I wasn’t.

I wasn’t thinking at all. At least not with my brain.

I drop my hands with a shiver and roll out of bed.

Today I’m making better decisions.

And I’m turning on my heat.

Fisher sets his plate down next to mine on the picnic table.

“How goes it?” He drops down onto the bench.

I finish chewing my bite of Italian sub. “It goes.”

We have today and tomorrow, and then guests arrive again, so I’ve been putting my Laundry Cabin to use washing bedding all day.

And I know this schedule because when I made coffee this morning, I found a note on my clipboard. Which was right next to Big Joe, along with my flashlight.

I’d completely forgotten that Sterling had taken the light last night, so of course, when I saw it again, I had to stand there, fanning my face, for three solid minutes while picturing him backing away into the dark.

Once I was done with the fanning, I noticed the Post-it stuck to the front page of my clipboard.

Two days to reset cabins.

Fix hot tub.

I hadn’t even known there was a hot tub. But thankfully, Simpson came in for coffee while I was still staring at the note and told me there was one on the back deck of Sterling’s house. And that the boss doesn’t mind if we use it so long as we put the cover back on it when we’re done and don’t leave any trash behind.

After that, I went into the cabin I was cleaning and sat on a bunk for another three minutes as I pictured Sterling in a freaking hot tub.

Beads of water trailing down his⁠—

Fisher grunts as he takes a bite of his lunch.

I clear my throat. “You one of the guides again for the next round?”

“Yeah.” He chews and swallows. “Think almost every time we have guests for the rest of the year, I’m going out with one of the groups.”

I lift my brows. “Guess people like to fish.”

He barks out a laugh just as the door opens.

My eyes flit to the entrance just as Sterling steps into the Food Hall.

He’s looking right at me. Our eyes are locked. And it reminds me of another moment from last night.

It reminds me of our kiss.

My pulse jumps as I think about the way his lips felt against mine.

Firm and demanding.

But so warm. And so coaxing.

It was short.

I was so turned on I could hardly concentrate.

But it was the best kiss of my life.

My hand starts to lift, to touch my lips, to feel the skin around my mouth—where his beard felt wonderfully scratchy.

My arm jolts as Fisher bumps me with his elbow. “Maybe you can come out with us sometime. Eating fish fry in the woods is about as legit as life can get,” my young colleague tells me.

I send a smile to Fisher before glancing back up at Sterling.

His eyes are narrowed, glaring at where Fisher’s arm is still touching mine.

I reach for my sandwich, breaking the contact. “Fish fry sounds good.” I strive for a casual tone. “But I don’t know about sleeping outdoors.”

I keep my focus on my food but watch Sterling out of the corner of my eye as he passes by our table.

Fisher uses his sub to wave off my concern, pieces of shredded lettuce falling onto his plate. “Nah, it ain’t that bad. Really depends on where you go.”

“Like what river you go to?” I ask, not understanding.

He hums around his food. “That too, but I meant like what campsite. Some of them have cabins. Not like ours here. There’s no mattresses or nothing.” I can feel Sterling approaching, so I keep my gaze down. I don’t want to see what expression he’s wearing while Fisher talks about sleeping on bare bunks. “But they got four walls, sleep a whole crew, and some even have little wood stoves to keep ’em warm.” He shoves another bite into his mouth, muffling his next words. “But there’s other sites that are just clearings of bare earth, and we gotta sleep in tents. That’s arguably less comfy, even if you’re sleeping on those little inflatable pads. Which we use in the cabins too.”

“Oh.” It’s the best reply I can think of.

Fisher chuckles. “You ever been camping, Court?”

I open my mouth to reply, but a plate drops down across from me, startling a squeak out of me.

Fisher snorts. “Easy, Boss. Our girl here is jumpy.”