Page 3 of Marked By my Boss
It’s not uncommon for us as a team to show care for each other. I do it all the time with my co-workers, and I know Beau does too, but for some reason as I nod, my throat tightens.
Beau steps back, but his eyes lock on mine. There’s something in them, something that makes my skin flush and my heart tighten.
It’s that look that makes me ache in places I didn’t know I could ache, and I’ll be thinking about it when I lie awake tonight, analyzing my relationship, craving blue crayons, and wondering what it would feel like to be wanted without fear.
Chapter Two
Beau
The muddy dogs jump up into the truck before my buddy Knox throws his hunting gear into the back, his head shaking the whole time. We’ve been out in the blind for the last six hours and we didn’t see one deer, but we did polish off the venison jerky we’d made from a kill late last year. Maybe that’s bad form, eating the animal we’re hunting.
Knox mutters something about bad luck and cursed blinds, but I know he’ll be back out here next weekend. Same gear, same dogs, same stubborn hope. That’s the thing about hunting. It’s about so much more than the kill. It’s the ritual, the silence, the way the cold air bites at your face and makes you feel alive.
As we roll down the dirt road, the dogs settle in their crates, and Knox shakes his head with a half-smile. “Dude, you haven’t said two words all day. What’s going on?”
“We’re hunting. Not really the time to start a deep conversation.”
Knox snorts, low and sharp, like the crack of a twig underfoot. He reaches down and pulls out the battered box of cookies I keep stashed under the seat. The one with crumbs older than some of our gear. “No,” he says, shaking the box, “it’s about that girl again, ain’t it?”
I freeze, fingers still curled around the wheel, the wind whistling through the cracked window, carrying the scent of pine and wet dog. I narrow my brows as I say, “What are you talking about?”
“Really?” He tugs open the box and shoves his meaty hand inside, grabbing a few before leveraging the container toward me. “Last week you got drunk and told me you couldn’t stop thinking about her. Now you’re going to pretend she doesn’t exist?”
“She exists,” I stare blankly ahead, noting the tree limbs that hang heavy with late fall leaves,“as my employee.”
“Okay,” he groans as though he’s annoyed before snatching the cookie box back. “Well, if you’re curious to know, I’m going through with the mail-order thing.”
I pump the brakes on the truck and stare at him. “Really? Thought you’d decided that shit was stupid?”
“It is, but there’s that local page that sets people up, and I figure it’s worth a shot. Another winter isolated up in that cabin sounds like hell, man.”
A lot of folks spend the winters cut off, depending on how heavy the snow falls and how far up the mountain they live. Knox’s cabin is about as high as anyone builds, and the roads to his place become inaccessible come the first winter storm.
I laugh. “So, the plan is to trap a woman up there with you? Why not build closer to town? No need to trap anyone, and you might even meet a few people.”
He glances toward me like I have a fair point, but an asshole for bringing it up. “Lots of advice for a man who won’t admit his own bullshit.”
I don’t bite back, the tires thudding over tree roots like the Earth itself is trying to trip me up. The dogs shift in the back, restless, sensing the mood. “What do you want me to say?” I snap, eyes locked on the winding path ahead. “You want me totell you I’m obsessed with her? That I think about her the second I wake up and every damn minute until I crash again? That I see her face in the steam off my coffee and hear her voice in the wind through the blind?”
I pause, the words hanging heavy in the cab.
“She’s got her thing,” I say, quieter now. “Even if she didn’t, she works for me. That’s a line I can’t cross.”
“She doesn’t work for you,” Knox groans, crunching into another stale cookie. “She works for the dispatch center.”
I glance toward him, jaw tight. “That I run. That I’m responsible for. It’s a breach of trust. Besides, she has a fiancé, and a baby on the way.”
He shrugs, unconvinced, then reaches for another cookie like he’s mining for wisdom in the bottom of the box. “And you said that shit was strained.”
“So, I prey on her? I wait around like some vulture hoping her world collapses so I can swoop in and play hero? That’s fucked, dude. I can’t be that guy.”
Knox shakes his head. “Call it what you want, but I’d call it…concern.” He laughs in spite of himself. “That’s what you emotional people do, right? You showconcern.”
“Finally, you admit to lacking emotions.” A smirk tugs at the corner of my mouth. “Your bride to be is a lucky woman.”
“I’ll be upfront about how romantic I am on the application.” He leans back with the smugness of a man who thinks duct tape solves everything.
“Really? And what do you plan on writing? Not sure I’ve ever heard you talk about romance in a good way.”
