Page 11 of Trusting the Grumpy Mountain Man
She looks up then, and for a second, I glimpse what might have happened if I hadn't pulled back. Heat. Interest. Possibility.
"Goodnight, Jax."
I close the bedroom door behind me, leaning against it. What the hell was I thinking? She's here to evaluate my program, possibly shut it down. She represents everything I distrust about the system. She's too young, too by-the-book, too different from me.
And yet.
There's something about her that gets under my skin. The way she stands her ground. Her genuine concern for the kids. Those eyes that see more than they should.
Outside, the storm continues to rage, but it's nothing compared to the one building inside me. I've worked too hard, sacrificed too much to risk it all on an attraction that can go nowhere. The program has to come first. The kids have to come first.
Riley Chaffeur is temporary. She'll be gone in three days, taking her report and her city ways with her. The sooner she leaves, the better for everyone.
I just need to remember that the next time I find myself close enough to count her freckles or notice the exact shade of her lips.
Sleep will be a long time coming tonight.
CHAPTER FOUR
RILEY
Iwake to the sound of voices. For a moment, I'm disoriented, stiff neck protesting as I sit up on the too-short couch. Sunlight streams through the cabin windows, indicating the storm has passed. Kevin is gone, and my borrowed clothes are rumpled beyond professional salvation.
Perfect start to day two of my evaluation.
The voices come from outside. I peer through the window to see Jax standing in the clearing, surrounded by his teenage charges. They look remarkably alert for kids who spent the night in makeshift shelters during a storm.
I quickly change back into my now-dry clothes from yesterday, grimacing at their wrinkled state. My hair is a lost cause without proper products, so I pull it into a simple ponytail. Professional appearance matters, especially when your authority is already being questioned.
When I step outside, the morning air hits me with bracing coldness. The storm has left everything drenched but oddly refreshed, like the forest took a much-needed shower. Pineneedles glisten with water droplets, and the sky stretches clear blue overhead.
"Nice of you to join us, Ms. Chaffeur," Jax calls, his voice carrying across the clearing. "We're evaluating last night's shelter performance."
I approach the group, conscious of six pairs of teenage eyes tracking my every move. "Good morning. I trust everyone stayed reasonably dry?"
"Mostly," Tyler grins, mud streaking his face. "We even fixed a leak in our roof."
"Impressive problem-solving," I say, meaning it despite myself.
Jax gives me a surprised look, as if he expected criticism rather than praise. I maintain a neutral expression, refusing to be baited into the "fun police" role he seems determined to cast me in.
"Today's lesson," Jax continues, addressing the group, "is fire starting without matches. Essential survival skill when everything's wet."
I open my tablet, ready to document more safety violations, when I notice he's created a stone-ringed fire pit well away from any trees. Each teen has a designated area with proper clearance. Basic fire safety is being observed.
Another preconception challenged. Irritating.
"Ms. Chaffeur will observe today's activities," Jax tells the group. "Remember, you're representing Peak Survival with your actions."
The not-so-subtle message isn't lost on me. He's warning them to be on their best behavior, reminding them that my report could impact the program's future.
The morning proceeds with surprising order. Jax demonstrates various fire-starting techniques, from flint and steel to friction methods. He's a natural teacher, patient yetdemanding. The kids respond to his matter-of-fact approach, trying harder after each failure rather than giving up.
Darius is the first to produce a flame, his face lighting with genuine pride when Jax nods approval. Even Kevin, sullen after his night on the couch, eventually manages a small blaze.
I take notes throughout, documenting both the safety protocols and the educational value. By noon, I have pages of observations that don't fit neatly into my pre-conceived notion of a program needing shutdown.
"Lunch break," Jax announces after inspecting each fire. "Pack protein and trail mix in the mess cabin. Fifteen minutes."
