Page 12 of Trusting the Grumpy Mountain Man
As the teens disperse, he approaches me. In daylight, he's even more imposing than I remembered. Tall and broad-shouldered, with those startling blue eyes that seem to see right through professional facades.
"Thoughts so far?" he asks, crossing his arms over his chest.
"Your fire safety protocols are adequate," I concede. "And the educational component is stronger than I expected."
"Try to contain your enthusiasm." His mouth quirks in what might be the beginning of a smile.
"I'm being objective." I close my tablet. "That's my job."
"Your job," he says, stepping closer, "is deciding whether these kids get a second chance or get shipped back to programs that failed them the first time."
His intensity strangely sends an entirely inappropriate thrill through me. I back up a step, needing distance to maintain professional clarity.
"The program's merits will be evaluated fairly," I assure him. "But regulations exist for a reason."
"So do alternatives to the standard approach." He gestures toward the teens gathering at the mess cabin. "Look at Darius. Three assault charges, expelled from two schools. Today, he created something instead of destroying it."
I follow his gaze. Darius stands taller today, less defensive in his posture. "One success doesn't validate the entire methodology."
"No," Jax agrees, surprising me. "But six successes this month, and fourteen last month might. Want to see the data?"
I blink. "You track outcomes?"
"Every participant, every skill, every behavioral incident." Now he definitely smiles, though it holds a challenge. "I may not have a master's degree, Ms. Chaffeur, but I know what works with these kids."
The use of my formal name stings after last night's brief intimacy. "Riley," I correct him.
Something flashes in his eyes. "Riley," he repeats, his deep voice doing unreasonable things to my pulse. "Hungry?"
The question seems loaded with double meaning, though I'm probably imagining it. "I should call my supervisor. Is the landline working now?"
"Fixed it this morning. Admin cabin has the phone."
I nod and turn toward the cabin, aware of his eyes on me as I walk away. Inside, I dial my supervisor's number, bracing for the conversation.
"Margaret Winters," she answers crisply.
"It's Riley Chaffeur. I'm calling about the Peak Survival evaluation."
"Riley! We were concerned when you didn't check in yesterday." Her tone carries a subtle reprimand.
"A storm took out the phone lines," I explain. "The conditions were unsafe for travel."
"And the program? Grounds for immediate shutdown as expected?"
There's eagerness in her question that gives me pause. This evaluation wasn't randomly assigned; Margaret has had Peak Survival in her sights for months. The program's unorthodoxmethods make our department nervous, its success rate, an implied criticism of our more traditional approaches.
"The evaluation is ongoing," I say carefully. "There are compliance issues, but also evidence of positive outcomes."
"Focus on the compliance," Margaret instructs. "We need documentation of all violations for the report."
"Shouldn't we also document what's working?" I find myself asking. "The behavioral improvements are notable."
"That's not our primary concern." Her voice cools. "Remember, this promotion depends on a thorough evaluation that allows the department to make appropriate decisions."
The implication is clear. A negative report is expected. Desired, even.
"I understand." I keep my tone neutral. "I'll complete the full evaluation as planned."
