Page 4 of Trusting the Grumpy Mountain Man
As Darius grudgingly begins gathering materials, I glance toward the admin cabin where Riley has disappeared with the others. I can already tell she's going to be trouble. The self-righteous type who thinks kids like these need gentle voices and participation trophies.
She has no idea what these kids really need. What it takes to break through their barriers and teach them they're capable of more than they believe. She's probably writing up her recommendation to shut me down already.
Well, Ms. Riley Chaffeur from Sacramento is about to learn that I don't give up without a fight. These kids deserve someone who believes in their strength, not their fragility. And I'll be damned if I let some by-the-book social worker take that away from them.
Thunder rumbles in the distance as I help Darius secure his new ridge pole. The storm is coming sooner than expected.
Perfect.Nothing tests a person's true character like a little adversity.
CHAPTER TWO
RILEY
"The first aid kit should be in here," the girl named Mia says, leading me into what must be the most spartan administrative office I've ever seen.
The cabin consists of one main room with a desk covered in topographical maps, a woodstove in the corner, and exactly three chairs. A doorway leads to what appears to be a small bedroom. The only concession to comfort is a worn leather couch against one wall. No computers. No filing cabinets. Not even a proper coffee maker.
"Is this the entire facility?" I ask, unable to keep the disbelief from my voice.
"Just Reeves' office and where he sleeps," Mia explains, rooting through a cabinet. "The bunkhouse is for us, once we earn it."
"And where exactly are your beds?" I set my tablet on the desk, making mental notes of everything that violates standard care requirements.
"We have no beds. He said we’re sleeping in the shelters we're building." Kevin drops dramatically onto the couch, still holding his lip. "If they don't collapse on us."
I locate the first aid kit myself, labeled clearly on a shelf. At least Reeves follows some protocols. I bring it to Kevin and examine his injury with practiced efficiency.
"This doesn't need stitches," I tell him, cleaning the cut. "But that boy should not have hit you."
"Darius is always looking for a fight." Kevin winces as I apply antiseptic. "This place is dangerous. No proper supervision."
"That's what I'm here to assess." I place a small butterfly bandage on his lip. "Can you tell me more about the program structure?"
Kevin launches into a litany of complaints, from the lack of proper beds to the "insane" physical demands Reeves places on them. Mia rolls her eyes throughout his monologue.
"It's only been one day," she interrupts finally. "And you spent most of it whining."
"I'm not designed for this wilderness crap," Kevin snaps. "Some of us grew up in civilization."
I turn to Mia, who seems more balanced. "What do you think of the program so far?"
She shrugs one shoulder. "Better than juvie. At least here we're doing something instead of staring at walls."
"But building your own shelters?" I press. "That seems extreme for minors in state custody."
"Extreme is what some of these kids need."
The deep voice startles me. I turn to find Jaxon Reeves filling the doorway, arms crossed over his broad chest. The teenager named Darius hovers behind him, looking sullen but calmer.
"Your supervisory approach seems unusually hands-off, Mr. Reeves." I close the first aid kit with a decisive snap. "A physical altercation occurred on your watch."
"And consequences were assigned." He steps into the room, seeming to make it shrink with his presence. "Darius apologized. Kevin will be helping another group tonight as restitution."
"What?" Kevin jumps up. "That's not fair! I'm the victim here!"
"You deliberately sabotaged another person's shelter before a storm." Reeves doesn't raise his voice, but something in his tone makes Kevin sink back onto the couch. "Actions have consequences. Natural ones. You'll learn that here."
I bristle at his authoritarian approach but maintain my professional demeanor. "Mr. Reeves, I'd like to discuss your methods in private."
