Property Of The Mountain Man - Gemma Weir Page 0,1
the face of an angel and the personality of a caveman. His cheekbones are high, his jaw square and always tensed, his hazel eyes intense and full of annoyance.
Just like always, he grunts his thanks, handing me a ten and waiting while I open the till. “Here you go,” I say, placing his change in his hand and trying not to sigh at the calluses and lines that are etched into his skin.
Beau is a real man, with a real job. He works hard up in the mountains for the logging company he started after he got back from college years ago. I always think a man’s hands say a lot about him, and Beau’s say he’s not afraid to get them dirty and pitch in, even though he employs a huge crew of guys to work for him.
My mom used to say that lips could lie, but hands always told the truth. She said Dad’s hands were one of the things she loved most about him, that every line and groove showed how hard he worked to provide for us. Beau could wear a suit, he could sit in a warm office all day down in town, but instead he’s here most days in muddy jeans, flannel shirts, and worn work boots.
Grunting his thanks, he drops his change into the tip jar, picks up his coffee and pastry, and heads for the same table he always sits at by the window.
Trying not to stare at him, I busy myself, dragging my exhausted body around the counter to where all the creamer and sugars are laid out in tubs. I tidy the mess, throwing all the empty sachets into the trash, then fill all the tubs back up from the spare stock that’s stored in the cupboard below.
Stifling another yawn, I glance up at the clock. Only thirty minutes till closing, then I’ll finally be able to go home and fall into bed before I have to get back up at five am tomorrow.
“That useless waste of space didn’t bother to turn up again then?” Fred, one of the regulars, asks as he places his empty mug onto the counter.
“Nope, he should have been here at three, but he sent me a text saying he was sick,” I tell him quietly. Owen is a pain in my ass, but I don’t like to bitch about him, especially where the customers can hear. The only reason I’m saying anything to Fred is because I’ve known him for years.
“That boy needs a kick in the nuts. You need to quit, Bonnie, you’re too good for this place, I’ve been telling you that for years.”
Smiling, I reach out and pat Fred’s arm. “I don’t mind working here, plus it’s not like there’s hundreds of opportunities for a twenty-one-year-old with nothing but a high school diploma,” I tell him.
“You should have gone away to that fancy college, like you planned,” he scolds me.
“You know why I didn’t, Fred, Mama got sick and now my daddy needs me.”
“Your daddy is a cantankerous old coot, he’s more than capable of looking after himself, plus your brother’s there,” Fred says with a scowl.
“Caleb has his own family to take care of, and Daddy might be cantankerous, but he needs me,” I say, lifting the mug from the counter and turning to take it into the back.
“You want me to wait till you lock up?” Fred asks.
“No, I’ll be fine, there’s plenty of streetlights and my car’s right out front,” I say, flashing him a grateful smile as the old man grabs his stick and hobbles toward the door.
“See you tomorrow, Bonnie,” he calls.
“Night, Fred,” I call back, smiling to myself as I stack his mug in a fresh tray, ready to go into the dishwasher as soon as the last customer leaves.
When I make my way back out to the front of the store, another table of customers has left, and it’s just me and Beau.
I’ve been working here since my senior year of high school, back then it was only part time, after school and on weekends. I was headed for Utah State, all set to leave home and make my way in the world, then all my plans got derailed when my mama had a stroke. In an instant, all my college plans fell to the wayside and I stayed home to care for her, until a massive heart attack took her from us a little over a year ago.