Property Of The Mountain Man - Gemma Weir Page 0,2

Up and Go Go, offered me full time hours, I couldn’t see a reason why not to accept the job. So here I am twenty-one, no college degree, living at home with my daddy, and working a job I like for a boss I hate.

Beau lifts his gaze and spots me staring at him like the lovelorn idiot I am. I’ve had a crush on him since I was about thirteen years old. I remember my mom, taking me over to his family’s home to visit with his mom. Beau’s the oldest of seven kids, all boys, and he was the first guy I ever thought was beautiful. But when I was thirteen and forming one serious crush, he was already in his thirties and I was nothing but an annoying kid. His dad died when he was still in high school, so all the brothers stepped up to help pay the bills and look after their mama. One by one they all went away to college, but they all moved back home and either started their own businesses or went into partnership with one of their brothers.

It’s always surprised me that they haven’t moved on and out of town since they lost their mama, but they all still live in the house they grew up in, one big happy family.

Darting my eyes away from him, I busy myself behind the counter, cleaning and organizing ready for the morning. The only good thing about Owen not bothering to show up is I won’t have to spend the first thirty minutes of my shift tomorrow cleaning up all the mess he didn’t bother to tidy up tonight.

Maybe Fred’s right, maybe it is time for me to find another job. Phil is a great guy, but his son is a douche, and honestly, I can’t keep working fourteen-hour days just because Owen can’t be bothered to show up.

When the coffee machines are all cleaned and powered down, the grinds refilled ready for the morning, and the new milks labelled and stocked for tomorrow, I cash up the till, placing the money, plus the daily sales report into the safe. I take the trash bags and dump them in the huge dumpster just outside the back door, grab my coat and purse, and head back to the counter.

Just like every night I work, Beau is waiting at the counter the moment the clock turns eight thirty, I take his plate and cup from him. “Thank you,” I say, rushing them into the back and stacking them in the almost empty tray that’s waiting to be slid into the dishwasher. Closing the door, I turn on the machine, then knock the lights off and close the door to the kitchen behind me. I go to grab my cleaning rag, but Beau is already cleaning the small table he was sitting at, his body bent over as he wipes it vigorously. “Oh, you didn’t need to do that,” I tell him.

“It’s fine,” he grunts, not even looking in my direction as he ambles back over to the counter and drops the rag into the sink that’s already full of cleaning solution. “I’ll wait while you lock up,” he growls.

“Oh, there’s no need,” I tell him, unable to look at him, just in case my eyes confess how much I want him, how many of my dirty dreams star him.

“I’ll wait while you lock up.”

There’s a finality in his voice that I don’t bother to argue with, he waits every day, no matter how much I protest, so I pull on my jacket, hang my purse over my shoulder, and head for the door, flipping off the lights as I walk outside. He follows me, waiting at my side as I turn the key in the lock and then drop it into my purse. “Thank you,” I murmur awkwardly as I sway on my feet, wanting to talk to him, to tell him I think he’s beautiful, to ask him to kiss me, to take me home and make love to me. But of course, I don’t, I just smile a little uncomfortably and head for my car that’s parked just a few feet away from the door.

“You working tomorrow?” he asks, shocking me a little.

“Oh, err, yeah I’ll be here bright and early to open up.”

“You’re opening up after working all day today again?” he asks, his brow furrowing.

“Yep,” I say, trying to hide the confusion from my voice. This is the most Beau has