Elena
Quitting Croft and moving to the middle of nowhere seemed reasonable. I had no clue how I'd earn a living, but at least I'd be far away from the place and its nonsense.
I tried to give Barrett my apology first thing but found his office door shut with loud rumbling behind it. After our previous encounters, I knew better than to knock and risk getting mauled.
By ten, I slipped it under the door and called it even, the rumbling sounding more like shouting inside. It was the right thing to do, regardless of how rude he was.
Work rolled along, an influx of entries flooding the system. Amid it all, Barrett emerged around noon, searching for Marty and ignoring me. I would have felt better if he had at least acknowledged the note.
I smirked when he came up empty-handed, having discovered Marty left early for the day.
Rumor had it he was on the receiving end of a verbal ass-kicking from Barrett, potentially when I went to slip him the apology. At the shouts I heard, I wasn't surprised old Marty bowed out. He probably needed to go home for a fresh pair of pants after having his ass handed to him.
I stayed late, pulling out of the lot around nine with a roaring stomach and a pounding headache. I abandoned raiding the vending machine after it ate my money twice, refusing to spend five dollars on peanuts.
As I headed home, I dialed Dad, overdue for a check-in. I did my best to call twice weekly, though after nine was a little late. He woke up with the sun, a routine I followed until escaping the mountains for college. Since then, I was lucky to roll out of bed before ten on weekends.
“Well, my oh my, who might this be? What a strange number!” he joked, answering after a few rings. “How’s life in the land of big shots?”
A mountain man through and through, Ronnie Julian had no time for city life or its people. He was happy holed up in his cabin hours away from it all, the same place he raised me. I couldn’t blame him, as Willits Bend was the type of town where postcard landscapes were photographed. If it weren’t for a hardheaded search for something more as a teenager, I’d be there with him, wifey’d up with a mountain man of my own and a crop of children.
While neighbors, Vermont had a different feel than New York, the city lights and highway billboards nowhere in sight. It was more relaxed than downstate New York, a leisurely pace replacing the frantic rush.
“It’s good,” I lied, the familiar words slipping out.
I never hinted at reality or the fresh rounds of bills ready to drain my account. He didn’t need to be up at night worrying about me and my stupid decisions.
“How are you and Bruce doing?”
Bruce was his shepherd, a big goof that was his constant companion. If it weren’t for life’s curveballs, I’d have my own Bruce. Until things settled down, it was just me and Handsome Hank.
“We’re doing great. We saw a moose on today’s walk down to the river.”
“That’s awesome!” Living in town, I hadn’t seen anything other than squirrels and Hank for months.
“It was! Big old bull out in a berry patch.”
“Be careful,” I warned, not wanting him to wind up hurt out in the middle of the boonies. “You’re still bringing your satellite phone on walks, right?” Despite his expertise, it still scared me he was so isolated.
“Yes, Mom,” he teased. “Along with a pistol and bear spray.”
“Have you seen any lately?” I asked, dreading the answer.
“I saw a sow and some cubs a few weeks back, but the mountains have been quiet. I mainly see rabbits and deer.”
“That’s good. They must be hanging down in the valley.” As far as I was concerned, they could stay there.
“How’s work?”
“Fine,” I replied, tapping my fingers on the wheel to keep from venting. He didn’t need to know the dread that chewed at my guts every day.
“Just fine?” he pushed.
“It’s been good,” I assured.
“Doesn’t sound like it. You’re missing the sunshine in your voice.”
At that, a jackass in a lifted truck cut me off, black smoke barreling out of two smokestacks, the ultimate douchemobile roaring ahead only to slow down to a crawl.
“I’m a little tired,” I replied, suppressing the urge to curse the truck driver out. “We have a new director, and he’s one of those Florida pretty boys.” It wasn’t fair to dig at Barrett’s looks, but I wasn’t feeling kind.
“Nothing’s worse than a man that refuses to get his hands dirty,” he huffed. “He giving you trouble? I don’t want to have to drive down to have a talk with him.”
I grinned at his playful threat. Picturing the old ox squaring up with Barrett was hilarious. The poor southerner had probably never seen a real woodsman before. He’d be in for a doozy with Dad.
“He’s difficult,” I explained, accelerating to pass the asshole that cut me off. “But nothing I can’t handle. He’s rude and full of himself. You know how that goes.”
“Well, I don’t take kindly to men bothering my daughter. Is he harassing you? I’ll give him a whooping. I may be old, but I’m not weak.”
“Not in a legal sense,” I muttered, instantly regretting the words. “He’s straight and narrow as far as work, and we got off on the wrong foot. But he is rude.”
“He never learned you don’t get the girl by being an ass.”
“It’s not like that, Dad,” I assured, squelching where he was going with it.
He chuckled. “You’re a pretty girl. Pretty enough to intimidate a pretty boy.”
Me? Intimidate Barrett? That was hilarious. “No, Dad. Not the same thing at all.”
“Well, if he’s an ass, treat him like one. You don’t owe him anything, including kindness. Show up, do your job, and look for something up here.”
He was playing around as usual, but I was looking at jobs his way. I’d need to save up for
