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“Girl, you better watch yourself. These here men, they ain’t too happy that a woman’s their boss, ya know.” Reaching my arm around to embrace him, I laugh at the comment.
“Oh, Mack, you know I ain’t worried about these miners. They’re here because they have a job to do, and I’m supplying them with that job. Sons of bitches better be grateful. I ain’t got time for their shit, and I won’t put up with the disrespect. But I do appreciate you looking out for me,” I reply, lightly patting him on the back.
“Ah hell, I shoulda known you’d be just as stubborn as that old jackass, Big John. But I’m glad you’ve got tough guts, girl. That’s what it’s gonna take to keep this place goin’, ya know. I’ll keep my ear to the ground,” Mack says with a wink and leaves the conference room.
Back in my office, I kick my boots off beside the desk, then flop down in the chair. Tossing my feet up on the desk, I lean back, and release a pent-up puff of air. I pinch the bridge of my nose and wonder what the hell I’ve gotten myself into. I massage the bridge of my nose, willing the headache that teases behind my eyes to dissipate. The phone rings and interrupts the brief silence. Looking at the screen on the receiver, I see that it’s only Shelly calling from the front desk. “Yes, Shelly?”
“Ms. Simon, I contacted your attorney, Mr. McCoy, just as you asked, and you have a one-thirty appointment.
“Thank you, Shelly.”
“You’re welcome, ma’am. Is there anything else you need?”
“Tylenol please and a bottle of water. Thank you again, Shelly.”
“Yes, ma’am; my pleasure,” Shelly adds before disconnecting the receiver.
She enters the office immediately with a bottle of water and Tylenol, setting them on my desk before leaving quietly. Tossing the Tylenol back in my throat, I crack the lid on the water and take a drink. I stare up at the ceiling as the events of the supervisors’ meeting play throughout my mind like a broken record.
Colton has always been ill-tempered, but I was really shocked by his reaction of Cooper simply cussing in my presence. Hell, I grew up around the coal mines. Miners have mouths equivalent to sailors. Colton has always cussed around me. Perhaps it wasn’t the cussing, but just the blatant disrespect for me as his supervisor and as a woman? Regardless, Colton Weston has once again left me in shock and confused. This man never ceases to weave my emotions into a messy web I can’t untangle.
Chapter 13
Colton
Stomping like a pissed grizzly bear, I storm from the office out to the parking lot to clear my head, but just end up pacing nervously. Carly Jo has no idea the effect she has on me. I fricking can’t take my heart being ripped out of my chest and stomped on. I want her back. I need her back in my arms where she belongs. We both made mistakes, and the only way we can move on is to together.
Shaking with rattled nerves, I search the cab of my truck for a pack of cigarettes. I know my pops has left smokes in here; it’s just finding ’em. Turning the truck upside down, tossing water bottles and old mail around, I sift through the glove box and fist pump the air in victory when a smashed pack of Marlboro Lights falls to the floorboard.
I press the lighter in the truck and wait impatiently for it to heat up. POP! I snap the lighter from the console, and shake a cigarette loose from the crushed pack, pulling it between my lips to light it up. The first drag is deep, and it makes me a little dizzy, but damn it’s good.
I quit smoking years ago and vowed to never pick ’em up again, but my nerves need this sweet release. I take a couple more drags to soothe me. I toss the half-smoked cigarette to the ground and stomp out the embers. Leaning my head against the door of the truck, I feel calmer and more relaxed. I have half the mind to go home sick, but there’s no need to add defeat to my already damaged ego.
I pull myself off the truck and grab my hard hat from the seat before slamming the door shut. I shuffle my feet slowly through the gravel and drag myself to the portal of the mines to the man trip. I climb inside the shuttle, crank the engine, and begin my descent to the depth of the mines, a solitary light guiding me through the darkness. The darkness brings peace to my scattered thoughts as I close my eyes and relax momentarily, listening to the gears grind as the rail pulls the man trip deeper into the earth. Several minutes pass before flickers of light cross my field of vision, and the quiet is replaced with the sounds of heavy equipment.
I exit the buggy and find the section my crew is working in today. They’re all hard at work, digging coal from the mountain and pinning the roof above ’em. Productivity is booming, as I have the fastest crew at Simon Energy working their asses off twelve hours every day, barely stopping to even take a bite of food. We don’t screw around down here. We get shit done. I make my way to each miner, checking in to see how the day is treating ’em and making sure there are no issues. After talking with the men, I inspect the mines, walking through the sections and checking the roof pinning for safety.
Most superintendents don’t come underground too often. They stay bundled up in their warm offices, shooting the shit all day, sipping their hot coffee, and go home at the end of the day almost as clean as they were when they left. That shit ain’t for me; I’m underground daily. Coal is in my blood. Working so fiercely that sweat rolls from my brow, despite the chilly fifty-two-degree temperature underground year-round. The excitement of operating each piece of equipment, the thrill of knowing that with one false move you could be in imminent danger. But we keep an eye out for each other, always mindful of the brother next to us. We all have families to go home to at the end of the shift. When I leave the mines, I expect to be black, covered in the sulfur-scented soot. It’s proof that I’ve done my job, not pussy-footed around, pushing pencils and measurin’ dicks all day. I wear my mining stripes with pride.
After inspecting the crew’s work, I find a quiet section of the mines and plant my ass firmly on the cold, hard ground, switching my headlamp off. I rest my forearms on my knees and my head against the rib of the mines.
I sigh in desperation, feeling empty and lifeless. I can’t sleep at night for the heartache of seeing her saddened eyes and hearing her cries in my dreams. Waking in cold, chilling sweats night after night, shaken from the nightmare of crushing her heart makes me want to rip my beating heart from my chest to end the suffering.
Tears sting my eyes, and I force them to close. Puffing out a deep breath, I stand and begin to pace. Images of a shattered Carly Jo flood my mind, and the only sound I hear is her relentless screams, sobbing in despair.
Gripping my fists to my sides, tension rises, and I begin to deliver blow after blow to the rib of the mines. The release of my pent-up anger is temporary as thick, warm blood drips from my knuckles, sliced from the sharp coal. Looking down at my bloody knuckles, I have to laugh at myself and the irony of beating out the pain. What the hell! Wiping my bloody knuckles across my pants, I storm off in the direction of my crew.
I work side by side, mining coal with my crew for the remainder of the shift. Riding out of the mines, my eyes squint at the sun, trying to refocus from the darkness. Consumed with anger, desperation, and heartache, I storm off to my truck. I gotta get the hell away from Carly Jo Simon, away from this damn mines.
Jumping in the truck, I fire the engine to life and speed out of the lot, tossing gravel behind me. When the rubber meets the road, my tires squeal and smoke flies, scaring the asphalt with black tracks. I drive. Just drive, with no destination in sight. I turn the radio on to drown out the sound of Carly Jo’s cries that are still haunting me. “Stay” by Florida Georgia Line plays from the speakers. Listening to the words, this song tells the story of my shattered heart.
I fight my inner demons and continue to speed to a destination unknown. But no matter how fast or far I drive, I’m still drawn back to Carly Jo. Damn it all to hell. Whipping my truck around on the shoulder of the road, I turn back and speed up the country road in search of my heart.
Chapter 14
Carly
I’m escorted down a long, narrow hallway to James McCoy’s office by Alisa, his very young, attractive assistant. Dressed in a very short mid-thigh skirt and button-down top, exposing her busty cleavage, it appears as if Alisa’s assistance to James would be far more than the secretarial needs that her job requires. With long blonde tendrils curling down her back, she wears too much makeup, and enough perfume to make a French whore pass out. If one were to pass her on the street at night, you could mistake her for a whore … just sayin’.
