Page 39 of Beastly Mountain Man

I read it while changing into dry canvas pants, a thermal shirt, wool socks, and heavier winter layers.

The lower road crew had started clearing uphill from the lodge. One of the grounds guys had the generator bank. Another was handling a branch fall near the lower guest loop.

Everybody was doing the work they already knew how to do.

I answered the two questions that actually needed me, confirmed which upper rentals I’d personally inspect, and told the crew to keep guest traffic off Upper Ridge until we’d checked both the grade and the shaded curve.

Then I opened the refrigerator.

Eggs. Sausage. Butter. A container of berries I’d frozen toward the end of summer.

The pantry gave me flour, baking powder, maple syrup, and coffee. I loaded everything into a canvas grocery bag, then looked at the loaf of bread on the counter.

For one second I considered bringing it as backup.

I put it back.

Caprice was getting to me.

Before I headed outside again, I sent her a message.

LUCKY: I didn’t want to wake you. Bear and I went home for breakfast, clothes, and property checks. I’ll be back late morning with food.

Her answer came while I was lacing my boots.

CAPRICE: Good morning. I found the cake in the refrigerator. I assume this was authorized intervention.

I smiled.

LUCKY: It was unattended.

Three dots appeared almost immediately.

CAPRICE: That defense sounds disturbingly familiar.

I laughed and slid my phone into my coat.

Bear was licking the empty bowl.

“You’re a bad influence.”

He sneezed and walked away.

I left him home while I handled the first part of my rounds. Fresh snow made ordinary work slower, but nothing I found qualified as trouble. I checked the upper generator connections, walked the sheltered sides of several rentals, cleared powder away from one vent, and radioed down for a road update.

The crew had opened one staff lane on the lower grade. The shaded curve still needed treatment.

Exactly what I expected.

I wanted boring. Boring meant heat stayed on, pipes stayed intact, guests stayed comfortable, and nobody discovered an emergency we should’ve prevented yesterday.

By nine-thirty, the flat morning gray had brightened. Breaks opened in the cloud cover above the ridge, and snow reflected so much light that I had to squint when I stepped away from the trees.

One of the grounds crew met me near the service turnout with a duffel Guest Services had sent up with the regular storm-check load. I’d given them Caprice’s height and the shoe size she’d texted when I asked.

The bag held waterproof boots, insulated snow pants with adjustable tabs, a fitted coat, gloves, and traction cleats.

I checked every label before slinging the bag over my shoulder.