Page 4 of Grumpy Bear

Even when Wayne was alive, I was still the one digging out the creek bed, diverting water, and hiking my ass up the mountain to maintain the dam. Back in the day, at least as far as the guests were concerned, Wayne was the one who was responsible for it all.

Now, it was all on me.

“You’d better eat something.” Jim went to the buffet and started making me a plate. “You want to take somebody to help you?”

The worst part about the summer season and the busy weekends was having to communicate with a bunch of extra staff. Answering questions. Giving directions. Delegating. Ugh.

“You want to take Ryan?”

“No, I need him emptying and cleaning the pool ASAP.”

Jim’s tone turned teasing and juvenile. “What about Trey? I’m sure he’d be happy to lend a hand.”

Now was not the time to joke about my last great error in judgment. “I’ve got a pool party to save. And a business. And a dozen jobs. And a few hundred peoples’ vacations. I don’t need to get my dick sucked.”

“Well, that’s debatable.” Jim pursed his lips and set a plate of bacon and eggs in front of me. “Don’t you think it’s kinda sad when the owner of a gay campground—especially one who looks like you—can’t even get his dick sucked? How long has it been now? Are we calling this celibacy?”

“We’re calling it running a business. Priorities.” I picked up a piece of bacon and considered it, but my appetite was gone. “And you know good and well the incident with Trey was barely nine months ago.”

“And before that?” Jim crossed his arms and looked down at me.

Well. Yeah. It had been a little over four years, but I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of admitting it out loud.

Jim’s expression was pained. “Don’t you think that’s kinda bad for our brand?”

I dropped the bacon in disgust. “My sex life is not a brand. And it’s not your business. Stop bringing it up.”

“Okay, okay.” Jim returned to his seat and watched me shovel in eggs without tasting them. “You sure you don’t want to take anybody with you though? We have the extra staff.”

It would have been tempting if most of them weren’t so likely to annoy me. There was one who didn’t—the cute little muscle cub from last year. “Where’s Austin?”

“He’s not getting here until this afternoon.”

I exhaled. “Fuck it. I’ll have it done by then.” I scarfed down the rest of my breakfast and tossed back the cool remains of my coffee. “I’ll do it by myself.”

3

Luke

Austin stopped at the gate, which turned out to be a couple of chain-link fence panels on wheels between stone pillars.

“Um.” I looked around at the endless pine trees and mountain laurel wet from a recent rain. “Where are the armed guards?”

“Bro.” Austin snorted. “Your face. I was fucking with you. It’s just a call box.” He leaned out and punched in a number.

A phone rang and then a crackling voice said, “Bear Mountain Lodge.”

“Jim!” Austin shouted at the speaker. “It’s Austin Fox.”

“Austin! Come on up, honey.”

There was a long tone, and the fence rumbled open.

Beyond the gate was a small grassy valley with low mountains to the east and north. A swollen, frothy creek ran parallel to the road, both spilling out of a deep cleft in the mountainside.

I was surprised by the picturesque setting. “It’s so pretty!” I didn’t know what I’d expected. It’s not like I thought we were going to a seedy leather bar in a barn with some tents huddled around it. Austin had referred to it as a resort several times.

A road branched off to the right toward what looked like an RV park. Studding the short mountain in front of us were dozens of tiny log cabins, each with tin roofs, oversized screened porches, wooden decks, flagstone patios and paths, and private gardens and gazebos, arched arbors draped with wisteria and clematis.