Page 1 of Trusting the Grumpy Mountain Man (Forbidden In Fall Mountain Man #1)

CHAPTER ONE

JAX

"Listen up!" My voice carries across the clearing, silencing the nervous chatter of the six teenagers gathered in front of me. "Today you're learning how to survive if you're lost in these mountains with nothing but your wits."

I scan their faces to find a mix of fear, defiance, and boredom, the standard cocktail for first-timers at Peak Survival. Five boys, one girl, all with records and attitudes bigger than their prospects.

"In the real world, making the wrong choice means you don't eat." I step forward, towering over even the tallest kid. "Or worse."

The girl, Mia, rolls her eyes. "This is bullshit. I could be getting high in Sacramento right now."

Her friend, a gangly kid named Tyler, snickers beside her.

I don't react. I've heard worse. These kids think they're tough because they've survived broken homes, juvie, or the streets. They haven't faced the mountain in November with night approaching and no shelter.

"You'll each build a survival shelter using only what nature provides and the knife I give you." I hold up one of the fixed-blade survival knives. "By sunset, you either have a place to sleep or you get real familiar with hypothermia."

"What if we refuse?" This from Darius, the self-appointed leader who's spent the whole morning testing boundaries.

I smile, but there's nothing friendly about it. "Then you sleep on bare ground while the temperature drops to forty degrees. Your choice."

Mia crosses her arms. "Pretty sure this violates like seventeen childcare regulations."

"I'm not childcare," I tell her. "I'm your last chance before juvie becomes prison."

That shuts her up. Judge Martinez doesn't send me kids who have other options. The teens standing before me are one step away from ruining their lives for good. My program isn't certified, approved, or regulated. It works because it has to.

I divide them into pairs and lead them deeper into the pine forest surrounding my property. Whisper Vale sits nestled in the mountains of Nevada, far enough from civilization that the kids can't simply walk away when things get tough. The nearest town is twelve miles of rough terrain away.

"Mr. Reeves." Tyler raises his hand, already shivering despite the mild afternoon. "What happens if it rains?"

"Then you'd better build your shelter right." I point to the darkening clouds gathering on the horizon. "Weather report says we might get some tonight."

Panic flickers across a few faces. Good. Fear is the first step toward respect for both the wilderness and for what I'm trying to teach them.

For the next hour, I demonstrate basic lean-to construction, showing them how to brace branches against a fallen log and layer pine boughs for waterproofing. I don't help beyond instruction. They need to learn by doing, by failing, by fixing their mistakes before they suffer the consequences.

Darius and his partner, Kevin. create something that resembles a pile of sticks more than shelter.

Mia and Tyler actually listen, their structure taking shape with surprising competence.

The remaining pair, brothers Caleb and Jesse, work silently and efficiently. They've been homeless before. It shows.

"How'd a guy like you end up babysitting juvenile delinquents anyway?" Darius asks while struggling to secure a ridge pole.

I don't answer personal questions. These kids need to see me as an authority, not a friend. But sometimes a strategic piece of information builds the right kind of respect.

"Fought wildfires for fifteen years." I adjust the angle of his support stick. "Saw enough destruction to know there are better ways to burn."

His eyes widen slightly. Even tough kids are impressed by firefighters.

"You ran into burning buildings and shit?"

"Wildland firefighter. Different skill set, same danger." I step back from his shelter. "That branch won't hold if it rains. Find a stronger one."

By late afternoon, I'm almost impressed. Four of the kids have workable shelters. Darius and Kevin are still struggling, their third attempt threatening to collapse as they argue over technique.

"Times up," I announce. "Get your gear inside and prepare for night inspection."

"This is impossible!" Kevin kicks at their failed structure. "You're setting us up to fail, man!"

"You're the one who refused help three times." I check my watch. "Now you've got fifteen minutes to figure it out or sleep in the rain."

"What rain?" Kevin spreads his arms. "Sky's clear now."

I point to the western horizon where dark clouds are building. "Mountain weather changes fast. Those will reach us by midnight."

Before Kevin can respond, the sound of tires on gravel interrupts our conversation. I turn toward the main path leading to the small administrative cabin that serves as my office and home.

"Inspection in fifteen," I tell the group. "I need to deal with this."

I stride through the woods toward the parking area, irritation building with each step. Nobody is scheduled to visit today. The kids' families aren't allowed contact for the first week. Judge Martinez knows better than to send someone unannounced.

When I break through the tree line, I spot a silver Prius parked beside my truck. Small, pristine, California plates. Definitely not local.

Standing beside it is a woman, petite with straight black hair pulled into a severe bun. She wears dark slacks and a button-up shirt under a light jacket, totally inadequate for mountain weather. She's furiously tapping on a tablet, frowning at whatever she sees there.

I approach silently, a habit from years of stalking through burning forests. She doesn't notice me until I'm ten feet away. When she looks up, I see almond-shaped brown eyes, high cheekbones, and lips pressed into a thin line of disapproval.

"This is private property," I say, crossing my arms over my chest.

She startles but recovers quickly, straightening her spine and lifting her chin. "Mr. Reeves? I'm Riley Chaffeur from Sacramento County Department of Social Services."

The words hit me like a bucket of ice water. Social Services. The last time they got involved with my program, I nearly lost my license to operate. Not that I have much of an official license to begin with.

"You're trespassing," I tell her, keeping my voice level. "I don't recall scheduling an inspection."

"That's the point of unannounced visits, Mr. Reeves." She tucks the tablet under her arm and extends a hand. When I don't take it, she withdraws it smoothly as if she never offered. "I'm here to evaluate the Peak Survival Program for continued approval for juvenile referrals."

I narrow my eyes. "Judge Martinez didn't mention any evaluation."

"This comes from higher up." Her tone is professional, but there's something else there. Ambition. I recognize it immediately. This woman wants something, and my program is standing in her way.

"The kids are in the middle of a critical training exercise," I tell her. "Come back tomorrow."

"That won't be possible." She pulls out what looks like an official letter. "My assessment requires observation of your methods over a three-day period, starting immediately."

Three days? This woman plans to hang around my program for three fucking days?

I take a deep breath, weighing my options.

I could refuse, but that would only give her ammunition.

Judge Martinez is the only one who sends me kids, and if Social Services pulls their approval, he can't legally refer anyone to Peak Survival.

"Fine," I finally say. "But you follow my rules while you're here. The kids are building emergency shelters. They need to complete the exercise without interference."

"Building shelters?" She looks past me toward the forest, alarm crossing her features. "You mean they're not housed in proper facilities?"

"That's the point of wilderness survival training." I don't hide my impatience. "They learn to build shelters, find food, start fires without matches. Things that might keep them alive if they're ever lost in the wilderness."

"But they're teenagers, not military recruits." She makes a note on her tablet. "Where do they normally sleep?"

"In shelters they build themselves for the first week. After that, they earn the right to stay in the bunkhouse." I gesture toward the rustic building visible through the trees. "Once they've mastered basic survival skills."

"And if they fail to build adequate shelter?" Her eyebrows rise in perfect arches.

"Then they learn a valuable lesson about preparation and consequences."

She makes another note, her fingers flying across the screen. I don't need to read it to know she's documenting what she considers violations.

"Ms. Chaffeur," I say, stepping closer until I'm looming over her.

Most people back down when I use my size like this.

She doesn't budge. "These kids aren't here for a camping trip.

They're here because they've assaulted people, sold drugs, stolen cars.

Traditional programs have failed them. Mine doesn't."

"Your success rate is impressive," she admits reluctantly. "But methodology matters, Mr. Reeves. We can't support programs that potentially endanger the welfare of minors, regardless of their backgrounds."

A crash and shouting from the direction of the shelters interrupts us. I turn immediately, already moving toward the sound.

"Stay here," I tell her over my shoulder.

"I don't think so." She follows, her impractical shoes slipping on pine needles. "If there's an incident involving the juveniles, I need to document it."

I lengthen my stride, forcing her to jog to keep up. When we reach the clearing, I find Darius standing over a collapsed shelter, fists clenched, while Kevin sits on the ground holding his face.

"He hit me!" Kevin shouts when he sees me. "Psycho came at me out of nowhere!"

"You wrecked our shelter!" Darius yells back. "On purpose!"

The other kids have gathered to watch, the universal teenage response to conflict.

"Everyone back to your own shelters," I order, and they reluctantly disperse, though not without casting curious glances at Riley.

I crouch beside Kevin, checking his face. His lip is split but nothing seems broken. "What happened?"

"I said the shelter was trash and we should start over," Kevin mumbles. "He went crazy."

Darius paces nearby, still fuming. "We spent two hours on that! Now we've got nothing, and it's gonna rain!"

"Who's this?" Mia interrupts, eyeing Riley with undisguised suspicion.

I stand, placing myself between the boys. "This is Ms. Chaffeur from Social Services. She's observing the program."

A collective groan rises from the group. They know what that means. Most of them have been through enough programs to recognize when someone's deciding their fate.

Riley steps forward, all professional concern. "Are you alright? Do you need medical attention?"

Kevin immediately plays it up, touching his lip gingerly. "It really hurts. I might need stitches."

"You need to learn not to provoke people twice your size," I counter, earning a sharp look from Riley.

"Mr. Reeves, surely you have a first aid kit?" Her tone suggests this is a test I'm already failing.

"In the admin cabin." I point toward Mia and Tyler. "Escort Ms. Chaffeur to the cabin and show her where the first aid kit is. Kevin, go with them."

"What about him?" Kevin points accusingly at Darius.

"Darius stays with me." My tone leaves no room for argument.

Riley hesitates, clearly torn between following the injured kid and staying to witness how I handle Darius. In the end, professional duty wins out.

"I'll return shortly," she says, the promise clear in her voice. This isn't over.

I wait until they're out of earshot before turning to Darius. "You know the rules. No physical violence."

"He sabotaged our shelter!" Darius kicks at the remains of their structure. "Now we're screwed."

"Look at me." I wait until he meets my eyes. "You've got two options. You can leave the program today, go back to facing charges. Or you can fix this."

He looks away. "Can't fix it now. Not enough time before dark."

"Then you adapt." I point to the fallen log they were using as a base. "Strip it down to the essentials. Smaller shelter, just enough to keep the rain off. You've got one hour."

"What about Kevin? He gets away with destroying our work?"

"Kevin will help Mia and Tyler reinforce their shelter. For the whole night." I allow myself a small smile. "Those two don't particularly like him."

The justice of this arrangement seems to satisfy Darius. "One hour isn't enough."

"It's what you've got." I pick up a fallen branch and hand it to him. "Start with this for your ridge pole. Make it count."

As Darius grudgingly begins gathering materials, I glance toward the admin cabin where Riley has disappeared with the others. I can already tell she's going to be trouble. The self-righteous type who thinks kids like these need gentle voices and participation trophies.

She has no idea what these kids really need. What it takes to break through their barriers and teach them they're capable of more than they believe. She's probably writing up her recommendation to shut me down already.

Well, Ms. Riley Chaffeur from Sacramento is about to learn that I don't give up without a fight. These kids deserve someone who believes in their strength, not their fragility. And I'll be damned if I let some by-the-book social worker take that away from them.

Thunder rumbles in the distance as I help Darius secure his new ridge pole. The storm is coming sooner than expected.

Perfect. Nothing tests a person's true character like a little adversity.