Page 2 of Loved By the Mountain Man

“Can I spend it on candy?” She looks up at her mom with hope in her dark eyes.

Angie gives me a grateful look. “Of course you can, sweetheart.”

The little girl throws her arms around my neck. “Thank you, Uncle Kobe.”

Then she skips off, waving the bill excitedly to show her brother.

I pull myself up, ignoring the protest from my leg.

“You shouldn’t have.” But Angie’s giving me a thankful look.

“You know, I’ll be more than happy to help. If you need money for winter clothes or anything…”

It’s useless trying to finish. Angie’s already shaking her head. Her damn mountain pride won’t let her take a handout.

“Thanks, Kobe. You do enough already. You guys all do. I’ve had Corbin in all week cutting firewood for me. And he fixed my car, which saves me a trip to the mechanic. I appreciate all that you guys do, really.”

It's been over four years since she lost her husband, and I know how hard that was on her, but I never see Angie complain. At least she’s got the bar to keep her busy, and the kids are a comfort. Paul was loved by everybody here. No one’s gonna let his widow and kids go without.

“Warp up warm tonight. That snow’s gonna get bad.”

“I will.”

The guys have chosen a table in the darkest corner of the bar, which is no surprise. My ex-marine buddies gravitate to the shadows. Even if the dartboard wasn’t over here, they’d still find the darkest corner to sit in.

Rhys was the one that got us all into darts while we were on tour. He got a board from somewhere, and we set it up in the mess. Then he’d thrash us night after night, hitting straight bullseyes.

He was good, could have gone professional if he’d wanted to. He tells us it was from a misspent youth.

Rhys is focused on the dartboard. His hands are trembling, but we all ignore it, since that’s what he’s doing.

That’s what life is when you return from war. You have to learn to live with the things you brought back with you. Reframe your life to incorporate the damages.

To reiterate my thoughts, my leg gives a twinge, and I grit my teeth. I’ve gotten used to walking with a limp, but I don’t like anyone seeing how much it pains me.

Rhys takes the shot and it hits just off the bullseye.

“Nice shot, man,” Corbin says.

Rhys just grunts and grabs one of the beers I’ve set on the table.

Sometimes when we were on tour, we’d put bets on how many bullseyes he’d get in a night. I haven’t seen him get one since we’ve been back.

The fact that he’s still playing is a testament to the man’s tenacity. A lesser man might have given up, but not Rhys. When there’s something he wants, he won’t stop till he gets it.

Rhys is intense and brooding, just like Corbin. He was the deadliest snipper in our platoon. He could creep up on anyone. The man still scares the bejesus out of me.

He guzzles his beer, and I’m wondering if he’s trying to see if alcohol can stop the tremors.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, and it’s a message from Dylan, telling me he’s not going to make it because his babysitter fell through.

Dylan must have been through every willing babysitter on the mountain. But he’s a grumpy son of a bitch, and there aren’t many babysitters willing to trek that far into the mountain to his remote cabin.

Dylan left the military when his wife passed, and he’s never forgiven himself for not being there for her. I was hoping he would be here tonight. Social contact is good for these guys, but I have to practically pull them out of their cabins sometimes. Like I said, it’s a great place to heal, and a great place to hide.

The door busts open and Symon strides through, stomping his boots on the mat and clapping his hands together.

“Snow’s started.”

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