Page 4 of Working for the Mountain Man

The paperwork doesn’t reflect that, no, the paperwork is lacking severely, but that’s what happens when you have one foreman, seven crew members, an office manager who left in August, and a grant deadline that keeps moving.

Lila has told me three times that documentation is how the state decides if we are worth the investment. I know she’s right and I hate that she’s right.

She comes into the office at half past eight the next morning while I’m on the phone with the contractor about the south bridge deck, which needs a second inspection before we can close out the repair log. I hold up a hand without looking at who came in.

"Week after next," I say into the phone. "Friday if the weather holds, and I need the load ratings from the original assessment, not just the post-repair sign-off."

The contractor grumbles about scheduling.

"It is not a request," I say. "Friday."

I hang up and look at the door, Lila is standing there, and next to her, in a dark green sweater, dark jeans, and boots that are better than the ones she had on yesterday, with her hair in a messy knot and a notebook under one arm and a coffee cup in the other hand, is Elsie Bell.

Of course it is.

Elsie looks at me and I look back at her. There’s a beat of silence before it’s cut through by Lila.

"Mr. Rhodes," Lila says, using the urgent tone of hers. "This is Elsie Bell. She's available through the end of next month, she has relevant admin experience, and given the grant timeline, we all agreed she should start this week."

"I didn't agree," I say.

Lila raises a brow at me. "The mayor agreed."

I glare at the woman in front of me. "The mayor doesn't work in this office."

Elsie is looking around the room while we talk about her, taking everything in. Her eyes move over the maps on the wall, the folders on the desk, the stack of labeled and unlabeled photos on the filing cabinet, and the corkboard that started as a job schedule and is now something closer to abstract art.

I look at Lila. "We talked about this," I say.

"You said you'd handle it," Lila says. "You've said that three times, Hugo. The inspection is in three weeks. The south bridge documentation alone is missing six supporting forms. We don’t have time for this to keep being your problem alone."

"She has no background in infrastructure," I say. I don't know if she has but I'm guessing she doesn't.

"She doesn't need one," Lila says. "She needs to organize files, label photos, cross-reference repair logs, and help you submit documentation that looks like it was put together by professionals rather than left in a truck overnight." She pauses. "No offense."

"Some taken," I say, still glaring at her.

Lila smiles sweetly at me before turning and leaves. That’s Lila’s MO. She’ll do something and before you can build a proper argument against it, she’ll leave without another word and I’m yet to decide if I respect it or find it infuriating. Probably both at this point.

I look at Elsie, who’s watching me carefully. "I'm told you need help," she says.

"I'm told the same thing," I reply.

"And you clearly love the idea."

"Thrilled."

She looks at the office again. I watch her take it in properly this time. "What's the grant for?" she asks when her gaze returns to me.

"Roads, bridges, drainage and storm repairs."

She nods, as though she’s understanding everything. "And the inspection is in three weeks?"

"Twenty-two days."

She writes something in the notebook. "Okay. What's most urgent?"

"All of it."