Page 9 of Working for the Mountain Man

He gives me a look. "I know."

"That is a documentation problem," I remind him.

"I know," he repeats.

"The state team is going to ask why the photographic record is on someone's personal device."

"I know." He straightens up, which gives me my space back and my ability to breathe. "We need to go to the site and take the missing shots." He picks up his jacket from the hook by the door. "The joint is still visible. We document it now with a date stamp, cross-reference it to the original log, and note it as supplementary documentation."

"That works?"

"As long as everything else is in order." He says it in the tone of a man who is very aware that everything else is not entirely in order.

"When?" I ask.

"Now."

I look at the tablets. "I thought you meant, like, Thursday."

"Now is better." He looks at my boots. "What are those?"

I look at my boots. They are brown, they have a heel, they are not designed for mountain infrastructure sites.

"Boots," I say.

"Those aren't work boots."

I tap my heels. "They're very sturdy."

His gaze narrows in on them. "They have a heel."

I nod and grin. "A small one."

He opens a cabinet I have not looked in yet and pulls out a high-vis vest. He holds it out for me. I quickly take it and pull iton. It’s enormous; it comes to my thighs and I’ve no doubt that I look like a traffic cone that has given up on its shape.

Corey, passing by the open door, sees me, and very carefully looks at the wall instead. Hugo looks at me, looks at the vest, and before he can open his mouth I cut him off.

"Don't," I say.

"I didn't say anything."

"Yet," I hiss.

He turns toward the door. "Stay behind the barriers unless I clear it, watch your footing on the approach. The mud near the shoulder is soft and the creek bank is steeper than it looks."

"I know how to walk," I say.

"Good. Do it carefully."

He holds the door open and I walk through it not looking at him because I have a feeling I’ll say something stupid.

His truck is just as messy as the office. There’s maps in the door pocket, a clipboard on the back seat, there’s mud on the floor mats, and a pair of thermal gloves sitting on the dash. Exactly what I had expected given the state of the office.

Hugo pulls out of the lot and we drive. "Did you grow up here?" I ask, because the silence is getting to me.

"Yes."

"Have you always worked on roads?"