Saying you were exhausted was an understatement. Walking to the mess hall from Hell’s Kitchen, you felt every muscle in your body ache. Your feet felt heavy, your shoulders and fingers stiff, your legs and arms like Jell-O.
You weren’t just physically tired, though. You were mentally irritated and exhausted. Not from doing double time in the excavator, but from trying to decode all of Parker’s mixed signals. Going back and forth from boss Parker to an almost shy, high school Parker was starting to frustrate you. More than it really should have.
Nothing had really happened between the two of you. It wasn’t like you really flirted with each other or had much physical contact aside from the ATV ride.
There wasn’t a slow-blooming relationship there…right?
You brushed the thoughts off as you stepped into the mess hall. Glancing over at the table where the guys usually are, you noticed Parker was already there and laughing with Mitch and Chris.
Even through all the noise in the mess hall, you could still hear his laughter over all of it.
While you looked between them, Parker looked up at you. His smile slowly faded into his normal boss face, and he looked away.
You noticed.
After getting your tray of mediocre dinner, you saw the open seat beside Parker. The only open seat at that table. You debated just sitting there and keeping to yourself, only to risk causing more mental irritation.
For a brief moment, Parker made eye contact with you again. This time, you were the first to look away. You headed over to a different table where some of the guys from the First Pick cut were sitting. Guys you’d never formally met before, but on a mine site, no one really did formalities.
As you walked to the table, you felt as if you were being watched. Sitting down between some guy you thought was named Darrell and another whose name started with a J, you looked back at your normal table.
Parker’s eyes on you. Not angry. Not cold. Just watching.
Your stomach did that annoying little flip again before you quickly looked away and reached for your drink.
This was getting ridiculous.
As you started to eat your food, Darrell started talking about the First Pick cut.
“I feel like we’re moving a whole lotta dirt for not a whole lotta gold,” he grumbled.
“Not to mention that almost every damn bucket’s got a boulder the size of a refrigerator in it,” a guy named Noah said from across the table.
“If only we caught the boss’ eye like that new operator in Hell’s Kitchen does,” the guy with the J name mumbled.
It was like they didn’t notice you sitting down literally between them. Instead of confronting them, you got curious and decided to ride it out.
“Right? Every time we need him, he’s over there practically undressing her with his eyes,” Darrell said, his voice laced with frustration.
“Can’t blame him, though,” Noah said. “She is the best and only good-lookin thing on this whole site. If anyone could get her, it’d probably be him.”
J name scoffed beside you.
“What you scoffin’ at, Jared?” Darrell asked, shoving food into his mouth.
Jared. That was his name.
“She’s probably just here to try and get his money. Show up, impress the boss, he falls in love, boom. She gets all the gold,” he said while pushing food around his plate.
“I suppose you gotta point,” Noah said. “He does favor her and her opinion over everyone else’s.”
By this point, you’d had enough. If steam could’ve rolled out your ears, it would’ve filled the whole mess hall with how hot you were.
Could you snap and curse them all out? Oh, absolutely. Instead, you swallowed it down and stayed somewhat level-headed.
Finishing your last bite, you wiped your mouth with a napkin.
“Yeah, couldn’t possibly be the fourteen years of experience,” you said flatly, clearly aggravated.
Silence.
The uncomfortable kind.
Noah and Jared both looked at you with wide eyes, and Darrell suddenly became very interested in his mashed potatoes.
“Uh, we didn’t know…” Jared trailed off.
“Didn’t say you weren’t good,” Noah muttered.
“Could’ve fooled me,” you spat, anger still coursing through you.
Nobody really knew what to say after that.
Across the mess hall, you caught movement out of the corner of your eye.
Parker.
His jaw was tight again. And judging by the way he was staring at the three men around you, he had definitely heard every word. He shifted in his chair like he was about to stand. Then he stopped himself.
His hand tightened around the plastic fork hard enough that you thought it might snap.
Chris said something beside him, but Parker didn’t answer.
He just kept looking at you.
The only noise left at the table was the scraping against plates and the distant rumble of generators outside the mess hall.
Noah looked like he wanted to disappear into his hoodie.
Jared wouldn’t even look in your direction.
Darrell just stared at his plate.
Meanwhile, you would still feel Parker’s eyes from across the room.
Which somehow only annoyed you more.
With that, you got up and walked to the door. Parker’s eyes shifted to you, and he watched you the whole time. You tossed your tray into the wash bin and left the mess hall. A part of you wished he had stopped you from leaving so soon, but if he had, would you let him? With how upset you were, you weren’t sure how you felt.
Honestly, the comments themselves shouldn’t have bothered you this much.
You’d spent fourteen years in equipment and a majority of that in mining.
Men talking shit about women operators wasn’t exactly groundbreaking behavior.
But Parker hearing it?
Parker saying nothing?
That sat heavier than it should have.
You kicked the gravel road, hoping it would make you feel better even though you knew it wouldn’t.
Getting back to your room, you kicked your boots off towards the bed and headed for the shower. Looking at yourself in the mirror, a small thought of regret flashed through your mind - I should’ve never come here.
After washing away ten layers of dirt and frustration, you were dressed in comfy clothes, lying on your bed, and staring at the ceiling.
The room felt too quiet.
Outside, the steady hum of generators filled the camp along with the occasional distant laughter from somewhere near the mechanic's tent.
Normally, the noise blended into the background after a while.
Tonight, it just made you feel alone. You dragged a hand down your face with a groan.
“This is so stupid,” you muttered to yourself.
You had survived this long in mining, surrounded by men exactly like the ones in that mess hall. You’d been doubted before. Talked down to before. Hell, you’d practically built your career on proving people wrong.
So why did tonight bother you this much?
You opened up your messages to text your mom, but you saw three little dots appear next to another contact.
Boss.
Your heart immediately jumped into your throat.
One second passed.
Then another.
You stared so hard at the screen that your eyes started to hurt.
And then…nothing.
The dots disappeared.
No messages ever came through.
Your stomach sank.
“Coward,” you muttered softly.
Honestly, you weren’t even sure if you meant him or yourself.
The next morning felt off. Not just from Rick's absence, but also from how everyone acted. Especially Parker.
While getting ready, you had checked your phone three times with no texts from Parker. It was something that ate at you more than it should have. A week ago, you barely knew Parker beyond his reputation and whatever Discovery Channel clips people played in break rooms.
Now, somehow, the absence of one stupid morning text had your stomach tied into knots. At the end of the day, he was your boss. Even with knowing that, you kept wondering if you had said something wrong. Was he just stressed about Rick? Is he exhausted? Is he avoiding you? Or were you just reading it wrong?
Walking out of the trailer, the smell of diesel smacked you in the face. You headed into the mess hall, quickly grabbing a breakfast sandwich and a cup of coffee before heading back out and towards Hell’s Kitchen to start the day and try to distract yourself.
After reaching the excavator and doing your walk-around, you got in and fired up the beast. As the machine warmed up, you started to enjoy your breakfast.
This was how all your work days started. A gas-station-equivalent sandwich and coffee while everything in the excavator got ready for the day.
In the middle of your second bite and with zero sips of coffee, your radio crackled.
“I don’t pay you to sit in there and have breakfast. Get to work.”
Parker. His voice was firm and rough. The roughness in his voice caught you off guard. It was usually filled with kindness and, honestly, curiosity.
With your sandwich still in your mouth, you looked up at the ridge, and there he was. Leaned up against his truck with his arms crossed, hat pulled down, and radio in his hand. His jaw was clenched, posture stiff, and overall very mine-boss Parker. It felt like a staring contest for how long you just looked at him while he watched you.
You finished your bite, crumpling up the rest in the wrapper and tossing it into the small garbage bag. Taking a sip of coffee to wash it down, you cleared your throat.
“Copy that,” you said firmly. “Boss.”
With that, you started moving the excavator to the new mound to dig for pay dirt.
Lunch came faster than normal, probably because you were too lost in your own thoughts to notice time going by. Instead of being weird about everything, you decided it’d be best to do things as you normally did.
After grabbing a sandwich and a bag of chips, you went and sat with Mitch and Chris.
“Parker is in one of his beloved moods again today,” Mitch grumbled from behind his sandwich. Chris hummed in agreement.
As if they had called him over, Parker appeared next to you.
“I am not in a mood,” he snapped.
Chris made a face at you from across the table. You ignored him, because they weren’t entirely wrong. You weren’t sure what was going on, but he was definitely in some kind of mood.
Parker hesitated at the chair beside you. After a second, he walked around and sat next to Chris. This, too, caught you off guard, as Parker normally sat next to you during lunch.
While you were eating, you noticed that Parker kept talking to Chris and Mitch more than to you. You shrugged it off, pretending not to care. Meanwhile, in your head, it was a mess. Slowly, you became hyperaware of what Parker was doing, which was just eating lunch and talking with the guys.
The whole time you were eating, you wanted to look up and see if he was looking at you, but you stuck to your guns and didn’t. You simply ate your food and then got up when finished.
“See you guys,” you said.
Mitch waved slightly with his mouth full.
“See you, youngster,” Chris mumbled between his few bites of chips.
“Later, (Y/N),” Parker said quietly.
This almost made you stop in your tracks. Now he has decided to be nice to you?
You huffed quietly to yourself and kept walking.
“(Y/N)!” Parker called after you.
You stopped, not wanting to face him. But, remembering that he was your boss, you turned. A small piece of you held hope that he’d say something nice, and it would go back to normal. The tiredness in his face caught you by surprise, though. Not just from working or not sleeping enough, but also emotionally exhausted.
“Yeah, boss?”
“Double the amount of rock trucks that are loaded today. We’re behind and need to get pay to the plant,” he said flatly, then took a bite of his sandwich.
You stared blankly at him.
“Do my best,” you said, then walked out of the mess hall.
Once far enough away, knowing you’d be drowned out by the overwhelming noise of the wash plant and diesel engines. You stopped walking, putting your hands on your hips, and looking back at the mess hall.
“What in the actual hell was that?” You muttered.
You ran your hands over your face aggressively and groaned into them. Taking a deep breath, you headed to the excavator to try to get what Parker wanted done.
After a couple of hours, you noticed his truck up on the ridge. Except this time, there was no Parker near it. You shrugged it off and kept loading trucks until movement caught your eye through the dusty windshield.
Parker.
He was heading straight toward your excavator, boots dragging through the mud left by the rain over the last couple of days.
“This oughta be good,” you mumbled, dumping a scoop of dirt into a truck.
While you continued to scoop dirt, you watched him from the corner of your eye. You noticed he was walking slower than his normal ‘I’ve got shit to do’ pace. His hands were deep in his pockets, radio clipped to his waist.
Once he climbed up onto the track beside the cab, you reached over and pushed the door open.
For a second, neither of you said anything.
The diesel engine hummed underneath you while hydraulics whined faintly in the background. Dirt clung to the bottom of Parker’s jeans and to the edge of his boots. His hat sat lower than normal over his eyes, almost like he was trying not to be looked at too closely.
“What’s up, boss?” you finally asked.
“Just wanted to see if you were keeping up with everything and doing double the trucks,” he said, leaning against the small door frame.
You sat back in the seat, feeling the diesel engine vibrating through every piece of the machine and you. Glancing over at him, you noticed how tired his eyes were up close.
Not the tired you noticed earlier in the mess hall. This was different.
His jaw was tight again, muscles flexing every couple of seconds like he was grinding his teeth without realizing it. There were faint dark circles sitting beneath his eyes, and for the first time since meeting him, Parker actually looked worn down.
Like the weight of the entire claim had finally settled onto his shoulders all at once.
It was almost like he was holding something back.
You shrugged.
“Simply doing my best.”
There was a small moment of silence.
“I appreciate you always doing your best, (Y/N),” he said quietly, looking up at you.
You weren’t sure if it was the way he looked at you or how he said your name, but it made your stomach do that annoying flip.
The moment lasted longer than it probably should have.
Parker stayed leaning against the door frame, eyes fixed on yours like he was trying to figure something out. For once, he didn't look like the boss running a gold mine.
He just looked tired.
Like he wanted to say something and didn’t know how.
Your fingertips tightened slightly around the joystick.
“Parker-”
His radio suddenly crackled softly at his hip.
Parker’s eyes flicked down for a second before landing back on you. He opened his mouth slightly, like he was about to say something else.
Then the radio crackled sharply against his hip.
“Parker, you copy?”
Tyson.
The tension in the cab disappeared almost instantly.
Parker groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“Always something…”
With that, he hopped down and headed to his truck.
Instead of jumping right back into the action, you watched him go back to his truck. He didn’t look back once. A second later, the engine started, and his truck disappeared up the ramp, tires throwing wet dirt behind it.
The ridge suddenly felt empty again.
You stared at the spot where his truck disappeared longer than you meant to before looking back at the cut below you.
You shook your head, reached over, and turned the radio up.
“Focus and get back to work, (Y/N),” you muttered, frustration in your voice.
At this point, you weren’t sure what to do.
One minute, Parker looked at you like there was something sitting right beneath the surface waiting to spill out.
Next, he acted like you were just another operator on the payroll.
It was exhausting trying to figure out which version of him was real.
A part of you wanted to ignore it completely. Just run equipment, collect a paycheck, and be part of the crew.
The smarter part of you probably should’ve done exactly that.
But another part of you wanted to grab him by the front of his jacket and ask what the hell is going on inside that head of his.
Ask why he kept pulling you close just to shove himself back behind some invisible wall.
If you knew anything about yourself, you knew that you weren’t going to play games.
The ride back to camp without Rick was quiet. The only noise was the lower rumble of the engines and the tires on the dirt. Parker had his normal signs of being tense, jaw clenching, rubbing the back of his neck, pacing, but hanging onto Parker, you could feel the tension.
You had stayed with Rick while Chris called for an emergency air flight since the nearest hospital was a couple of hours away by vehicle. Mitch inspected the damage to the ATV, and Parker paced along the trail.
Bits of the conversation with Rick kept replaying in your mind.
You were sitting in the mud beside him, holding his hand on his non-injured arm.
“(Y/N),” Rick croaked out, tears starting to form in the corner of his eyes.
“Yeah, buddy?”
“Am I gonna die?” Rick muttered, the tears running down the side of his face.
“Oh, Rick. You are not going to die,” you replied, placing your other hand on top of his. “Not on my watch.”
This caused him to chuckle, sending a bolt of pain through him.
“Parker’s gonna hate me for this,” Rick sighed.
“He is not. ATVs are replaceable. You are not,” you said, making eye contact with him.
“But now I’m out of commission for the rest of the damn season.”
“No amount of gold is worth your life, okay?” You said firmly.
Rick sighed, nodding his head slightly.
The sudden stop of the ATV pulled you from your thoughts. Parker had pulled up right to your trailer, killing the engine.
For a minute, neither of you moved. Your arms still around his torso, his hands still on the handlebars tightly. A blanket of silence over both of you.
After a moment, Parker slid off the ATV and took his helmet off.
“I thought he was dead,” Parker murmured, his gaze not leaving the helmet.
The words sat heavily between you.
You looked over at him. He didn’t have to look at you. His hands were gripping tightly around the edge of the helmet. Dirt and dried mud clung to his sleeves, one spot darker where Rick had grabbed onto him after the crash.
For the first time since you met him, Parker looked tired. Not physically. Something deeper than that.
You swallowed softly.
“He’s going to be okay.”
Parker nodded once, but it was distant, as if he had heard the words without actually believing them yet.
“I heard him ask you if he was going to die,” he said quietly, his eyes shifting to look over the claim. “Who asks that unless they think it’s going to happen?”
Your chest tightened.
“He was scared,” you replied gently. “People say a lot of things when they’re scared.”
Parker let out a slow breath through his nose and ran a hand through his hair.
“I hate this part of mining.”
Not the work. Not the breakdowns. Not the money. This part.
The part where someone reminds you how quickly everything can go bad.
The Yukon air stretched quietly around the two of you.
No laughter from the mess hall. No engines were running in the cuts. Even the camp lights seemed dimmer.
Parker finally set the helmet down on the ATV seat and leaned back against the machine, crossing his arms tightly over his chest.
“I should’ve called it sooner,” he muttered.
“The trail?” You asked, frowning slightly.
He nodded once.
“Everything was getting slick.”
“Rick hit the washout wrong,” you said gently. “That wasn’t on you.”
Parker let out a hollow laugh.
“That’s kind of the problem with being the boss, though.” His eyes dropped to the dirt beneath his boots. “Everything feels like it’s on you.”
You stayed quiet for a second, watching him carefully.
For someone who carried himself so confidently around the claim, he suddenly looked younger standing in the glow of the camp lights.
Not weak. Just tired.
“You can’t control everything, Parker.”
“No,” he said softly. “But I’m supposed to keep my people safe.”
The way he said my people made your chest tighten.
Not employees. Not workers. Not just the crew.
His people.
You slid off the ATV and leaned lightly against it beside him.
“Rick’s alive because everyone reacted fast,” you said quietly. “You got help there quick. Mitch helped get the ATV off once help arrived, and Chris called the emergency flight team.”
Parker rubbed a hand over his jaw.
“And you stayed there with him,” he said quietly.
You looked over at him.
“He needed someone there,” you whispered.
“Yeah,” Parker said, finally looking at you fully. “And you knew that before the rest of us did.”
The look in his eyes almost made you look away. Not because it was romantic, but because it was honest.
“You kept him calm,” Parker continued. “Hell, you kept all of us calm.”
“I was terrified,” you said, shaking your head.
“That’s not how it looked to me.”
You laughed softly under your breath.
“That’s because somebody had to stay level-headed while the boss paced holes into the trail.”
That finally pulled the smallest smile out of him. Tiny. Tired. But real.
“I was pacing that much?”
“I thought the medevac team was going to have to sedate you after Rick,” you teased softly.
Parker huffed out a quiet laugh, rubbing the back of his neck again. Silence settled between you again, though softer this time.
You glanced toward the dark claim stretching out beyond camp. Somewhere out there sat Hell’s Kitchen, quiet for the night after days of nonstop movement.
It suddenly felt different now. More dangerous. More real.
“You know what the worst part is?” Parker asked quietly.
You looked back over at him.
“What?”
“The second he stopped moving.” His voice lowered. “Everything got real quiet, and I…” He swallowed hard, eyes dropping away from yours. “I thought I was about to watch one of my guys die.”
Your chest ached hearing him say it out loud.
Without thinking, you reached over and rested your hand lightly on his forearm. Parker froze for half a second beneath your touch, then slowly relaxed.
“He didn’t,” you said softly.
Parker looked down at your hand for a moment before meeting your eyes again.
“No,” he said quietly. “Thanks to you.”
Before you had the chance to respond, the sound of a trailer door creaking open broke the quiet. Both of you looked up.
Mitch sat down heavily on the steps outside the mess hall, elbows resting on his knees. For once, there wasn’t something sarcastic ready to come out of his mouth. He just stared out at the dark claim.
Chris stepped out a moment later, cigar between his fingers but unlit. He looked between you and Parker before leaning against the railing beside Mitch.
Nobody said much. Nobody really knew what to say.
The camp suddenly felt smaller tonight. Quieter. Like the crash had settled over everyone like a layer of dust.
Parker slowly straightened beside you, though the exhaustion still clung to him.
“I should probably call the hospital again in a bit,” he muttered.
“To check on Rick?” You asked softly.
Parker nodded once.
“He’ll probably complain that the food sucks before he asks how bad the ATV looks,” Chris called over dryly.
That pulled a quiet snort out of Mitch.
“Honestly,” Mitch added, rubbing both hands over his face, “that idiot’s probably trying to convince a nurse he can still run rock trucks with one arm.”
The tension eased slightly. Not gone. Just… lighter.
The trail hit harder than you expected. The ATV jolted under you as Parker pushed it over uneven ground, tires kicking up gravel and loose dirt behind you. The wind cut through your sleeves, colder now, sharper than it felt back at camp. It should’ve felt normal. You’d ridden trails like this before. Different crews. Different jobs. Different guys who never looked back to see if you were still there.
Your grip tightened slightly as the trail narrowed, trees closing in on both sides. Branches scraped past, catching your sleeve for half a second before snapping free. Up ahead, Rick and Chris pulled farther out, weaving through the turns like they had something to prove.
Parker didn’t follow. He eased off instead, just enough to let the gap grow.
“You always hang back like this?” you called, leaning forward a little so he could hear you.
“Only when I don’t trust the people in front of me,” he said.
You huffed a small laugh. “Fair.”
The trail dipped suddenly. The ATV dropped harder than you expected, suspension bouncing as it climbed back out. Your hands tightened without thinking, grip pulling in closer around him as your boots shifted slightly on the footrests. Parker adjusted without hesitation, steady on the throttle.
“You good?” he asked, glancing back just enough.
“I’m fine,” you said.
“Doesn’t look like it.”
“You hit that like you were trying to throw me off.”
“If I wanted to throw you off,” he said, “you wouldn’t still be here.”
“Confident,” you muttered.
“Experienced,” he corrected.
The trail opened up a little after that. Less tight, smoother ground. Parker picked up speed again, the engine humming louder beneath you as the trees thinned just enough for sunlight to break through in flashes.
You should’ve loosened your grip, but you didn’t. It wasn’t about the trail anymore.
Parker shifted slightly in front of you. Not much. Just enough that you noticed. Like he was aware of it, but not saying anything.
Up ahead, Rick whooped, kicking up dust as he took a turn too fast. Chris followed, not quite as bad, but close enough.
“Think he’s gonna eat it?” you asked.
“Rick?” Parker said. “Eventually.”
You laughed, the sound getting pulled away by the wind.
Another turn came up. Tighter. Parker slowed before hitting it this time, guiding the ATV through clean and steady. You leaned with him automatically, hands adjusting without thinking.
The trail stretched out longer after that. Not easier, just different. Less tight turns, more open ground. The kind that let people get a little too comfortable if they weren’t paying attention.
Parker didn’t. He kept a steady pace, not slow, not pushing to catch up either. Just enough to keep the others in sight without riding their dust.
You stayed close behind him, hands still wrapped around his jacket, grip settled into something that didn’t feel awkward anymore. The engine vibration evened out beneath you, steady enough that your body adjusted to it without thinking.
For a while, neither of you said anything. It wasn’t quiet, not really. The engine filled most of the space, along with the wind and the occasional crack of gravel under the tires. But it still felt like the same kind of silence from the truck. Easy.
Up ahead, Rick veered off slightly, cutting across a shallow patch near the edge of the trail. Water splashed up under his tires, catching the sunlight in quick flashes before disappearing again.
Chris followed, slower, more controlled. Mitch stayed straight on the main path. Parker didn’t move to follow them. Instead, he slowed just enough to pull up alongside Mitch for a second, exchanging a quick look you couldn’t quite read before easing back again.
“What?” you asked, leaning forward slightly.
“Nothing,” he said. “Rick’s about to regret that.”
You looked ahead again.
At first, it didn’t look like anything was wrong. Just a stretch of ground that dipped a little lower than the rest. Then Rick’s ATV hit it. Hard.
The front end dropped fast, suspension compressing more than it should have before snapping back up. The back tires lost traction for half a second, fishtailing just enough to throw him off balance.
“Yeah—there it is,” Parker muttered.
Rick overcorrected, jerking the handlebars too sharply. For a second, it looked like he had it. The ATV straightened out beneath him, tires catching just enough ground to steady. Rick even lifted one hand off the handlebars briefly, like he was about to make some smartass comment.
Then the rear tire clipped the muddy edge of the trail.
The machine jerked violently sideways.
“Rick!” Mitch shouted.
The ATV rolled once, metal slamming against rock with a sound loud enough to echo through the trees.
Then again.
The world seemed to pause.
Mud and shattered plastic sprayed across the trail while the engine screamed at a pitch that made your stomach drop.
Everything went still. The only sound left was the soft ticking of hot engines and one ATV tire still spinning uselessly in the air.
Nobody moved. Nobody spoke.
Parker killed the ATV you were both on so fast that he nearly ripped the key out.
“Rick!” He shouted, already off the machine before it fully settled. His boots slid in the mud as he sprinted downhill toward the wreck.
Before your mind could catch up, you were already off the back of the ATV and were right behind him.
Parker reached Rick first, dropping to his knees in the mud beside him.
“Rick.” His voice was sharp now. Focused. “Hey. Look at me.”
Rick groaned beneath the overturned ATV, one leg twisted awkwardly under him.
“Oh, shit,” Mitch muttered behind you.
You slid down beside Parker, boots sinking into the wet dirt. The smell of gasoline and hot metal hung heavy in the air.
“Don’t move him yet,” you said quickly.
Parker immediately backed off enough for you to look Rick over.
His helmet has a long scrape across the side, mud packed into the cracks. One of his gloves was torn nearly through at the palm. Blood trickled slowly from somewhere near his hairline, disappearing into the collar of his shirt.
But what caught your attention most was his shoulder. Or rather, where it wasn’t sitting right.
Rick blinked slowly up at the trees above him, as if he was trying to remember where he was.
“Hey, Ricky Boy,” Chris said from behind you. “You still with us?”
Rick squinted.
“My arm feels weird.”
“That’s because you folded yourself like a lawn chair,” Mitch replied, though his voice lacked its usual humor.
Rick tried to laugh, but the second he moved, pain flashed across his face hard enough to make him suck in a breath through his teeth.
“Okay,” you said firmly. “Don’t move.”
“I wasn’t exactly planning on it,” Rick groaned.
Parker crouched beside him again, one hand resting lightly on the side of the ATV like he was grounding himself.
“You hit your head?” Parker asked.
Rick blinked again.
“Probably…”
“The helmets cracked,” Mitch pointed out quietly.
Your stomach tightened. Not shattered. Not catastrophic. But enough.
Rick looked over at Parker with glassy eyes.
“Think the ATVs totaled?”
For a brief second, nobody answered. Then Parker huffed out a breath that almost sounded like a laugh.
“You’re worried about the damn ATV right now?”
“Well…” Rick winced. “It’s your ATV.”
That finally broke some of the tension. Chris chuckled first, then Mitch.
You took a deep breath, shaking your head and feeling some of the tension loosen in your chest. Parke didn’t laugh long because now that adrenaline was fading, you could see it setting in on his face all at once, of how much worse this could have been.
The last of the buildings slipped past your window. Weathered wood, faded signs, the boardwalks already starting to empty as the afternoon wore on. The tires thudded off the tar and onto the gravel before smoothing out on the highway. The noise changed, softer, steadier. Behind you, Dawson disappeared faster than it should have- like it was never really there to begin with. Then it was just the open dirt road.
Parker kept one hand steady on the wheel, the other resting loosely near the gear shift as the truck hummed along the highway. The heater worked overtime, warm air pushing steadily through the vents, slightly fogging the edges of the windshield before slowly fading.
You sank deeper into the seat, pulling the sleeves of his sweatshirt over your hands. It still smelled faintly like diesel, but somehow overwhelmingly like him.
For a while, neither of you said anything. The quiet wasn’t awkward. It settled in naturally, like the kind that didn't need to be filled. You’d sat in plenty of trucks with plenty of crews before. Most of the time, silence meant something- tension, annoyance, or just people too tired to bother talking. This wasn’t that. This felt easy.
Outside, the landscape rolled past in long stretches, bright green trees, rushing creeks, and distant hills that stood distinctly against the blue sky. Every now and then, another truck would pass in the opposite direction.
“Are you always this quiet after eating?” Parker asked, his eyes still on the road.
You glanced over at him with a small smile tugging at your lips.
“Depends. Are you always this talkative?” You asked.
“Fair,” he huffed in a quiet laugh.
Another stretch of road passed before he spoke again.
“You handled yourself well back there,” he said casually, as if he were commenting on the weather.
“At lunch?” you asked.
“No,” he said. “On the claim. Finding that pay streak, that wasn’t luck.”
There was a pause.
“I’ve just seen enough ground to know when something’s off,” you said, picking at the edge of the sleeve covering your hand.
“That’s more than most,” he said.
You glanced at him again, studying his profile. The focused look, the way he barely took his eyes off the road, even when he was talking.
“You don’t hand out compliments much, do you?” You asked.
“Don’t give people reasons to expect them,” he said, smirking faintly.
“That’s a terrible management strategy,” you chuckled.
That earned a real laugh- short but genuine.
“Maybe,” he admitted. “Or maybe it makes the ones I do give mean something.”
You didn’t answer right away. The words shouldn’t have hit as hard as they did. You’d worked for guys who handed out praise like it didn’t mean anything - and others who never said a word, no matter how well you did. Parker didn’t seem like either, which somehow made it matter more.
Looking out the window beside you. Sunlight caught on the river in flashes, bright enough to make you squint as it cut between the trees. The water moved fast - too fast for how cold it looked - like it refused to slow down for anything. Kind of like the crew you’d ended up with.
Parker’s phone ringing drew you out of your thoughts, which weren’t much aside from dreading doing laundry and what the cut would look like the next day.
Rick’s name popped up on the radio’s screen, Parker pressing answer.
“Rick,” he said.
“Yeah, hey boss,” Rick drawled, way too amused. “Are you gonna make it back to camp today, pr are you two enjoying a scenic route situation?”
You turned back slightly toward the window, hiding your smile as Rick kept going. Parker dragged a hand down his face, like he was reconsidering every decision that led to hiring Rick in the first place.
“We’re about 20 minutes out,” Parker replied, annoyance in his voice.
“Just making sure you’re not distracted. You know, safety first,” Rick said, holding back a laugh.
“Do you have the ATVs ready?” Parker asked, shaking his head slightly.
“We do. Small problem though,” Rick trailed off.
“What now, Rick?” Parker groaned.
“We only have enough for four…and there’s five of us.”
Glancing over at Parker, you could see his jaw clench slightly.
“What happened to the fifth? We had five,” he said, gripping the wheel tightly.
“Engine blew, remember?” Rick said bluntly.
“Yeah,” he sighed.
“You boys can go have fun,” you said quietly. “I don’t have to go.”
It wasn’t the first time you’d stepped out of something so everyone else could have it easier. It probably wouldn’t be the last. But the look Parker gave you said he noticed.
“(Y/N) can ride with one of us. Not like we’re as reckless as we used to be,” Parker said.
“Are you sure-” Rick started to talk before being cut off.
Parker interrupted him. “Rick. Shut up and go get a cooler packed.”
“Will do, boss,” Rick said, then the call ended.
“I’m serious, boss,” you sighed. “You guys can go have fun, and I’ll hang out at camp.”
“Two things. First, you’re going with us, you can ride with me,” he said, looking over at you. “Second, quit calling me boss and call me Parker.”
You hesitated - not because you didn’t want to go, but because of how easily he’d said it. Like it wasn’t even a question. Like it was already decided.
“Okay,” you said softly.
“Okay,” he repeated.
The road started to look familiar after a while. The same bend in the tree line. The same stretch where the river ran closer to the road. Then, faint at first, you heard it - engines.
The claim.
As the truck rolled in, the quiet from the drive disappeared almost instantly. Diesel engines idled, someone shouted across the yard, and the low rumble of equipment filled the air.
Rick’s truck was already parked near the ATVs, and he was leaning against one of them like he’d been waiting all day.
Parker killed the engine and stepped out, walking around and opening your door. You slid out of the passenger seat, pulling the hem of the sweatshirt down slightly.
You both rounded the bed of the truck, Mitch and Chris now standing next to Rick with the other ATVs.
“Told you,” Rick said, gesturing towards one of the shipping containers. “She’s done.”
You both looked to where Rick pointed, seeing an ATV beside the large container with its front panel open and tools scattered around it.
“Alright, let me go grab my helmet, and we can go,” Parker said, heading towards his camper.
It took a couple of minutes before he finally came back out holding not one, but two helmets.
“Here,” Parker said, walking up next to you and holding one out.
You hesitated for half a second before taking it.
“You don’t have to-”
“You’re coming,” he cut in, not harsh, just certain.
You sighed softly, then took the helmet from his hand. Fingers slightly brushing his, sending tingles up your arm.
Slipping off your hat, you pulled the helmet on and slightly fumbled with the strap.
“Hold on,” Parker said, stepping closer.
His hands were quick and steady as he adjusted it, tightening it just enough before stepping back.
“Hey!” Chris called. “If you two are done bonding, we’re leaving!”
You let out a small laugh, shaking your head as the engines around you started coming to life one by one. Parker swung a leg over his ATV, settling into the seat like it was second nature. He reached forward, adjusting something near the handlebars before glancing back at you.
“You good?” He asked.
You nodded automatically, then realized you hadn’t actually moved yet. For a second, you just stood there.
It wasn’t that you hadn’t ridden on the back of an ATV before, because you had. Plenty of times. It should have been a big deal. But this felt different.
The space suddenly felt smaller and more noticeable.
You stepped closer anyway, boots crunching against the gravel as you came up beside the ATV. The engine rumbled beneath you, steady and loud, and you hesitated just long enough to be aware of it. Of him.
“Just hop on,” Parker said, like he could read exactly what was slowing you down.
“Yeah,” you muttered softly, more to yourself than him.
You grabbed onto the back of the seat and swung your leg over, settling in behind him. It took a second to figure out where to put your hands, as there were no handles. Hovering awkwardly for a moment before you finally rested them lightly at his sides, not quite committing.
The engine vibrated through the seat, through your boots, through everything. Parker shifted slightly in front of you, glancing back just enough to check.
“You’re gonna have to hold on better than that,” he said.
You huffed a quiet breath, half embarrassed, half amused.
“I am holding on.”
“Barely,” he replied.
There was a pause. Then, reluctantly, you slid your hands a little more firmly around him, fingers gripping the fabric of his jacket instead. It felt solid. Warm, even through the layers. Parker didn’t say anything this time, just gave a small nod and turned back toward the trail.
“Alright,” he called out to the guys over the noise. “Let’s go.”
Rick whooped somewhere off to your left, Mitch revved his engine in response, and Chris just shook his head like he'd seen this coming.
Before you could overthink it any more than you already were, Parker hit the throttle. The ATV lurched forward, and instinct took over you. You tightened your grip without thinking, leaning into him as the cold air rushed past.
Any awkwardness disappeared just as fast as it had come. Replaced by speed. Noise. Movement. And the sudden, undeniable realization that you weren’t sitting this one out.
A freshly painted sign hung above the door of the diner: The Sluice Box.
The bell above the diner door rang sharply as Rick pushed it open.
Warm air and the smell of frying bacon rushed out to meet you, chasing away the bite of the Yukon wind that had followed you down the boardwalk. After a morning spent fighting the cold, the diner felt almost unreal - heat, noise, and the steady hum of conversation wrapped around you the second you stepped inside.
The place was packed.
Miners filled nearly every booth and table, muddy boots planted on the checkered floor, heavy jackets slung over chair backs. Coffee mugs clinked against chipped plates while waitresses moved quickly between tables, balancing stacks of pancakes and plates piled high with eggs and hash browns. Somewhere near the counter, someone was loudly arguing about fuel prices. Another was arguing about parts being delayed.
Rick stepped inside fully and took a dramatic deep breath.
“Oh yeah. This is exactly what I needed.”
Chris glanced around the crowded room.
“Food?”
Rick shook his head.
“Pie.”
Mitch snorted behind him.
“You haven’t even had lunch yet.”
Rick looked back at Chris and Mitch, offended.
“That IS lunch.”
You laughed quietly, stepping inside behind them as Parker held the door for you.
For a second, the cold wind caught the door, and he held it steady, waiting until you were past him before letting it swing shut.
The warmth was already starting to thaw the cold out of your hands.
A waitress spotted the five of you standing near the entrance and pointed toward the back.
“A booth just opened up!” she called.
Rick didn’t hesitate.
“Move, people,” he said, already marching toward it like he was claiming land during the gold rush.
Parker sighed under his breath.
“Every time.”
You giggled, following Chris and Mitch to the table with Parker behind you.
The booth was in a corner with a curved seat. The seating arrangement went Chris, Mitch, Rick, you, then Parker.
Once everyone got settled, the waitress walked over.
“What can I get you all to drink?” She asked, taking out her order pad.
“I’ll take a coffee,” Chris said, “black.”
“Water,” Mitch said.
“Mountain Dew, please,” Rick said, already browsing the menu.
“Do you guys have sweet tea?” You asked, taking the menu from the center of the table.
“We do,” the waitress said with a smile.
“I’ll have that,” you said, opening the menu.
“Same,” Parker said, leaning back in the booth.
“I’ll be right back with that,” she beamed, walking off.
You started reading the menu, looking through the specials, and somehow found yourself on the kids’ menu, which was called Nugget Meals.
“So, gold finding queen,” Chris started, “how did you get into mining?”
“My dad used to run heavy equipment for an excavation company,” you shrugged, “First time I drove an excavator, I was fourteen.”
“Fourteen?” Rick asked, peeking over the menu, “I was still crashing dirt bikes at fourteen.”
“That explains a lot,” Mitch chuckled.
“I worked under him for a few years until I was sixteen, then I went and worked for a company building logging roads until I was nineteen.” You said, leaning onto the table with your arms crossed. “After that, I started working in gold mines all around Alaska and this side of Canada.”
“No wonder you outperform everyone. You have over fourteen years of experience,” Chris said with a smile.
“And she actually does a walk-around the machine to save the mechanic a major headache,” Mitch added.
The waitress walked over, setting down all of the drinks.
“Are you ready to order?” She asked, pad already in hand.
Rick leaned forward immediately.
“What kinds of pie do you have today?”
She flipped to the back page of her pad.
“Apple, blueberry, raspberry rhubarb, and French silk.”
Rick looked like he had been handed life-changing information.
“Bacon cheeseburger, fries, chocolate milkshake - and a slice of the raspberry rhubarb,” he said without hesitation.
“Chicken-fried steak and mashed potatoes. And please keep the coffee coming.”
“Bacon, eggs over-easy, hash browns, wheat toast. You guys have hot sauce?” Mitch ordered, barely glancing at the menu.
“Yes, sir.” The waitress nodded.
You finally looked up from the menu.
“Club sandwich and fries - and apple pie, please.”
“Burger and fries,” Parker said while sliding his menu onto the stack.
“Perfect,” the waitress said. “That’ll be out in about fifteen minutes.”
A few moments of silence passed before Rick looked at you, at the oversized sweatshirt you were wearing, then slowly at Parker.
“Wait a minute,” he said slowly.
Everyone looked up.
Rick pointed at you.
“Is that Parker’s sweatshirt?”
Mitch leaned back in the booth and looked between the two of you.
“Oh,” Mitch laughed, “it is.”
Chris took a sip of his coffee.
“Pretty sure I saw him wearing that yesterday.”
“It’s cold out,” you said softly, pulling the sleeves down to cover your hands.
“Pretty sure Parker never lends his clothes out,” Rick said, looking at you with squinted eyes.
“It’s a sweatshirt, Rick,” Parker said flatly.
“That thing looks about two sizes too big for you,” Mitch laughed, taking a slow sip from his water.
“Pretty sure that thing has never left Parker’s truck,” Chris added.
“It’s warm,” you said, shrugging casually.
“Suspicious,” Rick said while he pointed between the two of you with his eyebrows raised.
Parker looked at the crew with a look that clearly said don’t push it. Rick held his hands up.
“Alright, alright,” he said, with a small grin tugging at the corner of his mouth, “I’m done.”
Chris cleared his throat.
“So, how long before Parker puts the gold-finding queen in charge?”
“Not happening,” Parker said, not even looking up from his hands, which he was very interested in.
“She did find that pay streak yesterday,” Rick laughed.
“Best ground we’ve hit all week,” Mitch added.
“I’ve been here three days,” you sighed.
“Three very productive days,” Mitch corrected.
Parker glanced over at you.
“You have done good work.”
The compliment was so casual it almost sounded accidental. Rick slowly looked between the two of you again.
“Oh, this is getting interesting.”
“Rick,” Parker said.
“I’m quiet,” Rick replied immediately.
The waitress came back and set down the plates piled with food. Rick stared at it as it had personally saved his life. Silence had fallen over the crew as they began to devour their lunch. You ate your food at a normal pace, observing the team as they scarfed every bite down like they hadn’t eaten a big breakfast.
Once everyone had finished, Parker picked up the tab. After a few moans and groans, the guys slid out of the booth and headed towards the door. You slid out after Parker and followed the guys to the door, Parker behind you.
The guys waved you off, heading to Rick’s truck, as you and Parker got back in his truck. You both sank into your seats.
“I haven’t eaten this much in probably weeks,” Parker joked.
“That isn’t funny,” you chuckled, looking over at him.
“Kind of is,” he laughed, turning the key in the ignition.
The engine roared to life. It took a minute, but warm air started flowing out of the vents. You buckled your seatbelt and shoved your hands into the sweatshirt pocket.
“Thanks again for letting me wear your sweatshirt,” you said quietly.
“No worries,” he said calmly, “The weather here can change in the blink of an eye, so there’s always something back there.”
“I appreciate it,” you sighed, “I’ll wash it today and get it back to you by tonight.”
“Keep it,” he said, starting to back out of the parking space. “It looks better on you anyway.”
You looked down at the sleeves hanging past your hands and smiled faintly.
Dawson rolled past outside the window as Parker steered the truck back towards the road leading out of town. You pulled the sleeves of the sweatshirt over your hands again.
Somehow, the Yukon didn’t feel quite so cold anymore.
The brutal Yukon wind hit you the second you stepped out of Prospector’s Brew.
Dawson was bustling with life, something it didn’t have in the off-season. ATVs buzzed past like oversized mosquitoes. Somewhere down the boardwalk, someone was arguing loudly about gold prices.
Parker pushed the cafe door shut behind him and glanced down the street.
“Let’s head to The Miner’s Exchange to get some supplies,” he said, looking over at you.
“Sounds good to me,” you replied, holding onto your coffee tight like the wind would blow it away.
The two of you walked down the boardwalk, boots thumping on the wooden planks. Storefronts lined the boardwalk, miners walked past, and trucks rumbled down the street. You were close enough that your arms almost brushed each other.
You were halfway through reading a faded sign for a place called Lucky Strike Outfitters when Parker suddenly stopped beside you.
“Oh boy,” he muttered under his breath.
You frowned slightly.
“What?”
Before he could answer, a loud voice cut across the street.
“Parker!”
You turned to see a tall man in a worn baseball hat, a black long-sleeved shirt with a few buttons undone at the top, a long white beard, and long blondish-white hair sticking out from the hat.
Parker sighed quietly.
“Morning, Tony.”
Tony Beets looked exactly like someone had spent forty years yelling at excavators. His eyes immediately shifted to you.
“Who’s this?” He asked bluntly.
Parker rubbed the back of his neck slightly.
“New operator on the claim.”
Tony raised an eyebrow.
“The one who found that pay streak yesterday?”
You blinked.
“News travels fast.”
Tony snorted, “In Dawson? Fucking faster than gold prices.”
Another voice chimed in from behind him.
“Tony, don’t scare the poor girl.”
Minnie Beets, Tony’s wife, stepped up beside him with her arms crossed but smiling.
“Nice to meet you,” she said, extending her hand. “Anyone willing to work with this guy deserves a medal.”
She nodded toward Parker.
Parker sighed.
“I’m standing right here.”
Minnie ignored him.
“You surviving Hell’s Kitchen so far?”
“Barely,” you laughed.
Tony studied you for another moment, then pointed a finger at Parker.
“Don’t fucking scare off all the good operators this season.”
“Wasn’t planning on it,” Parker said, smirking slightly.
Tony nodded once.
“Good. Hard enough finding people who fucking know what they’re doing.”
Minnie nudged Tony with her elbow.
“We’re holding up traffic. Let them continue their errands,” she said, looking over at him.
Tony shrugged and started walking again, calling back to the two of you.
“See you on the gold totals board later, Parker!”
Parker shook his head slightly as they walked off. You looked over at him.
“That happens often?”
“More than I’d like,” Parker exhaled.
He glanced over at you for a second, then shook his head slightly.
“Tony doesn’t usually compliment people like that.”
“That was a compliment?” You asked, raising an eyebrow.
“For Tony? Yeah, that’s basically a standing ovation,” Parker chuckled.
As you and Parker started to walk again, you took a sip of your coffee.
“So, does everyone in Dawson just know everything that happens on your claim?”
You glanced down the street where Tony and Minnie had disappeared.
“Mining town,” he said. “News travels fast when gold’s involved.”
You nodded.
“That guy swears a lot.”
“You get used to it,” Parker chuckled.
After walking for a few more minutes, Parker nudged your arm with his elbow and pointed across the street to a weathered wooden building. A faded sign above the door read The Miner’s Exchange.
The bell above the door jingled as Parker pushed it open. Inside, the place smelled like rubber and oil. Shelves were piled high with everything from hydraulic fittings to mining pans, and enough bolts to rebuild half the Yukon.
The man behind the counter turned around with his clipboard in hand.
“Morning, Parker,” he said before glancing at you and lifting an eyebrow slightly. “Didn’t know you brought your girlfriend to town today.”
You nearly choked on your coffee, but you noticed that Parker didn’t correct him right away. Your stomach did a strange little flip before you quickly took another sip of coffee.
“She works on the claim,” he said calmly, grabbing a couple of heavy-duty gloves off the shelf.
The guy shrugged.
“Well, whoever she is, she picked a hell of a season to show up.”
“Try these on,” Parker said while handing a pair of gloves to you.
“I don’t need gloves,” you said, taking the pair from him.
“The ones you brought lasted three days, (Y/N),” he chuckled.
You sighed, sliding one of them onto your hand. It fit perfectly.
“How did you know my size?” You asked, looking up at him.
“Operator hands,” he said, shrugging.
While looking through what Carhartt sweatshirts they had, Parker looked through the work pants next to you. Another miner squeezed past in the narrow aisle, bumping Parker slightly.
Without thinking, Parker placed himself between you and the passing traffic.
Once you were done browsing, Parker took the gloves and whatever parts he had picked up along the way to the front counter, where the clerk started scanning everything. Before you had a chance to pay for your gloves, Parker had already swiped his card.
“That’s not fair,” you huffed quietly.
“A pair of gloves won’t break the bank for me,” he chuckled, taking the bag of gloves and parts off the counter.
“Still,” you mumbled, heading towards the door.
Even though his hands were occupied with his coffee and the bag of supplies, he still managed to open the door for you. As you walked outside, you heard familiar voices.
“I still can’t believe she chose to ride with Parker instead of us,” Rick said with disbelief in his voice.
“Rick, have you seen your truck?” Chris laughed, “It looks like a bachelor bomb went off.”
“It isn’t that bad!” Rick argued.
“Are you sure?” Mitch asked, “I'm pretty sure my feet were next to a bunch of gas station food wrappers.”
Parker stopped walking once he saw the three amigos in front of him. Rick was the first to notice the two of you.
“Well, look who it is,” he said, pointing dramatically. “Boss man finally decided to join civilization.”
Chris glanced over, his eyes immediately landing on the bag of supplies in Parker’s hand.
“Let me guess,” he said, “you came for coffee and somehow spent a hundred bucks on parts.”
“That sounds about right,” Mitch said with a slight smirk.
Rick’s attention shifted to you.
“And you,” he added, squinting slightly, “betraying us like that.”
You blinked.
“Betraying you?”
“Yeah,” he said, crossing his arms. “Riding into town with Parker instead of us.”
Chris laughed.
“Rick, your truck smells like three seasons of gas station burritos.”
“It does not!” Rick protested.
“I found a Slim Jim under the passenger seat that looked older than the wash plant,” Mitch joked.
“You three done?” Parker asked while rubbing the bridge of his nose slightly.
“Just making sure you didn’t kidnap our best operator,” Rick said, grinning.
“Kidnapped?” You laughed.
Chris chuckled, “Rick is bitter that you didn’t ride into town with us.”
“Yeah,” Mitch said, “you picked the clean truck.”
“My truck really isn’t that bad,” Rick scoffed.
“Did I not just mention an ancient Slim Jim?” Mitch asked.
“That was strategic storage,” Rick retorted.
“I’m pretty sure I heard something growling from the back seat,” Chris teased, “and it wasn’t Mitch.”
Rick ignored them and looked back at you.
“Seriously though, how’s Hell’s Kitchen treating you so far?”
You shrugged slightly, taking a sip of your coffee that was almost gone.
“I’ve survived three days.”
“That’s longer than some,” Chris said, nodding approvingly.
Parker shifted the bag of supplies in his hand.
“Alright, comedy hour’s over,” he said, “you guys get what you needed?”
“Yep,” Mitch said, “Parts and snacks.”
Rick pointed down the street.
“We were just headed to the trucks to drop off the bags and then go to lunch at the diner.”
Parker nodded, then looked over at you.
“Did you want to grab lunch?”
“I’ll never turn down food,” you laughed.
“Team morale meeting, let’s go!” Rick said excitedly, starting to head down the boardwalk.
Chris and Mitch followed Rick down the boardwalk, already arguing about whether the diner still had pie left from the morning.
You and Parker trailed a few steps behind them, the noise of Dawson filling the air around you - engines rumbling, boots on wood planks, someone laughing somewhere down the street.
Rick suddenly turned around and started walking backwards.
“Try not to take too long back there,” he called. “We’re hungry!”
Parker rolled his eyes but didn’t respond. You glanced over at him.
“Do they always act like this?”
“Pretty much,” he said with a small shrug.
You smiled slightly, looking ahead at the three men who were arguing about milkshakes.
For a crew that spent most of their days buried in mud and machinery, they seemed strangely normal out here.
For the first time since arriving at the claim, you realized you weren’t just working here anymore.
Finding a parking spot in Dawson on a Sunday morning was harder than avoiding a moose on the back roads. Parker crept the truck slowly down the crowded street, scanning for an open space between the rows of trucks and ATVs.
“You’d think half the Yukon decided to come to town today,” he muttered.
You leaned forward slightly in your seat.
“Looks like it.”
Finally, he spotted a gap and swung the truck into it. Parker killed the engine and glanced over at you.
“Alright,” he said, “let’s go find that coffee.”
The two of you slid out of the truck, the Yukon wind cutting through you like a knife. You pulled your arms to your chest and turned back into the truck.
“Did you not bring a sweatshirt or something?” He asked, grabbing his wallet from the center console.
“I didn’t think it would be colder here than at the claim, okay?” You grumbled.
He went to the backseat and dug through the pile of clothes he clearly needed to clean out of his truck. Finding his old black sweatshirt that said ‘Ugly Kid,’ he shut the door and tossed it to you.
“I can’t wear your sweatshirt,” you said bluntly.
Parker shrugged.
“Either that or you freeze.”
You groaned as the cold wind hit you again.
“Whatever,” you mumbled to yourself as you slid the sweatshirt over your head.
It smelled like diesel, dirt, faint sweat, and something woodsy. You pulled the sleeves down to your hands, then put your phone in the front pocket.
“You ready?” He asked, looking over at you and freezing.
You adjusted the hood, then looked back at him and nodded.
“I think there’s a cafe up ahead, Prospector’s Brew, or something like that,” you said as you started to walk down the boarded sidewalk.
After you got a few feet away, you glanced back at Parker, who was still standing next to the truck and looking at you.
You laughed.
“Did you get stuck to the ground?”
“N-No,” he stuttered, shaking his head slightly and following you.
“Then what?” You teased.
He stayed silent. Parker always had some sort of comeback. You stopped in the middle of the sidewalk.
“Cat got your tongue?” You asked.
“Just not used to seeing someone else wear my clothes, that’s all,” he said quietly, shoving his hands in his pockets, “You want coffee or not?”
You simply nodded and continued to walk beside him. Not in front or behind - beside him.
As you walked, you could feel his eyes glancing toward you. For whatever reason, this made your heart flip in your chest.
Arriving at Prospector’s Brew, Parker held the door open for you, then followed to the front counter.
“Mr. Schnabel, long time no see,” the guy behind the counter greeted, “the usual?”
“That’d be great,” Parker replied, then looked at you. “Get whatever you’d like.”
You looked up at the handwritten chalkboard menu. Drink names were all centered on mining.
The Klondike Kick. The Paydirt Latte. The Yukon Mocha. The Prospector. The Gold Rush.
“Hmmm,” you hummed softly, “I’ll take an iced Yukon Mocha, please.”
“Is that all for you two?” The guy asked, grabbing two cups.
“That’s it, Drake,” Parker said, handing him enough cash to cover the coffee and leave a generous tip.
“We’ll call you when it’s ready,” the guy, now known as Drake, smiled.
Parker walked over to a booth in the corner of the cafe, sitting down on the side facing the rest of the cafe. You followed, sitting opposite him.
“You come here often?” You asked, setting your phone beside you in the booth.
“Usually when I come to town for parts, I stop for something,” he said. “Normally, it’s the prospector. It’s an extra-strong coffee with an extra shot.”
“I see. When it’s hot coffee, I like it with just cream and sugar, but if it’s iced, I usually do some kind of mocha.”
“Noted.”
“Parker!” Drake called from the counter, sliding both drinks forward.
Without a word, Parker got up and walked over. He thanked Drake and grabbed the cups. On his way back over to the booth, he grabbed a straw. It was small, but you noticed.
Parker set your drink and straw down in front of you, then took his seat across from you. As he leaned back in the booth, his eyes dropped briefly to your forearm.
“Does it still hurt?” He asked, taking a sip from his steaming cup.
“No, only if I really bump it on something do I remember it’s there,” you laughed slightly, glancing down at your arm.
You took a sip of your drink, a small smile coming to your face.
“Is it good?” He asked, hands wrapped around his cup.
“It’s pretty good,” you said with a smile.
He chuckled.
“Still not better than my secret stash though.”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” you laughed.
A moment passed as you both enjoyed your drinks and the change of scenery.
“So, what do you do when not analyzing dirt?” He asked, looking up at you.
You thought about it, a small smile on your face.
“Usually, find a quiet place.”
“That’s it?” He asked, raising an eyebrow.
You shrugged.
“After working around machines and loud miners all day, quiet is pretty nice.”
“Makes sense.”
“What about you?” You asked softly, biting on the straw in your drink.
He took a drink of his coffee.
“Walk the claim mostly.”
“That sounds suspiciously like working, Parker.”
“Yeah,” he admitted, “just without the machines.”
You took a brief moment to take in Parker’s face. Only in his early thirties, his face still bore soft wrinkles from stress.
“Have you ever not worked?”
“No.” He said flatly.
He replied a little too quickly. Too quickly for your liking.
“Why?” You asked, leaning onto your forearms on the table.
He took a deep breath and was visibly hesitant. You stayed there, looking at the man you called your boss, waiting for his answer.
“I guess…” He trailed off. “When my Grandpa passed away, it was the only way I knew how to cope. One of those, if I stopped working, I’d have to face the fact that he isn’t here anymore.”
Your heart broke with his words. For a man who, on the outside, seemed rough and invincible, on the inside was just a tender soul who matured faster than most kids do. Watching Parker, he stared down at his half-empty cup with glossy eyes.
Reaching across the table with one hand, you placed yours on his and rubbed your thumb over his knuckles. His breath hitched at this, and your heart was doing somersaults.
“You’re allowed to miss him, Parker,” you said softly, “and you’re allowed to not think about work for a day.”
This brought a small smile to his face. He looked up at you, making direct eye contact.
“Says the lady who analyzed the dirt on the side of the road,” he teased.
You scoffed softly and pulled your hand back, leaning into the booth.
“Hey, that was important research.”
Parker chuckled, the tension in his shoulders finally easing a little.
Outside the cafe window, Dawson moved along like it always did - trucks rumbling past, miners wandering between stores, the Yukon wind tugging at loose signs.
For a while, neither of you spoke. But this time, the quiet felt a lot less heavy.
The gravel road stretched out like a thin ribbon through the dark Yukon trees. Dust rolled behind Parker’s truck in a lazy cloud, the claim slowly disappearing in the rearview mirror.
For a while, neither of you said anything. The low hum of the engine and the soft rattle of loose gravel against the truck’s frame filled the silence. Parker’s hand on the console started tapping a small rhythm that somehow matched the tires hitting rough patches in the road.
Shifting slightly in your seat, you watched the trees blur past outside the window.
It felt strange not thinking about the mine.
Not thinking about the cut.
Not thinking about the dirt.
Your brain tried anyway. Every now and then, you caught yourself studying the roadside banks where the road had been carved through the hills. Layers of lighter and darker soil stacked on top of each other like a history book written in dirt.
You squinted slightly at one of them as the truck rolled past.
“Huh,” you muttered.
Parker glanced over briefly.
“What?”
“That cut back there,” you said as you pointed with your thumb toward the patch of road you passed.
“The road?” He asked.
“No, the dirt on the side of it,” you said, leaning back in the seat again. “There’s a darker layer about halfway down. Probably an old pay streak or something.”
Parker was quiet for a second, then let out a short laugh.
“You lasted fifteen minutes,” he said.
You frowned slightly.
“What?”
“Before you started analyzing dirt again.”
You crossed your arms and looked out the windshield.
“I said probably.”
“Uh-huh,” Parker said, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly.
It was quiet for another few minutes before Parker spoke again.
“Where did you learn how to read it?”
“The dirt?” You asked, keeping your gaze out the window.
“No, books,” he laughed. “Yes, dirt.”
“It was a mix of a few different things,” you sighed softly. “First was from an old timer in Colorado. He said the dirt would tell you where the gold was if you stopped long enough to look.”
“Sounds like my grandpa,” Parker chuckled.
“Being young and naive, I thought he was full of it and came up north here to Alaska. First mine I worked at up here had a geologist who liked to talk,” you continued, “most people ignored him, but I didn’t.”
“True,” you said, “but at least this one knew what he was talking about.”
“That’s rare,” he said, “most of them just point at the ground and say expensive words.”
“So do miners,” you laughed.
“Yeah,” he admitted, “but we’re usually right.”
“And from there it was mostly self-taught and experience. Watching miners go through light colored dirt to get nothing,” you shrugged. “You watch people do it wrong long enough, you start to notice a couple of things.”
“That explains it,” Parker said while nodding slightly.
“Explains what?” You looked at him with your eyebrows scrunched together.
“That you weren’t guessing yesterday.”
“You didn’t know that.”
“Yeah,” he said simply, “I did.”
Parker was quiet for a moment, taking in what you said.
“I learned everything from my grandpa, John,” he said softly, “he’d wake me up before sunrise. Hand me a shovel and point at a pile of dirt that looked exactly like the other hundred piles.”
You smirked.
“And you loved it?”
“At the time? Not really.”
You raised an eyebrow.
He sighed, “But I couldn’t imagine doing anything else now. I’ve been in the dirt since I was six. I was never not in dirt. My mom can even attest to that.”
“You’re still in the dirt,” you commented.
“Yeah, well, some people get stuck behind desks.” Parker chuckled.
“That sounds terrible,” you mumbled.
“It is,” he said, “that’s why I avoid the office as much as possible.”
“Ever think you’ll quit mining?” You asked softly.
“I’ll probably never get out of it. My life pretty much revolves around dirt,” he said. “It will always be a part of my life and a part of me.”
“As long as it’s what makes you happy,” you said, looking over at him.
He looked back at you.
“It does.”
For a moment, the truck was quiet again. Parker turned the wheel slightly as the road curved along a low ridge. Through the trees, you caught a brief glimpse of a wide valley stretching out in the distance.
“You ever get tired of this view?” You asked, staring out the passenger window.
Parker glanced out towards the hills, then at you.
“Not really,” he said, “it’s the best part.”
There was another moment of silence in the truck cab, but this time it wasn’t an uncomfortable silence.
“So…” Parker said, “Are you done analyzing roadside geology now?”
You looked back at the hillside, then back at Parker with a soft laugh.
“Probably not.”
Around ten minutes had gone by when you had just started to study an exposed cut in a hillside when Parker suddenly eased his foot off the gas.
“Hold on,” he mumbled.
You looked up just as something massive stepped out of the treeline ahead of the truck.
A bull moose had wandered onto the road, as if it had nowhere else to be except blocking your path.
You blinked slowly.
“That’s a big moose,” you breathed.
Parker chuckled under his breath as he brought the truck to a slow stop a few yards away.
“Yeah, they tend to get like that.”
The moose stood there for a moment, long legs planted firmly on the gravel as it stared at the truck. Its massive antlers stretched out wide above its head, easily wider than the hood of the truck.
You leaned forward slightly in your seat, glancing at the moose and then at the top of the truck.
“That thing is taller than the truck.”
“Probably weighs close to a thousand pounds, too,” Parker said casually, putting the truck in park.
You glanced over at him.
“You sound way too calm about that.”
He shrugged, leaning back in his seat.
“You hit one of those, the truck loses.”
Eventually, the moose decided the truck wasn’t worth its attention and began its way to the other side of the road in slow, lazy steps. You watched it disappear into the trees on the other side before leaning back.
“Welcome to Yukon traffic,” Parker chuckled, shifting the truck back into gear once the moose had gone.
You laughed softly as the truck rolled forward.
“Still beats city traffic,” you said, shifting your gaze back out the window.
Parker smirked slightly, eyes on the road ahead.
“Yeah,” he said, “out here, the wildlife has the right of way.”
The truck rolled steadily down the gravel road. You spotted the first signs of town before Parker said anything. A weathered sign leaning slightly toward the road and the faint outline of rooftops tucked between the trees.
Parker slowed the truck slightly as the road widened.
“Almost there,” he said quietly.
You nodded, already recognizing the stretch of road leading toward Dawson. You had made the trip before, enough times to know what waited at the end of it - dusty streets, supply runs, and miners arguing over their gold totals.
Normally, it was just in between shifts, but today felt different.
You glanced over at Parker as he steered the truck toward town, one hand resting casually on the wheel like he’d driven this road a thousand times before.
“Alright,” he said, “what’s the first stop?”
You thought for a second.
“Coffee?”
He smirked.
“Thought you already had the good stuff this morning.”
You shrugged slightly.
“Yeah, but that was your secret stash.”
Parker chuckled as he turned the truck toward town.
“Careful,” he said, “keep talking like that, and I might stop sharing it.”
The next morning was quiet. Too quiet. It almost made you panic before you realized it was Sunday, your day off. You barely had time to process that you needed to get up before your phone buzzed.
“It’s too early for this, boss man,” you groaned.
Grabbing your phone, you opened his text.
Mess hall has breakfast… Waffles and bacon…
You stared at the screen. Why does he care if you get breakfast? As you started to type back a response, your stomach decided to interrupt with a loud moan as if screaming for food.
Cool. Be there shortly.
As you walked into the mess hall, the smell of warm maple syrup surrounded you. A smile came to your face as it brought back memories of spending the night at your grandparents' house.
After making your way through the line and grabbing a small carton of orange juice, you turned toward the tables. Chris, Mitch, Rick, and Tyson were all excitedly waving you over.
“Oh boy,” you mumbled, “here we go…”
You walked over and took the open seat on the end next to Chris.
“There’s our Gold Finding Queen!” Rick said, lowering his coffee cup.
This almost made you choke on your orange juice.
“I’m sorry, what?” You asked, wiping your mouth.
“Well, you literally found a streak that gave us another hundred ounces of gold,” Tyson said, shoving a bite that was clearly too big into his mouth.
“So, we decided to nickname you the Gold Finding Queen.” Mitch chimed in.
You just looked at them.
“I see.”
While you were eating and listening to the guys talk about your “amazing discovery,” you didn’t notice that Parker sat at the end of the table next to you. You only noticed when he set a cup of coffee in front of you.
“Figured you might need it to stay awake with these guys,” he said softly, opening his syrup cup.
You took the warm cup in your hands, looking down at the tan liquid.
“Did you put cream in here?”
“You put two in, right? And one sugar?”
You smiled slightly as you looked up at him. Seeing him not just as your boss, but as just Parker.
“Yeah, I do.”
Taking a small sip, you smiled a little bigger.
“Why does this taste better than when I do it?” You teased.
Parker smiled.
“Probably because I know where the good coffee stash is.”
“Oh, that isn’t fair.”
“We still haven’t figured it out,” Chris chimed in, “and I’ve been here forever.”
“She got the secret stash coffee?!” Rick asked loudly. “What the hell!”
You rolled your eyes and continued to enjoy your waffles, bacon, and your secret stash coffee.
Deciding to redirect the conversation away from you, you cleared your throat.
“What are the plans for the day? Maintenance on equipment?”
The guys laughed.
“That’s on Mondays,” Mitch said, “On Sundays, we normally hang out or make a trip to town.”
“I do need more snacks,” Tyson said, looking down at his empty plate.
“We could go to town and then come back to the claim and rip around on the ATVs,” Rick said, finishing his bacon.
“Wouldn’t hurt to grab some extra parts while in town,” Mitch said, wiping his mouth.
Chris stood up with his plate.
“I’m low on cigars, and we’re almost out of beer.”
“Town run it is,” Parker laughed, then looked at you. “Need anything?”
“I wouldn’t mind going for the drive,” you said, taking another sip from your coffee.
“You just like to burn fuel, don’t you?”
You smirked.
“Especially when it’s someone else’s.”
“We’ll probably end up needing two trucks, you good to drive into town, Parker?” Mitch asked.
“Yeah, the bed of my truck is empty,” he replied, leaning back in his chair.
He looked over at you, his eyes lingering a little longer than they should have. As you looked up, you caught his eyes with yours, turning your cheeks a soft pink.
“My truck is the cleanest one on the claim. You’re welcome to ride with me,” he said, keeping eye contact with you.
You looked over at the team, who were now arguing over what brand of beer and kind of snacks to get. You looked back at Parker.
“Deal.”
“Leave in like an hour?” He asked, standing up and grabbing his dishes.
“Works for us!” Mitch said over Tyson and Rick, who were still in a heated discussion about gummy worms or gummy bears.
In the hour before the trip to town, you went and cleaned your room. You made the bed and swept the floor. Normal chores that took no more than 10 minutes in such a small space. As you finally took the bandage off your arm, your phone buzzed.
Boss. You sighed and opened the text.
We could leave now if you wanted, since you’re the only one riding with me.
You looked out the window, seeing Parker’s truck parked next to the office. Then it hit you, it would take about an hour and a half to get to town. And you’d be alone with Parker.
“Why are you freaking out about this, (Y/N)?” You asked yourself. “He’s your boss.”
You huffed and looked for your small bag you’d take to town.
“Just your boss who knows exactly how you take your coffee.”
Your thumbs danced above the screen, then typed.
I’m ready now if you are.
Sweet, let’s go.
Grabbing your ballcap and sunglasses, you headed out the door and towards Parker’s truck. It was covered in dust, as if it had been working in the cut itself.
Parker walked out of the office, ballcap on his head, with his hair slightly damp. You shrugged, thinking that at least he wouldn’t smell like dirt and sweat. He came over and opened the door for you.
“Ladies first,” he said softly, gesturing for you to get in.
“Is that so?” You teased, standing on the truck’s running board.
He smiled.
“Only right.”
You slid into the seat, Parker shutting the door and walking around the back of the truck. You tucked your ponytail through the back of the ballcap and put on your sunglasses.
He climbed into the driver's seat, shut the door, put his sunglasses on, and then started the truck. You both put your seatbelts on, and he backed the truck up, then headed towards the claim entrance.
Watching Parker as he drove, one hand on the wheel and the other on the center console, something about it felt very un-boss-like.
He glanced over suddenly, catching you looking.
“You good?” He asked.
You blinked and then looked out the windshield.
“Yep.”
Parker gave a small nod with a faint smile before focusing back on the road. You glanced back at him for another second before turning your attention to the trees passing by.
For the first time since arriving at the claim, the mine wasn’t occupying your thoughts.
You stared at your phone longer than you should have.
Compliment.
That was it - no crazy response. No explanation. Just the single word glowing on your screen.
“Man of many words,” you scoffed quietly and tossed the phone back into the cupholder.
Another rock truck rolled into position beneath your bucket, its diesel engine rumbling low against the steady drizzle that still hadn’t given up.
Scoop. Curl. Swing.
Another full bucket of dark pay dirt thudded into the truck bed.
Tyson’s voice crackled over the radio. “Careful with that stuff, (Y/N), that’s the good dirt.”
You smirked and grabbed your radio.
“Then maybe don’t drive it into the mud this time.”
A few chuckles burst across the radio channel from the other truck drivers.
The afternoon felt lighter than the morning or the days prior had. You were used to everyone watching you like you were seconds from screwing something up. This afternoon, they were joking. You took it as a good sign.
As the next truck pulled into position, you looked out across the cut. The darker pay streak running along the east wall, the rain making the soil even darker against the surrounding lighter dirt. You could still picture Parker standing there this morning. He had his hands in his pockets, and his eyes narrowed.
“Still can’t believe he trusted me,” you huffed quietly.
While you scooped another full bucket of dirt, your phone buzzed. You rolled your eyes and ignored it, continuing to dig. Work first.
Rock truck after rock truck rolled through Hell’s Kitchen while the rain kept the ramps as slick ribbons of mud. Somehow, the operation felt smoother than it had appeared since you first arrived.
Maybe it was the gold.
Maybe it was the fact that the boss had actually listened to someone else.
Or maybe it was the strange feeling of knowing someone was watching from the ridge again.
You glanced up towards the top of the cut, and sure enough, Parker’s truck sat parked.
“That man needs a hobby,” you muttered while shaking your head.
Radio static popped again, Rick’s voice following.
“Alright, everyone. Wrap it up. Last trucks and shut the plant down.”
You blinked, looking at the radio like it personally offended you.
“Already?” You said quietly, dumping your bucket into your last truck of the day.
Rick’s voice came through again. “Cleanup time.”
Cleanup. That got your attention. It meant it was time to find out if that darker streak was actually worth the trouble and Parker’s money.
You parked the excavator for the night, climbed down, and wiped your hands on your pants. Checking your phone, you finally read the text you knew was from Parker.
You still moving dirt?
You checked the time he sent it, and it was four hours ago.
“Oops,” you laughed, typing back.
That’s generally what excavators do.
From down in the cut, you could hear Parker’s chuckle from up on the ridge, for whatever reason, which made your chest feel warm. You shook it off as nothing, then another buzz.
How’s your arm?
While working, you had forgotten that you had cut your arm yesterday. You glanced down at the now filthy bandage wrapped around your forearm.
Fine.
An immediate response.
Just fine?
Yep.
Silence.
After everyone enjoyed their meal in the mess hall, they all dispersed. It was only you, Chris, Mitch, Tyson, Rick, and Parker left in there. You would’ve left by now, but you were zoned out while scrolling your phone.
Gold weigh-in was usually only for Parker’s closest crewmates.
The sound of one of them clearing their throat broke you from the screen. Glancing around at the empty mess hall made your eyes widen.
You swallowed your bite of food.
“Want me to go?”
“She’s only been here three days, boss,” Mitch whispered, but not soft enough that you didn’t hear him.
Parker looked over at you and smirked.
“She’ll join us; it was her call after all.”
“I thought that was your call?” Chris asked, taking his cigar out of his mouth.
“She played it off like it was. I’ve noticed she’s not an attention seeker.”
The room went quiet for a second before everyone turned toward you. You could feel the redness creeping up your neck. You knew he watched you work, but was he really picking up on who you were as a person, too?
Following the small group of rugged men across from the mess hall to the gold room, you felt like you were stepping into the principal’s office. You weren’t sure if you were going to get praised or yelled at.
It was quiet, and for loud miners, that said something. You leaned against the wall with your arms crossed, the guys circling a small table with a scale on it.
Chris grabbed the stainless steel thermos labeled ‘Gold Gobbler,’ slowly taking the lid off and setting it on the table. He glanced around at the exhausted and dirt-covered men around him, Parker giving him a slight nod. With that, Chris started to pour the bright yellow flakes into the pan on the table.
Everyone watched the number on the scale climb.
10. 30. 60. 100. 120.
You could barely keep up with how fast the ounces climbed. Chris let the last fleck fall out, then tapped the side of the thermos.
As if everyone was holding their breath, they all exhaled in relief.
“203.7 ounces,” Chris said confidently.
“That’s a hundred ounces more than last week,” Rick said, rubbing the back of his neck.
You stared at the number on the scale, but you couldn’t help the small smile creeping onto your face. Rick glanced over to you, then over at Parker.
Parker hadn’t moved. He was standing there with his hands in his pockets, eyes fixed on the jar.
There was a moment of silence as the crew finished celebrating. Parker finally spoke.
“We shifted east because (Y/N) spotted the ground change.”
All heads except Parker’s turned to you, making you freeze.
Tyson grinned.
“I guess we oughta keep her around.”
“It’s just dirt.” You said and shrugged.
Parker then looked over at you, the corner of his mouth lifting just slightly.
“If this is ‘just dirt,’ I’m gonna need you to keep finding a lot more of it.”
A couple of the guys chuckled.
Tyson slapped Rick slightly on the shoulder.
“Guess Hell’s Kitchen ain’t so hellish anymore.”
Rick shook his head with a grin.
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”
Chris finished sealing the jar filled with gold flakes, then set it in the safe and locked the door.
“Well, gentlemen, and lady,” he said, wiping his hands on a rag. “I’d say that’s a good night’s work.”
The crew slowly started to break apart after that. A few headed back to the mess hall, the rest drifting outside to smoke or grab some air after the long day. You pushed off the wall, stretching your shoulders a little.
When you turned to leave, Parker was still near the table with his hands in his pockets.
Stopping just before the door, you turned back to him and asked.
“What?”
He simply shrugged.
“Nothing, just trying to figure out if you’re dangerous or not.”
“Dangerous?”
Parker chuckled softly, “You notice things the rest of us miss - including me.”
“I’m pretty sure that I just look at dirt.”
Parker looked at you for a moment longer than he probably meant to, like he was trying to figure you out.
The silence stretched just enough to make it noticeable.
You raised an eyebrow.
“You keep staring like that, boss, people are going to think I did something.”
Parker just looked at you one more time before shrugging.
“Just trying to figure out what you’re gonna cost me.”
“Probably a lot,” you said with a smirk.
With that, you pushed the door open and stepped out into the cool Yukon night, leaving Parker in the gold room wondering if bringing you to Hell’s Kitchen was still the best decision he made—or the most expensive.
The rain hadn’t let up overnight. You woke up to the tapping against the bunkhouse window before your alarm went off.
“Perfect,” you groaned, dragging your hand over your face.
Rain meant mud. Mud meant slick ramps and messy cuts. Messy cuts meant everyone would be on edge.
By the time you made it to Hell’s Kitchen, the entire cut looked different. The rain had washed a thin layer of lighter dirt off the surface, exposing a darker streak running through the ground.
You stopped halfway down the ramp.
“Well,” you muttered to yourself, “that’s interesting.”
Instead of starting your normal walk around the excavator, you crouched down and dragged your boot across the wet dirt.
Dark. Heavy. Almost black.
Pay dirt.
It wasn’t running north like the original cut that you were working on; it was running east, like how you predicted your first day.
“Rick,” you spoke into the radio.
A radio crackle then, “Go for Rick.”
“You might want to come look at Hell’s Kitchen.”
“On my way.”
Rick arrived first. Then Parker showed up.
“See the color change?” You asked, hands on your hips.
Rick bent down and grabbed a handful of dirt, squishing it and examining it as he’d never seen dirt before. Parker was listening intently, clearly not fully believing you.
You knew millions of dollars were riding on that cut.
“She might be right, Parker,” Rick said, moving his hand in front of Parker.
Parker glanced at Rick’s hand for a brief second.
“You’re saying we’ve been digging in the wrong direction?” Parker asked flatly, laced with frustration. Not with you, but with himself for not seeing it.
You crossed your arms.
“I’m not saying that, I’m saying your gold is heading east.”
He looked at the ground for a moment, took a deep breath, and exhaled heavily.
“Show me,” he said, looking up at you with narrow eyes.
You looked back at him with confidence. Walking to your excavator, you grabbed a mining pan from behind the seat and walked over to the new, darker streak. Using your hands, you scooped a mound of dirt into the pan and walked over to a deeper puddle the rain had left. Rick and Parker were only a few steps behind you.
It took only two swishes for you to find a rhythm, slowly washing the dirt from the pan. After about 30 swishes, you tilted the pan back and stood up. Both men were looking over your shoulder, all of you seeing the golden flecks scattered across the pan.
“That’s the best pan we’ve had all season,” Rick whispered, starting to count all the little specks in the pan.
With a heavy exhale, Parker said, “Start moving the cut to the east.”
He shoved his hands in his pockets and started making his way back up the ramp, leaving Rick in the cut with you. You were trying not to show it, but pride crept across your face. You weren’t one to get cocky, but being able to prove your suspicion was always a gratifying feeling.
“He rarely trusts anyone like that, don’t take it for granted,” Rick said with a slight laugh, then started up the ramp.
You shrugged it off and quickly did your walk around, then hopped in the cab. As you turned the key, you noticed the rock truck drivers staring at you. You groaned, rolled your eyes, and then grabbed your radio.
“Parker said to move toward the east since it’s darker over there. I’ll honk twice once I’m in position to start loading you guys.”
They all gave you a thumbs-up. You grabbed the joysticks, starting to wake the excavator fully. Once hydraulics were warmed up, you headed over to the east, finding the best position to load the rock trucks with the new pay dirt. Finally settling on a spot, you honked your horn twice, the rock trucks lining up underneath your bucket.
A few hours had passed, the rock trucks keeping a steady pace, and you settling into your rhythm.
Scoop. Curl. Swing. Dump. Repeat.
In the cupholder, your phone buzzed. Glancing over, you saw the single word. Boss.
“Why can’t this guy just let me work and get him gold?” You grumbled, sending a rock truck on its way.
Opening your phone and his text, an image popped up. It took a few seconds to load, but it was a photo of the sluice box, showing thick golden ripples.
Good call today… Guess I can’t fire you now…
You laughed and shook your head while typing back.
Were you going to fire me?
Three dots appeared, then his response popped up.
No.
A moment passed, and another buzz.
Why did you tell the team I found the new streak?
Staring at your phone for longer than you should have, you finally replied.
I don’t need the crew to respect me. I’m their equal. I need them to respect the boss and follow his decisions, and if I were to take credit, there would be some kind of uprising, saying you pick favorites, and then I’d be disrespected more than anything.
You put your phone back in the cupholder with the screen still on. Starting to load the rock truck below you, you saw the three dots appear again. Disappear. Reappear. Buzz.
You’re different.
You shook your head and continued filling the back of the rock truck, but his words made the gears in your head start turning.
You sighed, mumbling to yourself. “What does he even mean by that? Different because I saw a shift in dirt? Or because I gave him credit for something he didn’t notice?”
Radio static. “(Y/N), do you copy?”
“Go for (Y/N).”
“We need your help with the excavator,” Rick said. “Tyson decided to try off-roading in a rock truck.”
Tyson piped in, “I did not. The road is still that slick mud crap.”
“Be over in a minute.” You laughed.
Adjusting in the seat, you started your way in the excavator and over to the Honey Hole cut. Once you crested the ramp from Hell’s Kitchen, all you could see was the rear end of a rock truck sliding off the side of the ramp that led into Honey Hole.
You pulled up behind him, positioning your bucket inside the dump bed.
Rick’s voice came over the radio, “Alright, Tyson, put it in reverse and slowly press on the gas. (Y/N), just pull him.”
“10-4, Ricky Boy,” you replied, dropping the radio in your lap.
Tyson slowly started spinning his tires, and you started to tug on the truck bed. At first, it went nowhere, the sides of the ramps being pure mud and suctioning Tyson into it. Instead of letting it fail, you took your bucket out and put it under the end of the truck bed.
“(Y/N), what are you doing?” Rick asked over the radio.
You ignored him and used the excavator to lift the rear tires slightly out of the mud, shifting them by a foot. Moving your bucket back inside the bed, you gave it one final tug, and Tyson backed out with ease.
He headed back into the cut. Rick walked up to you and climbed into the cab.
“How did you know he wasn’t going to budge?” He asked, a little out of breath.
“The mud was up to the middle of the tires. That truck wasn’t going anywhere without being lifted out.”
“Good call,” he said, “not sure why I didn’t think of that.”
You chuckled, “Because you’re geared just to get it solved as fast as you can, not always the right way, but the quickest.”
“Day three and you already know how this operation works,” he laughed, climbing down and jumping to the ground. “Thanks for the hand.”
You waved at him as you headed back to Hell’s Kitchen, grabbing your phone to reply to Parker.
Can’t tell if that’s a compliment or an insult, but thank you :)
“Thanks for getting me out of the mud, (Y/N),” Tyson’s voice breaking the radio silence.
“No problem, bud. Just keep it on the ramp next time,” you laughed.
Getting the excavator back in position, your phone buzzed.
“Does this man never work?” You groaned.
Looking down at your phone, your eyes widened slightly, and your mouth opened slightly
Five in the morning came faster than you wanted it to, your alarm blaring on the nightstand. Groaning, you rolled over, grabbed your phone, and shut it off. While lying on your back, you stared at the ceiling, replaying the night's events. Nothing happened between you and Parker; you were still speechless from his words.
They were on repeat in your head, “hiring you was the best decision I’ve made this season.”
“Let’s keep proving that right, I guess,” you sighed to yourself, sitting up and rubbing your eyes. You flung the covers off your legs and scooted to the edge of the bed.
After changing into your work clothes and tying your boots, you grabbed your safety vest and hard hat, then headed out the door.
You were immediately met with looks from the rest of the crew. You took a deep breath and kept walking out towards Hell’s Kitchen to get started for the day. From the top of the cut, you could tell something was wrong with the excavator from the giant puddle underneath it.
You held the radio button down. “Mitch, do you copy?”
“Go for Mitch. What’s up, (Y/N)?”
“Excavator has a giant puddle of what I think is hydraulic fluid. Can you head out to Hell’s Kitchen?”
“Copy that. Headed that way now.”
You walked the rest of the way to the excavator and headed to the back of the machine to open the engine bay. While waiting for Mitch, the claim mechanic, you went through your normal checks. Everything else looked fine, but one of the hydraulic lines had over-pressurized and blown.
Mitch pulled up in his service truck, walking over to you.
“Work the old thing so hard yesterday you blew a hose?” He joked.
“Guess it must’ve happened toward the end, if not while it cooled down, because I had no issues loading trucks,” you said, putting your hands on your hips.
He laughed, “Don’t stress over it, almost every machine on the claim has hoses that have been replaced in the last month. They sat all winter and became more brittle; it doesn’t take much to pop one of these at the beginning of the season.”
Mitch grabbed a couple of wrenches from the truck and a new hose, then started to take the old hose off.
“Good catch, though, most wouldn’t notice until they already started the equipment,” he said while tossing the old hose to the ground.
“First thing you check is under the machine,” you said confidently, “if there’s a puddle, you know not to start it and make it worse.”
He paused, looking over at you as you were inspecting other things in the engine bay.
“I know the first claim I worked at, there was an older operator who thought his shit didn’t stink,” you laughed. “He didn’t check under his machine and ended up seizing the engine because the oil leak was so bad it left barely a quart in it.”
“That sounds like an expensive fix.”
“Everything good down there?” Parker’s voice crackled over the radio.
“All good, boss. Just a weak hydraulic hose finally gave.” Mitch replied.
You leaned over to Mitch while he was tightening the last bit of the hose fitting. “Does he hover around every new person like this?”
“I’ve worked with him about as long as Chris, and I can confidently say that he has never been like this,” Mitch said, wiping his hands on a dirty rag.
You groaned.
“What does that mean then?”
“Either he doesn’t trust you, or…” He trailed off, getting back in his truck.
“Or what?” You questioned.
“No idea,” he said, then drove out of the cut.
You huffed, then climbed into the excavator cab and went through our usual start-up routine. You kept glancing at the top of the ridge, seeing Parker’s truck in the same spot as when he originally showed up.
As you worked, you still felt eyes on you. It gave you a weird feeling. Part uncomfortable, part motivated. Rock trucks kept a steady pace while you kept the rhythm of loading them with ease. A few hours had passed, and it had started to drizzle. Nothing major, and nothing you couldn’t work through.
“A little rain never hurt no one,” you mumbled, dumping a bucket of dirt into a truck bed.
Buzz.
You groaned, knowing only one person would be texting you right now. Glancing down, you saw ‘Boss’ on your screen.
While you waited for the next rock truck to line up, you opened the text.
How’s Hell’s Kitchen holding up?
Fine. You sent
Immediate response.
No flooding?
No.
Good.
You rolled your eyes and put your phone back in your pocket, then continued to load the trucks.
While loading truck two, you noticed truck three came a little too fast down the ramp. It ended up locking the brakes trying to slow down, making the dump bed fishtail slightly. You couldn’t help but watch, a human nature thing, as the back end of the truck gained too much momentum and tipped onto its side.
You quickly grabbed your radio.
“You okay, truck three?”
“Yeah, ramp is slick, couldn’t slow down.”
“I’ll be over to come flip you,” you said, putting the radio down and moving the excavator to start trekking over that way.
As if you had simply called him over, Parker was on the ridge watching, this time with Rick and Mitch. You cursed to yourself quietly, making it to where truck three was positioned. Using the bucket, you hooked the bed and slowly flipped it upright.
“Have Mitch take a look at it before continuing the route; he’s up on the hill with the boss man,” you radioed.
You watched the ridge as you moved back to your platform to scoop more pay dirt. The three men looked at each other with looks of ‘she knew we were here?’
After truck three’s little incident, everything else went smoothly, even though the rain never let up. You shut down the excavator like normal, then started to climb out.
As you stepped onto the track, your boot slipped. Gravity took over, and there was no fighting it. As you fell, your arm caught on the edge of the track, leaving a gash along your forearm. It wasn’t deep, but it was enough to draw some blood.
“As if I didn’t have enough eyes on me already,” you huffed to yourself, slowly getting up and brushing your pants off.
You looked at your arm, wiping the dirt off to reveal your soon-to-be storyteller scar.
Walking into camp, a couple of the guys noticed the small line of blood that ran down your arm. One of them nudged Parker, who had been staring at the First Pick cut across from the office. He stopped mid-sentence with Chris, and his eyes shot to you and then slowly to your arm.
He jogged over, taking your hand in his and pulling your arm up for him to see. His hand was warm—soft, but rough with calluses. He examined it for a minute, turning it each way slightly.
“Why didn’t you radio?” He asked simply.
You huffed, “because I wasn’t dying.”
He gave you a look that showed he was a little upset.
“You still got hurt. Someone needs to know about it.”
“Would you say you don’t know about it while examining it?”
He sighed. “I do, now. But you should’ve said something right away.”
“10-4, boss,” you said, pulling your hand away from his, the warmth leaving with it.
“At least let me or Chris help clean it up since it’s in an awkward spot,” he said softly, almost pleading.
“Fine.” You mumbled.
He walked over to the back of his truck, flipping his tailgate down and searching for the first aid kit. You followed him, setting the hard hat down. Using your good arm, you hopped up onto the tailgate, your feet dangling off the edge.
Parker came back with the kit, which looked like it had been stuffed under the seat for eons.
You watched as he took out antibacterial wipes, opened them, and used one on your skin. Even though he was slow and gentle, he couldn’t help the fact that it stung once at the actual cut. You winced and made a fist at the sting, which caused the cut to bleed a little more.
“Hey, relax,” he whispered to you, placing his hand on your fist. By this time, everyone was in the mess hall for dinner, leaving you and Parker alone outside.
“Well, sorry, doc, but those wipes sting,” you sighed, trying to keep it lighthearted.
He nodded, putting a pain relief salve-type gel on it, then wrapping it up with bandages. Parker pressed down on the bandages to secure them, his hand lingering for a couple of seconds too long.
You cleared your throat, “Thanks.”
“No problem.”
You hopped down and grabbed your hat, starting to walk to the mess hall.
The ride back to the camp was quiet and slower than how he had arrived. No radio. No talking. Just the noise of the engine and tires on gravel. Even though you were curious about his sudden kindness, you accepted the ride. It was over a mile to camp.
Before you had a chance to break the silence, he finally spoke. “What got you into mining?”
You sighed.
“Honestly? It isn’t the money or even gold, really. I wanted to be part of building something, and not just an operation, but a team. Granted, your operation is now millions of dollars, and everyone runs smoothly as is. Hopefully you get what I mean.”
He stayed quiet and nodded.
“Yeah, I get what you mean,” he said, glancing over at you.
You smiled slightly and chuckled.
“Getting to work outside, making decent money, and moving yards of dirt are just bonuses.”
“Sounds about right,” he said with a grin.
When you pulled into camp, you could feel all eyes on you. You had just gotten a ride from the boss on your first day. You slid out and shot Parker a soft “thanks” and headed towards your truck.
As if on cue, Rick appeared beside you. You leaned into the back seat of your truck and grabbed your backpack, which held your clothes and belongings.
“So?” Rick said, holding out the ‘o’ in a teasing manner.
“So what, Rick?” You asked, turning to face him.
“First day and you got a personal escort from Parker,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows like a teenager.
You raised one eyebrow.
“I didn’t see you out there picking me up to save me the mile-long walk,” you replied flatly.
He opened his mouth, shut it, and then said, “Fair.”
Brushing past him and heading toward the bunkhouses, you caught Parker looking at you with an inquisitive look.
“Take a picture, boss,” you called out to him, “It’ll last longer.”
He went wide-eyed and then into the mess hall behind him. You shook your head and walked down to the door labeled 15. You pushed it open to see a small twin bed, a TV tray for a nightstand, one tiny window, and a basic dresser shoved against the opposing wall.
“Home, sweet home,” you sighed, tossing your bag on the bed and taking your hard hat off.
You shook your hair out, dirt falling into a small pile underneath you. Your phone buzzed in your pocket.
Mess hall in 15. Get it while it’s hot - the crew can be savages when it comes to dinner.
You replied, Sounds good…..but who is this?
Another buzz.
Boss
You sent back a thumbs-up emoji and added the number to your contacts under ‘Boss.’ Throwing your hard hat back on, you headed out of the bunkhouse and across the road to the mess hall.
Walking in, your nose was hit with the smell of sweat, dirt, garlic, and marinara sauce. You walked up to the line where the team was waiting.
A voice came from beside you. “I’m Chris. You must be (Y/N).”
You turned and saw an older guy, a cigar hanging from his mouth, salt-and-pepper scruff around his face.
“Yes, sir,” you said, taking in probably the oldest crew member.
“Don’t sir me,” he chuckled, “I’ve worked with Parker for what feels like forever.”
You nodded.
“Oh?”
He handed you a plate and looked at you. “He doesn’t give rides like that. Ever.”
You mumbled, taking the plate. “So I’ve heard.”
“I will say, I was pretty impressed with your operating skills,” Chris said, giving his plate to the lady dishing up the food.
“Thanks,” you said softly.
“How long have you been operating?” He asked.
“About fourteen years,” you said while handing your plate off.
“Aren’t you a little young for that much experience?”
“Nope, I’m only 28,” you said, looking over at Chris.
“Really? Could’ve fooled me,” he laughed, “but maybe I need glasses.”
“Should we really be having you take care of the wash plant then?” You laughed.
“Hey now, the Gold Gobbler is extremely safe in my hands, okay?” He said, trying to sound serious while holding back a laugh.
You stopped, looked at him, and raised an eyebrow. “I’m sorry, Gold Gobbler? Didn’t know the sluic box was a turkey.”
That broke his attempt at sounding serious. Laughing, he replied, “It’s because it eats all the gold.”
Shaking your head, you laughed. “Makes a lot more sense than a golden turkey, huh?”
After you both got your plates, you went your separate ways. You went to an empty table in the corner of the room, and Chris went to a table with a couple of other guys at it.
Taking your phone out, you tried to load one of the apps. You didn’t look up as someone sat across from you.
“Good luck trying to load anything on your phone,” the voice, you now knew as Parker, said.
“Even though service is more spotty than a dalmatian, I had no problem getting your text.” You replied, turning your phone screen off.
“Good.”
You both ate in silence, but this silence was worse than before. You could feel eyes watching you. You weren’t one to get uncomfortable, but having over ten pairs of eyes watching made you slightly uneasy.
Even though only half of your plate was gone, you wiped your mouth and scooted your chair back.
“5:30?” You asked quietly.
Parker replied just as quietly.
“Yep.”
“See you then.”
You grabbed your plate and tossed it in the garbage, and headed out the door. Instead of heading to the bunkhouse, you headed down the dirt road that led out to the cuts. You ended up next to the cut the crew called the Honey Hole. You sat in the dirt, leaning back on your hands.
You stared out at the tree-covered horizon, the sky being painted with pink and gold streaks from the sunset. Different thoughts started washing over you.
“Why does everyone have to stare at me like I’m some kind of phenomenon. I’m just another heavy equipment operator,” you groaned.
Buzz.
You glanced at your phone and read the name, Boss. You sighed and opened the message.
Is that you out by Honey Hole?
You typed back, Nope.
Another buzz.
Liar.
He drove up and parked behind you, hopping out of the truck and walking up next to you. You stayed looking forward at the slowly sinking sun that was disappearing behind the blanket of trees.
His voice broke your thoughts. “You sit out by a gold cut and stare often?”
“For your information, yes. Nature is quite calming. You should try it, Mr. Jaw Clencher.” You snapped back.
“I can just go…” He said softly.
You caught yourself, “I’m sorry for snapping. I’m just another operator. I don’t understand why everyone has to stare at me.”
He sat down next to you, arms resting on his knees. He stayed quiet for a bit, as if he was thinking of what not to say to his newest hire.
“Probably because it was your first day and you outperformed some of our veteran team, it made them intimidated,” he said, staring at the sunset. “And honestly, hiring you was the best decision I’ve made this season.”
Then there was silence. You were left speechless, not because of how he just complimented you, but because you couldn’t tell if he was telling the truth or not.
Your boots hit the dirt, sending dust into the air. It wasn’t your first time on a mine site, but it was your first season on this claim. Standing next to your truck, you looked out at the sight before you. The main wash plant roared as it shook, excavators scooping pay dirt into rock trucks crawling across the claim like ants. Watching your new crewmates move around the operation so smoothly made you wonder where you would fit in.
As you stood there with your arms crossed and your boots planted in the dirt, you heard gravel crunch behind you. A moment later, someone stopped beside you. You didn’t bother to look; you knew who it was. It was the youngest gold miner in all of Alaska and the Yukon.
Parker Schnabel.
You had heard about him while working on other claims, as he made quite a name for himself in the gold mining business. Did it help that the Schnabel name was already firmly established in the industry? Absolutely, but Parker didn’t take that to his advantage. He built the million-dollar operation with guidance from his Grandpa John and the help of his loyal crew.
Finally breaking the silence, you chuckled. “This definitely isn’t the Big Nugget mine.”
He huffed. “No, it isn’t.”
There was a brief pause, then he spoke again.
“How do you know about that place?” He asked with curiosity in his tone.
“Well, almost everyone in a thousand-mile radius knows about that site. It was aired on national television, and it’s quite the tourist attraction,” you replied, adjusting your sunglasses.
He hummed back at you. “I suppose it is kind of everywhere.”
“Hard to avoid it when it’s the start of your family legacy,” you added.
Parker just stood silently next to you, hands shoved in his pockets. Out of the corner of your eye, you took in the man standing next to you.
Dark brunette hair peeked out from beneath his mud-splattered hard hat. His neon safety vest and shirt were coated in dust. His jeans looked like he had gone into the claim and rolled around in the freshly exposed dirt, and his steel-toed boots had been worn to show the steel toe cap through the leather.
You glanced back up to his face. Sharp jawline, jaw clenched slightly, dimples etched into his cheeks without even smiling. Other than the scruff around his mouth, he looked clean-shaven — though the dust and sweat said otherwise. In the sunlight, you could see sweat mixed with dust, giving Parker a tan complexion. He had soft brown eyes that reminded you of a puppy, but when the sun hit them, you saw something different.
“You always keep your jaw clenched?” You asked, opening the door of your truck to get your hard hat and safety vest.
“I do not.” He denied, as you visibly saw him try to unclench his jaw.
“Sure thing, boss,” you went on, “You don’t always have to be ready for something to break out here.”
“You say that now,” he muttered, kicking a rock off the road. “Feels like every day something breaks.”
“Or trust your crew can handle the breakdown, and it isn’t all on your shoulders.”
Parker looked at you with a questioning look.
“Just sayin’,” you shrugged. “A man who carries it alone will continue to carry it alone when it sends him to an early grave.”
Before he could respond, a voice called out from behind you. “(Y/N)!”
You turned around to see Parker’s foreman, Rick, jogging up to you. He was more tan than Parker, and as he got closer, you noticed he was sweatier.
“I’ve been excited about you being on the crew since boss man hired you,” he exhaled, struggling to catch his breath.
“Glad to be here, Rick,” you grinned, extending your hand for him to shake.
He took it happily and gave it a strong shake. “We’ll have you out in the north cut, we call it Hell’s Kitchen.”
“Uh, why?” You asked flatly.
“Because it gives everyone hell,” Parker butted in, “tough ground to work with, but when we’ve hit gold streaks, it has paid really well. And I mean really well.”
You hummed in response.
“Let’s get you a radio, and I’ll drive you out there,” Rick said, motioning for you to follow him.
You grabbed your water from the truck and shut the door. You looked back at Parker, who was already watching you.
“You always stare at newbies?” You mused, adjusting your hard hat.
“Nope, just ones that make me curious,” he said, not moving his gaze away from you.
“Sounds good, boss,” you called as you walked to the office building where Rick was waiting.
“Looks like you’re acquainted with Parker,” Rick chuckled, handing you a radio off the charging stand.
You laughed, “What’s there to get acquainted with? He’s just the boss.”
Rick snorted, “Fair, but at the end of the day, we’re like a family. We’re stuck with each other for over half the year. We look out for each other, eat our meals together, take care of each other in a way.”
You followed Rick to the side-by-side, getting in the passenger seat. “I get it, I’m just not an ass-kisser.”
“I’m not either,” he laughed, “Especially Parker’s.”
You laughed, settling into the seat as Rick whipped the ATV around the claim. He eventually stopped near a deeper cut where an excavator was sitting idle.
“There’s your rig, (Y/N),” Rick said, gesturing toward the massive machine, which looked tiny in the even larger cut.
“Ain’t she just a beaut,” you commented, sliding out of the seat and taking a few steps towards the edge of the berm.
Rick hummed in response, starting to walk down the ramp that led into the fresh dirt. Following him, you started examining the ground that you soon would be tearing into.
“Looks like your pay streak will head to the east more,” you stated.
“How do you know that?” Rick asked, shock in his tone.
“Just look at the color changing,” you pointed to a long strip in the ground, “It goes from that sandy color to an almost black dirt.”
“Okay… Well, damn,” he huffed, putting his hands on his hips. “Guess it’s a good thing you’re down here.”
You shook your head, setting your water on the track of the excavator. You started to walk around the machine, then popped open the engine bay. You took your pen flashlight from your back pocket and glanced around the engine and all its hoses.
“You really checking the hoses for leaks?” Rick asked.
“You’re damn right, I don’t know how long it's been sitting or how hard the previous operator worked it.”
You shut the cover and climbed up the excavator, knocking your boots on the edge of the cab, causing all the compacted dirt to fall off. You sat down and adjusted the seat slightly. Once you made sure all the controls were in neutral, you turned the key, the machine roaring to life. You checked the machine had a full tank, then set your radio in the extra cupholder beside your water.
Rick called up to you, “Seems like you’ve made yourself at home.”
“Isn’t this going to be my home for the next six months?”
He laughed, watching you run through normal hydraulic warm-up procedures such as moving the boom up and down, curling and uncurling the bucket, and swinging the house left and right.
“Feels like she’s ready to move some dirt,” you called out to him.
He smiled and gestured toward his radio, “Perfect. Now call out to the rock trucks to head to Hell’s Kitchen.”
“10-4 rubber ducky,” you said, then grabbed your radio and adjusted the volume slightly.
“Rock truck drivers, do you copy?” Your voice went over the radio.
Thirty seconds later, “copy. What’s up?”
“We’re ready over in Hell’s Kitchen for you.”
“Copy that. Be there in five.” The voice said, the radio crackling behind it.
“You’re all set,” Rick shouted from the ramp. “Don’t hesitate to radio if you need anything!”
You waved him off and got comfortable in the tough seat, taking your hard hat off and placing it on the small hook beside you. Taking the joysticks in your hands, you moved the machine effortlessly to start making a crater in the dirt below you.
Quickly, you got into a rhythm with the few rock trucks that were making rounds to Hell’s Kitchen. Even though you didn’t care, you could feel a pair of eyes watching you from the ridge. Parker.
Seconds turned into minutes, minutes into hours. Soon enough, the shift was over. You sent the last rock truck on its way and lowered the boom to rest. You wiped your forehead on the back of your hand and let the machine take a couple of minutes to cool down.
“(Y/N), you coming in?” Rick’s voice crackled beside you.
You sighed, replying. “Yep, just letting the beast cool down for a minute.”
“10-4.”
“Not sure why they all have to hover just because I’m new here. Not like I’ve never run equipment before,” you mumbled to yourself while grabbing your hard hat and water.
After turning the engine off for the day, you climbed down and jumped off the track. Your boots landed in the damp dirt. Starting your way up the ramp, you heard the soft roar of an ATV. You looked up and saw the cloud of dust headed right for you, covering your eyes with your arm from the sudden shower of sand. The side-by-side halted to a stop in front of you. When you lowered your arm, you expected to see Rick, but were shocked to see Parker sitting in the driver's seat.
