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.
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 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.
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.”
