Billionaire Lumberjack’s Bargain (Lumberjacks in Love #5)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

DALTON

V ultures circling only mean one thing.

Death has come to the mountain.

Given the number of them filling the sky, gliding in effortless loops high above the forest, whatever died is big . Likely something that drew in an apex predator, and now, the scavengers are just waiting for it to abandon the carrion before they drop in for the scraps.

Dragging my gaze from them, I swing my axe again, slamming it into the log and sending the pieces flying off either side of the stump I use when chopping firewood.

Sweat trickles down my bare back, chest, and temples, and I swipe at it with my forearm to keep it from my eyes as I return to watching the ominous birds.

Everything dies.

It’s part of life no one can run from or escape.

Especially here on the mountain.

Seeing the large, dark birds waiting to swoop in usually doesn’t bother me. Nothing more than a necessary cycle. One every animal plays a role in—humans included.

But something about their placement to the northwest of the homestead, just slightly down the mountain from us, makes unease crawl up my spine.

That’s the Bower property…

Great-Uncle Tim’s old place.

And the Bowers have a young child up there who can’t be more than four, given how pregnant the wife was when they first rented from us.

By now, they could have more little ones.

Additional targets for any number of predators that lurk in the woods, waiting for something small and helpless to be unprotected.

A shudder rolls through me that I attempt to ignore.

It’s probably nothing…

Gritting my jaw, I return to splitting wood, trying to focus on the task at hand. Doing my best to ignore both the slight ache in my back and that nagging feeling in the recesses of my mind that something might be wrong.

If it were, they would get word to us or someone in town. They would ask for help, and like always, the people of James Creek would offer any they could.

That knowledge settles my nerves long enough for me to break down half a cord of firewood to add to what’s already in the shed in preparation for the coming winter.

This beautiful, unusually hot summer won’t last long.

Soon enough, Mother Nature will flip the switch, and the icy-cold winds and snow will blanket the Adirondacks.

Anyone not ready for it will be in a very bad place—where I refuse to ever find myself. Even if it means working through the height of this heat and humidity, breaking down the firewood and getting it stored—and suffering for it later when it comes to my back.

By the time the sun reaches its peak in the sky and I step out of the shed, the vultures have either descended or given up and moved on. And I need to check in on Pops…

The old man has been left to his own devices for too long today.

God only knows what he’s gotten into back at the cabin.

Throwing my axe over my shoulder, I duck between the shed and the barn, moving across the well-worn path back toward home.

Sunlight filters through the heavy foliage of the surrounding trees, but it won’t be thick and green for long.

They’ll be turning far too soon.

Which means I have a lot more work to do.

Pops isn’t any help the way he is now…

That worry that’s become such a familiar foe gnaws at my gut as I approach the cabin, knowing what I’ll find—the same thing I have over the past few months.

A man I barely recognize some days. So unlike the one who raised me most of my life and has built a reputation for being an unbendable, unbreakable force of nature. Ruling over James Creek and all our various businesses alone for decades from up here on the mountain.

Always sharp.

Alert.

Completely on top of things.

Running everything like clockwork.

But lately, the lapses in his memory have left tasks undone…or done improperly.

And despite my best efforts, I don’t know how to fix all of it.

The old man has made it damn near impossible when he won’t let me help with anything having to do with the business…

I rest my axe on the porch next to the door, push it open, and step into an eerie silence, bracing myself for what I might see. “Pops?”

This time of day, he’s typically bustling around in the kitchen, making lunch, but the only sound is my own heavy footsteps across the hand-hewn wooden floorboards that have seen generations walk on them.

“Pops?”

I check the entire downstairs, including his office where he likes to hole up, but I don’t find any sign of him.

Same with the second-floor bedrooms and bathroom.

My chest tightens as I descend the stairs and head toward the back porch, the only other place he could be, unless he left the house—which would pose a whole other set of problems. He could be anywhere on the mountain by now. “Pops?”

The back door stands slightly ajar, and I release a heavy, relieved breath as I nudge it open and step out to find him sipping a cup of coffee in his Adirondack chair, staring out at the beautiful vista.

His gaze stays locked on the peaks to the north.

“Pops…didn’t you hear me calling for you?”

His head turns toward me slowly, and he raises one bushy white brow. “So, what if I did? Maybe I wanted to be left alone.”

Smartass.

Huffing a laugh, I settle onto the arm of the matching chair next to his and run a hand through my sweat-dampened hair. “How long have you been out here?”

He returns his focus to the mountains. “A while.”

“Did you see the vultures?”

Pops bobs his head and takes a sip. “Yep.”

“Looked like they were near the Bower place.”

“It did”—he glances my way—”but I’m sure the body is gone by now.”

My back stiffens, goosebumps pebbling over my exposed skin.

Pops has been rambling more and has made a lot of statements that don’t make sense over the last couple of months but nothing that has caused my blood to run cold like that just did.

“What do you mean, Pops?”

His brows rise as if he’s surprised I’m not following. “You know…Dave’s body.”

It takes a moment for me to process the name of our nearest—and only —neighbor on the actual mountain.

“Dave Bower is dead?”

He presses his lips together in a firm line, shaking his head before he releases an exasperated sigh. “Of course, he’s dead, Dalton. Has been a few months now.”

A few months?

Not so long ago, I could trust anything that came out of this man’s mouth. He was sharp as a tack, always on top of everything. But now, I watch him staring out at the trees as if he’s searching for something he lost.

God knows what that might be—besides his memory.

This could all be nothing more than the ramblings of an old, confused man. I’d love to leave it at that without delving deeper, but something really big might be happening that I’ve been completely in the dark about. Questioning him further won’t get me anywhere.

I reach out and squeeze his arm. “I’m going to make lunch. Are you hungry?”

He nods. “I could eat.”

At least he still has his appetite, but whatever’s causing the cognitive decline only seems to be getting worse. And he won’t go into town to see Doc—despite my repeated insistence he needs to—nor will he let me radio him to come up here to try to figure out what’s happening in his head.

Pops has always been a proud man; that pride might be what kills him.

I keep hoping things will get better, that whatever is going on with him will somehow correct itself. Because the thought of any other possibility makes bile crawl up my throat.

But I can only hope for so long.

At some point, I’m going to have to physically force him into the truck if I want any chance of getting him examined.

I swallow back my concern rather than push into another argument with him and move back into the house, directly to Pops’ office.

He would lose his shit if he knew I was in here without him, making this call on the radio, but I won’t be able to return to my work today without knowing what the hell he meant by that statement about Dave Bower.

Sliding into Pops’ chair, I reach for the CB radio on the corner of his desk and listen to the familiar creak of the cracked leather as I sit back.

The room looks different from this side—bigger—but I don’t take any time to dwell on it, not when the longer I’m gone, the more likely it becomes that Pops comes looking for me.

I adjust to the channel for the sheriff’s office and press the button on the radio handset. “Sheriff Wilson, this is Dalton James.”

It takes a few seconds before I get any response. “Dalton, it’s Betty. He’s just coming in from a call. I’ll grab him for you.”

“Thanks.”

I drum my fingers on the old wooden desk Great-Uncle Tim built before I was even born, waiting for the only person who might have any idea what Pops was talking about.

“Dalton?” Sheriff Wilson’s familiar voice floats through the speakers. “Everything all right?”

As a James Creek native, Travis Wilson knows neither Pops nor I would radio unless there were an issue.

“I’m not entirely sure. Pops said something odd today.” And in the most casual way… “He mentioned that Dave Bower may have died.”

A brief silence looms before Sheriff Wilson responds. “You didn’t know?”

“Shit.” I wince and pinch the bridge of my nose with my free hand. “No…”

“I assumed your grandfather would have told you.”

“It must have slipped his mind.”

Just like everything else seems to lately.

There is no way he wouldn’t have told me something like that immediately…if he remembered it. By the time he did , he probably assumed he already had.

“How long ago did it happen?”

“Um, going on maybe two months.”

Fucking hell.

It’s been that long, and Mrs. Bower and their child have been up there alone…

The apprehension I felt earlier at seeing the vultures rushes back even harder now. Not a wave. A goddamn tsunami of anxiety I haven’t ever felt. A strange sense that something is very wrong.

“What happened?”

“Horse kicked him, apparently in the head. Died almost instantly, from what Camille told me.”

Camille…

The wife.

A hazy memory of a dark-haired woman waving at me from behind a wall of falling rain and the slightly fogged truck window flashes through my head.

“She found him…” Sheriff Wilson sucks in a long breath, and knowing the man as well as I do, I can tell that whatever he saw when he went up there that day still burdens him. “She’s a nurse. Said there was nothing she could do when she found him.”

I might have only been four when Mom and Dad died, but I still remember that utter sense of helplessness and loss when they were suddenly gone. And once I was old enough to understand what really happened, another feeling settled into my chest and never left.

Guilt.

“I’m surprised your grandfather didn’t tell you. I came up and spoke with him about it right after it happened. Asked him to check on her to see if she needed anything every once in a while—”

Shit.

My throat tightens. “Like I said, it must have just slipped his mind. I’m sure he’s been dealing with it.” Lie. “Just didn’t let me know.”

“Why didn’t you ask him?”

Because everything is falling apart up here, and no one can know about it.

Ignoring his question, I try to shift the focus of the conversation away from Pops and his declining health. “I saw some vultures circling around their property earlier today.”

“Well, damn.” Concern makes his voice waver slightly. “I hope Camille’s all right.”

“They have a little one, right?”

“Yes. A son. I don’t remember how old. You never met him?”

“No.”

I run my hand through my hair and release a heavy sigh as I drop my head against the chairback. “You know how Pops is. He always takes care of collecting the rent and dealing with any business issues himself. I haven’t seen the Bowers since they took over Uncle Tim’s property, and I only met Dave once, when they first arrived and stopped by to talk about the homestead with Pops. Camille didn’t even leave the truck to meet us formally because it was pouring rain and she was pregnant.”

“I see…”

Though he tries to mask it, the uneasiness in his voice brought on by this conversation cuts through the radio feed.

Maybe it’s for Camille and her son—or Pops.

Either way, I have to deal with it.

There isn’t anyone else who can…

“I’ll go up there and check on them.”

Sheriff Wilson releases a little grunt of confirmation. “Let me know if I’m needed up there.”

“Will do.”

I return the handset to the cradle and stare at Pops’ desk.

The normally immaculate, polished surface is cluttered with various papers in apparently no order, instead of properly filed away like they always have been within the drawers Pops always keeps locked.

That’s changed, too.

A physical manifestation of whatever’s happening in his head.

What’s going on with you, Pops?

Besides chaos…

I release a heavy sigh and climb to my feet, pushing the chair back under the desk where it was. He may remember how he left it, and he can’t know I was in here without him. Or he might not remember at all…

Which would be worse?

An ache blooms in my chest, and I rub at it as I step back into the living room, listening for any signs of him inside, but he hasn’t moved from his spot on the porch.

I quickly throw together a sandwich for him and bring it out, setting it on the small table between the two chairs. “Here you go, Pops. I’m going to head over to the Bower property. Make sure everything’s okay.”

He raises his gaze to meet mine. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

“The vultures…”

His brow furrows. “Oh, right.” He nods slowly. “Good thinking.”

“I’ll be back, but it might not be before dinner.”

Pops pats me on the arm. “Be careful, kid.”

The same words he has said to me every day somehow hit differently today.

He’s always worrying about me as if I’m still that little boy, and he seems completely oblivious to the fact that he should be worried about himself.

“I always am, Pops.”

I squeeze his shoulder before I step down off the back porch and head out toward the barn. Apollo neighs from inside his stall when he sees me coming, his head bobbing in his excitement because I haven’t been by since before the sun came up.

“Hey, buddy.” I rub his neck, and he leans into my touch, eager for what he can already anticipate is coming. “Let’s go for a ride.”

He prances as I lead him out to saddle up for the ride to the Bower property.

It would be easier to take the truck and drive but far faster to take the direct route through the woods on horseback, which also allows me the opportunity to watch for any signs of what might have drawn the vultures in earlier today.

I mount and tug gently on the reins, directing him to head across the mountain in a northwesterly direction.

The closer I get to Uncle Tim’s old place, the more a familiar scent lingers in the air underneath that of the smoke from the cabin the Bowers now live in.

Death.

I’d know it anywhere.

It comes for everyone and everything on the mountain.

I ease up on the reins as we reach the edge of the forest. “Whoa.”

Apollo steps out from the protection of the tree-covered path and onto the property cautiously, as if he, too, can sense something is off.

Movement to my left immediately draws my head in that direction, and a little dark-haired boy pops out from around a tree, blue eyes wide, staring up at me in awe…

Maybe fear.

Or a combination of both.

“Hey, buddy.” I slide off Apollo, keeping the reins in my hand as I examine the kid for any signs that he might be in trouble or alone out here. “Where’s your mom?”

The answering sound of a shotgun being racked comes from behind me.

I freeze, turning my head slowly to glance over my shoulder without making any sudden moves.

Dark amber hair whips around her face in the afternoon breeze, the sunlight glinting off it, making the natural red tint shimmer. She stares me down with brilliant Caribbean-blue eyes filled with suspicion, the sight of the gun pointed directly at my back with an unwavering aim. “Right here .”

* * *

CAMILLE

My heart thunders against my rib cage, every muscle in my body tenses with my gaze zeroed in on the stranger standing so close to Davey, but I somehow still manage to keep the shotgun leveled squarely on the threat.

With his back to me and head turned slightly, all I can see is his profile, a single green eye assessing me where I stand, only a hundred yards from him.

At this distance, I wouldn’t miss if I pulled the trigger.

I risk glancing down at Davey a few feet to his left. “Come over here.”

His focus darts between the man and me, as if he’s debating his options. This is the first stranger he’s seen on the property since Dave died, and he’s bound to be curious. But the longer he stands there, the more queasy I become and the harder it is to hold this gun in position.

Inclining my head away from the trees, I encourage him back toward me and the safety of the cabin. “Come on.”

Davey only hesitates a moment before he rushes over and wraps his arm around my left leg, tucking his head behind my thigh shyly.

The man raises his hands, transferring the reins of his horse from one fist to the other as he turns to face me. A cut-off shirt hangs from muscular arms, unbuttoned in the front, exposing a chiseled chest and abs clearly honed by manual labor. From under thick sandy-blond hair, his soft evergreen eyes that match the trees surrounding us don’t seem threatening, nor does his body language, but that doesn’t mean anything.

Especially not up here.

Innocuous things can be deadly—something Dave taught me very early on when it came to off-grid homesteading on James Mountain.

The intruder watches me carefully, dipping his head slightly to put us more on the same level—a move likely designed to encourage me to let down my guard. “I’m Dalton James. My grandfather owns this property. We met once, sort of, when you and your husband first rented from us. You didn’t get out of the truck…”

That rainy day almost five years ago comes back in bits and pieces.

A young man standing beside Edison James as he handed the keys over to Dave…

There isn’t any reason to believe it isn’t him, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to lower this gun. Just because I know who he is doesn’t mean he isn’t a threat.

“What are you doing here?”

His gaze lifts to the clear summer sky. “I saw vultures circling the property earlier. I was concerned, especially when I found out about your husband.”

My stomach twists violently, threatening to make me heave right out here in front of this man. Tears burn my eyes, but I can’t wipe them away as they finally fall without lowering my only weapon.

“I’m sorry…I didn’t know”—he glances down at Davey and seems to consider his words—”about what happened until today, or I would’ve come sooner to check on you, make sure you didn’t need anything.”

He sounds sincere, but if I learned one thing living up here, it’s that letting down my guard can get me killed. Just like it did Dave.

“We’re fine.” I motion toward the path that leads through the forest to the James homestead. “You can go.”

His gaze narrows on me, hands still raised. “I smelled it as soon as I got near the property. What died?”

Hell.

He is far too observant.

I swallow thickly, trying to ignore the very smell he’s referring to that has done nothing to ease my nausea this morning. Breathing through my mouth, I manage to form a reply around the acidic taste on my tongue. “One of the cows. She gave birth this morning but didn’t make it.”

Dalton winces slightly. “I’m sorry. The calf?”

Davey squeezes my leg, peeking his head from around my thigh. “Rocky!”

I glance down at him, then back at Dalton. “Yes. Rocky. He’s in the barn. Seems to be doing fine. We bottle fed him…”

“Where is she ?”

Her body.

That’s what he’s asking without saying the words in front of Davey.

I incline my head toward the right to the fenced enclosure near the barn, where she collapsed shortly after giving birth.

He follows my gaze. “Inside or out?”

It isn’t hard to see where he’s going with this line of questioning.

“Out.”

A muscle in his jaw tics, and he tightens his grip on the reins in his raised hand. “Has it drawn in any predators yet?”

My arms start to ache, and I adjust my stance, ensuring the gun stays squarely on him.

Besides you?

The words sit on the tip of my tongue. Because I know what people are capable of. I’ve seen it firsthand. It’s the entire reason we moved up here in the first place. But the flash of black moving in the trees I saw early this morning, just after dawn, draws a vise tight around my ribs. “I think I saw a bear earlier, but I can’t be sure… It didn’t come onto the property, just along the edge.”

Dalton winces. “The longer it stays here, the more danger you’re going to be drawing right to you.”

Like I don’t know that already.

Biting back my annoyance, I consider my options.

There aren’t many.

I’m in a shitty position, something I knew the moment Winny died.

Dalton raises a dark-blond brow at me. “Can I put my hands down?”

I nod, but I don’t lower the gun.

Not yet…

Dalton lets his hands fall, relaxing at his sides, reins still clutched in white knuckles. “I imagine it’s hard to get much done up here alone with this little guy.” He motions toward Davey. “What’s his name?”

I feel Davey pop his head out from behind my leg. “Davey!”

His sweet little voice carries across the space between us, and the ease with which he so readily gave Dalton the information instantly tightens my shoulders.

I peer down at him. “Shh. Don’t talk to strangers.”

He glances up at me. “Sorry, Mama.”

“Davey…”

Hearing his name from Dalton sends a little shiver through me. It’s soft, kind, and I haven’t heard anyone else say his name like that since Dave died.

“Have you been helping your mom?”

Davey nods vigorously, shifting around to my side slightly.

Dalton grins at him, the curl of his lips showing off, making him seem even more relaxed and approachable before his gaze returns to me. “I can help you take care of it. You can’t leave it sitting out there.”

“I’ve got it handled.”

His brows rise slowly. “I can see you’re quite capable of taking care of yourself, but I imagine she probably weighs at least 1,000 pounds, and you need to get her buried quickly. Do you have a backhoe?”

It’s like this man can see straight through me. Spot every weakness and mistake I’ve made since Dave died. All the ways I’ve failed laid bare the same way I feel under Dalton’s assessing gaze.

“I do, but it stopped firing up last week. I don’t know what’s wrong with it.”

His lips press into a firm line. “So, you were going to dig by hand?”

It isn’t said with any malice, but a tinge of disbelief taints his deep voice. With a hint of something else thrown in there. Almost like he’s impressed that I thought I could .

“Everything happened so quickly this morning, helping with the birth, then knowing she wasn’t going to make it, and having to focus on the calf. I haven’t had much time to figure anything out.”

But he’s right.

The longer the decaying body sits out in the middle of the livestock enclosure, the more of a danger it becomes. Once predators know there’s something for them on our property, they’ll keep coming back, even when the carcass is long gone.

Dalton’s gaze softens. “I know you don’t have any reason to, but you need to trust me, Camille.”

I flinch at the use of my name, the ease with which he uses it. Like we’re friends even though we’ve just met—and I’m still holding a gun on him.

“You can’t do it on your own.” His eyes drift down to Davey clinging to my leg. “Especially with this little man here being so inquisitive.”

Shit. Shit. Shit.

I press my lips together, biting back the desire to tell him I’m fine, that I can handle it…that natural instinct to want to take care of things myself and not let anyone in.

Because I can’t .

I’m only going to be risking Davey and myself if I don’t accept his help.

We’re completely exposed here. Alone on the homestead with nothing but this shotgun to defend us against any type of predators that might wander onto our land.

If I can’t trust Dalton James, who can I trust ?

No one.

There isn’t anyone else to trust up here.

My heart clenches, all the struggles of the last few months weighing so heavily on me now that I can’t hold the gun up any longer and slowly lower the barrel to the packed dirt beneath my feet.

Dalton offers me a half-smile that makes him look even younger than he must be—maybe mid-twenties. “I’m going to go tie up the horse, then we’ll figure it out. Okay?”

I give him a little nod, but I can’t manage to respond otherwise without letting a sob slip out.

This entire day has been a clusterfuck of epic proportions.

And now I have to put this in the hands of this man I just met and trust that he’s going to solve a problem that has been threatening to crush me all morning.

He moves over to the fence post and ties his horse to it, leaning in to whisper something to him and pat his neck gently a few times.

The animal nudges him affectionately.

A good sign.

If the horse likes him, he can’t be all bad…

Dalton advances toward me slowly—cautiously closing the distance that existed between us only moments ago.

My back immediately stiffens, one hand tightening around the gun and the other on Davey’s head, where he still clings to me.

The younger James stops a few feet in front of me, and this close, I can see the tiny little flecks of gold in his green eyes. He smiles, and this time, it reaches them fully as he squats. “Hi, Davey. I’m Dalton.”

He holds out his palm, and Davey glances up at me for permission. I nod, and he reaches forward and gives Dalton a high five with a giggle that helps relieve a little of my concern.

“It’s nice to meet you.” Dalton grins up at me in a way most women would melt over. “You, too, formally. Though I wish it were under better circumstances.”

Some of the tension in my shoulders relaxes slightly. “Same.”

When we moved up here, everyone told us the James family controlled everything, owned most of the town named after them and all the mountain range visible in the area, but they also said that Dalton’s grandfather was a kind man, one who could be trusted.

In my limited contacts with him since we arrived, that’s proven true.

I just hope his grandson is cut from the same cloth.

He pushes to his feet and glances back toward the paddock. “How long has she been out?”

“Hours. Maybe six.”

His jaw tightens. “Then I need to move quickly.”

“What are you going to do?”

He surveys the area around the small clearing the cabin and barn sit in. “Hey, Davey, I see some buttercups over there. Why don’t you go pick some for your mom and me? I bet they’d look really pretty in the house.”

Davey smiles and looks up at me.

I nod. “Go ahead.”

He rushes toward them, happy to have a reason to dig in the dirt.

Dalton steps closer to me, cautiously checking Davey’s progress to ensure he’s not in earshot. “I’m going to have to break down the body.” He looks toward the barn. “It’s been sitting out too long to save any of the meat that might have been usable, and she’s likely too big to carry her whole, even with the backhoe.”

I squeeze my eyes closed as my stomach roils violently.

No matter how often it happens, the taste in the back of my throat threatens to overwhelm me.

Breathe.

Inhaling deeply, I hold the air in my lungs for a few seconds, pressing my hand over my stomach.

One.

Two.

Three.

I release it and open my eyes to meet Dalton’s concerned ones.

His gaze darts down and widens slightly. “Are you—”

“Yes.”

What can only be pity flashes across the green, and his jaw tenses. “Then you probably don’t want to be out here to see this”—his attention darts to Davey—”and he shouldn’t be, either. Tell me where everything is.”

“The barn storage room and behind it, near the woodshed.”

“Do you have someplace I can bury her?”

Oh, God.

There goes my stomach again.

I swallow the bile. “West side of the property. There’s a clearing. It should be easy to get in and out of it with the backhoe.”

If he can’t, he’d have to dig by hand, and that could take days. But we need it as far away from the house as we can get it, as quickly as possible.

“This might take all afternoon, maybe even into the evening.” Now it’s Dalton’s turn to look queasy. “It’ll be messy.”

That’s a massive understatement.

He’s trying to downplay what he’s about to do and make me feel better about this entire situation he’s been brought into.

His gaze softens the longer it takes me to say anything, but I can’t seem to find the words for what he’s doing for us. “I really am sorry about your husband. I didn’t know him since my grandfather was always the one coming up here, but…”

He trails off, seemingly as lost as I am when it comes to finding the right thing to say.

Swallowing through the emotion clogging my throat, I blink away the threatening tears. “Thank you.”

Dalton rubs the back of his neck, making the thickly roped muscles in his arms and chest shift under his open shirt. “You’ve been up here alone since he passed?”

His question claws at my chest, threatening to rip me open, and I start to lose the battle with the telltale burn in my eyes.

He scans the property.

Probably seeing all the ways I’ve failed since Dave died.

The overgrown brush surrounding the clearing the house sits in.

Weeds growing up the haphazardly patched livestock fences.

All the damage the last storm did to the cabin and greenhouse that I haven’t fixed.

The chickens running wild when they should be contained—if I could manage to catch them.

It’s a mess.

But he doesn’t say anything about any of that.

“I’m going to get to work. I would call down to town and have people come help me, but—”

I nod slowly. “But it would take them several hours to get up here, and by then, it’ll be dark.”

His brow softens, making him look even younger than he probably is. “You know you could have always radioed us if you needed something, if you needed help.”

That tightness in my sternum returns, but I don’t bother responding or explaining to him why I didn’t, why I couldn’t.

And thank God, he doesn’t press me.

Because I am this close to completely losing it.

Dalton turns and stalks toward the barn, and I release a heavy breath as Davey returns with a fistful of flowers, holding them up to me.

“Here, Mama.”

I squat and accept them. “Thank you, Bubs. They’re beautiful.”

The bright yellow blurs as my tears finally fall.

“Where’s Dalton?”

His wide eyes search the clearing.

“He’s going to take care of some things for me. You and I are going to play in the house today.” Far away from what Dalton is going to have to do. “Maybe we could bake some cookies or something.”

Davey’s blue eyes that match mine light up, and he darts back toward the cabin.

I push to my feet, my focus drifting toward the retreating back of the young man who just came to my rescue, even though I didn’t ask for it or want it.

You needed it.

That little voice inside my head screams loudly enough to break through that last bit of fight I have left in me, and for the first time in two months, I feel like I can actually take a deep breath.