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

Chapter 2

Chapter Two

DALTON

S he’s pregnant.

From the moment she went so pale and subtly shifted her hand over her stomach, I knew it without even asking. Her confirmation made my heart break even more at the situation Camille Bower has found herself in.

Alone on this homestead with a four-year-old and another one coming…

And what I’ve observed over the last several hours as I’ve worked to get rid of the remains of her cow has only made my apprehension for her grow.

She isn’t ready for the coming winter—not by a long shot.

This property where Great-Uncle Tim once lived is in disarray.

The stunningly beautiful woman with a thankfully steady trigger finger has obviously attempted to keep things going since her husband’s death. But it would be impossible for almost anyone to handle a property this large by themselves—not to mention with a child that age clinging to her twenty-four-seven.

Just moving the livestock feed alone must be a tremendous physical effort for her. Yet, she has somehow managed to keep their handful of animals alive and thriving, from what I’ve seen.

That will change once the temperatures plummet and the snow hits.

It won’t be possible.

That nagging voice won’t stop reminding me how truly perilous her position is or that I’m likely the only person who knows anything about it.

The strong set of her shoulders, the hard press of her perfectly pink lips, and the high tilt of her chin when I offered to assist were enough to make it crystal clear that Camille doesn’t easily admit weakness or need for a helping hand from anyone.

It seemed almost physically painful for her to even allow me to get this cleaned up for her—something she knows is necessary to keep away not only the predators but also any number of diseases the carcass would have brought.

That kind of stubbornness is necessary to survive out here.

It could also mean disaster.

Like this could have.

I toss another shovelful of dirt onto the grave I dug with the small backhoe once I got the engine running again with some new spark plugs. The machine made this job easier, but in order to ensure nothing tries to dig up the carcass, I have to ensure it’s well camouflaged and the lime and cayenne I spread over the body covers the entire area.

The sun dips below the tree line, and the temperature begins to drop.

A welcome reprieve from the hot rays that have been beating down on me all afternoon while I’ve worked—probably too hard. My back screams each time I use the shovel.

Too much bending. Too much lifting. Too much…everything today after already spending the entire morning chopping wood.

And now that night is falling, Pops is probably wondering where I am…

If he even remembers I left.

That incessant pain in my stomach returns, and acid climbs my throat. It has nothing to do with the fact that I skipped lunch and dinner to come here to hack up the carcass with the axe I found in the shed.

What if I hadn’t?

Camille wouldn’t have asked for help.

That tenacious woman would have tried to do this very sweaty, bloody, messy, disgusting job herself—with Davey underfoot.

Anyone who comes up here, who chooses to live the way we do, usually wants to be left alone to live their lives as they please, without interference from society or the unwanted complications that come with it. But Camille is a single mother now, on the side of a mountain, with us as her only real neighbors…and she didn’t even come to us for help when her husband died.

Shit…

Or maybe she did and Pops forgot to tell me, then promptly forgot about it himself…

Which would explain part of the welcome she gave me.

If she asked and feels like we abandoned her, she has every reason to mistrust Pops and me.

I need to talk to her again. To find out more about her situation so I can lend any assistance possible—any I can convince her to take . Because she and that little boy won’t make it through winter like this.

There isn’t enough feed.

Their garden is a weed-infested mess with almost nothing edible growing in it.

The greenhouse is half-collapsed.

And I would wager a guess that her freezers are empty, too.

Even if she has the skills, Camille can’t hunt when she has a child to care for. Which means she’s likely felt as hopeless the last few months as I have, watching Pops decline day by day.

And I’ve been away from him too long as it is today.

The sun continues to drop behind the trees as I finish leveling the clearing, hopefully fully concealing the burial spot.

I swipe the back of my hand over the sweat trickling down my temples and forehead as the last vestiges of daylight disappear, leaving the orangey-pink sky above the trees the only illumination.

There’s only one thing left to do—head back to the cabin and have a very uncomfortable conversation with her before I try to go home in the darkness.

Light from a single bulb attached to the side of the barn leads me through the heavy trees until I finally step out next to the livestock pens—the woefully inadequate ones.

She’s been patching them, doing her best to keep the animals contained, but the roaming chickens are as much a draw for a predator like a bear or a coyote as that cow was.

I grind my teeth together, trying to fight back the anger rising that this woman has been here alone all this time.

Is she so stubborn that she couldn’t ask for help, or has Pops’ memory issue finally put someone’s life in jeopardy?

Neither is good.

No one can survive up here like this without people to rely on and trust, without neighbors who will come to your aid, something I’m seeing more and more as I look around her property, even in the darkness.

I return the shovel to its place and make my way up to the house, the porch lit by another single bulb. The smell of whatever she’s cooking reaches me, making my stomach rumble.

But I can’t even think about eating until I speak with Camille and figure out… something.

The tears that formed in her beautiful blue eyes when she spoke earlier were enough to cement my resolve that I’m not leaving here without at least a glimmer of a plan of how to save this for her.

I step up and knock on the door.

Muffled words she must be speaking to Davey reach me before it opens hesitantly. She cracks it and peeks out, keeping the door closed as much as she can.

Still doesn’t trust me.

Got it.

It’s not a bad thing, really.

I’m almost proud of the way she held that shotgun on me earlier and the wariness she still has in her sharp gaze now.

I offer her what I hope is a reassuring smile to try to assuage some of her unease. “I’m all finished.”

Some of the tension releases from her dark brow. “Thank you.”

I try to glance behind her into the house to ensure Davey isn’t close enough to hear anything, but she blocks my view protectively.

Can’t say I blame her.

I’m a stranger to her—nothing more than a man she met once through a car window years ago.

Why should she trust me when I know she’s alone up here? When there are people in this world who would take advantage of that in a heartbeat?

I hold up my hands before she reaches for that shotgun again. “There are some things we need to talk about, things I don’t think you’re going to want your son to hear.”

Her jaw tightens, and her beautiful Caribbean gaze narrows on me. “If you’re all right with it, can you step out so we can have a conversation?”

She glances back, her fingers tightening on the wood jamb. “He’s occupied with his blocks right now, but we can’t leave the porch.”

I give her a tight nod. “Of course, I understand.”

The door opens enough for her to slip out, her hand immediately falling to her barely visible expanding belly, though in other clothing, it may be more noticeable. The heavy sweater she now wears seems an odd choice for as warm as it still is, but maybe it’s intentional, protecting what lies underneath.

“I don’t think you’re going to have any other trouble, but I suggest you keep that shotgun of yours loaded and ready in case anything comes looking for that cow…or one of the chickens.”

She bobs her head gently.

“And though I appreciate your desire not to scare your son, if there is something here, you need to fire. You need to scare it away from the property. The longer they’re here and think they have free rein, the more dangerous it is because they’ll just keep coming back.”

Her gaze hardens again, but there’s a determination in it that wasn’t there only a moment ago.

This woman will do anything to protect her son.

Even fire that gun if she has to.

I run a hand back through my sweaty hair and release a heavy sigh. The last thing I want to do is ask this, but I have to know—for her sake and my own. “I need to ask you something that might be uncomfortable.”

She glances away, her eyes darting across the darkening property, as if she can somehow avoid whatever I’m about to ask by simply not looking at me.

“When your husband died, did you talk to my grandfather?”

Her gaze snaps back to me, her brows rising. “What?”

Apparently, not what she was expecting…

“Did you radio my grandfather when your husband died? Did he come up here and speak with you after?”

She wraps her arms around herself and shakes her head, sending a chunk of dark hair falling against her cheek. “No, I radioed the sheriff. He took care of everything with—” She swallows thickly, her eyes glazing over with unshed tears that make my throat tighten. “You know.”

I give her a nod. “So, he hasn’t been up here at all?”

“No.”

Shit.

“Has he been collecting the rent?”

Pink crawls up her neck and across her pale cheeks as she averts her gaze again, chewing on her bottom lip. “I haven’t seen your grandfather since well before Dave died.”

Fucking hell.

* * *

CAMILLE

Dalton runs a hand over the light stubble on his jaw, his emerald gaze holding mine with an intensity that makes me squirm. “I want to apologize again for not being up here earlier, for not checking on you. My grandfather has been a little…”—he trails off, his jaw tightening—“forgetful lately. He never mentioned to me that your husband died, and I didn’t know that he hadn’t been up here himself to check on you.”

The pure emotion in his voice tells me he’s being candid, and it carries a waver when he talks about his grandfather, but something about his final words rankles me.

They stir that part of me that has always striven to survive on my own, to do everything I can not to be reliant on anyone else. Even after seven years with Dave, I fought when he tried to help me with things I might have struggled with. He always called it my “stubborn streak” and joked it would get me in trouble one day.

Maybe that’s now.

I pull my shoulders back and stand straighter, like that might somehow change my small stature or the fact that I am limited in what I can do in my condition with Davey running around underfoot all the time. “I don’t need anyone to check on me.”

My words come out with more of a bite than I intend them, but I have to hand it to the young man in front of me—he barely reacts to the incredulousness in my tone.

If anything, he looks sympathetic to my plight and resistance.

“I understand your reluctance, Camille. You don’t know me.” His lips press into a tight smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “And I’m going to tell you something you’re probably not going to want to hear.”

My shoulders tense as I brace for what I know is coming—for what I’ve known for the past two months as I’ve struggled relentlessly to keep things going here.

The animals alive and healthy.

The garden growing during the only months I have any hope of actually harvesting what could get us through the winter.

The memory of Dave alive for his son who is so young I’m afraid he won’t remember him…

Dalton scans the darkness around us, as if he’s picturing it how it appeared in the daylight when he arrived. “I didn’t have a lot of time to examine the homestead, but from what I did see, I can tell you’re in trouble.”

I grit my teeth, trying to breathe through my nose. “We’re fine. Davey and I are fine .”

Tears sting my eyes as I say the words I know aren’t true.

But I want them to be so badly.

I want to be able to care for him on my own, to give him the life up here Dave and I always planned for him. I want him to see me being strong, resilient, not caving under the weight of what’s been thrust upon my shoulders.

Yet none of that seems possible, and that realization slams into me full force as I stare at the handsome young man who came to my rescue today, even when I didn’t want it.

He offers me a kind smile, one that seems entirely genuine and softens his eyes. “I know you’re doing the best you can. I can’t imagine what you must have to do every day to keep him occupied and safe and also try to manage everything you need to here.” He spreads his hands wide. “This would be a lot for anyone, but for a single mother…”—his eyes drift down to my stomach, and I immediately drop my hand there protectively—“who is expecting another one… There’s no way you can do this on your own.”

Firey indignation ignites deep in my veins, but he holds up a hand before I can argue.

“And that isn’t meant as an insult to your capabilities. Obviously, you’re more than capable. It’s just a statement of fact. I’ve lived on this mountain my entire life, and it’s hard enough for me to maintain our property, even with my grandfather still helping where he can. You can’t do it alone.”

His words cut to the very core of the agonizing despair that keeps me up every night.

I didn’t want to hear anyone else say it.

It was one of the reasons I never asked for help—not just because I was too proud, but because it might mean leaving here.

This place that Dave loved so much.

That I do.

The only home Davey has ever known, above the town where his father is buried.

And I can’t bear the thought of that.

Every time I consider the possibility of leaving James Mountain, I can’t bring myself to reach for that radio or to tell anyone in town what’s happening when we drive down for supplies or my doctor’s appointments.

That we don’t have money for anymore…

Dalton watches me for a few moments as I try to gather my wits and some sort of response, but I can’t come up with any way to answer the truth he’s laid out very blatantly at my feet.

I just stare at the determined young man who showed up out of the blue to save my ass and who is now calling me out on the one thing I wish I didn’t have to admit.

“You need help, Mrs. Bower, and I know how hard it is to admit that for people like us, believe me. I’m going to come back tomorrow, and I’m going to walk the property with you and examine everything. Figure out what needs to be done and where you stand. Winter will be here faster than you think, and it could be a very hard one if you’re not prepared…”

He trails off, and my throat constricts.

If I’m not prepared, I’m not just putting myself at risk but Davey and this baby, too.

It’s the awful truth I’ve known since the moment I found Dave and realized our perfect little life here was over.

A fresh wave of anguish engulfs me.

Just as hot and raw as that fateful day.

Tears flood my eyes, blurring Dalton’s face.

He waits for me to respond in some way, but all I manage is a little nod as I swipe at the drops before they can fall.

Dalton smiles—a true, genuine offering from a stranger, who I have a feeling won’t be one for very long. “Again, I am sorry I wasn’t here sooner. Radio us if anything comes up tonight, but I’ll be here at first light. Keep your gun close.”

I nod and suck in a long, slow breath to try to contain my sob as Dalton stalks over toward the barn, unties and mounts his horse, and takes off through the dark woods.

It doesn’t take long before he completely disappears, swallowed up whole by the night and the trees, leaving me alone here with Davey and my own guilt and twisted emotions I can’t seem to get a grip on…

Dave was never one to accept charity, and the thought of doing so makes a part of me want to rebel. But as soon as I slip back into the house, my gaze lands on the reason I have to put that aside.

I have to.

Davey sits on the floor with his blocks piled up around him, happily stacking them almost as tall as he is. Whatever he’s building topples, and he bursts into tears, looking up at me with so much distress that it renews my own.

“It’s okay, buddy. We can rebuild it.”

But as soon as I say the words, I have to swallow back my own sob because I can’t ever rebuild what I had here with Dave.

He’s gone.

So is the dream we once had of our life here together.

Free from all the bullshit life below the mountain contains.

All the anguish and turmoil.

The way the entire world seems to be burning.

Now, it’s my world that seems to have been set aflame.

All of our plans gone in an instant.

The look on his face when I found him flashes through my head, and I bite down to stop another strangled sound from slipping through my lips.

He didn’t stand a chance, and there was no way I could have saved him, no matter how much I wanted to. I accepted that truth the very day he died, but it doesn’t make it any easier.

Two months later, I still wonder what would have happened if I had been out in the barn with him that morning…

I pull Davey onto my lap and hold him tightly, both of us allowing our tears to fall. His for his block creation; mine for his father and the lives we could have had.

“Is Daddy coming home soon?”

His question slices at my chest with the force of a driving axe.

He hasn’t been asking as often as he used to, but I don’t know if I should be happy about that or not.

I don’t want him to forget his father, but a part of me feels like if he understands he’s not coming back, it’ll be easier on him in the long run. “No baby, Daddy’s not coming back. Remember, Daddy went to Heaven?”

Blue eyes lift to me, with tears streaming down his puffy little cheeks. “Is that where Winny went?”

This time, my smile is genuine as I stare down at him and brush the hair back from his forehead. “Yes, that’s where she went.”

His tiny brow furrows. “Dalton helped her?”

It’s such a simple question based on what he pieced together from the very little portions of our interaction he was privy to today.

He’s so observant for his age.

In many ways, being raised on the mountain has made him grow up faster than he would have down in the city. And he knows enough to understand what Dalton did without even seeing it.

“Yes, Dalton helped her, and he’s going to help us, too.”

As much as I may want to fight it, we need it, or he’s right; we won’t survive the winter.