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

Chapter 3

Chapter Three

DALTON

B y the time I finally make it back home, get Apollo settled, and step back into the cabin, night has fully descended, and my body aches everywhere . Not that it isn’t used to hard, manual labor every day, but what I had to do for Camille is something entirely different. If we lost an animal here, I would have had access to better equipment, and Pops would have assisted me with disposal, making the task far easier to accomplish in far less time.

Doing that alone isn’t anything I ever want to repeat.

My back screams its displeasure with how I spent my afternoon and evening, and I rub at it and gently close the door behind me as quietly as possible so I don’t wake Pops in case he turned in early.

I need to get his advice on how to handle the situation at Camille’s, but given how I’m feeling at the moment, all I want to do is shower with scalding-hot water and then get horizontal.

“Dalton?” His gruff voice cuts through the quiet, still air of the cabin. “That you?”

Shit.

Guess the old man is still awake.

I bend down to untie my boots, wincing at the sharp bite of agony that travels through the lower half of my body with the movement.

Fuck.

It’s been a while since it’s been this bad, and I know I’ll pay for it tomorrow. No amount of sleep will ease what can’t be fixed, and I doubt I’ll be getting much anyway, with the jumble of problems rattling around so violently in my head.

How the hell am I going to help Camille when I can’t even help Pops?

It feels like an impossible feat at the moment. Especially when the simple act of kicking off my boots is enough to make me grit my teeth against a wave of pain that threatens to double me over. I have to take a minute and grip the door handle before I regain enough control over myself to push off it and slowly make my way back to Pops’ office.

He sits at his desk, the papers now more organized than they were the last time I was in here, and he glances up at me with his glasses perched low on his nose. “Where were you this late?”

Hell.

Pops doesn’t even recall the conversation we had earlier today.

Any flicker of hope I had that he was having a good night disappears instantly.

“Remember, I told you I was going to check on Camille Bower?”

His weathered forehead crinkles for a moment, his eyes glazing slightly before he nods. “Oh, right, right. How is she?”

“Not great, Pops.”

He raises a single white brow. “Really?”

“Really.” I cautiously lower myself into one of the chairs that faces the desk, trying to gauge how much he remembers while concealing my discomfort—something he is far too adept at noticing. The mostly cleaned-up papers suggest he had at least a moment of semi-clarity, but that doesn’t mean it lasted. “Do you remember why I went up there, Pops?”

He scowls at me as he glances down at a document in his hand. “Of course, I do. The vultures.”

I let out a long, slow breath, releasing my death grip on the arms of the chair and leaning forward slightly to take some pressure off my back.

At least he remembers that …

Maybe he will actually be able to help me formulate a plan of attack for the Bower property before I head over there in the morning.

“One of her cows died after calving.”

“Oh.” He peers up at me over the rim of his glasses. “Calf survive?”

I nodded. “Yes, but…”

Pops sets down the paper, actually focusing on me with the clearest eyes I’ve seen on him in weeks. “But what?”

Shit.

Having this conversation with him a few months ago would’ve been easy. He would’ve known exactly what to do. He would’ve jumped on it and put together a detailed, well-structured plan to bring her homestead back from the brink, and he would have ensured we could accomplish it in the short amount of time we have before winter hits the mountain.

But now?

Nothing is certain when it comes to Pops, except that everything is uncertain.

Which means treading lightly.

“You know her husband died…”

He nods slowly. “Of course.”

So casual.

Pops has no idea he’s forgetting things or that the consequences of it could be catastrophic—not just for us but for everyone on the mountain and in James Creek.

The town relies on all the businesses we own that Pops runs from his throne up here. Without him pulling the strings and controlling the supply of goods and services we provide, it won’t be able to keep running. Just like Camille couldn’t keep up what she was doing forever alone, Pops can’t continue like this for much longer.

“She’s been alone at the homestead since then with their four-year-old…and she’s pregnant.”

His brows fly up, and I continue because there isn’t any point in beating around the bush when he probably won’t even remember this conversation tomorrow.

“No one’s been to check on her.”

“What?” His forehead furrows again, and his gaze drops to the desk as if he’s trying to recall something and might be able to find it by staring at the papers stacked on it or in the swirling wood grain. “I could have sworn I was just up there to collect the rent a few weeks ago.”

That familiar agony hits my chest at seeing his confusion.

“No, Pops. You haven’t been up there. I don’t think you’ve seen her at all since her husband died.” I shift forward, resting my elbows on my knees, and the pull at my tense back with the change of position makes me wince. “Pops?”

His eyes meet mine, annoyance sharpening them. “What?”

“I need to see the books. I need to make sure everything has been taken care of.”

He glowers, and I can almost see the steam starting to build behind his green eyes as they darken. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Antagonizing him won’t get me anywhere.

Not when he’s like this.

He’s ornery when he’s at his best, and he certainly isn’t that right now. But I also can’t keep walking on eggshells around him. If something doesn’t change fast , the James legacy built over two and a half centuries on this land will vanish before we have a chance to move to save it.

“Pops, you know how important it is that we keep everything running smoothly. What’s going on at the general store, the feed shop, the coffee shop, the bakery…”

I don’t bother listing the rest of the businesses we own in James Creek, which amount to about ninety percent of the town. The Bower’s rent is literally a drop in the bucket that isn’t going to make or break us, financially speaking. But if he forgot about Camille, that means he may have forgotten about something else he’s supposed to be doing.

That stubborn jaw of his locks. “You know I handle all that, Dalton.”

I rest my hands flat on the desk as I shift closer to him, trying to keep my voice level. “I know, Pops, and you’ve been very good at it. But it’s time I learned the business, don’t you think, should anything happen to you?”

He snorts with the confidence only age can bring. “I’m going to live forever, kiddo.”

A smile tugs at my lips despite the tension still pulling at my muscles and nerves. “I wish that were true, Pops, but you forgot to get the Bower rent. Have all the bills been getting paid for the various businesses? Have the deposits been made properly at the bank by all the managers? Pops, please. I need to see the books.”

He pushes up from his chair, glaring at me, and despite his age, his large, broad shoulders and heavy frame still show that he’s spent every day of his life working this property on this mountain. This is the type of man no one wants to cross, yet that’s exactly what I’m doing.

“You sure have some balls on you, kiddo. After everything I’ve done for you…”

Recoiling at his comment, I suck in a sharp breath. “Pops, please. This isn’t about ambition. I don’t care about the money. I don’t want everything the family has built to be lost, and I’m terrified we will lose it.”

I’m terrified I’m going to lose him.

He presses his palms flat against the desk and leans across it toward me, and I know that look in his eye. It’s the same one he would give me when I wouldn’t finish my chores on the property as a child.

Not anger.

More concern.

That hurts more than if he were pissed.

His shoulders sag slightly. “You don’t trust me.”

Shit.

“It isn’t that, Pops.”

“Oh, really? Then what is it?”

“You’re seventy-five years old, and maybe you will live forever, but what if you don’t? What happened to Dave Bower could happen to you tomorrow.” I spread my hands across the desk and the various stacks of papers. “How am I supposed to make sense of any of this when you won’t even let me see any of it, when you don’t let me know what needs to happen every day to keep everything running? How?”

His jaw tenses, and a muscle there tics.

I want to believe that his reluctance has nothing to do with his not believing I can do it and everything to do with whatever has been messing with his memory lately. That it isn’t because he doesn’t trust me or thinks I’m incapable.

“I’ll teach you when you can prove to me that you’re not a child any longer.”

I clench my jaw and rise to my feet, matching his height now. “I’m twenty-three years old, Pops. I’m not a child, and I’ve lived every moment of my life on this mountain, proving that.”

“Not every moment.”

I wince at his comment, squeezing my eyes closed, and that ache in my back intensifies, the scars flaring and burning as hot as the memory. It isn’t like him to bring it up. I certainly don’t need the reminder of the car accident that took Mom and Dad from me or the fact that I was the reason we were off the mountain the day it happened.

It’s something Pops would never use as a weapon against me.

Not if he were in his right mind.

Which only proves to me that he isn’t.

I open my eyes and meet his—ones that match my own and look so much like Mom’s. For some reason, that’s one thing I can always remember when other memories of her and Dad have faded over the last two decades. Maybe because I see them when I look in the mirror or at Pops. Or maybe because I chose one thing to cling to and never let go.

“This conversation is over, Dalton.” He points toward the door. “Get out of my office.”

Hell.

This certainly didn’t go as planned.

I had intended to address the issue at Camille’s homestead.

Even if I could walk away from a woman and child in peril—which I couldn’t under any circumstances—considering we own that land, that cabin, and all the other buildings on that property, it’s in our best interest to ensure it remains in good condition.

He should be as worried about it as I am, but I wasn’t even given the chance to delve into what I saw today because it went off the rails so damn fast.

I reluctantly back away from the desk and step out of his space because I won’t get anywhere with him tonight.

Maybe in the light of a new day, I can make some progress—both on getting him to admit there is a problem and opening up to me about the business and ways to help Camille.

God willing.

I’m too wound up to head upstairs to my room, though. I tug open the front door and stalk out across the porch and down the few steps that lead to the gravel drive in front of the cabin.

There’s only one place I can go right now to try to find some clarity in the chaos—the barn and Apollo.

He’s been with me for almost fifteen years, become my priest and my confidant. Though his advice leaves something to be desired, he’s a damn good listener and maybe the only one I’m going to have soon.

Because despite Pops’ insistence, he is not going to live forever. And the way he’s been deteriorating, I fear that day is coming sooner rather than later.

There’s nothing I can do to stop what’s coming, but I have to try.

For him and the Bowers.

* * *

CAMILLE

Tires crunching over gravel cut through the almost silent, still morning air, and I look up from bottle-feeding Rocky in the livestock pen as a red truck pulls through the trees and onto the property.

My first instinct is to dive for the shotgun leaning against the side of the barn only a few feet from me, but Dalton opens the driver’s side and steps down, his already familiar form visible in the early light that’s just barely starting to trickle over the horizon.

He glances up at the cabin, then over at the barn, and his eyes finally find mine.

Just like yesterday, the deep-green gaze rakes over me, assessing me in a way that makes me squirm slightly.

I’m not used to having anyone look at me so intently. Like he’s trying to unravel everything I have wound up inside me and break through all the walls I’ve had to put up to protect us while up here alone.

The longer it lingers on me, the harder it becomes not to react, not to avert my gaze or shift restlessly.

I don’t think he intends it to be sexual, but the close perusal finally forces me to look away, back at the tiny calf whose birth caused this man to come barreling into our lives so unexpectedly.

And I am not ready to have him inserting himself into our world.

I am so not ready for him.

But it’s impossible to ignore his presence, either.

I cast furtive glances his way as I keep working. He starts toward me in a pair of worn jeans, work boots, and an open plaid shirt with the sleeves cut off that shows off his lean, muscular body, honed by years of endless work on their homestead.

This man is strong.

And he knows what he’s doing.

Accepting his help may not be instinctual, but it’s necessary if I want to be able to stay here.

He stops at the edge of the fence and leans against it. “Where’s Davey?”

I incline my head toward the cabin. “Still sleeping.”

A sandy-blond brow rises. “Aren’t you worried he’ll wake up and you won’t be there?”

Rocky nudges me, asking for more when his breakfast runs dry. “Yes, but I don’t have much of a choice, do I?” I point to the back pocket of my jeans with my free hand. “Baby monitor. It covers almost the entire property so I can listen for him while he’s sleeping in the early mornings or evenings or napping during the day. It’s the only time I really can get anything done around here.”

The corners of his lips twitch, and he seems more relaxed today, despite what I know we need to discuss. “That’s smart.” He scans the yard, his gaze landing on Rocky, who still presses against my hand, seeking more. “Is this Rocky?”

I nod. “Yes.”

“He seems to be doing well.”

“He is, so far.”

Dalton watches me as I move to stand in front of him on the opposite side of the fence. “That’s part of what I wanted to talk to you about.”

My back stiffens at his carefully chosen words.

His eyes roam over me, like he’s memorizing every feature, taking stock, and I glance away, tucking a stray strand of hair that fell out of my ponytail behind my ear. “I know I mentioned it last night, that I would help you around the property…”

I bite my tongue to stop the objection that I know won’t get me anywhere.

Dalton locks his gaze with mine. “…but I need something in return.”

Unease settles low in my stomach, churning it more than the damn hormones did when I first woke this morning and spent twenty minutes with my head in the toilet, dry heaving.

Maybe I was wrong about him and his intentions…

I narrow my eyes on him. “And what’s that?”

He releases a long, heavy sigh. “This has to stay between us.”

This doesn’t sound good.

A million different possibilities immediately flicker through my mind, and I don’t want any of them to be true because I actually think I like and trust Dalton James and don’t want to have to repaint the picture of who he is in my head that has formed since yesterday afternoon.

“Okay…”

One of his hands moves through his hair in a rough, frustrated shove. “My grandfather isn’t well. He’s been…”—he shakes his head, glancing off into the distance—“not himself for the last several months.”

My medical training immediately kicks in, the potential causes for an older man to be unwell coming in a never-ending list. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know.” His gaze meets mine again, this time filled with panic I haven’t seen from him before—even when he knew there might be a bear wandering around the property while he was breaking apart what would amount to a very nice meal for it. “I’m hoping you can tell me that. You’re a nurse, right?”

“How did you know that?”

“The sheriff told me.”

“Oh…” The fact that he’s been discussing me with Sheriff Wilson causes me to shift nervously under yet another intense assessment. “I am , but it’s been years since I’ve been part of any medical practice.”

He drums his fingers along the top of the fence. “What sort of nursing did you do?”

“Before I moved up here, I was an ER nurse.”

A sigh filled with audible relief floats through his lips. “My grandfather has been forgetting things. His memory is worsening. And he won’t go into town. He hasn’t for years, not since—” He cuts himself off, his jaw tensing. “It’s been a long time. So, he won’t go see a doctor or let me call Doc up to the cabin, and anytime I try to bring up that I think something’s wrong, he gets defensive.”

“Has he been violent?”

He shakes his head, and I chew on my lip, wracking my brain for anything that might cause memory issues. If he had mentioned violent outbursts, my first thought would be Alzheimer’s or dementia. I can’t rule them out even without them, but there are dozens of conditions that can cause memory issues in someone his age—including just normal aging.

“Does he have any other symptoms?”

Dalton crosses his arms over his muscular chest, making his biceps bulge, though he seems completely unaware as he stares off into space, seemingly contemplating the question. “A little unsteady on his feet at times. But some days, he almost seems normal.” He lets out a heavy breath, and it carries the weight of his concern for the man he’s obviously close to. “I don’t want to think the worst, but…”

I tighten my hands around the top rung of the fence, waiting for him to figure out whatever he needs to say.

His eyes finally meet mine again, and the despair they hold is so easily recognizable that it makes my own rise to the surface again. “I want you to meet him, spend some time with him, try to see if you can figure out what’s wrong.”

“Without any medical testing?”

He nods.

“Shit, Dalton, that’s—”

“I understand it isn’t ideal, but I don’t know what else to do. If anyone finds out, it could be catastrophic for us, for the businesses, and all of James Creek. If he gets worse. If he can’t keep up with the demands of everything he runs, it’s going to be catastrophic, and not just for us.”

I see the pain in his eyes, the worry.

He loves his grandfather—that much is certain.

“So, you want me to try to diagnose him and treat him if I can?”

He nods. “And in exchange, I’ll help you get your property ready for winter, ensure that you and Davey will be safe, as much as I can.”

It seems like a fair deal, but making a bargain like this with a billionaire who owns the property I live on feels like it has some unspoken expectation that I’m not seeing. Some conditions that will pop up out of nowhere to blindside me the same way Dave’s death did.

“And that’s it?” I search his face. “Nothing else will be expected of me?”

His eyes widen slightly. “No, I just need to make sure he’s okay, and I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t know that you and your son were, too. Even if you don’t want to do this, I’ll still help you…”

My chest warms with his promise and the realization that this offer of a bargain is as much for me as it is for him. Because he could see I was reluctant to accept his help. This offer allows me to help him in return, and that was likely his intent—to allow me to feel useful and like I’m not taking charity.

He understood exactly what I needed to feel more comfortable with this situation, and the fact that it might help his grandfather is secondary. It’s an act of desperation on his part to try to help someone he loves when he saw the opportunity to do so, not because he actually expects it or needs something in return to do the right thing.

Dalton James is exactly who I thought he was when I lay awake last night, going over his arrival and his insistence that he’d be back to help.

All that makes my answer so much easier. “Okay.”

He offers me a relieved smile that’s still far too tight. “Let’s walk the property and figure out what needs to be done. Then tomorrow morning, you and Davey can come to meet Pops.”

“Is that what you call him?”

His head bobs gently, sending his sandy-blond hair flopping over his forehead. “He raised me after my parents died, so he was like a father to me.”

Tears sting my eyes at the thought that Davey is going to grow up without his father, but I blink them away as I unlatch the gate to allow Dalton to enter the animal pens.

“That’s very sweet of him. How old is he now?”

Dalton sighs as he examines what’s laid out in front of him. “Seventy-five.” He glances over at me with a half-smirk as Rocky approaches him and nudges his hand. “And I’m twenty-three, in case you were wondering.”

I laugh lightly, the sound so foreign to me after so long without it. “I wasn’t.”

The corners of his lips curl up slightly as he pets Davey’s new best friend. “Sure, you weren’t. I know how young I look, but I’ve been working this land for decades. And I remember meeting you, sort of, when you moved up here.”

I lead him into the barn with our spotted friend following closely behind until I manage to corral him into his stall. “I was almost eight months pregnant already when we finally rented from your grandfather.”

“Did you give birth up here?”

The concern in his tone makes warmth bloom in my chest in a way I haven’t felt in so long. I never realized what being alone up here with Davey had done to me. How not having friends or anyone to talk to for weeks at a time unless I went to town would affect me mentally. And having someone actually care feels far better than it probably should. “Yes.”

He glances down at my stomach, still barely visible under Dave’s shirt I wore to work in today. “Is that your plan with this one?”

Instinctively, I place my hands across it. “I haven’t gotten that far yet. Too many other things to worry about.”

A look of pure compassion crosses his face, softening his features. “Well, hopefully, we can take care of some of those things so you can concentrate on what’s important.”

Any lingering reservations I’ve held onto about trusting this man, about putting my life in his hands, evaporate with his words.

The sincerity lacing them.

It’s the same I heard when he was talking about his grandfather.

Dalton feels and loves deeply, and he isn’t doing this because of some ulterior motives. He’s doing it because he cares . Even when he doesn’t know us. Even when he should be preparing his homestead for winter instead of spending time here trying to resurrect ours.

He stalks through the rest of the barn, examining each stall and all the animal pens on either side. “Where do you get your feed?”

“The general store.”

“Good.” He examines the current woefully inadequate stock for the two cows, one horse, three goats, and half a dozen chickens I currently have. “We own that, so it won’t be a problem for me to get enough sent up here to last you through the winter.”

“I can’t—” I swallow thickly, embarrassment heating my cheeks. “I can’t pay for that.”

His soft eyes meet mine, a knowing in them that makes my tears burn anew. “I understand that, Camille. I’m not worried about the money. I’m worried about you and Davey and your animals making it through winter.”

That’s thousands of dollars of feed he’s offering me, in addition to his physical help, and he says it like it’s nothing. Like he doesn’t even have to think about it.

He walks past me before I can say anything, making his way across the exterior pens and out the gate toward the greenhouse that has seen better days. The door hangs cockeyed off broken hinges, and half the roof panels lay in pieces where there should be additional food we could be canning and storing beyond what the garden could produce if I had time for it.

“When was the last time you had anything growing in here?”

“March. When that big storm came through, it destroyed it. Dave was going to fix it up in time for me to plant a winter crop, but…”

I can’t bring myself to say it, and thankfully, Dalton doesn’t turn back and look at me—almost like he knows what he’ll find and wants to give me a moment to compose myself.

He stares up at the damage and tugs open the door the rest of the way to peer inside. “I can get this fixed up in a few days once I get the supplies ordered and delivered.”

My chest tightens, and I step around him and into the door frame, effectively blocking him from entering. “You can’t spend that much time or money on this. You have your own property to take care of…and your grandfather.”

Dalton steps forward and places his hand on my forearm, squeezing it gently. Warmth spreads from where his calloused fingers brush against my sensitive skin, rushing up my arm. “We’ll be fine.” A steeliness fills his emerald gaze. It’s more than determination. It’s a sheer force of will I haven’t seen before—from anyone. “And I don’t care what it takes; I’m going to ensure that you will be, too.”