Chapter 5
Chapter Five
ONE WEEK LATER
DALTON
T he bell above the door on the building housing the James Creek Medical Clinic and pharmacy jingles, and Ted lifts his head from where it’s buried in a book next to the register and smiles. “Dalton, it’s good to see you.”
“You, too.”
Though it would have been better if he had been out grabbing a cup of coffee or taking an early lunch instead of manning the pharmacy desk right now. Less risk of him overhearing any of the meeting I need to have with Doc.
I let the door close behind me and step in, scanning to ensure no one else is inside, lurking between the aisles of products and OTC medications. “Is Doc available?”
He nods, placing his book face down to save his page. “I’ll grab him for you.”
“Thanks.”
Ted hustles into the clinic area behind the pharmacy, and Dr. Baker appears behind him on his return and motions for me to come back.
Doc doesn’t say anything until I’ve followed him into his private office and closed the door behind me. He reaches into a drawer in his desk and pulls out a large, unmarked paper bag, pushing it across to me. “I assume you’re here for this.”
I nod, eying the innocuous bag that could hold the key to helping Pops. “I am.”
“How is he doing?”
Even though only the two of us are in here, and I know no one will be able to hear us openly discussing Pops, it still makes the back of my neck tingle. “The first initial shot you gave us last week seems to have helped slightly, so that’s good, I guess.”
He motions for me to take a seat. “I know we didn’t have a lot of time to discuss this when you stopped in before, but depending on how severe the deficiency is, it could take months or even a year for him to fully recover, if he does. Some people have lingering effects.”
I nod slowly. “That’s what Camille said.”
The corners of his lips tip slightly. “I’m glad she’s assisting you. I know your grandfather never would’ve come down here, and I really don’t feel like making that trek up the mountain to give him shots once a week until you can back off on the dosing schedule.”
The battle that ensued last week when I returned from my supply run with that first dose where Camille and I had to wrangle Pops and convince him to let her inject him replays in my head like some slapstick comedy movie.
Only Camille’s “nurse voice” and insistence that he comply “if he knew what was good for him” got him to stop fussing long enough for her to give him the shot.
I laugh and rub the back of my neck, relaxing into the chair. “She’s good with him, doesn’t let him boss her around or rattle her. And she tolerates his moods far better than I do.”
Doc chuckles low. “I don’t know her very well, but it certainly is nice to know she’s around, should anything else ever arise.”
Should anything else ever arise.
His words bring that fear that’s been lingering in the back of my head since the moment I met Camille to the forefront again.
“She’s pregnant.”
Doc doesn’t react to my statement, just reclines and props one foot up on his desk.
Shit, maybe I shouldn’t be discussing somebody else’s medical conditions when I’m sitting here worried about Pops’ private information getting out.
“I only tell you this because…” I take a long breath and let it out slowly. “I’m concerned. She’s due at the end of October, and she’s alone at the homestead with Davey.”
He nods slowly. “Well, thankfully, she’s a nurse, so she can monitor herself during the pregnancy and knows what will need to happen when the time comes for delivery.”
“Has she been to see you?”
Rocking in his chair, he shakes his head. “You know I can’t tell you that, Dalton.”
“Shit.” I run a hand over the scruff growing on my cheek. “I know. I’m sorry for even asking.”
It isn’t any of my business what her plans are for the delivery of her baby. She’s an adult. A nurse . And she’s done this before on the mountain. But I can’t turn off this protective instinct that has cropped up since I met the Bowers. This need to ensure both Camille and Davey are safe drives my actions every day I step onto their property and push myself beyond what I should.
I push out of the chair. “I’m just not sure what I can do to help her when the time comes.”
He offers me a knowing grin. “It’ll all work out, I’m sure. She’ll ask for assistance, if she needs it.”
“Yeah…”
Easy for him to say.
He likely hasn’t had a shotgun pointed at him for wanting to help.
I want to believe she’s not planning on delivering the baby at the homestead. If there were any complications, especially that time of year, getting down here to the clinic for any sort of medical intervention would take half the day, if it isn’t impossible altogether with the state the roads end up in during a snowstorm.
A million worst-case scenarios race through my head, but I try to push them away and do what I told myself I would—leave tomorrow’s concerns there. Right now, I need to concentrate on getting Pops well and triaging Camille’s homestead.
I snatch the bag and hold it up. “Thank you.”
“Anytime. You keep me updated on his progress, please. And let me know if I need to come up there. As I said last week, I can draw blood, confirm the diagnosis, and check for anything else unusual—”
I shake my head. “No. He already put up a fight when I told him he needed a shot. I almost had to restrain him to give it to him the other day. Camille only managed to get him to calm down by combining her expert nursing skills with bribing him with a German chocolate cake. If you come up there talking about blood draws…”
He laughs and drops his feet to the floor, standing behind his desk and leaning casually against it as I approach the door. “I’ve treated your grandfather and the rest of your family for almost forty years; I’m well aware of how ornery he can get. I can only imagine how it has been amplified by his current condition. Hopefully, that will be resolved soon.”
I open the door, then turn back to him to remind him how important it is that no one knows about Pops’ condition, but he narrows his eyes on me.
“Dalton, I would never say a word to anyone, even if I could , ethically.”
Damn, is the man a mind reader?
Or is my worry just that obvious?
Neither is a particularly appealing idea, considering what else I’ve been hiding from Pops and Camille.
“What about you, son? How have you been feeling? Have you reconsidered—”
I snap my head up to meet his gaze. “No. I haven’t. I’m fine.”
The tight smile he gives me tells me he doesn’t quite believe that. Given his knowledge of what a mess I am, he shouldn’t. If anyone in James Creek knows the kind of pain I live with day in and day out, it’s Doc Baker.
He’s also smart enough not to push me about it. “Just take care of yourself.”
I incline my head by way of goodbye and close the door behind me. My boots squeak on the linoleum as I make my way up through the pharmacy and past Ted. “See you around.”
He tosses me a wave and quickly returns to his book as I step out onto the sidewalk. The fresh summer mountain air fills my lungs rather than the antiseptic scents inside.
I pause to take in the quiet of Main Street. A few people mill about the sidewalks, making their way from shop to shop, but most of the three hundred people who live around James Creek and call it home are still in theirs.
And I only have a few more stops for supplies before I can head back up the mountain where Camille is waiting.
A warmth spreads through my chest, imagining the way her face lights up now when I pull into their drive or meet her on the porch in the mornings she comes to our place to spend time with Pops after taking care of the animals on her property.
The wariness and fear that soaked her gaze when I met her and she held that shotgun on me with trembling hands seems to have disappeared or at least abated somewhat.
I might not be able to fix all her problems.
I may not have any idea what we’re going to do once winter hits and it’s going to be nearly impossible to move between the homesteads safely.
And God knows I don’t have a fucking clue what we’ll do when she goes into labor and has that baby.
But those are problems for future me.
Current me needs to forget the way my heart has started to do that stupid stuttering thing every time I’m around her and the fact that my cock seems to come to life with just a simple, appreciative look from her.
I’m not doing any of this because of my attraction to Camille Bower. She’s just a friend who needs a hand—and that’s all she can ever be.
If only I can convince my traitorous body of that.
I head back toward the truck to drop off the bag, and the door to a black sedan parked in front of me at the curb opens. A man steps out in a sleek, dark-blue suit that belongs in a boardroom or a courtroom, not up here. He nudges the door closed behind him and steps toward me in shoes that look just as out of place here as he does in James Creek.
Instantly, my hackles rise. I scan him from his glossy, sleeked-back black hair to the practiced smile on his face, but I don’t recognize him.
“Dalton James, correct?”
I bristle slightly, narrowing my gaze on him. “Yes, and you are?”
He holds out a hand. “Crosby Gallo, I represent certain interested parties—”
And I was right to be wary.
“We’re not interested in selling.”
Pops may have done his best to keep me insulated from any of the business dealings, but as I’ve grown older and more aware of just what we actually own, it doesn’t take a huge leap to know why someone would want a piece of the mountain.
I move to take a step away from him, but he places a hand on my shoulder.
My initial reaction is to lash out at him for having the balls to confront me like this, but that won’t do any good. Especially when I have a feeling Pops has been fighting these types of assholes for decades.
As this area of the Adirondacks grows more popular with tourists, the land becomes increasingly valuable. And we have a fuckload of it, just sitting here, undisturbed and as pristine as it was the day my ancestors settled on it.
The city slicker forces another cold smile. “You haven’t even heard my offer, Mr. James.”
“Don’t need to. Not interested. And even if I were, I’m not the one who makes those decisions; my grandfather is.”
He raises dark brows in a sinister way that makes my hand tighten around the bag. “Is he? Your grandfather is aging, Dalton. At what point do you become the one making those decisions?”
I grit my jaw.
It isn’t that he doesn’t have a point.
I just don’t need to be reminded how fragile Pops is. How easily what’s going on with him could be something more serious. How quickly I could find myself in a position I’m not ready to be in—alone and in charge of all this .
He removes his hand from my shoulder, holding both up with his palms out toward me. “Just give me five minutes to say my piece, and then I’ll let you go on your way.”
I scowl at him. “You have thirty seconds, not because I’m actually interested in what you have to say, but because people are starting to watch.”
It’s impossible not to notice someone who stands out so much in James Creek, someone who so clearly doesn’t belong. And the gossip mill will be turning very soon, drawing folks out of the various stores and shops along Main Street, which will make our conversation very public.
“Fair enough. As I said, I represent certain interested parties and would like open discussions about purchasing some of your land.”
I raise a brow at him. “Is that it? That’s your pitch? As I said, we’re not interested.”
“The people I represent are willing to pay obscene amounts of money, Mr. James. I don’t think you quite realize what you sit on.”
He glances up behind me toward the mountain, the range we own nearly all of, as far as the eye can see from here.
“I’m well aware.”
Gallo huffs indignantly. “If you were, your family wouldn’t have squandered it by letting it sit unused all these years.”
“We live there, other people do…”
The man gives a dirty smirk that only makes him look more unsavory. “And you could be making billions, hand over fist, if you sold to us. For doing literally nothing but signing a piece of paper.”
“So what? You can turn it into some resort so rich fucks from New York City can come up here with their friends to ski in the winter and swim in the summer?”
“Something like that.”
“Fuck you.” I turn to full face him, until my chest almost brushes his. “My family has been here for 250 years, and we’re not going anywhere.”
His jaw hardens, and he leans in as several people step out from the bakery to my left and across the street from the bookstore. “We’ll see about that. I came to you in good faith, Mr. James, because getting a hold of your grandfather has proven difficult.”
“Yeah? Or did he just flat out reject you, so you thought I’d be an easier target because I’m young and you thought that would make me greedy and pliant?”
He offers another little smirk that tells me I’m probably right. “If you don’t take the offer, we’ll have to take other action.”
I raise a brow at him and snort. “Good luck with that.”
Before he can utter another word, I stalk to the truck, tug open the door, and climb in, my other errands forgotten.
The supplies can wait.
I need to get back to the cabin.
I need to talk to Pops.
* * *
CAMILLE
Dalton’s heavy footsteps on the porch draw me away from the game of Uno I’m trying to help Davey win against Pops on the kitchen table, and the knock on the door comes far harder and more urgently than I would’ve anticipated, considering we’re expecting him.
Davey glances up with an excited smile. “Dalton?”
“I’m sure it is, Davey.” Though, given the urgency in his arrival, I don’t necessarily want him opening the door in case there’s something wrong. “Why don’t you let me go see while you play with Pops?”
Pops peers up from his hand over the rim of his glass, a smug grin pulling at his lips. “You are just running away because you know I’ve already won this game.”
Davey pouts, his bottom lip quivering as if he’s about to cry.
Rolling my eyes at the old man, I make my way to the door. “Gee. Thanks for that.”
His mouth hangs open slightly, like he’s completely innocent in causing that look on Davey’s face. “What?”
I make it to the door and tug it open, ready to ask where the fire is, just as Dalton raises his hand to knock again. The wild look in his evergreen eyes and the set of his jaw make my spine stiffen instantly and eliminate any joke I might have made about his insistence.
Dalton is usually so laid back. He doesn’t get worked up easily, and his calm, measured approach to everything that has to get done has somehow made it feel less daunting. His presence over the last week and a half has brought an almost peacefulness to what had been chaos such a short time ago.
But this isn’t that Dalton.
“What’s wrong?”
He holds out the bag to me with a quick jerk of his hand. “Nothing you need to worry about. I assume my grandfather’s here with you, since I stopped at our place and he wasn’t there?”
I nod and motion for him to come in, keeping an eye on them at the kitchen table. “Yes. He said he wouldn’t mind coming back with me this afternoon and staying with Davey so I could work on some of the smaller repairs in the barn that I can do myself. I thought that would be helpful…”
His gaze softens slightly, appreciation flashing through it and allowing those golden flecks to shine. “It is.” He leans in, until his woodsy scent—of freshly cut pine and crisp, clean mountain air—reaches me. “And the fact that you trust him with your son means more to me than I can ever express.”
The heat of his body and the scent clinging to him that has become so familiar over the last several days draws me closer, and the true emotion in his words shows me that Dalton James is every bit the man he portrays himself as to the world. Something very rare in this day and age. And that’s all because of Pops.
“Of course, I do, Dalton. He raised you right.” I give him a little half smile, and it manages to make his lips twitch, but the amusement doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?”
He shakes his head. “Really, nothing you need to worry about. Family stuff.”
I raise a brow at him, but before I can press, he motions toward the kitchen, where we can partially see the continuing game.
“How is he today? I only spoke to him briefly before I headed down to town.”
“He seems better than yesterday. It’s only slight improvements. Better recall about things that have happened since we met and little things like that. But I think it means I was right.”
Dalton nods slowly, watching them surreptitiously. “I spoke with Doc, and he confirmed essentially the same thing. He also said he would come up if he needed to.”
I shake my head. “I don’t think that’s necessary. I mean, ideally, we could get Pops down for a battery of tests to be sure. But other than physical therapy to address some of the balance issues and memory therapy to address those lingering problems—which I have been trying to accomplish with him when he cooperates—there’s not much you can do for somebody who has had a B12 deficiency other than let their body recover.”
A long, drawn-out sigh slips from Dalton’s lips, and his hands tighten into fists at his sides. It isn’t anything I haven’t told him before or that Doc hasn’t confirmed during our radio calls with him since I first tried to diagnose Pops.
But the frustration radiates off Dalton.
And I don’t think it has anything to do with his grandfather’s medical situation.
“I need to talk to him.”
“All right.” I throw my thumb over my shoulder in the direction of the small kitchen. “We’re in the middle of a game of Uno.”
His gaze darts to mine, and he offers a half-smirk. “That man is a card shark. Don’t ever play anything involving a deck with him. Even a child’s game. Because he’s also competitive as hell and will not lose to save anyone’s feelings—including Davey’s.”
He glances over my shoulder at Pops and Davey, who seem to be having a heated discussion about a card that was played. Though Davey understands the basic concept of the game, his full knowledge isn’t quite there yet, which means Pops is probably taking advantage of it.
I don’t know if I should be annoyed that he’s beating the snot out of my son in a simple child’s game or happy his memory seems good enough that he can.
“Hey, Pops!”
The cunning old man looks up at Dalton, and his grandson inclines his head toward the front porch.
“We need to talk.”
White brows draw low in annoyance. “Can’t you see I’m in the middle of something?”
“Your game can wait. This can’t.”
His head jerks up fully, catching on to Dalton’s tone. “Davey, I’m going to let your mom take over my hand.” He pushes back from the table, approaching us slowly as Davey continues to stare at the cards like they might change the longer he does. “What’s wrong? Are you two going to jab me full of needles again?”
I smile and plant a kiss on his cheek. “It’s for your own good, old man. Stop complaining about it.”
He grumbles something unintelligible under his breath, and I lift the bag.
“And I have dozens of needles to jab you with now.”
Dalton tips his head toward the porch again. “But that isn’t what we need to talk about, Pops, so follow me.”
Pops steps out into the afternoon heat, and I start to follow them, but Dalton turns in the door frame and shakes his head.
“Family business.”
My shoulders tense at the rejection. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude.”
I shouldn’t have assumed he wanted me involved in whatever they wanted to discuss. Of course, they have things going on beyond this property and the burden I’ve become for them.
A lot of things.
Given the amount of time they’ve been spending with Davey and me, neither of them can be addressing those other things the way they should.
“It’s not that, Camille. You’re not intruding. It’s just…”—he releases a heavy sigh, searching for an explanation—“nothing you need to worry about.”
Despite him repeating those very words to me multiple times, something tells me it is something I need to worry about, or he wouldn’t be hiding it.
If it were about me or about some complication I’ve created, would he really discuss it in front of me?
I know the answer deep in my soul.
Dalton would try to protect me from whatever is happening, the same way he’s bent over backward since the moment he appeared on the homestead to do anything and everything necessary to ensure Davey and I can stay here.
And I can’t force him to tell me.
As much as I may want to know what’s about to be said out there, I am not in any position to demand or even request anything from the man who is already sacrificing so much for us.
“I understand.”
I don’t.
He slips out the door and closes it behind him, and through the window to my right, I see Pops lean against the rail, staring at what is still their property, even if I’ve been living on it and trying to make it my own.
It’s already starting to look better in only the week or so Dalton has been coming up to help me. Not quite back to the way Dave and I had it before that last winter storm surged through and destroyed so many things he never got a chance to fix, things that only got worse after he was taken from me.
Despite my best efforts not to think about him, the memories of turning this place into our dream home bubble to the surface.
I have to fight them back, or I know I’ll end up crying like I do at night when I can’t escape that one particular memory.
“What’s going on, Dalton? You seem rattled.”
Pops’ question comes surprising clear through the window I had cracked to allow in the breeze, dragging me from wandering down that road that always leads to more tears.
Should I stay and listen?
I check on Davey, who has apparently given up on the game they were playing and is now randomly stacking cards and talking to himself. That won’t last long, but maybe long enough to find out what’s going on.
Dalton didn’t want you to hear this…
That should be enough to make me move away, but the need to ensure I’m not causing problems for the James men wins out. My hand tightens on the bag with Pops’ medication, and I inch closer to the window and flatten my back against the wall so they won’t see me if they happen to glance in from the porch.
“Do you know a douchebag suit named Gallo?”
I freeze at the cold tone and harsh words that are so unusual coming from Dalton. He has never struck me as the type to speak ill of anyone , but whoever Gallo is has seemed to have gotten under his skin.
“That fucker’s still barking around?”
Apparently, Pops feels the same way…
Dalton releases a long, audible sigh filled with annoyance. “He cornered me on the street outside the pharmacy.”
Pops lets out a low whistle. “Did he now?”
“He did.”
“What did he want?”
A flash of movement in the widow makes me freeze, and I hold my breath, casting another quick glance at Davey, who still seems unaware of what’s happening. He stacks the cards by color, saying each number as it comes up with a proud smile.
Dalton passes by the window, pacing the length of the porch with his hands laced at the back of his neck. “For me to talk you into selling.”
Selling?
Selling what?
Panic churns my stomach, and I place my free hand over it to keep my breakfast from coming back up. It’s hard enough battling the ongoing morning sickness, but now the stress and uncertainty of whatever is happening out on that porch might force me to dash to the bathroom before I can ever figure out what’s actually going on.
Does he mean selling this property?
It would be logical.
A good business decision.
Selling—or even renting —to someone else would make far more sense than having Dalton put so much work and effort into making it livable for us, especially when I’m offering them absolutely nothing in return. Not even able to pay the rent we agreed to when we moved up here.
They don’t really need me to take care of Pops—Dalton can handle the simple balance and memory exercises I’ve been doing with him.
They don’t need me to cook for them, since they have done it on their own for decades before I came along and seemed to be handling things just fine.
They certainly don’t need my young child constantly underfoot—or this new baby coming.
They don’t need me here for anything.
I’m a liability.
Only making things more difficult in an already difficult place.
Pops snorts and makes a disgusted noise. “That’ll never happen.”
The determination in his voice, the absolute, steadfast stance he’s taking, is enough to allow my stomach to settle finally and me to take a full breath again. But now, I also understand why Dalton didn’t want me to hear any of this.
Someone is trying to get them to sell something.
Which explains why Dalton has been so worried about Pops’ memory, beyond what any normal person would be for someone they love.
Their business doesn’t run without Pops, and if he’s not all there , Dalton would be left in a position of making these decisions and potentially fighting someone who could come at them with something more than an offer.
Dalton sighs, leaning back against the cabin right next to the open window, close enough to have me holding my breath again. “That’s what I told him, but he made it sound like there may be something in the works if we don’t.”
Pops harrumphs. “And what would that be?”
“I’m not entirely sure. But he said they have other ways of getting what they want. I assume he meant eminent domain. But would they really take the mountain so they can build some fucking resort?”
I gasp, then slap my hand over my mouth.
Take the entire mountain?
The more I overhear, the worse the queasiness returns, and I have to fight back the bile crawling up my throat.
Pops lets out a long sigh. “He isn’t the first person to show up with an offer someone thinks I can’t refuse because, if you haven’t noticed, I’m getting older.”
Dalton lets out a barked laugh from right beside the window that has me inching away from it slightly. “You don’t say.”
“They will never get it.”
Pops’ stern response settles over me like a soft, warm blanket.
It’s unwavering.
Just like Dalton’s was when he said he would make sure we were safe and could stay on this homestead.
These men don’t quit.
They don’t back down from a fight or fail on a promise.
“How can you be so sure, Pops?”
“Because our family was the first to settle on this mountain. Our blood is in it. They can’t take that.”
Dalton pushes off the house. “But they can, Pops. They can take whatever they want. Offer us whatever the fuck they determine is fair market value and kick us off the mountain if they get government support.”
“I’d like to see them try.”
The frustrated breath Dalton releases in response echoes my own sentiments. “I appreciate your confidence, Pops. But we can’t stick our heads in the sand about this. And honestly, you keeping me in the dark about all the business stuff doesn’t fucking help, either.”
I wince—for Dalton and Pops.
They’re trying to protect each other, but they’re doing it in ways that only seem to cause tension and frustration that’s finally boiling over.
“What’s that supposed to mean, kid?”
“Pops…” Dalton’s footsteps across the porch slip through the cracked window, and I have to lean toward it to hear as he moves closer to Pops. “You haven’t collected the rent from Camille in months. I have no idea what’s happening in town with any of the businesses. You didn’t even tell me that Camille’s husband died…or that she was up here alone with a four-year-old. I had no idea that they might need help. I had no idea that there was this threat lingering out here, one this big. You can’t keep me in the dark forever. This conversation is the most you’ve told me about the business in my entire life.”
Pops lowers his voice. “I didn’t want to burden you with any of it. Not when I have it handled. And I do have it handled, kid. You need to trust me.”
“Bullshit. You don’t trust me.”
The true pain in his accusation cuts through me as if it’s my own.
I may not have known Dalton very long, but from what he’s shown me of himself since he arrived as our savior, I can understand his hurt and frustration.
He’s young—over a decade younger than me , even—and Pops has controlled the James empire alone for a long time. He isn’t used to sharing information or workload beyond what happens on the homestead. Something that clearly needs to happen if Dalton is ever going to take over for him.
I peek out the window to find both men leaning against the railing with their backs to me.
Pops reaches over and wraps his arm around Dalton’s shoulders. “I trust you more than I trust myself, Dalton. You’ve helped me keep our place running so that I could concentrate on the businesses. You’ve done more work than anyone your age should ever have had to, even as a child, and especially with your limitations.”
Limitations?
The way he wobbled the other day flashes through my head.
I thought he was just tired from all the work he had taken on, but maybe there was more to it than I could see.
“Mama, what are you doing?”
Shit.
I whip my head away from the window and push off the wall as Davey rushes over to me.
My heart thunders against my ribcage as I scoop him up and move away from the front of the house before they can hear us—if they didn’t already figure out that I was eavesdropping when I definitely shouldn’t have been.
It was stupid.
Rude.
But Dalton seemed so rattled, and if this had anything to do with us, if I was somehow causing a problem…I needed to know.
Now, a million questions flood my head, and the dread and panic that had disappeared once Dalton stepped in to help us return with a vengeance.
Could someone really come take the mountain from them?
And what’s wrong with Dalton that he is keeping hidden?