Chapter 6
Chapter Six
THREE WEEKS LATER
DALTON
A light drizzle falls from the darkening sky, pelting the plexiglass roof of the greenhouse, creating a soft, soothing song that fills the otherwise nearly silent space.
Other than the sounds of Camille and me moving the small seedling plants from plastic containers into the newly built planter boxes and the scrape of Davey’s plastic shovel along the bottom of the one we’re letting him play in to keep him occupied, the companionable silence that settled over us a while ago had gone unbroken.
And somehow, it hasn’t been awkward.
After almost a month of being here and having Camille and Davey come to our place daily, we’ve settled into a comfortable routine and found normalcy that I didn’t think would be so easy, given the way things started out—at gunpoint.
Mornings working our homestead as much as I can.
Caring for the animals.
Making regular repairs and conducting maintenance on the hundreds of little things that wear down constantly.
Doing what I can to ensure Pops and I are prepared for the coming winter by stockpiling wood, hunting, trapping, and fishing—often before the sun even comes up.
Camille and Davey arriving to work with Pops on his exercises and to keep the old man company as he continues to recover and get better day by day.
Afternoons spent here, trying my damnedest to keep Camille afloat by fixing and improving what I can on the property with the last remaining hours of daylight and energy I have left as we reach the height of summer.
Which isn’t much some days.
The pain has become unbearable at times, and I’ve had to dial back my workload or grin and bear it in order to keep Pops or Camille from worrying.
But it’s worth it.
Because the woman who has become so much more than just a neighbor no longer has to agonize over what will happen when the snow—and her baby—come.
She’ll have a warm, safe home for her children, and her animals will be well-protected from the elements. Along with this greenhouse we’ve been working on for days in order to get it ready for planting, the meat and fish I’ve started stocking in her freezer and the new chickens I’ve added to her now-contained flock mean she won’t have to worry about where her food is coming from, either.
There are still things to do—far too many for my liking. But there’s an end in sight. One that doesn’t result in her leaving the mountain with Davey.
Every time I consider that possibility, a renewed panic sets in.
She doesn’t feel the same way I do—doesn’t want what I do—but even if I can’t have that part of her, I can’t imagine not having them here and in my life.
I glance over my shoulder to check on her and Davey. Both are still intently working, but Camille’s brow holds that deep furrow I often find there.
She’s worried.
But it isn’t about what we still need to accomplish here. Not with the finish line in sight.
This is something new, something that has lingered in her gaze as she watches me since the night I confronted Pops about the threat that skeezy lawyer made.
I suspected she was listening, but it wasn’t until I heard Davey’s voice through the cracked window that I knew for sure she had overheard at least part of our conversation.
How much?
Enough that she’s kept a watch on me like she expects the other shoe to drop.
Like she’s wary and waiting for it.
Maybe she should be.
Despite how well things have gone here, a sense of dread has clung to me since my confrontation with that asshole. Nothing Pops has said to try to quell my concern has done anything more than make it worse.
The old man seems to have his head in the sand.
He thinks there’s nothing anyone can do—but the world has changed since he was born on this mountain.
Things aren’t so simple anymore.
And I can’t share his blind confidence that whatever his “secret plan” is will be enough to protect our backs from anything that might be coming for us.
I’d give anything to be able to wipe away those creases from her soft skin, to touch her and tell her everything will be okay while truly believing it. But I don’t dare allow myself to dream of that being a possibility.
My dreams are already filled with her blue eyes and gentle touch, my days haunted by wondering what she’s thinking when I catch her gaze from across the yard and she smiles.
I have to shake my head now to clear away those thoughts, or they’ll end up leading down the dead-end path of wanting anything more from Camille.
And I can’t work like this anymore.
Not in these tight confines with her, feeling her eyes on me every few minutes, when her orange blossom scent permeates the humid air, and I’m insanely aware of every move she makes.
I push to my feet, biting back a groan at the tension in my back from having been bent over for so long, working in the planter bed, and Camille looks up from her spot farther down the line.
Her eyes rake over me, as if she’s searching for something in particular more than actually taking in how I look in my jeans and open shirt. “How are things coming?”
I scan up and down the row that runs along the middle of the newly updated greenhouse. “Good. I think we’re almost done with this portion.”
Which only leaves two more sets of beds to plant.
It should be relatively quick work.
Much easier than rebuilding the broken structure and constructing the new beds that can hold far more than the old ones and will be watered with an automated drip line from the fresh water coming in from the well.
But I narrow my gaze on Camille sitting on the dirt floor, her belly now even bigger, and that same worry creeps in that I’ve been trying to keep at bay for months.
That I’m pushing her too hard.
That I’m making her do too much when she’s in this condition.
That I still don’t know what the hell her plan is when the baby comes.
And I’ve been too afraid to ask.
Too afraid to further insert myself into her life when she just wants to have her dream here with Davey and the baby. A dream I am not a part of.
She may need Pops and me to get back to where she would have been had Dave not died, but this was never meant to be anything more than a neighbor helping another.
It isn’t my place to take that protector role, to agonize so much about what her future holds, but I can’t help myself. Not when I see her like this.
“How are you doing? It’s been a long day…”
She glances down and presses a dirt-covered hand against the apron covering her belly. “I’m good.”
I raise a brow, looking for any signs of discomfort. “Sitting on the ground and bending over isn’t too hard on you?”
Her lips press together tightly, like she’s getting ready to launch into the same debate we’ve had numerous times in the past month when it comes to her helping with any sort of manual labor. “I’m okay . It isn’t any harder on me than it is on you. ”
I instantly regret even mentioning it—and not just because her final comment makes me think she heard too much that night. The last thing I want is for Camille to know how much pain I’m in or how much worse it’s become since more than doubling my workload.
Plus, I know damn well how much Camille likes to believe she’s invincible, how tough it is to get her to admit any weakness. Even implying she might not be capable or shouldn’t be doing something is enough to be a direct insult to her.
Which is the last thing I want to do.
I pull off my gardening gloves and run a hand back through my hair, stepping over to where Davey digs in the dirt, getting more of it on the ground around him than actually in any of the buckets we gave him. Squatting, I ignore that pull in my back, and I ruffle his hair. “How you doing, buddy?”
His eyes that match his mother’s light up. “Look what I did.”
The pride in his voice warms my chest as I glance down at the single spinach sprout he has lopsidedly placed in the planter bed and grin at him. “That looks amazing. You’re really good at this. You’re a great helper.”
He nods and goes back to it, happily moving dirt back and forth between the bed and buckets, seemingly with no rhyme or reason.
I push to my feet and turn to find Camille watching me carefully, her eyes holding that dewy softness that always makes my heart skip a little beat, even though it shouldn’t.
Shouldn’t.
Yet it’s impossible to ignore how beautiful she is, how her sadness and tender nature call to me in a way I didn’t even know was possible. How badly I want her to start living again instead of constantly dwelling in the past and being afraid of what’s coming next.
The rain starts falling heavier, the sound now almost like thunder echoing around us in the greenhouse, and I glance up, staring through the almost clear top to the darkened sky.
No lightning.
No actual thunder.
Just a nice warm summer rain.
A grin pulls at my lips, and I turn back to Davey. “Hey, Davey.” He glances up, and I point toward the semi-transparent roof. “The rain is coming down pretty hard.”
He nods, clearly more interested in his mess than my weather observations.
“I bet you there are some great puddles out there.”
Little brows furrow as if he’s not following me or understanding what I’m getting at. I can’t help but chuckle at how sweet and innocent he is as I turn back to Camille to find her fighting a smile.
I scoop him up easily, and he protests slightly, his plastic spade slipping from his hand. Setting him on my hip, I ignore the twinge in my lower back and lean in to whisper conspiratorially. “Don’t you want to go play in some puddles?”
His eyes widen slightly and immediately dart over to his mom, who gives me her nod of approval, without me even having to explain my intentions.
He finally smiles and bounces in my arms, clapping wildly. “Let’s go!”
I carry him past Camille, who gives me an appreciative look, before I push open the greenhouse door and step out into the rain, inhaling the crisp, clean smell that always comes with it.
Instantly, the memories flood back of another time I stood out in a summer downpour, a time before everything was taken from me because I wanted something I shouldn’t have.
I refuse to do that with Camille.
To make that same mistake.
Stepping out farther onto the property, I search for the perfect spot and locate the low-lying area along the edge of the grass near the gravel drive. I set Davey on his feet and point it out. “That looks like a pretty good puddle right there.”
He glances up at me, as if to ask my permission, and I run toward it and jump, landing right in the middle and sending a giant wave of water up and out.
Davey squeals and claps, then rushes over after me and leaps in just like I used to with Dad, helping dull the ache of that memory by giving me this incredible new one.
* * *
CAMILLE
Davey’s peal of laughter makes my heart clench violently. I try to drag in a breath, but it gets stuck in my suddenly clogged throat. A boulder seems to sit there, something heavy and laden with emotions I’m not willing to examine if I want to maintain any of my sanity.
Through the semi-transparent greenhouse, I can just make out their shapes moving through the downpour.
Dalton, so much bigger, and Davey so tiny, chasing after him across the yard and jumping up and down, making himself a bigger mess than he already was after “helping” us with the planting all afternoon.
But none of that matters.
Not how dirty or wet he might get or how stained his clothes may end up.
Not when he sounds so damn happy.
Hot tears track down my cheeks, and I wipe them away on my forearm, my hands too dirty to do the job without leaving evidence across my face. And I do not want Davey or Dalton to see me come undone like this.
I’ve fought too hard to hold it together in front of Davey. To be strong for him so he doesn’t become a hollow shell of himself the way I sometimes feel. At least, when I’m alone.
It’s easier when Dalton’s around.
To see that hope.
To be something other than a miserable, hormonal mess.
Listening to him out there with Davey, how carefree they sound doing something as simple as playing in the rain, makes me even more thankful he’s come into our lives and for everything he’s brought with him.
His calm, reassuring presence.
His physical strength as well as the emotional support he’s given both of us when we had no one else to lean on.
And most of all, the glimmer of hope that’s always trailed along in his easy smile.
He found a way to draw something out of Davey I don’t think I could have today.
It’s incredible how resilient children are, how quickly they can bounce back from the kind of pain that should crush them, and how easily they can find joy in such simple things. To me, it still feels like my world is incomplete, like a part of me is missing and has been since the moment Dave died.
I force myself onto my feet and brush my hands off on my apron, annoyed I didn’t wear my gardening gloves today. Drawn to the sound of their laughter and indistinguishable words, I push open the greenhouse door and watch them from the protection of the jamb.
The sound of the pouring rain stampedes on the roof as it falls in an almost solid sheet only inches in front of me, just like it did the first time I saw Dalton.
Back then, he was barely eighteen, but watching him now, I can’t deny that he has become one of the strongest men I’ve ever met.
This life demands it.
And the role model he had in Pops ensured that his strength isn’t just physical but also of character, too.
He leaps, slamming his booted feet down into the massive puddle they stand in and sending water flying and splashing up over Davey, who just grins and tries to do the same to the man who has somehow become so important to us in such a short amount of time.
Dalton has truly become our friend.
He’s more than just our savior.
He’s somebody we look forward to seeing every day, spending time with, someone who can draw a smile from either of us, even at a time when I didn’t think that would ever be possible again.
I rest my hand across my belly as the renewed agony of knowing this baby is never going to meet his or her father washes over me.
Will Davey even remember him?
Dalton looks up from where they’re playing and grins, motioning for me to come over and join them, but I quickly shake my head. If I get anywhere near him, he’ll see what a wreck I am, how I’m completely falling apart over something so trivial as watching them play in the rain.
But all I can picture is Dave doing this with his son.
What should have been, if not for that freak accident…
Dalton’s brow furrows as he watches me, and he bends down and whispers something to Davey. Davey glances my way, then races over through the rain, slamming his feet through the smaller puddles forming across the property until he reaches me.
He stares up, drenched from head to foot, with the biggest grin I may have ever seen on his face, and grabs my hand. “Come on, Mama.”
I shake my head and squeeze his tiny fingers. “No, Bub. You go have fun with Dalton. I’m going to stay dry right here.”
His bottom lip pops out in a pout, and he tugs at my arm. “Come on , Mom.”
Dalton chuckles, the sound carrying across the yard to me along with this positive energy. “Yeah, come on, Mom.”
The sing-song way he mimics Davey draws a grin across my face, and I allow the tiny hand to tug me out of the protection of the edge of the greenhouse and into the rain.
Warm rain drenches me almost instantly but somehow helps temper the humidity that’s been almost suffocating the last week. It’s likely the end of the season, the last summer rain we’ll get before fall starts to work its way onto the mountain already in August.
And this is exactly what Davey should be doing: enjoying the weather, the property, and just loving life being out here surrounded by all this pristine beauty.
This is why Dave and I chose James Mountain in the first place.
For moments like this .
I just never could have anticipated that the man having them with Davey wouldn’t be him.
Swallowing back the despair threatening to choke me, and thankful the rain will hide the tears that I can’t stop from falling, we finally reach Dalton. He flashes me that easy grin of his and takes my other hand, tugging me toward the puddle, with Davey doing the same on my opposite side.
Dalton nods toward the pooling water. “Come on, Mommy, give us one good splash.”
I try to give him an annoyed look, but I can’t fight the smile that naturally pulls at my lips as I lock gazes with him and see the amusement dancing in his green eyes.
Before I can do or say anything, Dalton jumps and comes down, spraying muddy water across both Davey and me. I gasp at the sensation, even though it isn’t cold, while Davey just squeals in delight again, drops my hand, and flails his legs up, kicking wildly and creating an inescapable spiral.
Scowling at Dalton, I swipe my face clean on my sleeve as best I can, only for it to get instantly soaked again. “You did that on purpose.”
He raises a shoulder and lets it fall, completely unapologetic and looking every bit his age with the playful smirk, even though the lean, rippling muscles on his chest and stomach certainly show the opposite. “Don’t be a party pooper.”
I bark out a laugh that echoes off the trees and gets swallowed by the sound of the rain hitting the greenhouse and pooling water all around us. “I didn’t know you were also four.”
He squeezes my hand still in his. “Just because we’re adults doesn’t mean we have to always act like it.”
“I’m thirty-six, Dalton…”
Another muscled shoulder rises and falls, as if the thirteen-year age difference between us means absolutely nothing, and without warning, he jumps up again.
This time, I manage to turn away before I get sprayed directly in the face.
When I turn back, it’s with determination. I release Dalton’s hand and jump up, stomping my boots into the puddle as hard as I can when I come down.
It sprays both of them with a violent flood of murky water that almost rivals the one Dalton sent my way.
Dalton tips his head back and laughs, the sound so full of warmth I almost forget for a second that there’s a gaping, icy hole in my chest, and Davey races around us in a circle, churning up the water with his little booted feet and spraying us both.
I scoop him up, and he giggles as I dangle him over the water, pressing my lips to his wet cheek. “Are you having fun?”
He nods, and I kiss him again, wishing there were a way to capture this exact second when he looks like this and hold on to it forever.
“Good. That looks like a pretty awesome puddle over there.”
He follows my gaze and sees the one directly across from us that has formed since the rain started more heavily. His eyes light up, and he tugs out of my hold and races across to it to take a giant leap.
Dalton shifts behind me, then moves to my side, glancing over at me with a half-smirk. I watch Davey rushing from puddle to puddle, trying to see how big of a splash he can make in each one, then look up at the man who has managed to make him so happy today.
“Thank you.”
He raises a wet brow, his blond hair darkened and matted to his head, curling slightly at his forehead. “For what?”
I incline my head toward Davey. “For this. It isn’t easy for him to not have his father here. He’s so young…”
The rest of the words I intended to say get caught in my throat, and Dalton steps in front of me, dipping his head to catch my gaze.
“I’ve been where he is, Camille. I know how important it is for him to do normal things and to have moments like this. I had them with my dad before he died, and I wish…”—he swallows, his Adam’s apple moving slowly—“I wish my grandfather and I could have kept doing it.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask why they didn’t, but the conversation I overheard several weeks ago rushes right back.
His limitations…
The old man’s words ring in my ears, mixing with the rain and Davey’s giggles from across the yard.
Looking at Dalton now, I can’t imagine him having any.
He’s been nothing but a goddamn living, breathing Superman since the moment I met him.
Bending over backward to do anything we need.
To be everything we need him to be.
Dalton reaches out and tips my chin up, forcing me to look at him. His calloused fingertips graze over my skin, sending a shiver of awareness through me. “You need to know that it’s okay for you, too.”
Staring into his eyes, the gold in them practically glowing in the reflected sunlight now filtering through the breaking clouds and rain, I struggle to breathe. “Wh-what is?”
“To have fun, Camille. To be happy . I know what grief feels like. I may not have lost a partner the way you did, but I understand what Davey is going through. And I know that the only way to survive it is to move through it. To find moments of pure joy like this in every day, if you can.”
He barely speaks the words before a rainbow appears over the trees behind him, arching across the entire property like a damn neon sign telling me that he’s absolutely right.