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

Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

ONE MONTH LATER

CAMILLE

D avey runs from the barn and toward me as I carefully climb from the truck a little slower than I used to and slam the door behind me. Pops ambles out after him, taking careful steps, though he seems far more stable than he has any other time over the last few months.

The shots and our continued rehab work are definitely helping.

Slowly but surely, I’m starting to fully see the Edison James who raised such an amazing man like Dalton, who helped build up the James empire and who bends over to help anyone in James Creek who needs anything, even now when they’re busy preparing both their place and mine for the harshest time of the year on the mountain.

We’ve made tremendous progress in resolving that issue, and now that the weather is starting to cool and fall is on the horizon, it feels like a miracle how close the homestead is to being ready for it. There are still things to do, but they seem manageable compared to where we were only a few months ago.

The chilly breeze wraps around me as I wait for them to reach me.

Davey runs as fast as his little legs will carry him, and Dalton’s words from that very rainy day last month still echo in my head and heart.

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 made it sound so simple.

And I’ve been trying my best to do just that.

To see the way Davey lights up whenever he’s around Pops and Dalton.

How he enjoys every single moment of life on this property.

Like he clearly has been all morning since I’ve been gone, given the massive grin on his face. Davey practically throws himself at me, latching on as I lift him and settle him on my hip the best I can with my expanding stomach.

“Mama, did you see the baby?”

I grin at him, his bursting excitement infectious. “I did. Do you want to see?”

He nods, so I set him down and reach into my purse to pull out the sonogram picture sheet. Turning it toward him so he can see it, I watch that light and awe in his eyes as they widen.

“That’s my brother?”

I shake my head and let him hold the picture. “No. The baby was finally in a good position for them to tell me it’s a girl. You’re having a baby sister.”

Pops finally makes it over to us with a half grin and a half-hearted groan. “Damn, that kid is fast.” He leans against the truck, crossing his arms over his chest and giving me an exaggerated huff. “Everything good?”

I snag the photo from Davey and nod. “Yes, Doc says everything’s fine.”

“Good.” He scowls slightly, taking on that gruff, fatherly, disapproving look he often gives me over trivial things. “Though I wish you had let Dalton take you into town. Neither of us like you driving that road yourself.”

Pursing my lips, I give him a look that would probably wither anyone except him, since he’s seemingly become immune to it over the last couple of months. “Like I told Dalton this morning, while I appreciate your concern, I’m perfectly capable of driving into town myself. Plus, he has enough to take care of here without having to waste half a day to chauffer me up and down a mountain for an appointment.”

Pops opens his mouth to argue again, but I press my hand against his chest and tap gently over his heart. “Really, I do appreciate it, old man.”

And I actually mean it.

Pops has become almost like a second father to me, and nearly twenty years after I lost my own, the knowledge of how much he cares truly does warm my heart as much as it annoys me to have him and Dalton constantly hovering over me.

Davey comes over and clings to Pops’ leg. “It’s a girl! ”

I can’t tell if he’s excited or disgusted by the proposition. Maybe because even he doesn’t know at this age. But the smile Pops offers tells me he’s thrilled.

He doesn’t often talk about Dalton’s mother, but when he does, it’s clear she was a daddy’s girl and the absolute greatest joy in his life, especially after Dalton’s grandmother passed away.

His eyes mist over, and he pushes off the truck, clearing his throat. “A girl. That’s great. You should tell Dalton. He’ll want to know you’re back safely.”

I scan what I can see of the property from here near the cabin, but I don’t see any sign of him.

Dammit.

The way my heart sinks slightly when I can’t immediately spot him is stupid.

It’s only been a few hours since I drove away down the mountain.

Yet, on the drive back up, all I could think about was seeing Davey, Pops, and him to share the news about the baby.

Stupid and dangerous.

I can’t let these stupid pregnancy hormones get the best of me…

Pops motions over his shoulder. “He’s in the south clearing, felling some trees and working on the firewood stock.”

It’s going to be one of the biggest issues come winter, ensuring we have enough wood, getting it moved from outside and into the shed, and then from there into the house once there are feet of snow. It’s also one of the most time-consuming and physically draining things Dalton has to accomplish.

“Go. He’s worried.” Pops grabs Davey’s hand. “I got him.”

“All right.”

Pops grins at Davey. “Maybe we’ll go play a card game.”

I toss him a disapproving look. “Be nice. He’s just a child, Pops.”

He shrugs and winks. “Kid’s got to learn. He’s not always going to win in life.”

It isn’t the worst lesson he could teach Davey because he’s right that it’s important for children to be taught it’s realistic to win and lose. But the way the old man goes about it often leaves something to be desired.

I give him an exasperated sigh before I start out across the property in the direction Pops sent me.

The chilly early fall breeze blows across me now that the cabin no longer blocks most of it, and it carries the smell of the fire burning in the fireplace, leaves just starting to change color, and all the other familiar scents of the mountain.

Inhaling deeply, I hold it in my lungs for a moment, considering the fact that only a few short months ago, I thought I would have to leave this place. I believed I’d never experience fall on the homestead again, that Davey would never play in the golden and red leaf piles or watch the first winter snow from his bedroom window another time.

I’m happy to be rid of the scalding heat of the summer, especially now that I’m into my third trimester and feel like a bloated whale waddling everywhere, but the further we slip into autumn, the closer we get to this baby coming and the more aware I become that we’re not ready.

Not by a long shot.

The seemingly never-ending list of tasks—big and small—haunts me every night. Though it’s better than the nightmare that used to come every night.

Always the same.

A single moment in time.

The one that changed everything.

Replayed in my mind on an endless loop whenever I closed my eyes.

I can’t even remember when it started to dissipate. I just know that slowly, over the last few months, it became less and less frequent, until I only wake in a cold sweat and sobbing every once in a while instead of every single night.

Maybe the sense of security the James men have offered us has helped me put that memory into the vault where it belongs, but seeing our little girl on that monitor today brought it roaring back with such clarity that Doc was concerned I was losing it.

He wasn’t far off.

I shouldn’t have gone to the appointment alone.

That stubborn streak Dave always accused me of having certainly didn’t go away when he did. If anything, it comes back more frequently, as a defense mechanism whenever Dalton gets too close or says something that reminds me how badly I want him with me at times, like lying on that clinic bed today.

Which isn’t fair.

Not to Dave.

And certainly not to Dalton.

Even now, as I make my way down the narrow path through the woods toward the large clearing Dave always used when he was cutting wood where Dalton has also set up shop, I half expect to find a different man there.

The one who asked me out from an ER bed after he came in with his head split open by a construction site accident before he even knew my name.

Who got down on one knee after only a dozen dates because he said he just knew I was “it” for him.

My hand drifts over where the baby kicks, and I rub at the spot, fighting the tears that want to fall. “Your daddy loves you so damn much, little girl.”

The sound of the axe whacking against logs echoes off all the tree trunks around me, a steady rhythm that starts to vibrate in my chest the closer I move toward it, until Dalton finally comes into view across the clearing from me.

Bright sun beats down on him, his chest glistening slightly with sweat as he raises the blade and slams it down on another log, splitting it in half. Pieces pile up on either side of the giant stump he uses as a base, and he grabs another one, sets it on its side, and swings the weapon in the practiced motion that seems almost second nature to him.

He catches me moving toward him out of the corner of his eye and sets down the axe, a grin pulling at his lips as I approach. “You’re back.”

I nod as I stop a few feet from him, staring at the massive piles of firewood that are all going to have to be moved into storage. “I am.”

His chest heaves, his breathing struggling to return to normal after what must have been an insane amount of felling and splitting all morning. “Is everything all right?”

I nod, forcing myself to keep my eyes on his instead of drifting down his shiny torso. “Perfect.”

Relief relaxes his features and shoulders, as if he’s been carrying that tension since the moment I left this morning. Maybe he has been. “Good.”

“I found out the sex of the baby…”

His eyes widen, the excitement practically pouring off him the same way it did Davey. “And? Don’t leave me hanging.”

“It’s a girl.”

Dalton sucks in a sharp breath, then whistles in a way so similar to Pops that I can’t help but laugh. “Damn. That’s amazing. A girl… congratulations, Camille.”

“Thank you.” I give him a worried smile. “Honestly, I’m a little nervous. I feel like I was prepared for a boy after having Davey.”

A slow grin curls Dalton’s mouth, and he runs the back of his hand over his forehead, wiping away the sweat there. “I am one hundred percent confident you are going to be an amazing girl mom.”

“I’m glad someone thinks so.”

He chuckles as he lets the axe fall and turns away from me to grab his shirt off the ground. “You need to give yourself more credit, Camille. You’re an incredible mother…”

My breath catches in my throat, and I can’t tear my eyes from his skin.

Scars track across his lower and middle back, up the length of his spine and out across the top of his hips.

Clean.

Meticulous.

Definitely surgical…

What the hell happened to him?

In all the time we’ve spent together, I’ve never seen his back exposed like this. Whether that was intentional on his part or not, he’s always kept his shirt on around me or worn one open in the front only on really hot days.

Was he trying to hide this?

He tugs on his shirt and turns to face me. His eyes meet mine, and his entire demeanor shifts in an instant. The relaxed posture he had only a second ago morphs as his body goes rigid.

Apparently, I’m doing a shitty job covering my shock at what I’ve seen.

I never did have a good poker face.

Even in the ER, I had a hard time concealing my reaction to truly catastrophic cases and often had to leave the room for a moment when I could to gather myself and prepare for what I was going to walk back into.

Knowing the pain they were in…

How much they were suffering…

It was impossible not to feel for them, not to want to ease their agony any way I could…

And whatever happened to Dalton was clearly catastrophic and agonizing.

No one has scars like that without it being a life-altering injury.

He clears his throat and steps around me. “I’m going to move all this tomorrow. Let’s head back to the house so I can get cleaned up before we tackle dinner.”

His avoidance of what I’ve seen, of the questions I undoubtedly have, doesn’t go unnoticed, but I’m not about to push him about something he clearly doesn’t want to discuss with me.

Just like he never does about Dave.

Which I appreciate more than he could ever know.

For as close as Dalton and I have become over the last few months, there are still so many things we haven’t said, and maybe we never will. And that’s probably for the best. For both of us.

* * *

DALTON

The steam from my quick shower still fills the bathroom as I tug up my clean jeans and grab a T-shirt from the bag I’ve started bringing with me to Camille’s house every afternoon so I won’t stink while we all sit around the dinner table together at night.

Something that has become so routine it would feel odd not to do it.

But before I put it on, I swipe away the condensation coating the mirror and turn around, peering over my shoulder to see what Camille did earlier today out in the clearing.

Shit .

It’s so rare that I actually look at the scars, that I allow myself to view the very real evidence and reminder of the worst day of my life. I can handle the pain. I’ve learned ways to cope with it as a constant companion, but I will never get used to the way other people react when they see these or the cascade of violent, agonizing memories that come when I do.

They barrel down on me now.

Starting with so much love and laughter.

Then squealing tires.

Skidding across the road.

The crunch of metal and shatter of glass.

And nothing but sheer anguish.

I turn back to face the mirror, squeezing my eyes closed against the onslaught of visions and feelings from that day and the ones that followed.

How could you let her see them?

Because I’ve become so accustomed to having her around that I completely forgot to cover the evidence of my greatest weakness.

There’s a reason I keep them hidden, that I never remove my shirt while I’m working, even in the worst of the summer heat. I shouldn’t have taken it off today, regardless of how uncomfortable I was by the time Camille showed up.

She’ll have questions…

Ones that will be far too painful for me to answer.

Fucking hell .

I was just so happy to see her back, to know that she returned safely and that everything with the baby is okay…

It made me let my guard down.

But I was already so rattled by her refusal to allow me to take her to the appointment. The rejection hurt far more than I ever let on to Pops or her. I know I don’t have any right to be there with her, but to be able to hold her hand and celebrate with her when she found out she was having a girl…

Somehow, it feels like I missed something magical that I so desperately wanted to be a part of. And every minute she was gone, I worried. I wondered. I obsessed over what was happening without me there.

“Shit…”

I slam my palms against the countertop, shaking my head to try to clear away all these feelings I can’t be having about Camille and her children.

My place is set in stone.

I’m a friend.

Someone she can lean on during the worst time of her life.

I cannot want anything more.

So, stop!

I scrub my hands over my face and back through my damp hair.

The smell of whatever she’s making for dinner wafts through the crack under the bathroom door, reminding me I can’t hide out in here forever when they’re all waiting for me to eat. But I just need another minute to try to calm myself down, to try to forget that look in her eyes—of sympathy, of pity, of whatever else it was when she saw how damaged I am.

Easier said than done.

Since the moment I realized what a dire situation Camille was in, I’ve wanted nothing more than to fix it for her—for them. To make it right . To give her the security she should have had if Dave hadn’t been ripped away from her.

I never wanted anything in return.

Never expected it.

But the friendship that’s grown between us has given me more than I ever could have anticipated.

And I’d be lying to myself if I said what I’m feeling for the beautiful dark-haired woman isn’t more than friendship.

These feelings are dangerous in a way I never saw coming, that I never could have anticipated when I first met her and had that shotgun barrel pointed at me.

Which is precisely why I can’t ever act on them.

I push away from the counter and force myself to turn the door handle and walk out, down the short hallway of the small cabin Great-Uncle Tim built and lived in, toward the living room.

No matter how many times I’m in here, I’m still struck by the personal touches Pops’ older brother left on the cabin he built. They’re still everywhere, including his initials carved into the beam running over my head.

I reach up and rest my hand over it—something I do every time I’m inside to let him know I haven’t forgotten about him, even though I was barely ten when he died.

His memory will live on through this space he put so much time, love, and effort into, that’s become a home for Camille and Davey.

Laughter floats from the kitchen, and I grin. Despite the tension my shower didn’t relieve, I step in and find Pops at the table with Davey. Camille’s blue gaze finds mine, and she moves a pot of something from the stove onto a potholder in the center of the small round table Great-Uncle Tim built that has remained the center of his cabin.

He was always a better woodworker than Pops. And I certainly don’t come anywhere near what he could do with a slice of lumber and the right tools.

His pieces will last forever, just like the memories created around this table will.

I head to the empty chair across from Davey, still trying to shake off the thoughts that followed me from the bathroom.

Pops raises a brow at me from my left. “You good?”

I nod, but as I sit, the sharp pain in my back makes me wince.

Even the hot shower and letting the spray hit me for as long as I dared stay in didn’t help loosen it, and knowing I’m going to have to move all those logs into the firewood shed tomorrow makes the throb even more incessant—like my body is anticipating what’s coming and objecting already.

I may do my best to hide it, but there is no way Pops doesn’t suspect how bad it gets on days like this.

I’m not about to let Camille know, though.

She may have seen the scars, but that doesn’t mean I’m about to allow everything I keep so tightly locked away out into the open.

“I’m good.”

Pops gives me a look that tells me he doesn’t quite believe it, but he lets it go, returning to whatever conversation he was having with Davey—apparently about fishing.

The little boy chatters excitedly, motioning with his hands, mimicking a casting motion that makes Pops grin proudly. He leans into Camille’s son and whispers conspiratorially with him.

I catch Camille’s smile watching them, and she brings over bowls, keeping her eye on the duo.

She sets one in front of me, pursing her lips. “They’re up to something…”

I raise a brow at her. “Oh, yeah?”

Her head bobs, and she leans down, sending a chunk of her hair falling over her cheek. “They’ve been whispering like that ever since I got back.”

“Knowing Pops as well as I do, he’s probably up to no good.”

Her mouth twists into a grimace. “That’s my worry.”

If I didn’t know she was half joking, I might feel the need to convince her that Pops would never do anything to put Davey in danger—a promise I can make now that he’s back to his old self. But Camille understands who Pops is, and she trusts him as much as I do.

So, I don’t have to.

Still, I can’t stop myself from reaching out and sliding my hand across her lower back. “They’ll be fine.” Her eyes cut from them over to me, a spark of something in them that I can’t quite place. “Dinner smells amazing, by the way.”

She shakes her head slightly and smiles. “Oh, thank you.”

“What did you make?”

I had every intention of coming in, cleaning up, and helping her with dinner, as has become part of our nightly ritual. The two of us moving around the kitchen easily, like we belong here together. But tonight, I couldn’t bring myself to face her right away after what she saw.

Now, with her standing beside me, looking so beautiful with her hair twisted up at the back of her head and that single strand that never seems to want to stay put hanging across her cheek, I realize it’s probably a good thing we weren’t in this kitchen together.

My inability to keep from touching her, even as simply as I do now with my hand resting gently on her back, is leading me down a road that will only end with me even more broken than I am now.

Camille clears her throat. “Um…ratatouille.”

“Ratatouille?”

She nods with a tilted smile. “My grandmother was French on my mom’s side and used to make it for my mom. Then, my mom made it for me growing up. It was kind of like what chicken soup is for other people, I guess. One of our comfort foods, and when I saw they had eggplant at the store today while I was in town, I had the strongest craving for it.”

I recline slightly in my chair to look up at her easier, my hand still pressed lightly against her in a way I know it shouldn’t be. “You don’t talk about your family much.”

Her back stiffens under my palm, and she slides away from me, heading to the counter where a loaf of bread sits, waiting to be cut.

Pops turns an ear, clearly listening to the conversation even while he tries to still pay attention to Davey, who is now talking about Rocky, the young calf who has become his “best friend.”

In all the time we’ve known each other, I don’t think I’ve ever heard Camile mention her family other than to say they were all gone. Given her reaction to my observation, it seems it’s a sore subject I maybe shouldn’t have brought up.

I start to think she’s not going to respond, but then she gives me a sad look over her shoulder. “I never knew my dad. My mom died when I was twenty-two.”

No matter how much time has passed, I can still feel the pain saying those words causes her. “I’m sorry.”

She offers a shrug, as if it isn’t a big deal. And that is so like Camille to try to downplay her own feelings to make everyone else more comfortable. “She didn’t take very good care of herself. It was one of the things that always drove me to want to be a nurse, actually. She had high blood pressure, diabetes, and a handful of other issues, but no matter what I did, I just couldn’t get her to understand how important it was to follow doctor’s orders and stay vigilant.”

I cross my arms over my chest and glare at Pops. “I understand the feeling.”

He turns his head slowly to meet my gaze and offers me an annoyed huff. “I’m as healthy as a horse.”

Camille snorts a laugh and steps between us, sliding the bread onto the table. “While I can attest to the fact that you have decent blood pressure and strong general vitals, without actually seeing Doc, there are very few things I can actually test you for or monitor, old man.”

Pops leans back in his chair, puffing out his chest. “I’m fine. Whatever you two are shooting me up with seems to be working.”

She pats him on the shoulder. “B12. When you say, ‘what we’re shooting you up with,’ it makes it sound like we’re giving you heroin.”

He snorts incredulously. “How do I know you’re not?”

I share a look with Camille before staring him down. “You’d be feeling a lot better and then a lot worse.”

Pops chuckles low. “True.”

Davey’s gaze bounces between all of us, his forehead wrinkling. “What’s hair-oh-in?”

Shit.

I ruffle his mop of dark hair. “Nothing you need to worry about, buddy.” I drum my fingers on the table as Camille gathers the last few things from the fridge and heads over to us. “You really should see Doc, though, Pops. It’s been a few years since he’s been up to examine you—”

“That’s because, as I just stated, I’m healthy as a horse.”

“Well, I’d like to keep you that way rather than have to send you off to the glue factory.”

Camille sits to my right, directly across from him, fighting a smile at my comment.

Pops inclines his head toward her. “That’s what I have her for now.”

“I’m not a doctor, Pops. You know that.” She grabs a ladle and points it at him. “And I don’t have any of the equipment the clinic does to actually, you know, run tests…”

“Test, schmests.” He reaches out and pinches Davey’s cheek playfully. “I’m going to live forever. Aren’t I, kid?”

Davey nods, the sweet innocence of a child who has no concept that what was just said is far from the truth. He reaches out a tiny hand and snags a piece of bread, shoving it into his mouth and chewing on it while my focus shifts to Camille.

He may not understand the statement, but I catch the pained expression on her face.

Davey has already lost his father, and before too long, he’s going to lose Pops, the man he seems to have bonded with so tightly over the last several months.

Hopefully, that’s not for many years down the line, but death is as inevitable as the sun rising and setting.

I’m certainly not ready to think about it coming for him any more than I was when I thought he was declining due to something a lot more serious than a vitamin deficiency.

And Camille isn’t, either.

She quickly pulls the lid off the pot. “Let’s dig in.”

My stomach growls at the scents coming from the cast-iron crock. “I’m starved…”

Camille dishes it out, starting with Davey and Pops, then placing a heaping pile of the stew into my bowl. “I imagine you are. You were working hard today.” It’s said as a casual observation, but I catch the hint of concern in her tone. “Does that ever bother you?”

I dig in and take a bite, releasing a little groan at the delicious flavors that melt in my mouth. “God, this is good.”

Camille gives me a tight smile. “Thank you, but you didn’t answer my question.”

Intentionally.

But I should have known she wasn’t going to let this go so easily.

I feign ignorance and inhale another bite before raising a brow. “What was it again?”

She narrows her eyes on me. “You know exactly what I asked.”

Pops takes a bite and waves his fork at her. “Don’t bother, sweetheart. The day you get Dalton to admit any sort of weakness is the day Hell freezes over.”

“Pops—” I issue him a warning, then glance over at Camille to gauge her reaction to his completely uncalled-for comment.

Her blue gaze stays locked on me, as if she can see the answer to her own question if she looks hard enough. “I believe that.”

The accusation in her tone makes my back stiffen.

I’ve been nothing but open and honest with her since the day we met, yet it doesn’t seem to be enough for her. She wants me to hand over that part of me I’ve never shared with anyone when she is the worst offender at keeping things locked away and refusing to accept her own weaknesses.

“I could say the same for you…”

She recoils slightly, squeezing her eyes closed.

Icy regret hits me instantly.

We’re both proud people, probably far too much, and though my weakness might be physical, hers is far deeper, far more painful, and I’ve just rubbed salt into the wound.