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

Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

DALTON

C amille’s soft voice floats over me, rising and falling as she does different characters in the story she’s reading to Davey, like she’s performing a one-woman play.

I lean against the wall just outside his open bedroom door, listening to every word. Letting the love laden in every syllable sink deep into my skin and warm me when I’ve felt nothing but cold since the moment I saw that look on her face at the table.

God knows I sure as hell shouldn’t be here.

After the tension I created settled over the table and all of us during what should have been a happy meal, I should have made Pops leave the moment we could duck out without another awkward moment with Camille.

But almost as if he could tell that we needed to talk, Pops just settled into the chair in front of the fireplace with a book after dinner, leaving me to play with blocks on the floor with Davey while Camille cleaned the kitchen—insisting I not help her in a way that made it very clear she wanted me nowhere near her.

Can’t say I blame her for that.

So, I definitely shouldn’t be eavesdropping on this sweet, loving moment she’s sharing with her son, and I shouldn’t be waiting to ambush her the moment she walks out.

Shouldn’t…

That doesn’t make me leave, though. Not when the thought of her being so hurt by my words won’t let me get any sleep tonight, anyway. Knowing I caused her that kind of pain is worse than the one still attacking my back and legs despite trying to rest my weight on the wall.

“Good night, Bub.” Her soft steps move toward the door, the old floors creaking the closer she comes to me, and she eases the wooden panel closed and turns, jerking backward when she sees me. “What are you doing out here?”

“Waiting for you.”

She scowls and moves to walk past me in the narrow hallway, but I push off the wall and block her escape.

“Please, Camille…”

Her gaze plastered squarely at my chest in front of her, she tightens her hands into fists at her sides. “You don’t have to say anything.”

“I do.”

Those Caribbean-blue eyes I have found myself lost in far too many times to count dart up to meet mine. The anger and pain in them make me shift away from her slightly, but I refuse to back down before I’ve said my piece. “Maybe I don’t want to hear it, Dalton.”

“That’s completely fair.”

And if I had any self-preservation instinct, I might walk away.

But I can’t, knowing I put that look on her face with one insensitive comment.

“I am sorry I said that…”

Camille presses her lips together tightly, crossing her arms over her chest, above her growing belly, like she needs to protect herself from me. As if I could ever hurt her.

She doesn’t say anything, but she doesn’t try to move past me again, either.

She just waits.

Apparently, for the explanation I came here to give, but that somehow seems so hard to say in the moment.

“I was deflecting.”

Her brows rise. “You think?”

I release a sigh and shake my head, running a hand through my hair that just flops right back over my forehead. “What Pops said is true. I don’t like admitting any sort of weakness. I get that from him—clearly. And I don’t like anyone pointing it out. That’s even worse.”

Closing the distance between us, I dip my head to ensure our voices don’t carry into Davey’s room or out into the living room where Pops sits near the fire. And this close, that orange blossom scent that always seems to cling to her is so strong I can almost taste it on my tongue. “But what I said is true, too, Camille. Whether you want to admit it or not. You are a strong, stubborn, proud woman…”

Her mouth gapes open, and I reach out and tip her jaw up to close it, holding her there, forcing her to meet my gaze and really hear what I’m about to say.

Because it’s stupid and dangerous.

But I’m going to say it anyway.

“But those are all the things I find so fucking fascinating about you. All the reasons I’m so impressed by you and in awe of everything you do every day. All of that is why I still think about you every moment I’m not with you.”

Her eyes start to glaze over with tears, and I’m not even close to done.

“You kept this place going without any help for months—”

“I failed.”

Her bottom lip quivers, and I brush my thumb across it.

“You didn’t fail. You just didn’t have the resources to do it, no matter how hard you worked, no matter how hard you tried. You were brave and strong and also stupid. And you know it. I can’t apologize enough for the fact that Pops and I weren’t here to help you from the beginning, but you should have asked for it, from us, from someone else in town. That’s not failing.”

She clears her throat, stepping back out of my hold. “That’s easy for you to say. You don’t fail at anything.”

I chuckle low, stepping even closer to her until only the baby growing inside her separates us. “That’s where you’re wrong. I have failed miserably over the last few months since I met you.”

And being this close to her in this hallway, touching her like that, makes it all the more evident to me how badly.

“How did you fail?”

“I failed to be a good friend to you. I failed to keep my distance from you and Davey. I failed to close myself off to caring the way I always have, the way Pops taught me to.”

Camille stares up at me with her soft eyes searching mine. “What do you mean?”

Of course, I’m not making any sense.

I never intended to tell her any of this when I came up here.

I shouldn’t.

But now that the floodgates have opened, I feel like I can’t close them.

“It’s always just been the two of us up here since my parents died, and he wanted to keep it that way. I never had friends. I never had a life beyond the homestead, save for occasional visits with people from town who needed to see him. He was my teacher, my parent, my friend, my constant companion. And God, I love the old man. He gave me everything. But he also taught me that anything beyond the mountain is bad, that it’s only going to bring pain.”

And he was right.

I learned that lesson at four years old and am still paying the price for it.

“He told me to shut it all out. That even when I had to go into town for something, that I shouldn’t stop and linger, that I shouldn’t talk to anyone beyond what was necessary , that I shouldn’t make connections, that I shouldn’t…”

Her brows rise, so dark over her light eyes. “Live?”

The question makes my back throb and my shoulders tense. “I guess you could see it that way.”

She releases a sigh. “Look, I didn’t grow up here. I didn’t spend my whole life on this mountain. But what I can tell you is that all those things Pops warned you about are true. When you open yourself up, you do give someone else the opportunity to hurt you—intentionally or not. But it also gives you the opportunity to feel something you never will experience any other way. Caring isn’t failing. ”

How I wish that were true…

“It is, Camille. Because I care about you and Davey and this baby who isn’t even born yet, more than I should, more than I have a right to.”

My eyes drift down to her stomach, and she reaches out and grabs my hand, placing it there with her own pressed over it.

The baby kicks against my palm, and I jerk my head up, meeting her gaze again.

“The baby reacts when you talk.” A tiny smile forms on her lips. “She knows you…”

Fucking hell.

I curl my palm tighter against her, fighting the need to pull her fully against me and crush my mouth to hers. “I’m worried about you and the baby and what’s coming.”

“Winter? The delivery? Or the fact that people are trying to take the mountain from you?”

Shit.

She definitely overheard our conversation that night.

“How much did you hear?”

Her lips twist. “Enough. And I’m sorry for eavesdropping—”

“No, you aren’t.”

A little sigh slips from her. “Okay, I’m not. But if that important conversation you need to have with Pops had been about me, I didn’t want you to be taking on something that you couldn’t or that you shouldn’t…”

“Isn’t that for me to decide, not you?”

She shakes her head. “Not when you just admitted that you’ll never concede weakness or admit defeat. Can you really handle getting both homesteads prepped? Can you really ensure you and Pops are ready when you’re spending so much time up here with us?”

I slide my free hand to her cheek, brushing the stray strand of hair away. “I’m exactly where I want to be, Camille.”

The words are true.

Truer than even I knew they were the second they left my lips.

In only a few short months, I’ve grown attached to that little boy and something far worse to this woman in front of me who’s been through so much, who’s taken on too much, who doesn’t need the added complication of my unwanted affection for her.

But she doesn’t back away as I lean in closer.

Her shoulders press against the wall in the tight space, and I cage her in with my hands on either side of her head.

“Dalton, what are you doing?”

Something so damn stupid.

“I told you, apologizing.”

Her hands slide up over my chest, and the warmth of her palms pressed over my heart permeates deep into my skin. “This doesn’t seem like apologizing. In fact, you just reiterated exactly what you said at the dinner table about me.”

I looked down at her, so small, yet so strong, so damn resilient. “You’re right, I did. But there’s something else I need to say, and I can’t have you running away while I try to do it.”

* * *

CAMILLE

My entire body trembles and heats under Dalton’s intense green gaze. He searches my face for something—maybe the objection I should be making—then steps in even closer, until the heat of his body radiates into mine. His rock-hard stomach brushes against my belly in a way that sends a little flutter through my stomach, or maybe it’s the baby moving again.

I don’t even know anymore.

Things have taken such a quick turn that it feels like the whole world is spinning wildly around me while I try to find some stable footing.

Only a few minutes ago, I was so angry at him. Pissed that he pointed out something I’ve always known about myself and that Dave loved to point out during our seven years together.

That sometimes, I’m too damn stubborn.

That more often than not, when I should be accepting help, I push it away, trying to do things on my own.

Like this morning when Dalton offered to take me to my appointment.

A huge part of me wanted him there.

Going through this pregnancy and all it entails alone after having Dave beside my side every step of the way with Davey has been one of the hardest parts of losing him.

But I couldn’t bring myself to allow Dalton to do it.

Not when I know how much he needs to get done around both homesteads and that I’m the cause of all this extra burden on his time and energy.

He’s become my friend, my only true one in years.

Maybe it was through default because we’re the only people up here, or maybe it was through fate that he came to my rescue, but I never, in a million years, thought it would go beyond that.

Yet, the way he’s looking at me now is anything but “friendly.”

The intensity and heat in his gaze send a shudder of awareness through me.

“What do you need to say, Dalton?”

He brushes his calloused fingertips across my cheek, and I have to fight the urge to lean into the reverent, intimate touch. “That I’m not going anywhere. That no matter what happens on this mountain, I will take care of you and your children.”

“That isn’t your responsibility. It’s mine.”

“There’s that stubborn streak.” He grins, and the way the gold in his eyes seems to twinkle makes my stomach do a stupid flip-flop thing I haven’t felt since I was a damn teenager. “I know it’s none of my business, but I need you to tell me”—he glances down between us—“what is your plan once this baby comes?”

God, I wish I had one.

Since the moment Dave died, I’ve been trying to figure that out, just like I was trying to determine how I could stay on the mountain when things were crumbling before my eyes.

Dalton and Pops have made that possible, but it doesn’t solve the long-term problem. I will still be alone on the homestead with an almost-five-year-old and a newborn, with winter coming, one that will be long, harsh, and that will take every ounce of my effort just to keep my head above water even with Dalton and Pops helping.

But one thing has never wavered.

My determination to find a way.

Squaring my shoulders, pressing them back against the wall so I’m at my full height, I stare Dalton down. “I’m going to do whatever it takes.”

“Me, too…”

His gaze dips to my lips, and my entire body freezes as he stares at them.

Even I don’t know what I want him to do.

Walk away…

Kiss me…

Both seem incredibly wrong for completely different reasons.

It is the goddamn pregnancy hormones.

The second and third trimesters were like this for me with Davey, too. Only then, I had an outlet for the tension and pulsating need that seem to have my body in a stranglehold right now.

I close my eyes and suck in a long, slow, steady breath, trying to douse the inferno threatening to ignite in me under his intense gaze.

This isn’t really about Dalton.

He’s your friend.

That’s it.

It’s all he’ll ever be—a friend and a neighbor who is helping you through a horrible situation.

I try to convince myself of that before I dare open my eyes again.

But as I do, he’s right there watching me, searching for something I’m not sure I can give him.

Christ.

I’m thirteen years older than the man, and he’s barely lived a life stuck up here on the mountain with Pops.

“I wish you wouldn’t look at me like that.”

He pulls back slightly. “Why not?”

“Because, like you said, you’ve never gotten to experience anything beyond James Mountain. Have you ever even had a girlfriend?”

The corner of his lips twitches like he finds the question amusing when it wasn’t meant to be. “Why does that matter?”

“It matters a lot.”

“No, it doesn’t.” He casually drags his thumb across my lower lip, sending a fluttering sensation between my legs. “I told you that first day that I don’t expect anything from you in return for my help, and I mean it. But I want you to know that if you ever need more from me, all you have to do is tell me so I can give it to you.”

Oh, God.

His words wash over me, reigniting that flame I’ve been trying to extinguish the entire time he’s had me cornered in this hallway.

I grit my teeth, fighting my body’s natural reaction to having such a handsome man press his hard body against mine when it’s been so long since I’ve been touched in that way, when the hormones raging through my body want so badly to do something utterly stupid.

“I don’t need anything else from you, Dalton.”

It’s a lie.

One I hope he buys.

His hand pauses with the palm resting against my cheek. “Are you sure about that?”

I nod.

“Okay.” He leans in slightly and brushes his lips to my forehead in the most gentle, chaste, sincere gesture I’ve ever experienced in my life. He lets them linger there for a minute, and I close my eyes, breathing in the crisp scent of the soap he used to shower with right before dinner and that smell of freshly cut wood and the forest around us that still clings to him. Then he slowly pulls back. “You let me know if you change your mind.”

I swallow thickly through my desert-dry throat as he pushes back and pulls his hands away from the wall and me.

My heart beats wildly against my ribcage as I watch him walk away, taking the answer I still haven’t received with him. “Dalton…”

He stops and turns back toward me, his brow furrowing.

“How did you get those scars on your back?”

His jaw hardens, and his shoulders tense.

“That’s what I need from you—that information. I need you to answer the question.”

Because I won’t be able to continue accepting his help when he could be hurting himself.

And I fear that’s exactly what’s been happening.

He shakes his head. “That isn’t anything I want to talk about.”

I tilt my head as I examine him and the tension radiating through his body. “Should I ask Pops?”

“It isn’t for Pops to tell you that, and he’ll say the same thing.”

I take a step toward him, then another, until we’re standing near the far end of the hallway, with Pops so close behind him in the living room that I can hear the old man turn the page of his book. “Don’t you think I need to know? It looks painful, and I’ve seen you—”

He grits his teeth. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what? Point out your weaknesses the way you just did mine?”

His gaze softens, the anger there only a moment ago vanishing. “If you thought I was pointing out all those things as weaknesses, I think you misunderstood everything I said.”

Shit.

Why does he have to go and say something sweet like that?

“Let it go, Camille. It’s nothing you need to worry about.”

He turns and walks away from me, but his absolute insistence tells me it’s something I definitely need to worry about.

Rather than following him, I sag back against the wall and try to regain some control over my body and my head.

My mind races through the potential reasons he would have those kinds of scars—none of them good—and it drifts back to that conversation I overheard months ago but that still stays so fresh in my head.

Dalton dodged my questions about both tonight.

He and Pops are keeping things from me.

Either because they’re protecting themselves or think they’re protecting me. But I don’t like being in the dark when their secrets could affect my future and that of my children.

I rest my hands over my stomach, and a tiny foot presses against my palm.

There isn’t much time before this little girl will make her appearance in the world, and I need to know what kind of world it will be.

Will I have this place?

And if I do, what will it cost Dalton to ensure it?