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

Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

ONE MONTH LATER

CAMILLE

T he closer we get to the James property, the harder my heart races, and the more I wish it didn’t take so long to make this drive. Blood rushes in my ears, and my vision narrows on the winding, gravel mountain road that will take me there—but not fast enough.

Each minute that passes, the anxiety tightening the vise around my sternum seems to only increase until I have to force myself to take deep breaths before I hyperventilate.

It’s almost impossible to keep myself calm with Pops’ words ring through my head ominously.

“You should come down here.”

When Dalton didn’t show up this afternoon, I wasn’t worried—at first.

After all, things have been…tense ever since that night a month ago.

He isn’t mad.

Dalton isn’t the type who would let his personal feelings get in the way of fulfilling the bargain he made with me, but the atmosphere has definitely shifted the same way the weather has started to.

His heated gaze still lingers when he thinks I’m not watching him, when he thinks I won’t notice, but he’s giving me space. Spending less time in the cabin when we are and more out on the land, doing one of the dozens of little repairs and chores that need to happen before winter fully descends.

This afternoon was supposed to be further insulating the barn so the animals will be safe from the sub-zero wind chills that often blow across the mountain.

But he never showed.

I might have let it go as merely him needing a break—from the work or tension between us that feels strung tight enough to snap at this point—if not for Davey mentioning that Dalton promised to help him build and paint a sign for Rocky’s stall.

Dalton never breaks a promise to Davey.

No matter what might be happening—or not happening—between us, if there were something keeping him from coming or making him run late, he or Pops would have radioed to let me know rather than disappoint Davey.

Which is why I finally picked up that radio to call—only to have Pops give me that panic-inducing suggestion to drive across the mountain to them.

Davey remains blissfully unaware that something might be wrong, practically bouncing in his seat, anxious to see Dalton and Pops, only I don’t know what we’re walking into since the old man didn’t want to say anything over the radio.

That uncertainty makes my grip on the steering wheel tighten as I finally turn the truck onto the narrow gravel track that leads back to their cabin.

Nothing looks amiss on the property, from what I can see. The sun shines through the partial cloud cover, shimmering off the leaves already starting to change color surrounding the large clearing.

The cabin front door opens as I throw the truck into park, and Pops steps out, his jaw set hard.

None of the usual whimsy fills his eyes when he sees us—only worry.

Shit, something is wrong .

I climb out, a process that has become incredibly, annoyingly difficult the further I progress in this pregnancy, and Pops lumbers down the porch steps and approaches the truck.

Davey manages to free himself from his car seat and get out with my help, and he rushes toward the old man and practically launches himself at him. Pops catches him the best he can and scoops him up, something he couldn’t have done when I first met him with as unsteady as he was.

He smiles at Davey, but I catch the wariness in his gaze.

“Where’s Dalton?”

I’m afraid to ask him what’s wrong in front of Davey in case it’s something he shouldn’t hear. Given how vague Pops was when he told me to come, I don’t have a good feeling about any of this.

Is this about that lawyer?

Pops’ continued silence on the matter has grown more and more frustrating, and with the lines of communication not exactly wide open between Dalton and me at the moment, it means anything could have happened without knowing a damn thing about it.

With Davey still on his hip, Pops glances back at the cabin. “I think I should take this little guy fishing at the lake this afternoon.”

I narrow my eyes on him.

Is he trying to get him out of here?

A foreboding sense of dread settles over me—it’s bad enough for him to call me down here and not want Davey to witness it.

Pops releases Davey and points across the yard. “Run over to the barn and find the fishing rods and tackle box in the tack room.”

Davey darts away, racing across the property as if it’s our own, and honestly, we’ve spent enough time here now that he knows it as well as he does our place.

As soon as he’s out of earshot, I turn back to Pops. “You want to tell me what’s wrong?”

“It isn’t my place to tell you, darling, but it’s about time he does.” He inclines his head toward the front door. “He needs your help.”

Instantly, a vision of the scars crisscrossing his back flashes in front of me, and I suck in a sharp breath, remembering his anger that ignited when I dared to bring it up that night. When he said things that left me unsteady in ways I still haven’t wrapped my head around weeks later. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Pops grabs my arm as I move toward the house, holding me back. “He doesn’t want you to see him like this. Doesn’t even want me to. If he’s harsh with you, don’t take it personally.”

I narrow my eyes on him, giving him a tight smile. “I didn’t when you were.”

He scoffs. “I was not —”

“Whatever you have to tell yourself, old man. Just be careful at the lake.”

His hand tightens lightly around my arm in an affectionate squeeze. “I always am.”

I slip out of his hold and make my way up the two steps to their small porch, pushing open the door he left cracked when he came out.

An eerie silence settles over me, so unusual for the home that’s typically full of life and laughter when we’re here.

Not today.

Unease wraps around my spine and squeezes tightly as I kick off the boots I didn’t even bother to tie in my rush out of my place and instinctively move up the steps toward the bedrooms.

Something tells me that’s where he’ll be.

My bare footsteps hardly make any noise as I move down the hall. Pops’ bedroom stands open and empty, as do Dalton’s and the spare room that was his as a child.

I swallow thickly as I approach the half-open door to the bathroom.

A pained grunt carries from inside, freezing me mid-step, listening for anything else that might give me some idea what’s happening on the other side of the wooden slab.

More silence lingers.

I nudge it open with my hand and find Dalton standing with his thighs pressed against the counter, white-knuckle gripping the surface. His legs shake so badly that it looks like they may give out under him.

“Dalton?”

He tenses and peers over his shoulder. “What the hell are you doing here?”

The sharp edge to his voice has nothing to do with me and everything to do with the obvious pain he’s in. If I hadn’t dealt with hundreds of patients in the same position, I might let it bother me, but coupled with Pops’ earlier warning about the condition I would find him in, I brush it off easily.

“Pops asked me to come down.”

“Of course, he did.” He snorts and shakes his head, squeezing his eyes closed. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine .”

“If I needed a fucking doctor, I’d go see him.”

I shake off the anger in his words as I approach, examining him for any signs of injury. “Do I need to go back out and ask Pops what happened, or are you going to tell me?”

He gives me an annoyed look, but the edges of his eyes and lips tighten, the pain winning out over his reluctance to come clean with me. “I was working in the barn, moving hay and feed, and my back just…gave out.”

Shit.

“Did you fall?”

Dalton presses his lips together and shakes his head. “No. I grabbed a beam to stop myself from face-planting and managed to keep myself upright long enough to get over to the cabin. Pops helped me up the steps.”

The waver in his voice tells me exactly how much agony he’s in, even if he’s doing his damnedest to try to conceal it. “Does this happen a lot?”

He squeezes his eyes closed again, dropping his head low, like he can’t even bear to hold it up anymore. “More lately…”

Since he started helping me .

Dalton doesn’t need to finish the sentence for me to know that’s what he means. He’s been overworking himself to make sure that my mistakes are fixed. That old friend guilt grinds down on my heart as much as my worry for the man in front of me does.

I reach across him to open the medicine cabinet above the sink. “Did Doc prescribe you anything? Muscle relaxers, pain meds?”

He reaches out and grasps my wrist, tightening his fingers around it gently. In control even when he’s in this state. “I don’t take drugs.”

The way he says it, I can hear the disdain in his voice.

“They’re not drugs , Dalton. It’s medication for a medical problem you clearly have.”

He releases my arm and shakes his head, trying to hide a wince. “I haven’t taken that stuff in a very long time, and I don’t intend to, no matter how much Pops or Doc may try to push it on me.”

Which means that this battle’s been going on for a long time, far longer than he’s let me know.

It explains Pops’ reaction and warning downstairs, too.

And if Dalton won’t take anything to help ease his pain, then I’m going to have to try a different tactic.

I glance over at the large cast-iron tub in the corner, then push away from him and move over to it, cranking on the water as hot as it’ll go.

He follows my movements across the bathroom. “What are you doing?”

“Filling the bath for you…”

“Do I look like I take a lot of fucking baths?”

The tension in his voice and the way his legs continue to shake worry me enough that I walk over and wrap my arm around his waist to steady him in case his grip on the counter fails.

“No, and that’s part of the problem. If you’re not going to take any sort of medication to relieve what’s happening to you, then we need to calm those muscles down another way. A long, hot soak in that bathtub is going to help.”

He looks ready to argue with me.

I hold up my free hand, silencing him before he can even open his mouth. “Don’t even think about it. I might not be a doctor, but I worked in the emergency room for a long time, Dalton. Do you want to feel better or not?”

Our argument, or whatever the hell that was last month that created so much heated tension between us, rushes back, and I can see his eyes darken as he remembers it, too.

He might try to shut me out again, just like he did that night.

But his shoulders slump, as if he’s conceding defeat, and he reluctantly nods.

“Good. Let’s get you in.”

He mutters something under his breath I don’t quite catch, then reaches for the hem of his shirt, and I release my hold on him long enough to let him tug it up and off, exposing his muscled chest, abs, and back. “I don’t know if I can…”

His gaze drifts down to his boots and jeans like they’re Mount Everest and he has absolutely no hope of climbing it.

“I got it.”

This certainly isn’t the way I imagined stripping Dalton out of his clothes, and I’d be lying if I said I haven’t done just that. Especially after the way he touched me in that hallway and the words he said that still linger the same way the rough brush of his fingertips does.

I nudge him until he turns and rests his ass against the counter, then I unzip his jeans and slide them down to the top of his boots. His hands slip under my arms, and I look up at him as he helps me lower myself to my knees to untie his boots because there isn’t any way I can bend that low.

Even in so much physical and mental distress, Dalton is still looking out for me, ensuring I’m okay when I should be the one taking care of him.

He lifts one foot, then the other, and I tug off the muddy boots and his socks, tossing them across the bathroom toward the open door.

Leaving him in nothing but his boxers—directly in front of my face.

Hell…

Darting my gaze to the tub, I clear my throat and climb to my feet with his assistance again.

He can get into the tub in those , or he can take them off himself.

But I am not going there.

I can’t.

The heat flooding my body tells me it wouldn’t be a good idea for me to even attempt it.

* * *

DALTON

The almost-scalding water surrounding me up to mid-chest feels so damn good. I release a little strangled groan, even though I try to bite it back. Only a few minutes in here, and already, the trembling of my legs and tightness and spasms in my back have started to melt away slowly.

Camille leans against the counter, hand resting on her protruding belly, and even though my eyes are closed, I can feel hers on me like they have been since the second she walked into this bathroom.

Analyzing every little move or sound I make.

Raking over me as I lie in the water in nothing but my boxers.

Fucking hell, Pops.

He didn’t need to call her down here.

I would’ve been fine eventually on my own.

Like I always am.

This might be the worst it’s ever been, but it didn’t require getting Camille all riled up or making her drive over here with Davey when she surely has other things to be doing at her place today.

“Feeling better?”

Dammit.

Apparently, she didn’t miss that little groan I just released—not that she would have. Camille doesn’t miss anything . And since that night I told her exactly how I felt about her, every moment we’ve been in the same room has been sheer torture, wondering what’s going on in her head.

I crack one eye open and peek at her, afraid to see that pitying look there from the sole person I never want to see me so broken and helpless. “A little.”

She fights a smirk but fails miserably.

“You don’t have to look so smug.”

Her eyes widen slightly in feigned ignorance before she fully grins at me. “I’m not trying to be smug. I’m genuinely happy it’s helping and you’re feeling better.”

“Not that much better.”

She chuckles softly at my clarification, then moves closer to the tub, making me tense all over again.

After crossing that line and baring my soul, I knew things would be different, but I’ve managed to avoid situations like this for the past month.

The two of us truly alone…

With either Pops or Davey always around, it’s been easy to keep things light, to appear unaffected by her presence, when all I’ve wanted was to pin her to a wall again and kiss her senseless this time.

But I would never do that.

Not unless she asks.

And that’s nothing more than wishful thinking from a man who is too sore and exhausted to really process what she must be thinking as she looks down at me now.

I lift my hand out of the water and run it across my face. “I’m sorry about when you got here. I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that.”

“No.” She cautiously kneels next to the tub and sits back on her feet, resting one hand across her stomach and rubbing it idly. “You shouldn’t have.” She sets her left hand on the edge of the tub and drums her fingers on the porcelain. “But I understand why you did.”

“Do you?”

She bobs her head slowly, the dark strands pulled back in a messy bun fighting the hold with the movement. “The way you live out here, the way your grandfather is, I imagine showing any amount of pain gets a certain reaction.”

I snort and drop my head back to stare at the ceiling beams again. “You have no idea. He’s very overprotective.”

“Shouldn’t he be?”

I glance at her and her raised brow.

She holds my gaze, waiting for me to say something. “Tell me what happened, Dalton.”

It isn’t a request.

Not this time, like it has been the others she asked about the scars.

Camille expects me to do it, and honestly, I don’t know why I bit her head off when she asked about it that night she first saw them.

Maybe because I’ve never talked to anyone about it.

There was never anyone to ask before, so talking about it felt wrong.

But now that she’s seen the scars and seen me like this, there really isn’t any hiding it from her anymore. Plus, I don’t know that I want to keep it locked up where it has been for so long.

“The car accident that killed my parents…”

Camille tenses, her eyes softening with that same look I saw there the first time she spotted the scars.

“The car was partially crushed, and I was pinned. Six broken vertebrae. I lost feeling in my legs off and on for a while.”

Her fingers wrapped around the edge of the tub tighten, and the hand rubbing her stomach stills. “Jesus…”

“I was in the hospital for months, had three surgeries, so on top of losing my mom and dad, I was dealing with that…at Davey’s age.”

She’s quiet for a moment, studying me with compassion in her blue gaze I’ve never seen from anyone else who wasn’t paid to care about me, like the doctors and nurses who put me back together—except Pops. “I am so sorry, Dalton.”

I blow out a long breath. “It was a long time ago. Almost twenty years now.”

“What about since then? Any revision surgeries or complications?”

I know her question comes from her medical training and her concern for me, but I bristle at it. She must sense it because she presses her lips together and glances at the water rather than at me.

“Two other surgeries over the years. I was so young and still growing. They had to go in and adjust some things. The last was six years ago.”

Her fingers trail over the cast iron. “An injury like that, no matter how well the surgeons piece you back together, living like this, what you do up here, it’s probably the worst possible thing for your body.”

I snort a mirthless laugh. “You think I don’t know that? That Pops doesn’t?”

It’s been a constant source of tension and disagreement between us for years.

Pops worried I’m pushing too hard.

Me worried I’m not pushing hard enough to get everything done as he ages and isn’t able to help with as much as he used to around the property.

I may be broken, but I’m still only twenty-three, and he’s seventy-five.

It can’t rest on his shoulders to keep this place running, even if it hurts to have it on mine.

“Then why did you stay? Knowing the toll it would take? You’re only twenty-three, Dalton. What’s going to happen when you’re forty or sixty or Pops’ age?”

I squeeze my eyes closed as an agony that has nothing to do with my back threatens to swallow me whole.

I’m not ready to think about that yet…

“This is the only life I ever knew, the only life my mom ever knew, and my dad grew up in James Creek, so it wasn’t much different for him, either.”

“I always meant to ask, why is your last name James? Were your mother and father married?”

A grin pulls at my lips, and I let my eyes drift open. “When my dad wanted to marry my mom, he asked Pops. And Pops told him the only way that was happening was if she kept her maiden name. He said, ‘A James has always lived on this mountain, and it will continue that way.’ So, she stayed a James and ensured I was one to keep Pops happy.”

Camille’s light laughter splits some of the tension in the air brought on by such a heavy conversation. “That sounds like Pops…”

I shrug, the water shifting around me. “He’s always lived here. There was never any question in my mind that I’d come back after my surgeries. He won’t ever live off the mountain.”

“Why does he hate that world so much?”

“He didn’t always.” I watch Camille casually rubbing her belly, wondering if the baby is kicking and reacting to my voice the same way she did that night. “But that world is what took his daughter from him. What did this to me. The only reason we weren’t on the mountain that day was because I begged my parents to take me to the circus.”

The familiar guilt ices my veins even though the water remains warm.

“So, what? He blames you for asking to go see something every child wants to?”

I release another sardonic laugh. “According to Pops, a circus is a travesty that just tortures animals who should live in the wild like this mountain provides. He lectured them on agreeing to take me, but we went anyway…”

She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth, chewing at it idly.

“Once I came home from the hospital, there was no way he was letting me off this mountain again except to go to James Creek, and even that bothers him. He knew we would figure out a way to make it work, regardless of what my physical limitations might be as I grew older. And it has…mostly.”

Camille releases her lip, now pink and plump and so fucking tempting, and she resumes rubbing her stomach, looking down at it rather than at me. “How often does this happen?”

She asked me the question before, and I tried to be vague and brush it off because I know what will come of it if I tell her the truth. This beautiful, resilient woman will blame herself for something that has absolutely nothing to do with her or what I’m doing for her and Davey.

But I’ve given up trying to conceal things from Camille.

It’s too damn hard when all I want is to be a fucking open book for her, to allow her to see how genuine I am in what I told her that night.

“A lot. More than it used to. But I was already having trouble before I started helping you, so please don’t get it in your head that this is your fault somehow.”

She presses her lips together. “I wasn’t going to.”

I chuckle. “Bullshit. We may not have known each other for very long, Camille, but do you really think I don’t know what goes on in that beautiful head of yours?” I raise a brow at her. “I do. And you said it yourself that the reason you were eavesdropping on Pops and me that day was because you wanted to make sure it wasn’t about you, that you weren’t causing any trouble for us.”

“I am…” She sucks in a little sob, tears forming in her eyes. “I am causing trouble for you.”

Against my better judgment, I reach out and rest my wet hand on top of hers on the edge of the tub. “No, you’re not. Having you and Davey around has been wonderful for me and for Pops. I haven’t seen him this energetic, excited, dare I say happy, in years.”

“That’s probably just the B12.”

She forces a smile that isn’t very convincing, and I squeeze her hand as she drops her gaze to her stomach.

“It’s not, and that wouldn’t explain why I’ve felt that way, too.”

Shit .

I definitely shouldn’t have said that. Not after what my confession the other night did to the easy, comfortable companionship we had created. But she doesn’t pull away her hand, and her eyes finally lift to meet mine.

“Why won’t you take the medicine? I understand the fear of becoming addicted to narcotics. Believe me, I saw enough addicts in my time in the ER to know what that looks like and how awful it is. But muscle relaxers and taking an occasional pain pill when it’s really bad aren’t going to hurt you. They’re designed to help you avoid this .”

“I can manage the pain, Camille.” I squeeze her hand again. “I always do.”

She gives me an incredulous look. “You shouldn’t have to.”

I don’t disagree with her, but it’s beside the point.

In a perfect world, the surgeries would not only have repaired the damage to my back but also done it in a way that left me completely pain free.

But that isn’t reality.

This is.

And I am not about to shove those pills down my throat—again.

“I was young when it happened, when I spent all that time in the hospital. But I remember how what they gave me made me feel like I was constantly stuck in some sort of nightmare I couldn’t get out of and couldn’t control. I always felt out of touch with reality and not in a good way.” I shake my head. “I don’t ever want to feel that as an adult. Not when Pops depends on me. Not when the homestead does. Not when you do—and I don’t say that to try to make you feel guilty. I say it because it’s something I have to do, even if you fought me tooth and nail on it, which I feel like you might now.”

“That’s why you were hiding it from me.” She glances up, a single tear sliding down her cheek. “Because you knew I would try to stop you from continuing to help us.”

I nod. “That and I hate anybody seeing me like this.”

She offers me a sympathetic look. “I can understand that.”

“Can you?”

A little humorless laugh falls from her lips. “Why do you think I didn’t want your help when you showed up?”

I laugh, the sound booming in the small room. “Oh, I know why you didn’t want it. Stubborn woman.”

Her mouth pulls into a half grin. “Dave always said I was stubborn. I guess it wasn’t just with him.”

“No, it wasn’t.”

She releases a long, drawn-out sigh, glancing out the window in the corner. “So, what now?”

It seems like such a simple question, but the answer I want to give her is far from it.

Because I don’t know what she’s asking.

About us?

I wish that were true, that this has somehow broken through all the reasons we shouldn’t act on whatever this is and allow her to try to find some sort of happiness again.

But I won’t presume to put her in that position by pushing it again.

“I rest the remainder of the day, and I get back at it tomorrow.”

She scowls, shifting slightly, like remaining in that position for so long is taking a toll on her—which it probably is, considering her current condition. “You can’t keep doing this to yourself, Dalton. It’s only going to get worse.”

It isn’t anything I don’t already know or that Pops hasn’t brought up at least a dozen times since he finally realized the extent of what I was doing up at the Bower property. But there’s nothing else to do.

“I don’t have a choice, Camille.”

Her jaw tenses at my soft words. “Maybe it’s time for me just to go and admit defeat.”

My hand tightens around hers as a vise clamps down on my chest and squishes my heart, threatening to eviscerate it. “Don’t ever do that.”

“Do what?”

“Talk about leaving like that.”

“Dalton…”

She doesn’t say anything else, but the way my name floats from her perfect lips makes my cock twitch against my wet shorts that are concealing nothing under the clear water she can definitely see into.

I never knew the danger that exists on the mountain could come in the form of this woman.

But she has become my greatest weakness.