Page 61 of Billionaire Lumberjack's Bride

“Yes.”

It’s public information. I’m not revealing anything protected by the NDA confirming we got married.

She opens her eyes wider, her pink-glossed mouth falling open. “Wooooooooooow.”

Her reaction makes me bristle. “Whywow?”

Does she know something about Silas I don’t?

Her tinkle of laughter fills the small bakery, easing a bit of the discomfort, and she motions toward one of the small bistro tables. “Let’s sit.”

Oh, Lord.

I probably shouldn’t be sitting down with this woman who seems to want all the gossip, but I could really use a friend right now—even somebody who’s only talking to me because they’re trying to get information I shouldn’t be revealing.

“Look, I was born and raised in this town.” She takes a seat across from me, resting her elbows on the table and her chin in her hands. “And when Silas showed up about fifteen years ago, I was ten,almosteleven.” She corrects that point like it is important. “And every girl in town has had a crush on him since that day.”

I sputter on my hot coffee—which is actually delicious and drinkable. “Excuse me?”

She grins. “He didn’t always look like that—like he’s trying to scare people off.”

As hiswife, I should probably be insulted on his behalf at her description, but it’s one hundred percent true. Silas pushes everyone away and does anything he can to remain as lonely and reclusive as possible.

She reclines in the chair and sighs, getting a wistful look in her eyes. “I love the whole tattooed, bearded, long-haired, I’m-going-to-chop-you-up-with-my-axe look he has going on, but when he arrived, he was as clean-cut as they come.”

“Really?”

It shouldn’t surprise me, given his family background. I doubt the Boltons are a family who appreciates tattoos and the scruffy-outdoorsman appearance at their elegant dining room tables.

But imagining Silas any other way proves difficult.

She nods. “His blond hair was cut perfectly, face shaven. He was just a baby back then, couldn’t have been more than eighteen or nineteen.”

I’ve already gotten more information from her in two minutes than I have from my own husband in the week I’ve been with him. I peel the wrapper off the bottom of the cupcake and take a massive bite, chewing as I consider the information she’s provided. “So, he’s been here for fifteen years, huh?”

Her blond head bobs. “Yep. And as far as I know, you’re the only woman he’s even ever talked to.”

I swallow my bite and laugh. “That can’t be true.”

“No, no.” She nods. “It is. He showed up on the bus one day, looking lost, stayed in the apartment above the general store for a few weeks, then bought Jensen’s brother’s property and disappeared onto the mountain. I think he worked with Travis and Jensen a bit on some things, but other than that, he doesn’t interact with anyone. He only comes down here to make his wood deliveries to the store and grab supplies. But I’m telling you, he avoids conversation with anyone,especiallywomen. Like he’s afraid ofthem.Which is funny since most people won’t make eye contact with Silas because they’re so afraid ofhim.”

“Afraid of him?”

I think back to my first impression of the man when he stepped out of that bathroom and announced he was my fiancé.

Yeah, I can see that.

He’s big and mean-looking—intentionally so—but I’ve learned in the last week that there’s far more to Silas than what meets the eye. The mountain might offer him refuge from the rest of the world, but it can’t give Silas anywhere to hide from his own demons that seem to eat him alive from the inside out.

Most days, it seems he lets them win.

Yet, underneath all the ink and attitude lies a man with a good heart. I caught a glimpse of it the other night. He showed me what he tries so damn hard to conceal. Someone who cares too much, so much that he thought secluding himself and pushing everyone away would be the only escape from the pain and guilt he lives with.

I may not understand what drove him up this mountain or what happened with the Boltons, but I am getting to know Silas. Enough that I can say one thing with confidence. “He wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

She leans in, elbows on the table, face nestled in her palms again. “Really? So, he’s a total sweetheart teddy bear under that gruff exterior?”

I laugh and shake my head. “I wouldn’t say he’s a sweetheart or a teddy bear. But…”

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