Page 11 of Billionaire Lumberjack's Bargain

“I’m going to get to work. I would call down to town and have people come help me, but—”

I nod slowly. “But it would take them several hours to get up here, and by then, it’ll be dark.”

His brow softens, making him look even younger than he probably is. “You know you could have always radioed us if you needed something, if you needed help.”

That tightness in my sternum returns, but I don’t bother responding or explaining to him why I didn’t, why I couldn’t.

And thank God, he doesn’t press me.

Because I amthis closeto completely losing it.

Dalton turns and stalks toward the barn, and I release a heavy breath as Davey returns with a fistful of flowers, holding them up to me.

“Here, Mama.”

I squat and accept them. “Thank you, Bubs. They’re beautiful.”

The bright yellow blurs as my tears finally fall.

“Where’s Dalton?”

His wide eyes search the clearing.

“He’s going to take care of some things for me. You and I are going to play in the house today.” Far away from what Dalton is going to have to do. “Maybe we could bake some cookies or something.”

Davey’s blue eyes that match mine light up, and he darts back toward the cabin.

I push to my feet, my focus drifting toward the retreating back of the young man who just came to my rescue, even though I didn’t ask for it or want it.

You needed it.

That little voice inside my head screams loudly enough to break through that last bit of fight I have left in me, and for the first time in two months, I feel like I can actually take a deep breath.

ChapterTwo

DALTON

She’s pregnant.

From the moment she went so pale and subtly shifted her hand over her stomach, I knew it without even asking. Her confirmation made my heart break even more at the situation Camille Bower has found herself in.

Alone on this homestead with a four-year-old and another one coming…

And what I’ve observed over the last several hours as I’ve worked to get rid of the remains of her cow has only made my apprehension for her grow.

She isn’t ready for the coming winter—not by alongshot.

This property where Great-Uncle Tim once lived is in disarray.

The stunningly beautiful woman with a thankfully steady trigger finger has obviously attempted to keep things going since her husband’s death. But it would be impossible for almost anyone to handle a property this large by themselves—not to mention with a child that age clinging to her twenty-four-seven.

Just moving the livestock feed alone must be a tremendous physical effort for her. Yet, she has somehow managed to keep their handful of animals alive and thriving, from what I’ve seen.

That will change once the temperatures plummet and the snow hits.

It won’t be possible.

That nagging voice won’t stop reminding me how truly perilous her position is or that I’m likely the only person who knows anything about it.

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