Page 115 of Billionaire Lumberjack's Bargain

Another gust of wind blows snow across the window, and I shiver even though the roaring fire in the living room has the cabin bright and warm.

Pops slides his hand over mine on the table and squeezes it, raising a brow as if to ask if I’m all right without actually saying it and alerting Dalton that I might not be.

God knows if he thought I was spiraling, he would rush in to rescue me from it—even to his own detriment.

He’s already working himself to exhaustion every day.

Shoring up the security around both properties as much as he can. Stocking supplies before the weather that would keep us trapped on the mountain hits. Moving Rocky down here to their place because Davey insisted we couldn’t leave him there, even though Dalton goes twice a day to feed all the animals and handle anything else. Pushing himself beyond what he’s physically capable of.

And he’s paying the price for it.

His back has acted up more and more, to the point that most nights, he’s spending an hour in the tub trying to release enough of the tension from his muscles to be able to actually sleep.

Which is a rare luxury for both of us these days.

I can’t get comfortable, and he can’t turn off his brain or stop worrying about the fact that it’s basically impossible to secure the mountain completely.

No fences line the properties.

Nothing to physically deter anyone from coming straight onto them the way those two men did to the lake.

Even if there were, given who we’re dealing with, a stupid fence wouldn’t be enough to stop what might be coming for us.

The vague assurances that Pops keeps offering that “things are in motion” and will “work themselves out” haven’t done anything to convince Daltonorme that we shouldn’t be terrified.

But not today.

Dalton slides his arm around my neck from behind and leans down. “Where are you right now? Because it isn’t here.”

Shit.

I glance up at him and smile. “Sorry.”

“You don’t have anything to apologize for.” He peeks over at Davey, who is counting the candles to ensure the right number made it on top of his cupcake. “He hasn’t noticed. I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

A near-constant ache in my lower back and hips.

Swollen feet and ankles.

Heartburn that won’t go away no matter what I eat or don’t.

So many reasons to say I’m not all right.

But looking around this table, none of them really matter.

I slide my hands around my belly and press against the spot my little girl usually kicks me, but for the moment, she’s quiet. And she’ll be here soon. Things will feel…complete. “I’m good.”

And I actually mean it.

Dalton grins and kisses my temple, then retakes his seat as Davey bounces excitedly in his chair, clapping his hands. “Cupcakes!”

Pops snags the lighter off the table and ignites the candles. “Don’t touch these. Hot!”

Davey nods his understanding, the flames flickering across his wide blue eyes.

He probably doesn’t even remember his last birthday, when his father stood behind him and helped him blow them out…

Before the tears come, I clear my throat and clap my hands. “Time to sing!”

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