Page 12 of Billionaire Lumberjack's Bargain

The strong set of her shoulders, the hard press of her perfectly pink lips, and the high tilt of her chin when I offered to assist were enough to make it crystal clear that Camille doesn’t easily admit weakness or need for a helping hand from anyone.

It seemed almost physically painful for her to even allow me to get this cleaned up for her—something sheknowsis necessary to keep away not only the predators but also any number of diseases the carcass would have brought.

That kind of stubbornness is necessary to survive out here.

It could also mean disaster.

Likethiscould have.

I toss another shovelful of dirt onto the grave I dug with the small backhoe once I got the engine running again with some new spark plugs. The machine made this job easier, but in order to ensure nothing tries to dig up the carcass, I have to ensure it’s well camouflaged and the lime and cayenne I spread over the body covers the entire area.

The sun dips below the tree line, and the temperature begins to drop.

A welcome reprieve from the hot rays that have been beating down on me all afternoon while I’ve worked—probably too hard. My back screams each time I use the shovel.

Too much bending. Too much lifting. Too much…everything today after already spending the entire morning chopping wood.

And now that night is falling, Pops is probably wondering where I am…

If he even remembers I left.

That incessant pain in my stomach returns, and acid climbs my throat. It has nothing to do with the fact that I skipped lunch and dinner to come here to hack up the carcass with the axe I found in the shed.

What if I hadn’t?

Camille wouldn’t have asked for help.

That tenacious woman would have tried to do this very sweaty, bloody, messy, disgusting job herself—with Davey underfoot.

Anyone who comes up here, who chooses to live the way we do, usually wants to be left alone to live their lives as they please, without interference from society or the unwanted complications that come with it. But Camille is a single mother now, on the side of a mountain, with us as her only real neighbors…and she didn’t even come to us for help when her husband died.

Shit…

Or maybe she did and Pops forgot to tell me, then promptly forgot about it himself…

Which would explain part of the welcome she gave me.

If she asked and feels like we abandoned her, she has every reason to mistrust Pops and me.

I need to talk to her again. To find out more about her situation so I can lend any assistance possible—any I can convince her totake. Because she and that little boy won’t make it through winter like this.

There isn’t enough feed.

Their garden is a weed-infested mess with almost nothing edible growing in it.

The greenhouse is half-collapsed.

And I would wager a guess that her freezers are empty, too.

Even if she has the skills, Camille can’t hunt when she has a child to care for. Which means she’s likely felt as hopeless the last few months as I have, watching Pops decline day by day.

And I’ve been away from him too long as it is today.

The sun continues to drop behind the trees as I finish leveling the clearing, hopefully fully concealing the burial spot.

I swipe the back of my hand over the sweat trickling down my temples and forehead as the last vestiges of daylight disappear, leaving the orangey-pink sky above the trees the only illumination.

There’s only one thing left to do—head back to the cabin and have a very uncomfortable conversation with her before I try to go home in the darkness.

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