Page 17 of Billionaire Lumberjack's Bargain

By the time I finally make it back home, get Apollo settled, and step back into the cabin, night has fully descended, and my body acheseverywhere. Not that it isn’t used to hard, manual labor every day, but what I had to do for Camille is something entirely different. If we lost an animal here, I would have had access to better equipment, and Pops would have assisted me with disposal, making the task far easier to accomplish in far less time.

Doingthatalone isn’t anything I ever want to repeat.

My back screams its displeasure with how I spent my afternoon and evening, and I rub at it and gently close the door behind me as quietly as possible so I don’t wake Pops in case he turned in early.

I need to get his advice on how to handle the situation at Camille’s, but given how I’m feeling at the moment, all I want to do is shower with scalding-hot water and then get horizontal.

“Dalton?” His gruff voice cuts through the quiet, still air of the cabin. “That you?”

Shit.

Guess the old man is still awake.

I bend down to untie my boots, wincing at the sharp bite of agony that travels through the lower half of my body with the movement.

Fuck.

It’s been a while since it’s been this bad, and I know I’ll pay for it tomorrow. No amount of sleep will ease what can’t be fixed, and I doubt I’ll be getting much anyway, with the jumble of problems rattling around so violently in my head.

How the hell am I going to help Camille when I can’t even help Pops?

It feels like an impossible feat at the moment. Especially when the simple act of kicking off my boots is enough to make me grit my teeth against a wave of pain that threatens to double me over. I have to take a minute and grip the door handle before I regain enough control over myself to push off it and slowly make my way back to Pops’ office.

He sits at his desk, the papers now more organized than they were the last time I was in here, and he glances up at me with his glasses perched low on his nose. “Where were you this late?”

Hell.

Pops doesn’t even recall the conversation we had earlier today.

Any flicker of hope I had that he was having agoodnight disappears instantly.

“Remember, I told you I was going to check on Camille Bower?”

His weathered forehead crinkles for a moment, his eyes glazing slightly before he nods. “Oh, right, right. How is she?”

“Not great, Pops.”

He raises a single white brow. “Really?”

“Really.” I cautiously lower myself into one of the chairs that faces the desk, trying to gauge how much he remembers while concealing my discomfort—something he is far too adept at noticing. The mostly cleaned-up papers suggest he had at least a moment of semi-clarity, but that doesn’t mean it lasted. “Do you remember why I went up there, Pops?”

He scowls at me as he glances down at a document in his hand. “Of course, I do. The vultures.”

I let out a long, slow breath, releasing my death grip on the arms of the chair and leaning forward slightly to take some pressure off my back.

At least he remembers that…

Maybe he will actually be able to help me formulate a plan of attack for the Bower property before I head over there in the morning.

“One of her cows died after calving.”

“Oh.” He peers up at me over the rim of his glasses. “Calf survive?”

I nodded. “Yes, but…”

Pops sets down the paper, actually focusing on me with the clearest eyes I’ve seen on him in weeks. “But what?”

Shit.

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