Page 39 of Billionaire Lumberjack's Bargain

DALTON

Alight drizzle falls from the darkening sky, pelting the plexiglass roof of the greenhouse, creating a soft, soothing song that fills the otherwise nearly silent space.

Other than the sounds of Camille and me moving the small seedling plants from plastic containers into the newly built planter boxes and the scrape of Davey’s plastic shovel along the bottom of the one we’re letting him play in to keep him occupied, the companionable silence that settled over us a while ago had gone unbroken.

And somehow, ithasn’tbeen awkward.

After almost a month of being here and having Camille and Davey come to our place daily, we’ve settled into a comfortable routine and found normalcy that I didn’t think would be so easy, given the way things started out—at gunpoint.

Mornings working our homestead as much as I can.

Caring for the animals.

Making regular repairs and conducting maintenance on the hundreds of little things that wear down constantly.

Doing what I can to ensure Pops and I are prepared for the coming winter by stockpiling wood, hunting, trapping, and fishing—often before the sun even comes up.

Camille and Davey arriving to work with Pops on his exercises and to keep the old man company as he continues to recover and get better day by day.

Afternoons spent here, trying my damnedest to keep Camille afloat by fixing and improving what I can on the property with the last remaining hours of daylight and energy I have left as we reach the height of summer.

Which isn’t much some days.

The pain has become unbearable at times, and I’ve had to dial back my workload or grin and bear it in order to keep Pops or Camille from worrying.

But it’s worth it.

Because the woman who has become so much more than just a neighbor no longer has to agonize over what will happen when the snow—and her baby—come.

She’ll have a warm, safe home for her children, and her animals will be well-protected from the elements. Along with this greenhouse we’ve been working on for days in order to get it ready for planting, the meat and fish I’ve started stocking in her freezer and the new chickens I’ve added to her now-contained flock mean she won’t have to worry about where her food is coming from, either.

There are still things to do—far too many for my liking. But there’s an end in sight. One that doesn’t result in her leaving the mountain with Davey.

Every time I consider that possibility, a renewed panic sets in.

She doesn’t feel the same way I do—doesn’twantwhat I do—but even if I can’t have that part of her, I can’t imagine not having them here and in my life.

I glance over my shoulder to check on her and Davey. Both are still intently working, but Camille’s brow holds that deep furrow I often find there.

She’s worried.

But it isn’t about what we still need to accomplish here. Not with the finish line in sight.

This is something new, something that has lingered in her gaze as she watches me since the night I confronted Pops about the threat that skeezy lawyer made.

I suspected she was listening, but it wasn’t until I heard Davey’s voice through the cracked window that I knew for sure she had overheard at least part of our conversation.

How much?

Enough that she’s kept a watch on me like she expects the other shoe to drop.

Like she’s wary and waiting for it.

Maybe she should be.

Despite how well things have gone here, a sense of dread has clung to me since my confrontation with that asshole. Nothing Pops has said to try to quell my concern has done anything more than make it worse.

The old man seems to have his head in the sand.

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