Page 47 of Billionaire Lumberjack's Bargain

“It’s a girl.”

Dalton sucks in a sharp breath, then whistles in a way so similar to Pops that I can’t help but laugh. “Damn. That’s amazing. A girl… congratulations, Camille.”

“Thank you.” I give him a worried smile. “Honestly, I’m a little nervous. I feel like I was prepared for a boy after having Davey.”

A slow grin curls Dalton’s mouth, and he runs the back of his hand over his forehead, wiping away the sweat there. “I am one hundred percent confident you are going to be an amazing girl mom.”

“I’m glad someone thinks so.”

He chuckles as he lets the axe fall and turns away from me to grab his shirt off the ground. “You need to give yourself more credit, Camille. You’re an incredible mother…”

My breath catches in my throat, and I can’t tear my eyes from his skin.

Scars track across his lower and middle back, up the length of his spine and out across the top of his hips.

Clean.

Meticulous.

Definitely surgical…

What the hell happened to him?

In all the time we’ve spent together, I’ve never seen his back exposed like this. Whether that was intentional on his part or not, he’s always kept his shirt on around me or worn one open in the front only on really hot days.

Was he trying to hide this?

He tugs on his shirt and turns to face me. His eyes meet mine, and his entire demeanor shifts in an instant. The relaxed posture he had only a second ago morphs as his body goes rigid.

Apparently, I’m doing a shitty job covering my shock at what I’ve seen.

I never did have a good poker face.

Even in the ER, I had a hard time concealing my reaction to truly catastrophic cases and often had to leave the room for a moment when I could to gather myself and prepare for what I was going to walk back into.

Knowing the pain they were in…

How much they were suffering…

It was impossible not to feel for them, not to want to ease their agony any way I could…

And whatever happened to Dalton was clearly catastrophic and agonizing.

No one has scars like that without it being a life-altering injury.

He clears his throat and steps around me. “I’m going to move all this tomorrow. Let’s head back to the house so I can get cleaned up before we tackle dinner.”

His avoidance of what I’ve seen, of the questions I undoubtedly have, doesn’t go unnoticed, but I’m not about to push him about something he clearly doesn’t want to discuss with me.

Just like he never does about Dave.

Which I appreciate more than he could ever know.

For as close as Dalton and I have become over the last few months, there are still so many things we haven’t said, and maybe we never will. And that’s probably for the best. For both of us.

* * *

DALTON

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