Page 58 of Billionaire Lumberjack's Bargain

He isn’t mad.

Dalton isn’t the type who would let his personal feelings get in the way of fulfilling the bargain he made with me, but the atmosphere has definitely shifted the same way the weather has started to.

His heated gaze still lingers when he thinks I’m not watching him, when he thinks I won’t notice, but he’s giving me space. Spending less time in the cabin when we are and more out on the land, doing one of the dozens of little repairs and chores that need to happen before winter fully descends.

This afternoon was supposed to be further insulating the barn so the animals will be safe from the sub-zero wind chills that often blow across the mountain.

But he never showed.

I might have let it go as merely him needing a break—from the work or tension between us that feels strung tight enough to snap at this point—if not for Davey mentioning that Daltonpromisedto help him build and paint a sign for Rocky’s stall.

Daltonneverbreaks a promise to Davey.

No matter what might be happening—or not happening—between us, if there were something keeping him from coming or making him run late, he or Pops would have radioed to let me know rather than disappoint Davey.

Which is why I finally picked up that radio to call—only to have Pops give me that panic-inducing suggestion to drive across the mountain to them.

Davey remains blissfully unaware that something might be wrong, practically bouncing in his seat, anxious to see Dalton and Pops, only I don’t know what we’re walking into since the old man didn’t want to say anything over the radio.

That uncertainty makes my grip on the steering wheel tighten as I finally turn the truck onto the narrow gravel track that leads back to their cabin.

Nothing looks amiss on the property, from what I can see. The sun shines through the partial cloud cover, shimmering off the leaves already starting to change color surrounding the large clearing.

The cabin front door opens as I throw the truck into park, and Pops steps out, his jaw set hard.

None of the usual whimsy fills his eyes when he sees us—only worry.

Shit, something is wrong.

I climb out, a process that has become incredibly, annoyingly difficult the further I progress in this pregnancy, and Pops lumbers down the porch steps and approaches the truck.

Davey manages to free himself from his car seat and get out with my help, and he rushes toward the old man and practically launches himself at him. Pops catches him the best he can and scoops him up, something he couldn’t have done when I first met him with as unsteady as he was.

He smiles at Davey, but I catch the wariness in his gaze.

“Where’s Dalton?”

I’m afraid to ask him what’s wrong in front of Davey in case it’s something he shouldn’t hear. Given how vague Pops was when he told me to come, I don’t have a good feeling about any of this.

Is this about that lawyer?

Pops’ continued silence on the matter has grown more and more frustrating, and with the lines of communication not exactly wide open between Dalton and me at the moment, it meansanythingcould have happened without knowing a damn thing about it.

With Davey still on his hip, Pops glances back at the cabin. “I think I should take this little guy fishing at the lake this afternoon.”

I narrow my eyes on him.

Is he trying to get him out of here?

A foreboding sense of dread settles over me—it’s bad enough for him to call me down here and not want Davey to witness it.

Pops releases Davey and points across the yard. “Run over to the barn and find the fishing rods and tackle box in the tack room.”

Davey darts away, racing across the property as if it’s our own, and honestly, we’ve spent enough time here now that he knows it as well as he does our place.

As soon as he’s out of earshot, I turn back to Pops. “You want to tell me what’s wrong?”

“It isn’t my place to tell you, darling, but it’s about timehedoes.” He inclines his head toward the front door. “He needs your help.”

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