Page 27 of Billionaire Lumberjack's Bargain

Shit.

I drop my forehead against the worn wood panel and take a long, deep inhale, trying to push the agony to that space in the back of my mind I usually manage to place it and lock it away there.

But this is different.

It can’t so easily be brushed aside the way most of my daily aches and pains can.

It isn’t something I could keep working through, even though I wanted to do at least another hour at the Bower property cataloging all the projects I need to tackle before winter.

I pushed too hard.

Did too much.

I shouldn’t have gone there this afternoon.

Now, I’m paying the price for overexerting myself and pushing myself past the limits I never want to admit are there.

I should have waited for tomorrow, after a good night’s sleep and the rest I know my body needs, but the state of Camille’s place has left me more panicked than I will admit to her.

There’s so much to do in so little time, especially when I’m splitting working hours between here and there.

Pops isn’t much help these days, and I have to ensurewe’reready as much as Camille is, so I didn’t want to waste any daylight. But now my body is protesting, and so is my stomach, since I only managed to snag a quick sandwich to eat on my drive over there earlier.

It growls as the scent of something meaty and rich reaches me through the closed door. My mouth waters, and I drag my head back and open the heavy wooden slab, worn by years of rain, wind, snow, and use, stepping into a sight that stops me in my tracks.

Pops sits on the floor with Davey, pushing a faded red fire truck that I recognize all too well.

A vise constricts around my ribcage so tightly that it robs me of my breath and ability to speak.

They both look up at me, and Pops smiles and lifts the old toy. “Look what I found.”

I swallow thickly and force myself to move, nudging the door closed behind me until I hear the click securing it.

Davey’s excited blue eyes widen even more. “Fire truck!”

“Yep, that was mine…”

The memories it brings only aggravate the pain still coursing through me, making all the broken things flare angrily.

Pops bringing it to the hospital for me…

Trying to distract me from the agony and all the surgeries that seemed never-ending…

And for some reason, seeing the little boy on the floor with it takes me back to those awful days with shocking clarity—as if it happened yesterday instead of almost two decades ago. Or maybe it’s the throbbing, searing torture that’s engulfing me now that’s doing strange things to my mind and making me relive the worst moment of my life.

After the last few days, getting the cow taken care of, exploring the property with Camille yesterday and examining the damage to the infrastructure, and today, handling everything on our homestead and then spending extra hours up at hers, I’ve reached my breaking point.

If I don’t get horizontal soon, I won’t be able to stand much longer.

I bend down to unlace my boots, biting back a groan as the movement sends another fiery shock up my spine. My hands shake, but I manage to untie them, pull them off, and set them next to the door.

When I return to fully standing with far more effort than it should take, Pops watches me with narrowed eyes, seeing far too much. “You okay?”

Far from it.

But the last thing I need to do is give Pops a reason to worry about me.

It’s why I’ve done my best to keepthisfrom happening up until now. I’ve kept the pain in control. Moderated myself. Ensuring I wasn’t doing too much too fast.

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