Page 33 of Billionaire Lumberjack's Bargain

If only I can convince my traitorous body of that.

I head back toward the truck to drop off the bag, and the door to a black sedan parked in front of me at the curb opens. A man steps out in a sleek, dark-blue suit that belongs in a boardroom or a courtroom, not up here. He nudges the door closed behind him and steps toward me in shoes that look just as out of place here as he does in James Creek.

Instantly, my hackles rise. I scan him from his glossy, sleeked-back black hair to the practiced smile on his face, but I don’t recognize him.

“Dalton James, correct?”

I bristle slightly, narrowing my gaze on him. “Yes, and you are?”

He holds out a hand. “Crosby Gallo, I represent certain interested parties—”

And I was right to be wary.

“We’re not interested in selling.”

Pops may have done his best to keep me insulated from any of the business dealings, but as I’ve grown older and more aware of just what we actually own, it doesn’t take a huge leap to know why someone would want a piece of the mountain.

I move to take a step away from him, but he places a hand on my shoulder.

My initial reaction is to lash out at him for having the balls to confront me like this, but that won’t do any good. Especially when I have a feeling Pops has been fighting these types of assholes for decades.

As this area of the Adirondacks grows more popular with tourists, the land becomes increasingly valuable. And we have a fuckload of it, just sitting here, undisturbed and as pristine as it was the day my ancestors settled on it.

The city slicker forces another cold smile. “You haven’t even heard my offer, Mr. James.”

“Don’t need to. Not interested. And even if I were, I’m not the one who makes those decisions; my grandfather is.”

He raises dark brows in a sinister way that makes my hand tighten around the bag. “Is he? Your grandfather is aging, Dalton. At what point do you become the one making those decisions?”

I grit my jaw.

It isn’t that he doesn’t have a point.

I just don’t need to be reminded how fragile Pops is. How easily what’s going on with him could be something more serious. How quickly I could find myself in a position I’m not ready to be in—alone and in charge of allthis.

He removes his hand from my shoulder, holding both up with his palms out toward me. “Just give me five minutes to say my piece, and then I’ll let you go on your way.”

I scowl at him. “You have thirty seconds, not because I’m actually interested in what you have to say, but because people are starting to watch.”

It’s impossible not to notice someone who stands out so much in James Creek, someone who so clearly doesn’t belong. And the gossip mill will be turning very soon, drawing folks out of the various stores and shops along Main Street, which will make our conversation very public.

“Fair enough. As I said, I represent certain interested parties and would like open discussions about purchasing some of your land.”

I raise a brow at him. “Is that it? That’s your pitch? As I said, we’re not interested.”

“The people I represent are willing to pay obscene amounts of money, Mr. James. I don’t think you quite realize what you sit on.”

He glances up behind me toward the mountain, the range we own nearly all of, as far as the eye can see from here.

“I’m well aware.”

Gallo huffs indignantly. “If you were, your family wouldn’t have squandered it by letting it sit unused all these years.”

“We live there, other people do…”

The man gives a dirty smirk that only makes him look more unsavory. “And you could be making billions, hand over fist, if you sold to us. For doing literally nothing but signing a piece of paper.”

“So what? You can turn it into some resort so rich fucks from New York City can come up here with their friends to ski in the winter and swim in the summer?”

---