Page 40 of Billionaire Lumberjack's Bargain

He thinks there’s nothing anyone can do—but the world has changed since he was born on this mountain.

Things aren’t so simple anymore.

And I can’t share his blind confidence that whatever his “secret plan” is will be enough to protect our backs from anything that might be coming for us.

I’d give anything to be able to wipe away those creases from her soft skin, to touch her and tell her everything will be okay whiletrulybelieving it. But I don’t dare allow myself to dream of that being a possibility.

My dreams are already filled with her blue eyes and gentle touch, my days haunted by wondering what she’s thinking when I catch her gaze from across the yard and she smiles.

I have to shake my head now to clear away those thoughts, or they’ll end up leading down the dead-end path of wanting anythingmorefrom Camille.

And I can’t work like this anymore.

Not in these tight confines with her, feeling her eyes on me every few minutes, when her orange blossom scent permeates the humid air, and I’m insanely aware of every move she makes.

I push to my feet, biting back a groan at the tension in my back from having been bent over for so long, working in the planter bed, and Camille looks up from her spot farther down the line.

Her eyes rake over me, as if she’s searching for something in particular more than actually taking in how I look in my jeans and open shirt. “How are things coming?”

I scan up and down the row that runs along the middle of the newly updated greenhouse. “Good. I think we’re almost done with this portion.”

Which only leaves two more sets of beds to plant.

It should be relatively quick work.

Much easier than rebuilding the broken structure and constructing the new beds that can hold far more than the old ones and will be watered with an automated drip line from the fresh water coming in from the well.

But I narrow my gaze on Camille sitting on the dirt floor, her belly now even bigger, and that same worry creeps in that I’ve been trying to keep at bay for months.

That I’m pushing her too hard.

That I’m making her do too much when she’s in this condition.

That I still don’t know what the hell her plan is when the baby comes.

And I’ve been too afraid to ask.

Too afraid to further insert myself into her life when she just wants to have her dream here with Davey and the baby. A dream I am not a part of.

She may need Pops and me to get back to where she would have been had Dave not died, but this was never meant to be anything more than a neighbor helping another.

It isn’t my place to take that protector role, to agonize so much about what her future holds, but I can’t help myself. Not when I see her like this.

“How are you doing? It’s been a long day…”

She glances down and presses a dirt-covered hand against the apron covering her belly. “I’m good.”

I raise a brow, looking for any signs of discomfort. “Sitting on the ground and bending over isn’t too hard on you?”

Her lips press together tightly, like she’s getting ready to launch into the same debate we’ve had numerous times in the past month when it comes to her helping with any sort of manual labor. “I’mokay. It isn’t any harder on me than it is onyou.”

I instantly regret even mentioning it—and not just because her final comment makes me think she heardtoomuch that night. The last thing I want is for Camille to know how much pain I’m in or how much worse it’s become since more than doubling my workload.

Plus, I know damn well how much Camille likes to believe she’s invincible, how tough it is to get her to admit any weakness. Evenimplyingshe might not be capable or shouldn’t be doing something is enough to be a direct insult to her.

Which is the last thing I want to do.

I pull off my gardening gloves and run a hand back through my hair, stepping over to where Davey digs in the dirt, getting more of it on the ground around him than actually in any of the buckets we gave him. Squatting, I ignore that pull in my back, and I ruffle his hair. “How you doing, buddy?”

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