Page 83 of Billionaire Lumberjack's Bargain

Her door is already closed by the time I reach it.

Which is probably for the best.

Despite my pure intentions, only God knows what I might have done if it had been open.

Maybe something stupid—again.

But Davey’s door is cracked so Camille can hear him if he gets up during the night, and I stick my head in to check on him.

He lies sprawled on his back, arms wide, with his favorite teddy bear resting across one. The soft glow of the nightlight plugged into the wall to his left illuminates his soft features, making him look even more angelic in his sleep than he already does.

My still-booted feet draw me across the worn floorboards and over to him, and I lower myself to the side of the bed and brush the thick, dark hair back from his forehead.

“You take such good care of your mom…” He’s always so aware of her, helping in any way he can, trying to be a mini version of the woman he’s watched around the homestead since his dad died. “I wish I could do that, too.”

It feels like I’m failing, though.

If I were really taking care of her, none of this would have happened.

There wouldn’t be this looming threat.

She’d be safe and secure without me having to sleep armed on her couch.

I release a heavy sigh, and Davey stirs slightly. He shifts more onto his side, turning toward me, as if my voice is drawing him closer. I pull my hand away, not wanting to wake him when I also want to lift him into my arms and hold him tightly.

It’s strange to care so much about someone else, to be willing to doanythingto protect them.

I never thought about being a father, about what it might be like to feel this way about a child.

He isn’t even mine.

Yet, the thought that something could have happened to him today while he was at the lake with Pops, or up here when they came home without me, is enough to make acid crawl up the back of my throat.

Somehow, since he first stared up at me all those months ago, I’ve fallen in love not only with Camille but with her son, too. Come to think of him as mine to protect and to take care of.

I climb off the bed and turn toward the door to leave, but Camille stands there, watching me, her temple dropped against the jamb.

How much did she hear?

Enough to send her running?

The question worries me enough to slow my steps as I approach her. When I finally get to her, she leans into me, resting her cheek on my shoulder and feathering her lips over my neck. “Thank you for loving him.”

She pushes away and walks back to her room, closing the door behind her before I have any chance to react.

I never said that out loud.

Never dared utter those words.

Yet sheknew.

And it makes me wonder what else she knows without me ever admitting it.

* * *

CAMILLE

My own strangled scream rips me from the nightmare, and I bolt upright in bed. Ragged breaths rasp through my chest, and my heart slams so violently it feels like it might crack my ribs. The tank top I sleep in clings to my sweat-dampened skin that somehow still has goosebumps raised across it.

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