Page 5 of Challenged By the Rugged Lumberjack (Curvy Wives of Cedar Falls #2)

The casserole isn't anything special—just a simple pasta bake I threw together from supplies bought at Bell's General Store—but Josh is on his second helping.

I watch him eat, the way he cuts each bite to the same size, the precision in his movements.

He's a man of rituals, I think. Someone who finds comfort in order and routine.

Which makes it all the more surprising that he invited us in.

Mason squirms on my lap, more interested in playing with his rabbit than finishing his dinner.

I've already eaten more than I should have, my stomach uncomfortably full.

Morning sickness has mostly passed, replaced by a constant, low-grade heartburn that flares when I overeat.

I press a hand discreetly to my belly, trying to ease the pressure.

"S'good," Josh says, nodding toward my now-empty plate. "Been a while since I had a home-cooked meal."

"Do you usually cook for yourself?" I ask, genuinely curious about his life up here, so isolated from everything.

He shrugs one powerful shoulder. "Simple stuff. Nothing like this."

"It's just a casserole," I demur, but I'm pleased by the compliment. "Mason helped, didn't you, baby?"

Mason looks up at the sound of his name, then grins and nods enthusiastically, though his "help" consisted mainly of dropping pasta into the boiling water one piece at a time while I hovered nervously to prevent burns.

Josh's mouth quirks in his classic almost-smile. "Good job, buddy."

The praise makes Mason beam and something inside me aches at how easily he responds to male attention.

Jordan was never interested in Mason, viewing him as an inconvenience at best, a competitor for my attention at worst. The closest thing to fatherly interaction Mason ever got was being ignored rather than yelled at.

"You're very patient with him," I observe, watching Josh carefully wipe his plate clean with a piece of bread. "Not everyone is."

He looks up, those dark eyes suddenly unreadable. "Kids are easy. They say what they mean. Do what they feel." He pauses, then adds, "Adults are the complicated ones."

There's a weight to his words, a history I can sense but can't decipher. I wonder, not for the first time, what drove this man to such solitude. What made him build walls so high that even the townspeople seem to keep their distance?

Mason breaks the silence by yawning hugely, then rubbing his eyes with balled fists.

"Someone's getting tired," I murmur, brushing his curls back from his forehead. "We should probably head back soon."

Josh nods but makes no move to clear the table or usher us out. Instead, he asks, "How was town?"

"Good." I shift Mason to a more comfortable position. "I talked to Marge at the store—she's quite a character."

"That's one word for her."

"She was helpful, though. Told me who to talk to about jobs, where to find things we need." I hesitate, then add, "And warned me to steer clear of the 'mountain hermit' who doesn't like visitors."

Josh's eyebrow raises slightly. "That right?"

"She seemed surprised when I mentioned you'd helped us." I can't resist adding, "Said something about Carter men being trouble, but you didn't seem like trouble to me."

His expression shutters immediately, and I regret bringing it up. "Marge has a long memory," he says after a moment.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pry—"

"You didn't." He stands, gathering our plates. "Small towns. Everyone knows everyone's business. Or thinks they do."

I nod, understanding all too well. "That's partly why I chose Cedar Falls, actually. I wanted somewhere small, somewhere I could... disappear, I guess. Become someone new." The admission slips out before I can stop it.

Josh pauses, plates in hand, staring at me with those piercing eyes. "Running from something?"

The question is direct, but his tone isn't accusatory. Still, I feel myself tense, old defenses rising.

"Isn't everyone?" I counter.

He holds my gaze for a long moment, then nods once, a gesture of acknowledgment—or perhaps recognition. He takes the dishes to the kitchen, and I hear water running in the sink.

"You don't have to wash up," I call. "You provided the venue, I'll clean."

"Already done," he replies, returning to the living room. He seems at a loss now that the meal is over, like he's not sure what the protocol is for having guests in a home that never sees them.

Mason has gone limp against me, his breathing deepening toward sleep. The fireplace's warmth and his heavy weight are making me drowsy too, the constant vigilance I've maintained for months now suspended in this cozy cabin with its taciturn owner.

"He likes you," I say, nodding toward my sleeping son. "He doesn't usually warm up to people so quickly."

Josh's expression softens as he looks at Mason. "He's a good kid."

"The best," I agree, kissing the top of his head. "I worry sometimes, though..." I trail off, not sure why I'm about to confide in this near-stranger.

Josh settles back into his chair, surprisingly at ease with the silence. He doesn't prompt me to continue, doesn't fill the gap with meaningless words. He just waits, patient as the mountain itself.

And maybe that's why I find myself speaking again. "I worry about him not having siblings close to his age. I always wanted a big family, kids close enough to be friends growing up."

It's a careful approach to the subject that's been weighing on me all day—the secret I've been carrying for sixteen weeks, the reason I finally found the courage to leave Jordan.

Josh's brow furrows slightly. "He's young. Plenty of time for that."

I take a deep breath, my heart hammering against my ribs. "Not as much time as you might think."

His eyes narrow, and he arches his eyebrows.

"I'm pregnant," I whisper, the words feeling strange in my mouth. I've never said them aloud before, not even to myself. "About four months along."

Josh goes very still, his gaze dropping briefly to my belly, then back to my face. I can't read his expression—surprise, certainly, but beyond that, I have no idea what he's thinking.

"The father..." he begins, then stops, as if uncertain whether he has the right to ask.

"Doesn't know," I finish for him. "And I plan to keep it that way."

Understanding dawns in his eyes, along with something darker—anger, perhaps, though I don't think it's directed at me. "That's why you left. Why you came here."

It's not a question, but I nod anyway. "I found out I was pregnant, and I just... I couldn't do it anymore. Couldn't let another child grow up in that environment." I swallow hard, memories threatening to surface. "Mason deserves better. They both do."

Josh is quiet for a long moment, processing this information. Then he says, simply, "Yes. They do."

There's such conviction in those three words that my eyes sting suddenly with unshed tears. I blink them back, focusing on the steady rise and fall of Mason's chest against mine.

"I don't even know if it's a boy or girl yet," I continue, needing to fill the silence. "Part of me hopes for a girl—someone different, a new experience. But then I worry they won't be as close as two brothers might be."

"Brothers aren't always close," Josh says, a rough edge to his voice I haven't heard before.

I look up, surprised by his tone. "Do you... do you have siblings?"

He stares into the fire, the flames reflecting in his dark eyes. For a moment, I think he won't answer. Then, "A brother. Riley. Five years older."

"And you're not close?" I venture.

Josh's jaw tightens. "Haven't spoken in twenty years."

The finality in his voice should discourage further questions, but something makes me press on. "May I ask why?"

He glances at me, then back at the fire. "He left. When I was fourteen, he turned eighteen and joined the military. Got out of our father's house the first chance he had." His hands, resting on the arms of his chair, curl into fists. "Left me behind."

The pain in those three words is so raw, so familiar, that I feel them deep in my bones.

"I'm sorry," I whisper.

Josh shrugs, a deliberate loosening of his shoulders. "Ancient history."

But we both know it isn't. Some wounds never fully heal, just scab over, ready to bleed fresh at the slightest touch.

"Is he still in the military?" I ask, sensing there's more to the story.

Josh makes a sound that might be a laugh, but there's no humor in it. "No. Ironically enough, he lives right here in Cedar Falls. Has a garage in town. Fixes cars, motorcycles."

This surprises me. "You live in the same town and don't speak?"

"Cedar Falls isn't that small. And I stay up here, he stays down there. Works out fine."

"Don't you ever want to... I don't know, clear the air? Make peace?"

"Some things can't be forgiven."

I nod, not pushing further. Who am I to question his grudges when I'm running from my own past? We all have our reasons for the walls we build.

"Anyway," he says, clearly wanting to change the subject, "your kids'll be fine. Close in age, they'll bond. Brothers, sisters—doesn't matter much."

"I hope so." I stroke Mason's cheek gently. "I want him to have what I never did—someone who's always in his corner. I was an only child, and after my parents died, there was just... no one."

"When?" he asks.

"I was nineteen. Car accident." I try to keep my voice steady. "I dropped out of college and took whatever jobs I could find. That's when I met Mason's father. He seemed so stable, so sure of himself. Exactly what I needed." My mouth twists in a bitter smile. "Until he wasn't."

Josh nods, requiring no further explanation. We sit in silence for a while, the fire crackling, Mason's soft breathing the only other sound. There's something oddly comforting about Josh's presence—his lack of platitudes, his acceptance of hard truths without trying to soften them.

"It's getting late," I say finally, reluctant to break the spell but aware of how long we've imposed on his solitude. "We should go back to our cabin."

Josh looks at his watch, then out the window where full darkness has fallen. "It's after nine. Path's not lit between here and your place."

"Oh." I hadn't realized how much time had passed. "I have my phone. The flashlight—"

"It's steep in parts. Tricky even in daylight with a kid." He hesitates, then adds, "You could stay. If you want."

The offer catches me completely off guard. "Stay? Here?"

He nods toward Mason. "He's already out. The guest room has a double bed. Clean sheets."

"You have a guest room?" I can't keep the surprise from my voice.

One corner of his mouth lifts in that almost-smile. "Ironic, I know. Never used it."

I should say no. Should gather Mason up and make the short trek back to our cabin, where the generator hums and the woodstove needs feeding. I barely know this man, this mountain hermit with his gruff manner and guarded eyes.

But Mason is heavy with sleep, and the thought of disturbing him, of navigating the dark path while carrying him, suddenly seems exhausting. And beneath that is something else—a strange reluctance to leave this moment, this connection, however tenuous.

"If you're sure it's not an imposition," I finally tell him.

"Wouldn't have offered if it was."

I nod, accepting both his logic and his hospitality. "Thank you, then. We'll head back first thing in the morning."

"No rush," he says, rising from his chair. "I'll show you the room."

I stand, adjusting Mason in my arms. Josh moves as if to help, then seems to think better of it, his hands dropping back to his sides. He leads me down a short hallway to a room at the back of the cabin.

The guest room is simple but beautiful—a handcrafted bed with a patchwork quilt, a small dresser, and a rocking chair by the window. Like everything in Josh's home, it speaks of craftsmanship and care.

"Bathroom's across the hall," he says, hovering in the doorway. "Towels in the cabinet. If you need anything..." He trails off, awkward again now that we're standing in what is essentially a bedroom.

"We'll be fine," I assure him. "And really, thank you. For dinner, for letting us stay."

He nods once. "Night, then."

"Goodnight, Josh."

He turns to go, then pauses, looking back at me over his shoulder. "Elisa?"

"Yes?"

"Your secret's safe. The baby, I mean. And whatever else you're running from." His eyes meet mine, steady and certain. "No one will hear it from me."

"Thank you," I whisper.

He nods again, then disappears down the hallway, his footsteps fading toward the other end of the cabin.

I lay Mason gently on the bed, removing his shoes and tucking him under the quilt. He sighs in his sleep, curling around Hoppy, entirely at peace. I watch him for a moment, overwhelmed by love and fear in equal measure. Then I slip off my shoes and lie beside him, on top of the covers.

In this stranger's home, surrounded by evidence of his solitary life, I should feel out of place. Anxious. Ready to flee at the first sign of danger, as I've trained myself to be.

Instead, I feel my muscles relaxing, tension draining from my body like water. Perhaps it's exhaustion from the move, constant vigilance, and carrying not just one life but two. Perhaps it's the simple security of solid walls and a locked door, of being somewhere Jordan could never find us.

Or perhaps it's knowing that across the hallway, in another room, is a man who looked at my broken pieces and didn't try to fix them or use them against me—just acknowledged them and offered what he could. His help. A safe place to sleep. A promise of silence.

It's more than I expected to find in Cedar Falls. More than I dared hope for.

As sleep claims me, my hand rests over the small swell of my belly. And for the first time in months, I don't dream of running.