Page 9 of Challenged By the Rugged Lumberjack (Curvy Wives of Cedar Falls #2)

"Higher, Josh bear! Higher!"

Mason's laughter rings out across the small park as I push him on the swing, his little body soaring through the air with each push. The nickname no longer bothers me—if anything, it's become a strange point of pride, this small person's unwavering trust in me after just two days.

"Not too high," I caution, moderating my pushes despite his pleas. "Your mama would kill me if you fell off."

"No kill," Mason says seriously, twisting to look at me over his shoulder. "Mama nice."

I can't help the chuckle that escapes me. "Yeah, buddy. Your mama is nice."

Nice doesn't begin to cover it. Elisa Lowell walked into my life forty-eight hours ago with nothing but determination and hope, fleeing something dark enough to make her eyes go distant whenever it's mentioned.

And somehow, in that brief time, she's managed to crack open parts of me I thought were permanently sealed.

Like this—playing in a public park, in full view of curious townspeople, pushing a toddler on a swing and not minding the stares. Two days ago, I would have rather cut off my own arm than be so visible, so... vulnerable.

"Again!" Mason demands as the swing slows. "More push!"

"Say please," I remind him, surprising myself with this automatic parenting instinct I didn't know I possessed.

"Peeeeease," he draws out dramatically, and I comply, sending him skyward again.

Over by the sandbox, a cluster of mothers watch us, whispering behind their hands. I can imagine what they're saying. Josh Carter, the mountain hermit, playing babysitter to some woman's kid. The gossip will be all over town by dinnertime.

Strangely, I find I don't care. Let them talk. Let them wonder. None of it matters compares to the sound of Mason's uninhibited joy as he swings beneath the clear blue sky.

"Look! Mama!" Mason suddenly shouts, pointing past me.

I turn to see Elisa approaching across the grass. She's smiling—not the careful, guarded smile I've seen before, but something radiant and bright. The sunlight catches in her hair, turning the brown strands to gold at the edges, and for a moment I can't look away.

She's beautiful. Not just pretty or attractive, but beautiful in a way that makes everything around her seem more vibrant, more alive.

"Hi there!" she calls, waving as she draws nearer. "Looks like you two are having fun."

"Swing, Mama!" Mason announces proudly. "Josh bear push high!"

"I see that," she says, giving me a mock-stern look that melts into a genuine smile. "Not too high, I hope."

"Within safety parameters," I assure her, slowing the swing to a stop. Mason immediately scrambles off and runs to his mother, wrapping his arms around her legs.

"How did it go?" I ask, suddenly awkward now that she's here, unsure what to do with my hands. "At the flower shop."

Her smile widens. "I got the job! I start tomorrow, nine to two."

"That's great," I say, meaning it. There's something infectious about her happiness, something that makes me want to preserve it, protect it. "Christine's good people."

"She seems wonderful. A little... talkative, but sweet." Elisa laughs, the sound light and melodic. "She's already told me her entire life story and her views on child-rearing, despite not having any children yet."

"Sounds like Christine," I agree. "Shop's been doing well. Good place to work."

"I think so too." She looks down at Mason, stroking his curls affectionately. "And she's fine with me bringing this little guy in emergencies, which is a huge relief."

I nod, watching the easy affection between them, the natural way she touches her son, the absolute trust in his upturned face. Something shifts in my chest—a warming, an opening.

"Things are finally looking up," she continues, that radiance still emanating from her. "A job, a place to stay... it's more than I dared hope for when we drove into Cedar Falls."

"I'm glad," I say, and I realize I mean that too, deeply and completely. I want things to work out for her, for Mason, for the baby she's carrying. I want them to be safe, to be happy.

To stay.

The thought blindsides me with its clarity, its certainty. I want them to stay. In Cedar Falls. In my cabin. In my life.

Mason tugs at my jeans, pulling me from this revelation. "Hungry, Josh bear."

"Are you now?" I ask, grateful for the distraction. "What do you think, Elisa? Lunch once we get to the cabin?"

"That sounds perfect." She hoists Mason onto her. "I'm starving, actually. Apparently job interviews make me hungry."

We walk toward Main Street, Mason now riding on my shoulders again at his insistence.

The position gives me a legitimate reason to keep my distance from Elisa—a good thing, because I can’t help but notice the swing of her hair, her rosy cheeks, the way her dress moves around her calves as she walks.

As we approach the truck, we have to pass Riley's garage again. I feel the familiar tightening in my gut, the instinctive tensing of muscles. But this time, I also feel something else—a weariness with this decades-old grudge, this weight I've been carrying for longer than Elisa has been alive.

I look at her, at the gentle swell of her belly where her second child grows, at Mason perched trustingly on my shoulders.

Brothers who will grow up together, who will fight and make up and have each other's backs.

Brothers who might drift apart as adults, who might hurt each other in ways that seem unforgivable.

Brothers who should always find their way back to each other.

"I'm going to talk to him," I say abruptly, stopping on the sidewalk.

Elisa halts beside me, clearly caught off guard. "What?"

"Riley. My brother." I nod toward the garage across the street. "I'm going to talk to him. Today."

Her eyes widen with surprise, then fill with something warmer—pride, maybe, or hope. "Are you sure?"

I'm not sure at all. The thought of facing Riley after all these years makes my palms sweat and my heart race. But I nod anyway. "Yeah. It's time."

She stares at me, searching for something—hesitation, perhaps, or insincerity. Whatever she sees must satisfy her, because she smiles "I think that's a wonderful decision," she says. "Do you want us to come with you, or...?"

"No." The answer comes quickly, instinctively. "This is something I need to do alone." I lift Mason from my shoulders and set him gently on the ground. "Would you mind taking the truck and heading back to the cabin? I'll probably need to walk afterward, clear my head."

"Of course." She takes the keys I offer. "We'll be there when you're ready."

"Don't wait up," I warn. "This might take a while. Or it might end in about thirty seconds with him telling me to go to hell."

She shakes her head. "I don't think it will. But either way, we'll be there."

The simple promise—_we'll be there_—hits me harder than I expect. When was the last time anyone was waiting for me? Anywhere? When was the last time my return mattered to anyone but myself?

"Thank you," I say.

She reaches up and, to my surprise, places her palm against my cheek. Her hand is small and warm, and I find myself leaning into the touch without meaning to.

"You're doing the right thing," she says softly. "No matter how it turns out."

I nod, unable to form words around the sudden tightness in my throat. Then I step back, breaking the contact before it can overwhelm me further.

"I'll see you later," I manage. "Save me some dinner."

"We will." She takes Mason's hand. "Say goodbye to Josh, baby."

"Bye, Josh bear!" Mason waves enthusiastically. "See soon!"

"See you soon, buddy," I echo.

I watch them walk to my truck, help Mason into his car seat, settle themselves inside. Elisa waves once more before pulling away from the curb, and I raise my hand in response, feeling strangely untethered as they drive out of sight.

Then I turn toward Riley's garage, my heart pounding like I'm about to march into battle.

In some ways, I am.

The garage is busy—two cars up on lifts, another with its hood open, and the sound of metal on metal, of pneumatic tools, of a radio playing classic rock.

I step through the open bay doors, the familiar smells of oil and gasoline and hot metal washing over me.

So different from the scents of my work—sawdust, varnish, and fresh-cut lumber—yet familiar in their own way, a callback to childhood days spent watching our father work on engines before the drinking got bad.

A mechanic in blue coveralls glances up as I enter, then does a double-take.

"Can I help you?" he asks, though his tone suggests he already knows who I am.

"Looking for Riley," I say, my voice steadier than I feel.

The mechanic nods toward the back office, his eyes curious but not hostile. "In there. Doing paperwork."

I nod my thanks and move between the cars, aware of the other mechanics watching me, of the sudden drop in conversation level. Everyone in this garage knows who I am, knows the history —or thinks they do. Small towns have long memories and loose lips.

The office door is ajar. Through the gap, I can see Riley bent over a desk, a pen in hand, his brow furrowed in concentration.

He looks older than when I last saw him—more gray in his hair, deeper lines around his eyes.

But the resemblance to our father is still there, in the set of his jaw, the shape of his nose.

I knock once on the doorframe. Riley looks up, and for a moment, he just stares, as if he can't quite believe what he's seeing.

"Josh," he says finally, his voice holding the same gravel-rough quality as mine. "This is... unexpected."

"Yeah." I step into the office but leave the door open, a tactical decision—harder to start shouting with an audience nearby. "Got a minute?"

Riley sets down his pen and leans back in his chair, his posture deliberately casual though I can see the tension on his shoulders. "For you? I've got as many as you need."