Page 13 of Challenged By the Rugged Lumberjack

"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.

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