Page 20 of Challenged By the Rugged Lumberjack

We pull onto Main Street, which is exactly as a small-town main street should be—storefronts with striped awnings, hanging flower baskets, benches placed at strategic intervals. A hardware store, a bookshop, the flower shop with a cheerful display of sunflowers in the window.

And directly across from it, a garage with a sign that reads "Riley's Auto Repair." The letters are bold against the red brick building, impossible to miss.

Josh's jaw tightens as we pass, his eyes fixed deliberately forward. His knuckles go white on the steering wheel, the only visible sign of his inner turmoil.

"Is that...?" I begin hesitantly.

"Riley's place," he confirms, voice flat.

I study his profile—the hard set of his jaw, the slight muscle ticking in his cheek. Twenty years of silence between brothers. Twenty years of avoiding, pretending, maintaining a wound that never heals.

"Josh," I say carefully, "have you ever thought about just... talking to him? Clearing the air?"

He shoots me a sharp glance. "Told you. I tried that."

"No," I correct gently. "You said he tried that. Two years ago. And you told him to get off your property."

He says nothing, eyes back on the road, but I can tell he's listening.

"I know it's not my place," I continue. "I've known you for all of forty-eight hours. But..." I take a deep breath. "Life's too short for twenty-year grudges. Especially with family."

"It was harder than you might think," he says, but there's less edge to his voice than I expected.

"I know." I look back at the garage, now receding behind us. "And I know he left you when you needed him. And that was wrong. But I also know what it's like to be trapped somewhere, to feel like the only way to survive is to escape."

Josh pulls into a parking space and cuts the engine but makes no move to exit the truck. We stay still for a moment, the only sound Mason's soft humming from the back seat.

"What if it was Mason?" I ask quietly. "What if, twenty years from now, something had come between him and this baby?" I rest my hand on my belly. "I already know you’d want them to find their way back to each other."

Josh stares straight ahead, his profile carved in stone. Then, almost imperceptibly, his shoulders slump. "You fight dirty," he mutters.

I smile slightly. "I'm a mother. We do what works."

He sighs, a sound that seems to come from deep within him. "I'm not saying I'll talk to him. Just... I'll think about it."

"That's all I'm asking." I reach over and squeeze his hand briefly before drawing back. "Thank you."

He nods once, jaw still tight, then opens his door. "Flower shop's down the block. Want me to take Mason to the park while you check it out?"

The offer surprises me. "Are you sure?"

"Wouldn't have offered if I wasn't." He glances at my son in the rearview mirror. "Kid should run around a bit. Been cooped up in cabins and cars."

I nod, touched by his consideration. "If you don't mind, that would be wonderful. The flower shop is called..."

"Blooming Wonders," he supplies. "Christine's place. Next to the bookstore."

"You know the owner?"

"Small town," he reminds me. "Park's two blocks that way. Meet us when you're done?"

"Perfect." I climb out and help Mason from his car seat. "Baby, you're going to the park with Josh while Mommy checks out a job. Is that okay?"

Mason considers this, looking up at Josh with solemn eyes. Then he nods and holds up his arms in the universal child's gesture for "carry me." To my surprise, Josh complies without hesitation, lifting Mason onto his shoulders.

"We'll be fine," he assures me, one large hand steadying Mason's leg. "Take your time."

I watch them walk away, my son perched high on this mountain of a man's shoulders, chattering happily about the birds overhead. The sight makes something warm unfurl in my chest—something I'm not ready to name but can't deny feeling.

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