Page 81 of Pain in the Axe
It hit me, in that silent moment, the impact so powerful it took my breath away.
Deadly, destructive fire had laid waste to this place. But it grew back stronger, yet forever changed.
“There are no roads. This is totally inaccessible. A secret paradise borne out of a tragedy.”
I looked up at Gus, letting a small smile slip free. “Thank you for bringing me here.”
He nodded. “It’s your land. Well, part of it I’m not sure where the boundary is, but most of what you see here is yours.”
We sat on our ledge, sipped water from the same bottle, and continued to take in the beauty in front of us.
“I know you don’t trust me yet,” he said softly. “It’s okay. I will do everything I can to earn it. But I’ve been thinking a lot about the things I’ve done wrong in my life.
“This baby is a blessing. It’s the beautiful field of wildfires blooming in the wake of the mess we made as kids.”
My heart lurched. He was right.
I nodded as tears stung my eyes.
“I know how lucky I am,” he said. “And I’m not going to take any of it for granted. Just let me prove it to you.”
Chapter 22
Gus
The day was already heating up as we headed back toward our camp.
God, this felt good. Not as good as holding her all night, but the elation that hit me at the sight of the smile that split her face when she first saw the wildflowers was a pretty close second. It was fucking spectacular.
And a reminder that beauty could come from devastation and loss.
We sat on the plateau for a long time, snapping photos, drinking water, and enjoying the quiet. If this was as good as it got, then already, the trip was a success.
The longer we were out here, the more she unwound. Her posture was looser, the line between her eyes had smoothed out, and she was smiling more.
“Thanks for bringing me out here.”
My chest warmed at the genuineness in her tone. “It’s your land. I figure now’s the time to see it.”
“Before I get too pregnant.”
“Or before we have a newborn.”
She grew silent behind me as we continued down the trail. Dammit. That was probably the wrong thing to say. The baby may only be the size of a blueberry—yes, I had an app on my phone—but it was the official elephant in this forest.
I had so many questions, and there was so much to figure out. Although my goal was to give her time to relax, I was anxious to discuss how this would all work.
Based on her silence, though, she wasn’t ready to talk about this yet. So I’d give her time.
“Sorry, I’m so slow,” she said behind me. “My legs are a lot shorter than yours, and I guess I’m not as fit as I thought I was. I’m getting sore.”
I turned around and assessed her. Her face was flushed and her shoulders drooped. She was tired, and it was already three. Shit. I’d been marching this woman around the woods for hours.
“Okay,” I said, approaching her. “I’ll carry you.”
“What? No.” She put her hands up, frowning. “No way.”
“I didn’t realize how much hiking and climbing we’d be doing. You’ve got to rest. Let me carry you.” I took another step closer and reached out.
