Page 74 of Monk

And as I watched Kali lead Vivi toward one of the guest rooms, I realized something.

Being VP wasn’t just about making hard calls in church. It wasn’t just about enforcing club rules or planning runs. It was about this. Taking care of the people who needed it. Standing by the ones who had nowhere else to go. Being the kind of man who didn’t turn his back when things got hard.

I spent seven years running from my past. Seven years convinced I was unworthy of love, of family, of anything good. But maybe I was figuring out what it meant to be the man I was supposed to be.

The man Lina deserved.

The father Tatum needed.

The man my club could count on.

I pulled out my phone and stared at the blank screen for a long moment.

Then I typed out a message to Lina and hit send before I could second-guess myself.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Lina

The sound of tires on gravel pulled my attention from the stack of bills spread across the kitchen table. I looked up sharply, irritation already crawling up my spine before I even made it to the window.

Not again.

The black Mercedes sedan rolled to a slow, deliberate stop in front of the house, polished enough to reflect the afternoon sun in hard, blinding flashes. I watched Gerald Hutchins step out from behind the wheel like he owned every inch of dirt his expensive shoes touched. Real estate developer. Professional vulture. The kind of man who smiled while calculating how much your life was worth on paper. His silver hair was slicked back, his suit pressed within an inch of its life, and his expression carried that same practiced, predatory charm he’d worn the last two times he’d come sniffing around my land. I’d already told him no. Twice. But apparently Gerald Hutchins didn’t understand the meaning of the word unless it came attached to a lawsuit.

I pushed back from the table so hard the chair legs scraped across the floor and walked straight for the front door, stepping onto the porch before he could raise his hand to knock. The late afternoon sun pressed warm against my skin, and the Oklahoma breeze carried the familiar scent of hay, horses, and red dirt baked under summer heat. This land had been in my familyfor four generations. My great-grandfather had built this house with his own hands. My grandfather had raised cattle on these acres. My father had turned it into a horse farm, breeding some of the finest Quarter Horses in the state. Every fence line, every barn board, every patch of grass held memory. And I would be damned straight to hell before I let some slick, greedy bastard turn it into a casino parking lot.

Hutchins smiled as he approached the porch steps, hands sliding neatly into his pockets like this was a social call and not the third time he’d shown up uninvited. “Ms. Wilcox,” he said, all easy manners and false warmth. “Beautiful afternoon, isn’t it?”

I crossed my arms and leaned one shoulder against the porch railing, making no effort to return the smile. “Mr. Hutchins,” I said coolly. “I was under the impression I’d made myself very clear the last time we spoke.”

His smile didn’t so much as twitch. “You did,” he said. “But I thought perhaps you’d appreciate another opportunity to reconsider. Sometimes people make decisions too quickly when emotions are involved.”

“I didn’t make my decision too quickly,” I said. “I made it clearly. The farm isn’t for sale.”

Hutchins climbed the porch steps with slow, measured movements, stopping a few feet away like he was trying to project patience instead of arrogance. His expression shifted into something meant to resemble sympathy. “Ms. Wilcox,” he said, softening his voice. “I understand this property has sentimental value. Truly, I do. But sentiment doesn’t pay bills. And from what I understand, your father’s medical expenses have been... considerable.”

My jaw locked so tight it ached.

“My father’s medical expenses are none of your damn concern.”

“Of course not,” Hutchins said quickly, lifting one hand in a placating gesture. “I’m merely pointing out that the offer on the table could change everything for your family. Your father would never have to worry about money again. He could retire comfortably. Travel. Enjoy what time he has left without the burden of maintaining a struggling farm.”

Anger unfurled hot and sharp in my chest. “The farm isn’t struggling,” I said, each word clipped.

Hutchins arched one silver brow. “Isn’t it?” he asked mildly. “I’ve done my homework, Ms. Wilcox. You’ve lost three major clients in the last year. Operating costs are up. Revenue is down. From where I’m standing, you’re barely staying afloat.”

I didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. I refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing so much as a crack.

“We’re fine,” I said.

“For now,” Hutchins said. “But what about next year? Five years from now? What happens when your father’s health declines further? When the medical bills keep mounting? When you can’t afford to keep the lights on?” He stepped closer, lowering his voice like he was offering mercy instead of manipulation. “I’m giving you a way out,” he said. “A clean exit. A financial windfall that solves every problem in one stroke. You could take care of your father. Provide for your daughter. Start fresh somewhere else.”

I stared at him, my hands curling into fists at my sides hard enough that my nails bit into my palms.

“I don’t want a way out,” I said. “I want you off my property.”

Hutchins let out a long sigh and shook his head as if I were a stubborn child refusing to listen to reason. “Ms. Wilcox,” he said, “I’m trying to help you. But if you refuse to sell, there are other avenues available.”