Bea freezes mid-chop, brows shooting up. “Clint the Cunt Cooper?”
A loud, unfiltered laugh bursts from me before I can stop it. Aurora stirs, and I quickly clamp my mouth shut, but I nod as Bea grins. “Yep.”
“That’s my boy,” she says proudly, resuming her chopping with a little more pep.
When the laughter fades, I press gently, “So what does Cooper Cunt Ridge have to do with everything happening here? Hazel mentioned them trying to destroy Heart Springs.”
“Nice one,” Bea says with a dry chuckle, but her smile doesn’t last. “Cooper Ridge is big. Corporate-level big. They started buying up land about five years ago—first on the outskirts, then moving in closer. They’ve got backing, infrastructure, investors.They undercut pricing to push out the smaller farms, then sweep in and buy what’s left for pennies.”
She pauses, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “They’ve offered to buy Honey Bea a few times. Said we were wasting prime acreage. I turned them down every time. The last time… they weren’t so happy about it.”
The way her voice goes quiet has a chill crawling down my spine.
“What do we do?” I ask, heat rising in my chest. “How do we stop them from ruining this place? From running over people like you and your family?”
Bea gives me a tired smile. “Whatcanwe do? We’re small. They’re big and rich. I don’t have the funds to fight, as much as I wish I did.”
“Maybe not a court fight,” I say, voice low, eyes narrowing. “But this is the country, Bea. Don’t you all do things a little differently out here?”
She huffs a laugh and squeezes my hand. “It’s a rural farming town, sweetheart. Not the Wild West.”
“Fuck that.” My eyes widen and I wince. “Sorry—”
“Don’t be. ‘Fuck’ is one of my favorite words,” she says, grinning. “Don’t censor yourself on my account.”
That earns a giggle from me, and then I shrug, adjusting Aurora on my hip.
“There’s gotta be something we can do. You have a town full of people who’d do anything for the Archers.”
My mind kicks into gear.
I’ve done this before.
Not like this, not against a corporate farm with deep pockets and dirty tactics—but I’ve organized in crisis.
It was one of my favorite parts of working at Safe Haven, the nonprofit I worked for in New York. We helped women and children get out of dangerous situations and rebuild fromnothing. My role was boots-on-the-ground: coordinating shelter placements, hosting community fundraisers, securing grant funding, and mobilizing people fast when everything was on the line.
Yes, I used to work in social work back in New York, but the field is broad, and this is the first time I’ve ever been a caseworker. When I moved to Summit, DCFS was the only opening. I transferred my license, took the required state modules, and jumped in.
It’s harder than I expected. More red tape. More impossible choices I’m not sure I was quite prepared for.
But this? Saving Honey Bea from Cooper Ridge before they buy this farm’s soul?
That I can fight.
“What are you thinking?” Bea asks quietly.
“We fight smart. We tell your story. We host events on the farm—open markets, honey tastings, kids’ days, fall festivals, whatever it takes to get people here and keep them invested. We rally support from the town, hit social media, and use your community ties. Make the farm a symbol of what’s worth protecting in Summit.”
Her brows lift. “And Cooper Ridge?”
“We expose them. Public records, labor practices, land zoning violations, anything we can find. We use their size against them—make it personal. Make it public. If we can’t outspend them, we out-heart them. People fight harder for things they love.”
Bea stares at me for a long second, then nods slowly. “Well damn, Georgia Walker. Remind me not to get on your bad side.”
I smile, but it’s sharp. “You’re not the one who should be worried.”
“Country justice,” she murmurs, eyes flicking toward the window. “Now that might just be the kind of fight we can win.”
