“Impressive,” he said. “Assuming she keeps her form in transport. Trees like that are all beauty until one shift snaps a branch.”
I kept my expression neutral. “We’ll wrap her stem to crown in mesh and fleece. Soft cradling frame, padded undercarriage, and two-point rigging for stability. She’ll arrive in perfect condition—or she doesn’t leave at all.”
Washington nodded slightly. “Let’s hope so. Fragile things don’t always travel well.”
The others ignored him. Sonya stepped beside me again, jotting notes with a thoughtful hum.
“She’s a beauty,” she breathed. “You can tell she’s been grown with intention.”
“Oh, she definitely was,” I answered, but didn’t elaborate. That was none of their business.
Washington didn’t say another word, just replaced his sunglasses as if that would hide the cold ugliness in his eyes.
I passed out cold water bottles from the bed of my truck, then climbed back behind the wheel. Whatever else they might say about the day, Anna had made sure they’d leave knowing we’d been nothing but hospitable. Sonya climbed in again with a quiet thank-you and settled in, still flipping through her notes.
I was already tired, but not from the tour. More from holding back the urge to deck James Washington onto his smug, polished ass. The son had apparently not fallen far from the tree.
But I would hold it together for the last stretch.
Bodie and I delivered our guests to the bunkhouse, a place I hadn’t taken them on the original tour. I knew it was an old-fashioned practice, but one I was still proud to offermy crew. Anna and I had debated over something more elegant in the farmhouse, but in the end, decided to be “real” about how we operated. This would give the committee a chance to ask questions of the employees who I trusted would answer fairly and knowledgeably. I had nothing to hide.
Sonya’s eyes lit up as soon as she stepped inside. “Oh, my God! This smells incredible. Do you eat this well every day? And if the answer is yes, can I have a job here?”
I was filled with pride as several of the guys confirmed it was true. Anna smiled from across the room, slipping back into the rhythm of refilling bowls, and answering questions about the meal—most of it made from vegetables we’d harvested ourselves, herbs from the garden, even bread she’d baked that morning.
The crew mingled with the guests easily. A few of the field hands talked about planting schedules and pruning cycles. Colt explained how we rotated the younger guys between the fields and the barn to give them hands-on experience.
The committee was charmed—clearly impressed not just by the farm, but by the people who kept it running.
All except Washington.
He sat off to the side again, fork in hand, pretending to eat slowly like he wasn’t on his second helping. He hadn’t asked a single question. Hadn’t smiled, either.
I watched him for a second, then turned my attention back to Sonya, who was asking about the origin of the bunkhouse.
“My great-great-granddad built it,” I said. “Started with just a couple of beds and a woodstove for the original hands. Over the years, we added insulation, running water, and updated the kitchen. We haven’t had anyone live here inyears, but it’s available if someone falls on hard times. Regardless, the idea is still the same: taking care of each other.”
“This is incredible,” she answered. “Like a working farm from another era—but somehow modern.”
Another member nodded, snapping a photo of the long wooden table covered in platters and bowls of food. “You can tell it’s built around community. Places like this don’t happen by accident.”
Washington finally broke his silence, his voice low but clear.
“Romantic, isn’t it?” he said, gesturing around the room. “Makes for a good story. But sentiment doesn’t pay the bills.”
Before I could answer, Anna did. “No, but loyalty does,” she said, still smiling as she poured another glass of tea. “And that’s earned here.”
Washington didn’t respond. But the rest of the table did. Someone murmured “Well said,” and the conversation picked right back up—lively, easy, full of the kind of warmth that can’t be faked with brochures or buzzwords.
If he’d come here to knock us off balance, I hoped he knew by now—he’d picked the wrong ridge to stand on.
Chapter 39
Anna
The last ofthe committee members trickled out of the bunkhouse after warm handshakes and polite goodbyes. All but my former father-in-law, anyway. He gave Chase a sharp nod and climbed into the black SUV without a word or a glance in my direction.
I blew out a huge sigh of relief and collapsed into the nearest chair as soon as the vehicle pulled away.
