Page 206 of The Lumberjack and the City Slicker

“She did,” I agree, quieter than I intend.

He nods once, then settles back like he’s decided something.

I don’t like that.

Men deciding things near me is a sore spot.

“So,” I say flatly. “What do you want, Mr. Lawrence?”

He doesn’t bristle.

Doesn’t puff up.

Doesn’t play power games the way Mike used to when he wanted something from me.

Instead, he looks me dead in the eyes and says, “I want to make sure you and your boy are taken care of.”

My spine goes rigid.

I laugh once. Sharp.

“Oh, is this the part where you offer me charity? Because I promise you, I’m not?—”

“It’s not charity,” he cuts in, voice still calm. “It’s strategy.”

That makes me pause.

Because that is the most Leonard J.T. Lawrence sentence I’ve ever heard.

“What kind of strategy involves me?” I ask, suspicious.

“The kind where I don’t like loose ends,” he says simply.

I blink. “Excuse me?”

His gaze flicks to the edge of the tent where Mike’s parents are packing up Evan’s overnight bag.

The older woman wipes frosting off Evan’s cheek with a tenderness that nearly guts me.

“I’ve known the McCraes and the Stevens families a long time,” Lawrence says. “And I know what that man did to you.”

I swallow. “Everybody knows. He made sure of it.”

“I also know he drained your accounts,” Lawrence continues, tone turning a shade colder. “And touched your son’s college money.”

My grip tightens on my wineglass.

“Yeah,” I say, voice rough. “He did.”

Lawrence’s jaw flexes once. Controlled anger.

“Well,” he says, “that won’t stand.”

I laugh again, but there’s no humor in it. “You gonna send him a strongly worded email, Mr. Lawrence?”

His gaze cuts to me. “No.”

The single syllable lands heavy.