Page 77 of The Heartbreaker Next Door

The first page was a letter, signed in blue pen and dated a little over a year ago.

Dear Felicity,

If you’re reading this, I’ve gone where all good farmers go when they can no longer out-argue the crows. I just wanted to tell you that, I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you when you were a kid, I know your life wasn’t easy. I can’t tell you how many times I thought about trying to get custody of you, but I just thought there was no way they’d give you to me since I was an old man with no family. The more I think about things now, though, the more I think my preconceived notions might have been outdated. I should have fought for you, and I’m sorry.

I felt tears brimming in my eyes. Hearing, or seeing, that Uncle Walter had thought about adopting me, meant more to me than he would ever know. When you grow up feeling worthless and abandoned, the knowledge that someone did want you made all the difference in the world.

I sniffed and continued.

I can’t do anything about the past, but I wanted to be sure you and Maverick are taken care of and you never have to rely on anyone else to take care of you again. Especially not a man.

I’ve left you the farm, free and clear. No liens, no debts, nothing to drag you down. If you ever decide growing things is for you, or you just need a fresh start, it’s yours, but you can sell it if you want. My lawyer has all the info you’ll need.

But there’s something else, and I didn’t want to put it in the will because I don’t trust lawyers. Back in the 80s I helped my buddy, Chuck Lockhart Sr. stay solvent—kept him from losing the ranch by buying out a bad loan. I’d already bailed him out once and had a single acre, but this was not a small deal. This was life-changing. In exchange, I took a promissory note and a quiet deed on the land, with the understanding he would buy me out when he turned a profit. Sadly, he passed away just five years later without so much as giving me a dime towards the land, so the paperwork just sat in my files.

The land is technically still Lockhart’s, but the way the deal is written, you and Maverick own a significant chunk of it. If you ever need to call in the note, it’s worth millions now. It could be leverage or security, whichever you need.

I know this doesn’t make up for your childhood and my nephew abandoning you and then me not stepping up and doing the right thing, but it gives this old man peace knowing you and Maverick will have some options.

I never wanted you to feel trapped or stuck. If you want to sell, sell. If you want to stay, stay. Don’t listen to anyone’s opinion, cause if you do end up in Valentine’s Bay, you’re gonna hear a lot of them.

Be good to yourself. Never settle.

Love, Uncle Walt

I read it twice, then a third time, pulse thudding in my ears. I flipped to the second page—a photocopy of legal documents, full of lawyerly words and notary stamps and signatures, with Lockhart Ranch and what looked like a staggering amount of acreage listed under security interest.

I looked up at Tanner, a dozen questions jostling for position. “Where did you get this?”

“It got sent to the Vineland apartment. I kept meaning to give it to you, but I just forgot.”

The Vineland apartment was the last place we lived together. I moved out before the lease was up because we broke up and I wanted it to be a clean break.

“You forgot?” I repeated, voice colder than the draft that crept under the kitchen door.

He raised his hands in surrender, like this was an emotional robbery and I was demanding his soul. “I don’t care if you believe me or not, Felicity. I’m just delivering the message.” He exhaled, and for a split second, Tanner looked old. Not aged, but tired. “Because you deserve to know. If the Lockharts are using you, I thought you’d want a heads-up.”

He let the words hang there, the accusation explicit.

I took a step back. “What are you talking about?”

He smirked, but there was no joy in it. “Come on, Felicity. You move here, immediately get hired by the ranch, suddenly the CFO is cowboying up for your kid? I’ve been in town long enough to know Dean Lockhart doesn’t do relationships, but suddenly he’s head over heels over you?”

His emphasis on you felt personal and degrading. Two things Tanner was very adept at being.

“You’re a smart girl, Felly. You don’t think that’s all a little too convenient?”

I scowled. “Dean didn’t know anything about this. He’s never mentioned a word⁠—”

He cut me off. “Are you sure? Because from what people say, Lockharts aren’t stupid. I bet they’re keeping you close because you’re their single biggest threat.”

I wanted to laugh, to dismiss him, but I wasn’t naive. I’d grown up in a system where people weaponized secrets and treated affection like currency. All four foster families I’d lived with, I was just a paycheck. I’d spent years believing my only value was what someone could get from me. The idea that I was being played, even unconsciously, by the people I’d just started to trust? It slotted into my deepest fears and insecurities with the precision of a puzzle piece.

Tanner’s tone shifted from accusatory to soothing. But it was so false it made my skin crawl. “I’m not trying to scare you, Felly. I just thought you should know what kind of game you’re playing. Not everyone has your best interests at heart.”

I couldn’t help it—I laughed, short and bitter. “That’s rich, coming from you.”

He didn’t address my jab, just continued as if I hadn’t said anything. “Just promise me you’ll be careful. You got a kid to think about.”