Page 14 of More Than This Land

“Doctor said I’m doing fine as long as I don’t overdo it.” Granny Mama patted Claire’s arm. “Cooking a few meals isn’t overdoing it. Now give me a hand so I can go sit down.”

A laughing snort trickled out.

They worked together, preparing the meal delivery for the Miller family and packing it all in a clean basket. Claire added fresh rolls and a jar of Granny Mama’s homemade jam. She reached for the soup locked up in a travel container and slid it closer.

Granny Mama swayed beside her. One minute she gripped a lid in her left hand and the next she grabbed for the counter, holding on so tight her knuckles went white.

“Gran?” Claire shot forward, grabbing hold of the older woman with both hands around her elbows to hold her in place.

“I’m fine. Just turned around too quickly.” But her face paled beneath her usual rosy complexion.

“Sit. Now.”

“You don’t have to order me around.” A wrinkled hand flapped at the air, but she moved toward the nearest chair and sat without arguing.

She guided Granny Mama to a kitchen chair, her own hands trembling as she knelt beside her grandmother. This was why she’d moved home. This exact moment—watching the woman who’d raised her after her parents died become suddenly, terrifyingly fragile.

“Do you need me to call Dr. Morrison?” Claire pressed her fingers to Granny Mama’s wrist, counting her pulse and trying to remember if it felt normal or if panic was distorting her perception.

“No doctors.” Granny Mama’s color was already returning, but the episode had shaken her. She clasped her hands together in her lap, steadying them with slow, even breaths as she closed her eyes. “It’s just the medicine adjustment. Takes a few weeks to level out.”

“That’s not what the dizzy spells mean. You need to be more careful. What if you’d fallen? What if I wasn’t here?”

“But you were here.” Granny Mama reached up and cupped Claire’s face, the gesture so familiar it made Claire’s eyes burn. “And I’m fine, sweetheart. I promise.”

A hollow promise just like the one Dad gave her right before his car accident. Granted, it had been true. There was nothing wrong with Dad. Promises didn’t prevent loss; they made the loss hurt more.

She helped Granny Mama to the living room couch, insisting she stay there while Claire finished the meal prep. The work kept her hands busy but did nothing to quiet the fear.

What if she couldn’t handle this alone?

The question followed her as she loaded the Miller family’s meal into her car, drove across town to their small house, and spent fifteen minutes cooing over their week-old daughter while pretending her own hands weren’t still shaky.

When she returned home, the afternoon sun was slanting long across the porch, and a truck she recognized sat in the driveway.

Luke Calloway stood beside his tailgate, unloading split firewood.

Claire parked and climbed out. Her keys jingled, and Luke turned. “What are you doing here?”

Late afternoon sunlight caught the sharp planes of his face. He’d left his hat in the truck, and his hair fell across his forehead until he shoved it back. Must be a common problem for him. “Brought you firewood.”

“I can see that.” She crossed her arms over her stomach, hugging her elbows against her ribs. “Why?”

He lifted an armful of logs like they weighed nothing. “Because it’s going to drop below freezing tonight. Late spring does that sometimes. Your woodpile is almost empty. Where do you want these?”

Having him here, performing this nice task to help take care of her and Gran shouldn’t bother her, but it did. Luke Calloway did not perform nice tasks out of the decency of his heart. He’d all but admitted that himself, and his financial spreadsheets proved it. “You don’t need to do this.”

He carried the wood toward the side of the house where her depleted woodpile sat. “But I’m here now, so I might as well finish.”

Claire followed him, watching as he stacked the logs with the same methodical precision he probably brought to everything else in his life. Each piece was placed carefully, building a structure that would hold.

“How did you know we needed firewood?” She hadn’t noticed the dwindling supply because the temperature hadn’t warranted it.

“Your grandmother mentioned it to my mom at church last Sunday.” Luke bent for another load. “Said she’d been meaning to get some delivered but hadn’t gotten around to it.”

Of course Granny Mama had mentioned it. “I could’ve handled it.” Claire’s hands clenched at her sides.

“I’m sure you could’ve. But now you don’t have to.” He kept working while Claire stood uselessly by, uncertain whether to help or demand he leave or just accept this strange act of service she hadn’t asked for. The silence stretched between them, filled only with the thud of wood on wood and the distant sound of a neighbor’s dog barking.