Page 30 of More Than This Land

Oh boy. She worked to control her stampeding pulse, but it decided she didn’t have control and ran wild. She gripped the steering wheel tighter.

“Come on.” Granny Mama opened her door. “Let’s go see your young man.”

“He’s not my—” But Granny Mama had already climbed out, closing the door behind her and moving toward the church entrance with surprising speed for someone who’d needed help up the porch steps two days ago.

The modest church building sported plain white siding and a simple steeple. Claire had always loved the honest plainness of country churches. No pretense or performance but filled with people gathering to worship and share life.

She rushed to catch up with Granny Mama in time to help her up the front steps and through double doors that opened into a small foyer. The scent of old hymnals filled the air, and a few muted voices murmured from the sanctuary.

“Claire Whitlock, as I live and breathe.” A woman with steel-gray hair and a smile that crinkled her whole face set her hands on her hips and stopped beside them. “I’m Margot. I’ve been trying to catch up with you for weeks. My husband Dave and I were at the branding Friday. I thought we’d have a chat there, but things ended up getting a bit noisy.”

“Of course.” Claire shook her hand, warmth flooding through her. “You brought those amazing cookies.”

“Snickerdoodles.” Margot beamed. “Family recipe. Now, you haven’t met my sister yet. Linda, come here.”

A slightly younger woman with the same warm smile joined them. “You sure are a sight for sore eyes, young lady. My father-in-law said you were a fine listener. He’s the one who sat on the fence telling stories Friday morning at the Calloway Ranch.”

“I remember.” Claire laughed. “He had everyone in stitches.”

Linda linked her arm through Claire’s like they’d been friends for years. “Come sit with us. We’re in the middle section, right side. Perfect spot to see everything.” Linda steered her toward the sanctuary without waiting for a response.

Claire opened her mouth to protest. She and Granny Mama had their own spot toward the back, so Gran didn’t have as far to walk.

Linda called out greetings to several members Claire recognized. They nodded at her, light grins and easy laughter telling her this was normal for Linda.

She marched them down the center, where pews lined both sides. A simple wooden cross hung behind the pulpit where Pastor Bennett greeted a new family.

“Now, listen, dear. I know you’re young and all that, but I wanted to invite you to be part of our quilting circle. We meet every other Thursday.”

Claire tried to respond, but words ceased to exist the instant a low voice reached across the small space. There, two pews ahead on the left, sat the Calloway family.

She willed her head to turn, to look away, but her gaze snagged on Luke standing near the side door in charcoal slacks and a light blue button-down that darkened his eyes. He held a stack of bulletins, greeted people as they entered, and shook hands with the same precise movements he brought to every task.

Even here, even in worship, control defined his posture. Shoulders squared. Spine straight. Expression pleasant but guarded.

Linda leaned in, her hand tightening on Claire’s arm. “That’s quite a view.”

She startled and yanked her head to the side. “I was just⁠—”

“Honey, every unmarried woman under fifty has that same look when Luke Calloway’s around.”

“He doesn’t⁠—”

But Linda had already moved on, settling beside Margot in the pew and patting the space next to her for Claire and Granny Mama.

Claire sat, hands folded in her lap and head forward. Not that it did any good when the man she needed to avoid for the sake of her heart and blood pressure remained firmly in her line of sight.

They filled the entire pew, starting with Wade on the end closest to the aisle, then Ruth with her silver hair pinned in a chignon. Graham, Caleb, and Noah lined up shoulder to shoulder, leaving room for Luke at the other end.

Why did he have to be in front of her?

Luke returned to his usher post by the door. An older couple entered, and he handed them bulletins with a nod, gesturing toward available seating.

“He takes his service seriously.” Margot followed Claire’s line of sight. “Always has. Even as a teenager, that boy approached every responsibility like it was a military operation.”

“Is that a bad thing?” Her fingers tangled so tightly she cut off her own circulation.

“Not bad.” Margot’s expression turned thoughtful. “A bit sad. Like he’s afraid if he stops controlling everything for one second, it’ll all fall apart.”