Page 4 of More Than This Land

“Oh honey, you don’t have to do that.” But Mrs. Patterson relinquished the dishes with a smile.

“I don’t mind.” Claire took the containers and added them to the table. “I took the liberty of creating a spreadsheet so we can keep things more organized. These are for the Millers, so I’ll put them over here.”

Mrs. Patterson lowered herself into a chair near the table. “I swear, this church family never stops being willing to help.”

“That’s good. It means people care enough to help.” She pulled out a notebook—the same one she’d had in his office this morning—and made a note. “I wanted to talk to you about a community fundraiser for the Hendersons. Their insurance bills are way more than they anticipated.”

“You’re too good to us, dear.” Mrs. Patterson patted Claire’s hand. “Moving back here to care for your grandmother and still finding time to help everyone else. It’s admirable.”

“Granny Mama would do the same thing.” She shrugged as blush covered her cheeks. “Besides, I like helping.”

He stared. He couldn’t help it. This version of Claire was so different from the composed consultant who’d dissected his business decisions this morning. She laughed easily, swapping stories with anyone who approached and asking about people’s families like she’d been here her whole life.

The contradiction shouldn’t have bothered him.

She believed what she’d said this morning. To Claire, community mattered as much as profit. She believed what she spouted about relationships being assets worth preserving. To hear everyone who talked to her, she lived it out here, giving her time and expertise to anyone who asked.

When Pastor Mark dismissed them, Luke stayed in his seat as people clustered into groups for lively conversation. He should leave. Go home, review tomorrow’s schedule, avoid any further interaction with the consultant who’d invaded his office and his thoughts.

Instead, he watched Claire coordinate the meal ministry with three other women, assigning deliveries, checking addresses and laughing at something Mrs. Patterson said. She glanced up once, her eyes meeting Luke’s across the fellowship hall.

Recognition flickered in her expression. Not surprise exactly, but acknowledgment.

Luke looked away first.

Seconds later, a soft tap on his shoulder, along with the floral fragrance he’d already memorized as hers interrupted his musing. “You didn’t look like you would get something for yourself.”

He turned, his shoulder almost knocking the cup from her hand, and he grabbed it with both hands, locking his palms over her knuckles to keep the hot liquid from hitting her. “Sorry.”

Wide brown eyes locked on him, and a slow, barely perceptible tremor shook her body. “Are you okay?”

The hot coffee had scalded his knuckles, but he’d saved her from the pain. “Fine. Didn’t mean to bump you.”

“Not a problem.” Her fingers flexed beneath his hands. “I, uh. I need to get back to the table.”

It took a second for it to register that he’d trapped her in his presence by holding so tightly to the cup, her hands sandwiched between his palms and the cup. “Right.” He let go with one hand, took the handle, and nodded. “Thanks for this.”

“You’re welcome.” She took a step back, brushing her palms together. Her skirt twirled around her calves when she spun away.

He made it to his truck before admitting he was rattled. The woman in his office had been easy to categorize—another consultant, another outside opinion, another person who didn’t understand what it took to run a successful operation.

But the woman in the church kitchen, caring for elderly widows and coordinating meals for struggling families while offering her financial expertise for free, was harder to dismiss.

She’d asked if he’d noticed changes in community relationships.

He had. Three families had stopped buying their beef. The 4H program had moved to another ranch for mentorship. Vendors who used to call him first now called last.

He’d told himself it didn’t matter. Business was business. Profit was profit.

But watching Claire tonight, seeing how naturally she wove together competence and compassion, efficiency and generosity, made him wonder if maybe—just maybe—he’d been measuring success by the wrong metrics.

Luke climbed into his truck and sat in the dark parking lot, hands gripping the steering wheel.

Tomorrow morning, he’d meet with Claire at the Brand Iron Diner. She’d present her analysis, and he’d defend his decisions. They’d probably disagree on half of it. And through all of it, he’d have to try and forget how touching her tonight made his entire being buzz with something that resembled attraction.

Chapter Two

Claire squeezed between two tables filled with parents and excited kids to slide into the corner booth near the back. Her favorite booth offered decent lighting and a view of the entire Brand Iron Diner. Grinning at a little girl who stuffed pancakes in her mouth and wiggled her fingers toward the syrup bottle, Claire set up her laptop and files on the red laminate tabletop as the morning rush swirled ahead of her. The rich smell of coffee, bacon grease, and decades of small-town conversations created a heady atmosphere, the kind of place where the laminate tables held memories and the waitresses memorized people’s orders.