Page 41 of More Than This Land

Claire stared at the scarred tabletop and tried to organize the thoughts that kept flying in every direction. The more she tried to control them, the harder her pulse drummed her ribs. “I keep telling myself I’m leaving. This was always temporary. I have a career and a plan and a life that doesn’t include 4C Ranch or the people in it.”

“And?”

“And today I drove to three people’s houses and felt more useful than I have in years.” The laugh she tried to push out clogged her throat and made her eyes burn. “I’ve been doing the financial work and the spreadsheets and the consulting but delivering food and sitting with people and being present for them changed everything. I’ve been avoiding the things that scare me.”

Granny Mama patted her hands, a choked sound emerging when she spoke. “You came back here for me, and I’m grateful, honey. More grateful than you’ll ever know.”

Claire’s eyes burned. “You never really needed me.” But she’d needed to come here. For whatever reason she kept refusing to acknowledge, she’d needed this time in Covenant Creek with Granny Mama.

Her whip-smart grandmother leaned forward. “Is your plan to go back to Billings about your career? Or is it about making sure you have an exit before you can love this place too much?”

She choked on the next inhale, her heart going wild as Luke popped into her head.

“Because those are different things.” Granny Mama continued. “Billings is a fine city with fine opportunities. It’s a safe place far enough away that losing what you’ve found here would only hurt instead of devastate. Close enough to visit without committing. The perfect distance for someone who learned at nineteen that loving people is dangerous.”

A tear tracked down her face, and she pressed her fingers against her mouth to try and stop the trembling.

“I’m not telling you what to do.” Granny Mama reached across the table. “But I love you enough to say what I see. And what I see is a woman who’s been criticizing a certain rancher for building walls around himself while building identical ones and calling them something more dignified.”

Claire’s hands fell to the table. Her lungs felt too small for the breath she needed.

She’d been thinking about him so much it took less than a second to replay their conversation in the line cabin. He’d asked for a chance, and she’d shut him down cold.

Why?

She’d accused Luke of controlling outcomes and building walls because vulnerability hurt. She’d said he chose perfect management over faithful living.

And then she’d done the same thing to him.

A pair of headlights swept across the kitchen window. Claire looked up at instinct and saw Luke’s truck moving slowly down the road, heading away from town toward the ranch. Late again, working past dark, the way he’d been doing for weeks. She knew his truck by the pattern of its lights, which was its own kind of critical acceptance about how much space he’d taken up in her life without her permission.

He passed without stopping, heading home with no idea she was beginning to understand what made them work so well together while also pushing them apart.

He was trying. Genuinely, painfully, one hard step at a time, he was rebuilding what he’d damaged and learning to lead with his whole heart instead of the efficient half.

He’d taken a chance at the cabin and reached toward vulnerability with hands that shook.

And she’d responded by telling him she didn’t know if she was staying.

Which was its own kind of cruelty, dressed up as honesty.

Claire wiped her face with the back of her hand. Granny Mama stood and stirred the stew, bringing up a rush of thyme and beef broth that once again settled her nerves. “I’m not going to figure this all out tonight.”

“No.” Granny Mama ladled stew into bowls. “But sometimes seeing things clearly is the first step.”

Outside, Luke’s taillights had long since disappeared. She kept looking at the spot where they’d been, turning Agnes Pruitt’s words over and over like rocks in a tumbler, wearing them smooth enough to examine what made them wonderful.

Chapter Eleven

The Bluebell County Fairgrounds were almost a second home at this point in Luke’s life. Even the smell of livestock, sawdust, fried food and engine grease, combined with the sweat of working people who’d come dressed in their best despite knowing better reminded him of home. He walked through the main gate with his hat pulled low and his shoulders set against the awareness that prickled the back of his neck everywhere he went.

People noticed him…and not in a good way. Not the way they used to with the easy nod of a neighbor or the raised hand of a friend. They noticed him the way people noticed a pile of roadkill or a skunk shuffling across their property.

He’d earned that.

Caleb fell into step beside him, boots raising small clouds in the dry arena dirt. They passed a cluster of men near the south gate, one of whom turned at the sound of their approach, recognized Luke, and turned away to study the fence rail. The snub was quick and practiced. Luke’s jaw tightened, but he kept walking.

No sense in arguing with what they all knew to be true.