Page 43 of More Than This Land

Brody’s expression shifted, recalibrating. “I know who you are, sir.”

The barely recognizable switch in his countenance pushed out a sigh from Luke.

“What are you running?” Luke gestured toward Brody’s pen and the dozen steers inside. “They look solid.” For a small operation finding its footing. No need saying that, so he bit down on the words that might hurt the young man’s feelings.

“First time selling.” Brody eased his hands into his pockets. “Bought breeding stock two years ago when I took over from my dad. These are my first yearlings. Hope to get enough to cover operating costs and start paying down the equipment loan.”

Luke studied the steers. “Any buyer who knows cattle is going to be interested. Your lot has strong bones and good weight on them. Good, quality beef.”

A buyer who didn’t care about anything but price would offer less than they deserved, which was how he’d operated in the past.

“What are you hoping to get per head?” Luke asked.

Brody named a number, and he ran a mental tally on the market data he’d reviewed this morning. Fair number. Maybe even slightly conservative given current beef prices.

“That’s reasonable.” Luke straightened. “You should get it.”

Brody’s careful posture eased. “Appreciate you saying so.”

They parted and Luke continued his circuit of the arena, reading the room, cataloguing who was buying, who was selling, what the energy suggested about prices. He made notes in the small book he always carried and kept his attention on the task at hand.

He did not, under any circumstances, let his attention drift to the hospitality tent.

His attention absolutely drifted back to the hospitality tent.

She’d moved to the end of the serving line where she talked with a group of older men Luke recognized as the Bluebell County Retired Ranchers Association—men in their seventies and eighties who showed up to every auction more for the social aspect than the commerce. One of them laughed so hard he had to take his hat off and wipe his eyes.

“You look like a man walking a fence line and not sure which side to fall on.”

Luke turned. Caleb stood behind him with two cups of coffee. He’d completely missed his brother leaving. Good thing he hadn’t been talking to thin air this whole time. People would really be talking about him then.

“Neither looks pretty good. I’d rather keep walking the fence.” Luke took the offered cup and grinned at his brother’s stumped expression.

Caleb recovered with a snort. “Sure.” His brother thumbed his hat back and took a sip, slurping it through puckered lips. “Grandpa used to say the best things in life require you to be brave enough to need them.”

Luke’s grip tightened on the paper cup.

“Told me that when I was seventeen and scared to try out for the rodeo team because I knew there was a chance I’d fail in front of everyone.” Caleb scanned the arena. “But if I never tried, then I’d already failed. Thought you might benefit from the reminder.”

Right. Talking about Grandpa usually put him in a different mindset, but he could almost hear Gramp’s gruff voice reminding the Calloway boys that fear was all well and good but never to let it rule their lives. God was too big for fear to live in them.

Steam rose from the surface of his cup and dissipated.

He knew what he wanted.

He wanted Claire to stay and give them the chance she hadn’t been able to promise.

How did he hold onto that dream without letting fear consume him?

The auctioneer’s voice filled the arena with its rhythmic cadence, numbers rising and falling. It startled Luke out of his thoughts as handlers guided animals through the main ring while buyers lifted their cards to signal bids.

Caleb propped his elbows on the top rail and cocked his head to listen. Luke did the same, taking mental notes. Prices ran fair, maybe slightly soft. The spring surplus had buyers negotiating harder than the animals deserved.

He tracked Brody Kessler’s pen out of the corner of his eye. The young rancher stood with both hands on the rail, face carefully composed, doing the same math Luke was and probably not liking the results.

By noon, the Calloway steers were all sold. Caleb handled the transaction with their regular buyer, a cattleman from Billings with an honest reputation and deep pockets. Luke shook hands afterward and tried to think of anything he could do that would keep him away from the tents.

His stomach grumbled, the growl ugly enough to force him toward the promise of food. He didn’t have to go to Claire’s tent. Sure, she had the best option with Granny Mama’s famous pulled pork sandwiches, but he could live with a burger from the Reeves tent.