Page 5 of More Than This Land

A woman in her sixties approached. Soft wisps of graying hair lingered at her temples, and her warm blue eyes crinkled when she grinned. “Morning, Claire.”

“Hi, Jo.” The diner’s owner never bothered with anything other than warm familiarity. She ran the kitchen, filled orders, and chatted with customers without ever losing her smile in all the times Claire had been in.

Jo filled the mug Claire hadn’t requested, set a ceramic pitcher of cream and another of sugar in the center of the table, and propped her hand on her hip. “Little birdie told me you’re meeting with Luke Calloway this morning.”

“Oh?” Claire played into the scenario, cupping her chin in her hand and raising her eyebrows. “I wonder who would’ve told you that.”

Jo rolled her eyes. “Don’t play dumb with me. Rachael Bennett is the utmost authority on the daily happenings around here.”

“Well then, I can reassure you that she’s right.” Claire poured cream and sugar into her coffee until it resembled soft caramel, then took a drink. Her hands tightened around the cup as she flashed back to last night when Luke had grabbed her hands. She’d seen the splash of hot liquid and his wince, but he’d ignored it like it hadn’t mattered at all.

Why had she frozen like that when he touched her?

Jo’s smile crinkled at the corners of her eyes. “You want breakfast or just coffee while you wait?”

“Just coffee. Thanks.”

Jo lingered, wiping down the immaculate table edge. “Luke’s a good man. Wound a little tight these days, but good.”

Claire recognized the small-town ritual of information gathering disguised as casual conversation. “I’m sure he is.”

“His grandfather was one of my favorite people.” Jo’s expression softened with the memory. “Used to sit right where you’re sitting. Every Tuesday morning. He’d talk with anyone who needed help. Man fixed more problems over pie and coffee than most people fix in a lifetime.”

The implication wasn’t subtle. Claire sipped her coffee and waited.

“Anyway.” Jo topped off Claire’s coffee when she set the cup down. “You need anything, just holler.”

Claire returned to her laptop, pulling up the analysis she’d compiled last night. The numbers told a clear story, but numbers always did. Numbers tracked patterns and had a set rule that exposed the truth.

Luke’s choices were ruthless and efficient.

She’d expected that. Most ranchers fell into one of two categories. Either they were part of the “old guard” who resisted change or the “new generation” who’d gone to business school and treated agriculture like any other industry.

Luke clearly belonged in the second group.

When Mr. Calloway first approached her, she’d assumed the ranch ran in the first category, everyone under the impression that nothing could change. Those were the ones who swore that “it’s how we’ve always done it” would win in the end.

Luke shattered that assumption within seconds.

The cowbell over the door jangled and Claire didn’t have to look up to know that Luke had walked in. The air in the room changed, becoming charged with a tense, electric feeling that buzzed beneath her skin.

Her head lifted of its own accord.

Luke scanned the room with a kind of brutal assessment. He noticed everything, and when his gaze landed on her, he held her gaze for a heartbeat before making his way between the tables. He wore a canvas work jacket over a button-down shirt, jeans that had seen actual labor, and boots that matched. Not the corporate rancher costume some people adopted, but the real deal. This was a man who worked with his hands and had honed his work ethic to a knife edge.

She closed her laptop and stood to greet him, holding out her hand. “Morning.”

“Morning.” He shook her hand, his expression neutral. Once he released her hand, he pulled a file from beneath his arm and dropped it onto the table. “I wanted you to see my projections for the future. Dad showed you the financials, but I’m not sure he explained everything the way I would have.”

Oh, she knew for a fact that Wade Calloway did not explain things the way Luke did. They were night and day in their approach.

Luke flipped the file open and pulled out a stack of color-coded graphs, spreadsheets, and projections. He laid them out one by one, explaining each with a tap of his index finger on the papers.

Long fingers with thick knuckles and nails scraped clean but with decades of hard work blunting them held her captive.

“Now that you’ve seen this, I’d like to hear what you discovered.” Luke sat back and drew his hands into his lap.

She reopened her laptop, angling it so he could see the screen. “But first, I want to apologize for yesterday. Your father gave me the impression you’d requested this review, and walking into that situation couldn’t have been comfortable.”