Page 56 of More Than This Land

“The food is fine.” Claire picked up the coffee urn, adjusting the spout when it dripped, then gave up when it dripped more and placed a napkin on the tablecloth.

Brynn took the urn from her. “I’ll take care of this. Ruth wanted me to tell you to take a break. The coffee can manage itself for five minutes.”

Claire turned and caught sight of Agnes sitting at a table by herself.

The old woman raised one hand and crooked her finger.

Claire pointed her thumb into her own chest. “Me?”

Agnes nodded, her expression as grim as ever.

This could not be good. Claire knew better than to ignore the summons when the woman knew good and well that Claire had seen her. She could try to make a break for it, but she had no doubt Agnes would find a way to track her down.

Agnes made space at the table when Claire approached. “Sit.”

“I shouldn’t leave the serving line too long.”

“Brynn has the serving line.” Agnes waited.

Claire sat. “Did you need something?”

“Yep. Needed to know why you’re looking so sour. Thought you enjoyed this sort of thing. You’ve talked about it enough during our visits, which is the only reason I showed up.”

Oh. Right. She had been talking to Agnes a lot about the dinner tonight. She’d wanted it to sound fun enough to get the older woman out of her comfortable home and around people.

Claire folded her hands on the table. “There’s nothing wrong with the dinner. It’s me. I’m the problem.”

Agnes poked her fork into a piece of pie and ate it, watching Claire the entire time. “And?”

“And nothing. It’s a personal problem. I’ll deal with it.” Claire looked at the tabletop.

“You’ll deal with it the same way this town lets anyone deal with a personal problem. You find someone older, wiser, and you ask for their opinion.” Agnes ate another bite of pie. “Welcome to your someone older and wiser. Now start talking.”

Oh, why not? Claire talked her through the job and moving back to Billings, ending with, “It makes sense.”

“It makes sense.” Agnes licked her fork clean and set it aside. “That phrase is doing a considerable amount of work in that sentence.”

“Agnes.”

“I’ve been alive long enough to notice that people say, ‘it makes sense’ about choices they’re trying to justify.” Agnes folded her hands. “Choices they actually want get described differently. With words like ‘exciting’ or ‘right’ or ‘it’s what I want.’” She tilted her head, the sharp gaze never wavering. “Has anyone in the history of human language said, ‘I fell in love and it made sense’?”

The hall door opened.

Luke walked in with his hair still slightly damp at the temples. He wore a clean shirt with no stains, fresh jeans with no holes, and boots that didn’t leave tracks of mud and manure in his wake. He scanned the room, almost like he searched for someone.

Her heart did a little happy dance that ended with a hard thud right in her throat when his gaze found her and held.

Sweet mercy. His calm confidence twisted her all up on the inside. He was the kind of man who knew exactly what he wanted and went after it.

He’d done so in the cabin, then backed off so fast after she wouldn’t immediately promise to stay here that it gave her whiplash.

But the way he looked at her.

Goodness. Her chest tightened with a sensation that had nothing to do with sentiment and everything to do with the simple, inconvenient fact of him.

She’d helped make him something better.

He’d helped make her braver, and she hadn’t finished being brave yet, which was part of the problem.