Page 13 of More Than This Land

Luke sat frozen as the screen door closed behind her, his family’s eyes on him, his chest tight.

The silence after she left felt heavier than her presence had. He bolted to his feet and ran after her, catching up as she opened the door and set the food in the backseat. “I’m sorry.” He’d left his hat behind, and a lazy wind stirred his hair, sending it falling over his forehead. He shoved it back with an impatient hand, only for it to fall forward again. “I don’t usually act like that.”

“Seems I bring out the worst in you.” Her sad smile ripped his heart wide open.

What could he say to contradict her? “It’s not you. Not exactly.” What he needed to say and what he wanted to say strangled each other, driving the wedge deeper between them unless he figured out how to stop reacting so harshly when she dug at his sore spots. “I want to be the kind of guy who can give freely and expect nothing in return. I would love that, but I’m too pragmatic. I think in the negative all the time because I’ve been the one who has seen it all fall apart.”

Claire took a step toward him, then another, until they stood mere inches apart. “The weight of the world doesn’t belong to you, Luke. We were never meant to carry all this alone. It’s okay to want your family ranch to thrive. I want that too. All I’m trying to do is show you that you don’t have to shut out your compassion to achieve your dreams.”

Chapter Four

The basement fellowship hall at Haven Ridge Baptist Church smelled like coffee and decades of potluck dinners. Claire arranged her notes on the folding table while five other women from the hospitality committee settled into metal chairs that scraped against linoleum.

Rachael Bennett, the pastor’s wife, called the meeting to order with her gentle voice and an upraised hand. “Let’s start with spring outreach meal assignments. Claire, you’ve been coordinating that these last few weeks. Why don’t you walk us through what we have coming up?”

She pulled out her spreadsheet and cleared her throat. Even when managing casserole deliveries, her old CPA habits tended to crop up. “We have three families with immediate needs. The Millers just had their baby, Mrs. Jacobson is recovering from hip surgery, and the Hendersons are still dealing with medical bills that made grocery budgets tight.”

“That Henderson situation breaks my heart.” Elderly Mrs. Patterson shook her head, the movement setting her silver curls bouncing. “Six thousand dollars after insurance. I don’t know how young families manage these days.”

“Claire’s been helping them negotiate a payment plan.” Rachael dipped her head toward Claire. “She’s such a blessing to this community.”

The praise settled in an uncomfortable knot. She loved helping people, but being called out publicly with this kind of praise had always bothered her. She focused on the neat columns in her spreadsheet. “Just doing what I can while I’m here.”

“Speaking of helping families.” Rachael poured herself coffee from the carafe on the side table. “I’ve been thinking about the community freezer program. Remember how 4C Ranch used to sponsor that? Fresh beef for families who needed it, no questions asked. It was such a lifeline.”

Claire’s pen stilled on the page.

“What happened to that?” One of the younger women, Sarah, leaned forward. “My sister’s family used that program when her husband was laid off. Said it kept them fed for three months.”

“Luke Calloway discontinued it last year.” Rachael’s lips puckered, but she didn’t say another word.

Claire kept her face blank, but her fingers pressed so hard into the pen the plastic left marks on her skin.

“That’s a shame.” Mrs. Patterson sighed. “His grandfather started that program. Always said feeding folks was the most efficient use of resources the good Lord gave us.”

She made a note in the margin of her spreadsheet and avoided anyone who might look her way. Many of them knew about the recent request for her to consult at the ranch, but so far no one had asked any questions.

The meeting continued with meal assignments and coordination logistics. Claire volunteered to take the Miller family dinner since she’d be cooking for Granny Mama anyway, and Mrs. Patterson offered to handle Mrs. Jacobson’s meals for the next two weeks.

By the time they finished, Claire’s head ached with the weight of trying to balance genuine care for these families against the frustration building in her chest every time she learned about another program Luke had eliminated.

She gathered her papers, said her goodbyes, and drove home with the radio off, needing silence to sort through the tangle of thoughts.

Granny Mama stood in the kitchen when Claire walked in, flour dusting her apron and the sweet scent of apple pie filling the small house.

“You’re baking?” She set her purse on the counter, eyeing the three pies cooling on wire racks. “I thought we agreed you’d take it easy on Saturdays.”

Granny Mama wiped her hands on a dish towel, leaving white streaks across the faded blue fabric. “Taking it easy is for people who’ve given up on living. Besides, the Quinns have a few visitors from Seattle today. Figured they’d appreciate a sweet treat.”

Of course she did. Granny Mama had been caring for this community since before Claire was born, and no amount of doctor’s orders would convince her to stop.

Claire moved to the stove where a pot of chicken soup simmered. “Is this for the Millers?”

“Started it this morning. Just needs to cool before you take it over.” Granny Mama pulled a casserole dish from the oven, the scent of cheesy potatoes and ham making Claire’s stomach rumble. “Made them a breakfast bake too. New mothers need food they can eat with one hand.”

The casual wisdom in that statement made Claire’s throat tighten. This was what community looked like when you actually cared about people instead of treating them like line items to be optimized.

Claire hugged her grandmother from behind, breathing in the familiar scent of flour and vanilla. “You’re amazing, but you need to rest. Doctor said⁠—”