Page 27 of More Than This Land

“We’ll need to set up tables under the pavilion.” Mom gestured toward the window facing the pavilion with a wooden spoon. “And make sure we have enough seating for everyone.”

“How many are you expecting?” Claire held her pen poised over her notebook.

“Used to plan for fifty.” Mom’s smile turned sad. “I think twenty-five is a good bet this year. Just to be safe.”

The number gut-punched him into almost bending double. His hands flexed at his sides, and he breathed with a low whistling sound in his nose.

Claire raised her head and turned toward him, their eyes meeting across the kitchen. A sympathetic shrug lifted her shoulders before she scribbled in her notebook. “Why don’t we set up for forty?”

“Oh, honey.” Mom patted Claire’s arm. “I don’t want you to waste effort.”

“It’s not a waste if it shows we’re ready to welcome whoever comes.” Concerned brown eyes swept over him. “I’d rather end up with extra seating than risk turning people away because we assumed they wouldn’t show.”

The emotions he’d worked all morning to keep locked away threatened to spill out. His chest expanded with his first deep breath of the day, and the panicked feeling receded.

“You’re absolutely right.” Mom beamed. “Luke, can you and your brothers get the tables set up?”

“Yes ma’am.” Luke lingered near the doorway. “Need anything else?”

Claire tapped her pencil against the notebook pages, her head tilting when she smiled. “We’re fine. Go manage your cattle.”

“Yes ma’am.” Luke echoed, earning a wider smile that made his pulse quicken.

The morning moved into full branding chaos an hour later. Caleb and the experienced hands worked the chutes, processing calves with a clatter of rattling gates and shouted instructions. Luke coordinated supplies and assignments, keeping operations flowing. He’d hop on a horse if needed, but his brothers had that part under control. Which was good, because his attention kept drifting toward the pavilion where Claire worked.

“You’re doing it again.” Noah rode up beside him, his black gelding dancing in place in eager anticipation of sorting more cattle. “The staring thing.”

“I’m supervising.” Luke adjusted his hat.

“You’re pining. It’s pathetic.” Noah grinned and patted his horse’s neck.

“I will push you off that horse.”

“You can try.” Noah trotted toward the herd. “But then you’d have to stop staring at Claire.”

Luke turned his attention to work.

It was good work. Honest work. The kind of community partnership his grandfather had built over decades.

And he’d nearly destroyed it through spreadsheets and efficiency reports.

A loud whoop pulled him around to face the driveway. Four more trucks rolled into the parking area, one with a trailer full of horses attached.

Luke recognized the first two trucks, and then the driver of the trailer when he stepped out. The young couple introduced themselves and Luke gave all the new arrivals their assignments, giving those who’d been working longest a well-deserved break.

By mid-morning, the corral buzzed with activity and conversation. Laughter carried across the yard. Kids chased each other between the work areas under parental supervision. The smell of burning hair and branded hide mixed with coffee and cinnamon from the pavilion.

Luke moved through it all, greeting people, answering questions, checking on progress. But he couldn’t quite stop tracking Claire as she moved through the crowd. She spoke to everyone she met, smiling and laughing and hugging.

Her voice carried toward him, bringing the conversations about families right to his ears.

She remembered names of people he’d known for years but she’d barely met. All of them. She remembered Mrs. Jacobson’s sister who was visiting from Colorado. She asked Tom about his daughter’s cancer treatment. She asked questions and listened to answers with genuine interest that drew people toward her until she stood in the middle of a ring of people.

“She’s something special.” Mom walked past with a plate of cinnamon rolls, offering him one.

He took a roll and bit into it, using that as an excuse to not answer right away. His voice would probably crack and give him away. “She’s just being friendly.”

“She’s being herself.” Mom held out another cinnamon roll when he finished the first one in three bites. “She cares about you. Anyone with eyes can see it. Question is whether you’re brave enough to care back.”