Page 42 of More Than This Land

And no sense in changing when it always blew up in his face like it had with Claire.

“Hendersons are here.” Caleb tipped his head toward a family unloading near the cattle pens. Dave Henderson met Luke’s gaze, held it for a beat, then nodded.

“I see them.” Would his heart ever stop breaking and let him get back to not caring what others thought of him as long as the ranch survived?

Probably not.

“Tom mentioned you delivered their freezer program paperwork this week.” Caleb stuck his thumbs in his belt and increased his swagger as they passed a group of women setting up a cider stand.

What was he going to do? The proverbial fork in the road mocked him. He could continue the path of restitution or go back to how he’d been.

He didn’t care much for the man who’d shut down all the programs. He stopped and gripped the fence rail as they paused to survey the arena floor. “Trust takes longer to rebuild than it does to break.”

“Yeah.” Caleb didn’t offer false comfort, which was one of the things Luke valued most about him. “But you did the work. They’ll come around.”

The arena hummed with a heightened sense of expectation. Their annual county auction day brought some of his favorite things together. Buyers clustered in groups, faces unreadable behind sunglasses. Young ranchers stood near their pens and tried not to sweat through their shirts. For some of them, their mortgage depended on what the next few hours produced.

A few years ago, he’d been worrying nonstop about making enough money to see them through the winter.

This year, they had cattle up but no desperate need to sell them. Luke eyed the auctioneer’s booth above the main floor. It sat empty, but ready—microphone in place and a man in a large cowboy hat near the stairs.

On the far side of the arena, under a canvas awning stretched between metal poles, a hospitality tent operated at full capacity.

Luke spotted Claire without even trying to look for her.

She moved between folding tables with an easy stride and a wide smile. She’d left her hair down but pulled back from her face by a single clip. She wore a blue flannel shirt with the ends tied at her waist, sleeves rolled up, and boots with her jeans tucked into them. She chatted with a woman Luke didn’t recognize. He watched her face light up as her head tipped back in laughter at something the woman had said.

The sound carried across the arena, and the hard knot he’d carried in his stomach since their ride relaxed.

He’d heard Claire laugh before, but hearing that sound in this public space, where people who’d been avoiding Luke sought her out without hesitation, pressed hard on the ache he’d been pretending didn’t exist.

“You know staring at her from fifty feet away is not technically an improvement over what you were doing on the ranch.” Caleb elbowed him in the ribs.

“I’m not staring.” He dragged his head around so he faced the cattle pens. “How are our yearlings looking?”

“Strong. They’ll show well. Eli has it all under control.” Caleb accepted the subject change without calling it out. “She’s good for you, Luke.”

“Don’t.” He pushed away from the fence and walked away from Claire’s tent.

Caleb joined him, keeping pace without trouble. Of course he did. His brother couldn’t possibly leave something alone when he knew Luke would rather lick rusty nails than talk. “You’re always tight-lipped and surly, but you’ve been worse this week. Except when you’re giving back the programs you stopped.”

Luke had no answer for that. He ducked between fence rails and approached their pen where Eli, their foreman, watched over the yearling steers.

A cursory examination revealed what he already knew but gave him a new focus besides what it would feel like if he was the one making Claire laugh with her entire body.

The steers were some of their best, and they’d fetch solid prices if the bidding went right.

“Beautiful animals.” A voice spoke from the adjacent pen.

Luke turned. A young man stood there, early twenties, clean-shaven and nervous as a feral cat.

He nodded at Luke’s yearlings with no attempt at hiding his admiration. “Looking forward to seeing how they sell.”

“Thanks.” Luke leaned on the rail and pointed at the black-and-white banded cows in the pen. “Yours?”

“Yes sir.” The young man stuck out his hand. “Brody Kessler. My family runs the old Garrett property out on Miller Creek Road.”

Luke shook it. “Luke Calloway.”