Page 65 of More Than This Land

His posture stiffened when a sign for Billings appeared in the distance, and he tightened his hold on the wheel. He’d kept his hands in the same position so long they cramped, the leather laces biting into his fingers. The truck’s headlights carved a path through the gathering dusk, and his mind ran loops around the same fractured prayer he’d been attempting since leaving Covenant Creek.

Lord, I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know if this is wisdom or foolishness. I don’t know if she’ll listen or if I’m too late, but I’m going anyway. Please help me find the right words. Please help me be brave enough to say them.

The prayer collapsed into silence. Started again. Collapsed.

He’d rehearsed a dozen speeches since leaving the ranch. None of them felt adequate. How did he admit he’d been a coward? He’d been so busy trying to manage outcomes that he’d almost managed himself right out of the best thing that had ever happened to him.

His throat worked around the tightness lodged there. He’d left without a word.

They probably thought he headed out for a drive. They wouldn’t be wrong. This one was just going to take a little longer than they expected.

Mom had smiled at him from the kitchen doorway. Dad had nodded once, that small gesture carrying more weight than a thousand words.

And it meant they knew. Of course they knew.

His jaw clenched, his molars grinding together before he forced himself to stop. The tension had been building in his shoulders for the last forty miles, creeping up his neck until his skull ached with it.

What if she’d already taken the job? What if he showed up at her interview and made a fool of himself? What if she looked at him with those clear brown eyes and said she appreciated the gesture, but she’d made her choice?

His chest hollowed at the thought. The pressure behind his ribs intensified. He’d never been the kind of guy to panic, but if there was ever a time, he’d found it.

No. He wouldn’t think like that. Wouldn’t let fear talk him into turning around. He’d spent too many years letting fear make his decisions, and it had cost him.

He was done with that.

The speedometer crept up. Seventy. Seventy-five. He pressed harder on the accelerator as a speed limit sign showed eighty.

Claire.

Her name was the only coherent prayer he’d managed. Everything else tangled into desperation and hope paired with the terrifying possibility that he might be too late.

The sun sank toward the horizon, cutting low enough he tossed his sunglasses into the console. Colors splashed across the sky. It would have been beautiful if he had the capacity to notice beyond an ‘oh, that’s nice’. Light stretched long across the prairie, gilding the grass and turning fence posts into dark sentinels marking the miles.

Hazard lights flashed in the distance. His heart plummeted. No. Not now. He did not need any reason to delay finding Claire. He growled under his breath, already apologizing to whoever needed help. He couldn’t stop.

Luke sped past the car, the image of it locking in even before he truly registered what he’d seen. A sedan. Small. Pale blue. A woman with long hair blowing in the wind.

His heart stopped.

Claire’s car.

He hit the brake hard enough the truck resisted. Thankfully no one was behind him, and he managed to steer the truck toward the emergency lane. The truck slowed, tires humming against asphalt, and his pulse thundered in his ears so loud it drowned out the engine noise. Every worst-case scenario he’d ever imagined crashed through his mind in the space of three seconds. Accident. Injury. Someone hurt her. She was alone on a highway with night approaching.

The muscles in his arms locked. His fingers went numb where they gripped the wheel. He pulled onto the shoulder in a spray of gravel that pinged against the undercarriage, and after checking both ways pulled a U-turn to roll up behind her car.

The evening air hit his face, the slap cooler than he’d expected. Sweat gathered at his hairline despite the temperature. He wiped it away with the back of his hand and ran toward her car, his boots unsteady on the loose gravel. His heel caught a rogue pebble, almost pitching him face-first into the trunk.

Claire stood beside the passenger’s door with her phone pressed to her ear, her back to him. Whole. Uninjured. Standing. He’d seen that when he passed but panic made him second-guess it until he verified.

The relief was so sudden and complete that his knees nearly buckled. He locked them and kept walking, his breath coming in short bursts that refused to deepen.

She turned at the sound of his approach, and her mouth formed an O of surprise. The phone came down. “Luke?”

He crossed the remaining distance in four strides and cupped her face in both hands, thumbs brushing her cheekbones while he searched her expression for signs of injury or distress. “Are you hurt? What happened? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” Her hands came up to circle his wrists, warm and solid and real. “The car died. I pulled over and was trying to call.” She squinted at him. “I was trying to call you.”

The hollow ache that had been building since she left melted away. In its place came a warm certainty that this moment was more than meant to be. He could practice speeches for days on end, but it wouldn’t matter, because one look into her eyes and he forgot everything except how much he loved her. His forehead dropped to rest against hers, and he breathed her in. Flowers and coffee, that unique Claire scent he wanted to wake up to every morning.