Page 9 of More Than This Land

She’d give Luke space to process.

But she wouldn’t give up on him.

Because sometimes the people who needed help most were the ones most determined to prove they didn’t.

And sometimes the greatest act of faith was trusting God could work through spreadsheets and difficult conversations and stubborn ranchers who’d forgotten how to hope for anything beyond survival.

Claire gathered her laptop and files, left money on the table for the pie, and walked out into the Montana morning with a stubbornness in her own heart. Could she help Luke find his way back to the legacy his grandfather had built?

She hoped he would.

But hope, she was learning, required the same courage as faith, and a willingness to believe in something you couldn’t control or predict or manage with any amount of strategic planning.

And if Luke Calloway was going to learn that lesson, it would probably take more than a preliminary financial analysis to teach it to him.

Chapter Three

Luke spent a week trying to dismiss Claire’s analysis as nonsense that didn’t apply to real-world ranching operations. He read it three times, annotated the margins, and drafted two separate rebuttals before admitting that some of her points had merit.

Not all of them—but a few.

It stung, but even he could admit when he’d been wrong. He’d called her yesterday and invited her out for a full operational review. If she was going to question his methods, she could at least see them in action instead of judging numbers on a page.

He regretted the invitation the instant she stepped out of her sedan wearing a cream-colored blazer over a blue blouse, pressed slacks, and heels that belonged in a boardroom, not his ranch. She’d pulled her hair back in another ponytail, and the ends swished over her shoulders as she walked toward him holding a leather portfolio.

“Thought you understood what we were doing today?” He leaned against his truck and crossed his arms. “You’re completely unprepared to walk around the ranch.”

Claire’s smile dimmed. “Good morning to you too.” She picked up one foot and wiggled it side to side. “These are my favorite heels. You don’t have to worry about me.”

“Not worried.” That couldn’t be what the tight feeling in his chest meant. Maybe he worried she’d fall and break her leg, then try to sue him. But that was all. He pushed away from the truck. “Ready to get started?” At her nod, he motioned toward the barn. “Fair warning, we’re not stopping every ten feet so you can take notes. This is a working ranch, not a museum.”

“Well aware. I do know what happens at a ranch.” Her expression remained calm and polite, which caused his stomach to twist a tiny bit. “I’ll keep up.”

Right. Back to business. He doubted her reassurance at being able to keep up with him, but he wasn’t about to argue with her in the driveway.

He led the way to the barn, pointing out buildings and explaining operations. He showed her the equipment shed, the hay storage, and the cattle handling facilities—all of it organized with his systematic precision that made sense and gave everyone the ability to find anything.

Claire asked several questions as they walked. She understood the difference between operational costs and expenditure and recognized the value of his rotational grazing system.

To his surprise, she even noticed the solar panels he’d installed on the barn roof last year to help reduce energy consumption and complimented him on his forward thinking.

Maybe this wasn’t a complete waste of time.

Claire took a step, her arm raised to shield her eyes from the sun. She stumbled, her heel dipping hard to the right.

His hand shot out, years of reflexes honed after working cattle and needing to react in an instant throwing him into motion. He caught her elbow, steadying her before she fell. “Easy.”

A short, ragged gasp filled the air, and she leaned into his side. “Sorry. Guess you were right about the heels.” Her cheeks flushed.

“You think?” He kept hold of her arm, hyperaware of the slight grasp she felt under his hand and how completely out of place she looked standing in the middle of his ranch in her city clothes. The reality of his tone settled hard as stone, and he winced. “Sorry. I don’t mean to sound so…”

“Self-righteous? Accusatory? Gratified?” Claire stared up at him, a tiny grin on her lips. “Feel free to stop me when I get it right.”

He chuckled and shook his head. Here she was trying to help him, and he was putting down her footwear. There had to be some kind of rule about that. “The ground’s rough out here. I can get you a pair of boots.”

“Might not be a bad idea, but I’ll watch where I’m walking.” She eased away from him, and he realized he’d slid an arm around her waist, locking her to his side.

He dropped his hand, resisting the urge to shake out the tingles shooting up his arm. They continued toward the calving barn, and he slowed his steps to give her more time to pick her path. The barn smelled like hay and livestock, the earthy reality of agricultural life. He pushed the door wide open, letting sunlight spill across the stalls where three cows mooed at him in hopes of a second breakfast.