Page 19 of More Than This Land

Twenty minutes later, he turned onto Oak Street.

Claire’s grandmother’s house sat small and tidy behind a white picket fence that needed paint. Warm light glowed from the front windows. Luke parked on the street and cut the engine.

Now what? Why was he here? Certainly not to confront Claire and demand she change her reports to feed into his ego so he could tell his family he’d been right all along.

The porch light flickered on. Through the window, he could see Claire at the kitchen table, head bent over papers, wearing glasses he’d never seen before and an oversized sweatshirt that swallowed her frame.

She looked nothing like the polished consultant who’d walked his ranch in heels and nearly broken her ankle.

Luke climbed out of the truck before he could second-guess himself.

His boots thudded against the porch steps, and he knocked before his courage failed.

Claire appeared at the door moments later, surprise evident on her face. “Luke?”

“I read your report.” The words came out clipped, and he almost wished them back. He hadn’t meant to sound accusatory.

“Oh.” She pushed her glasses up her nose. “Do you want to come in and discuss it?”

Luke nodded, following her into the small house that smelled like Claire’s flower scent, vanilla, and old books. Granny Mama dozed on the living room couch, a hand-made quilt he recognized from last year’s benefit for a sick family tucked around her shoulders and a soft snore escaping her parted lips.

Claire led him to the kitchen table. Spreadsheets and ledgers covered every available surface, and she swept papers into neat piles, clearing space. “Sorry for the mess. I’ve been working on⁠—”

“Church families’ books.” Luke recognized the names on the ledger tabs. Henderson. Ruiz. Jacobson. Patterson.

Claire’s cheeks flushed pink. “They needed help navigating some financial issues.”

“Are they paying you?”

“That’s not really your business.” She crossed her arms over her stomach.

“Are they?” Luke pressed.

“No.” Claire lifted her chin. “They can’t afford to pay, so I’m helping anyway.”

He studied the spreadsheets, noting the hours it must have taken to create the detailed notes and careful calculations. Claire spent her nights doing accounting for families who probably didn’t even understand how much value she provided.

“This is exactly the kind of inefficiency I cut from ranch operations.”

Claire gave him a disbelieving look that was all arched eyebrows and crossed arms. “That’s why I put it in the report.”

“You’re giving away services worth thousands of dollars.”

“I’m investing in people who matter.” Claire pulled her sweatshirt sleeves over her hands and looked away, toward the living room where her grandmother slept. “There’s a difference between efficiency and compassion.”

Luke sank into the chair across from her. The table was scarred wood, probably older than he was, holding the evidence of Claire’s generosity like an accusation he couldn’t refute.

“My dad said the ranch used to be a blessing to the county.” Luke traced a groove in the wood with his thumb. “He says it’s profitable now but without the heart.”

“Is he wrong?” Claire sat across from him, her expression gentle.

“I don’t know anymore.” He ran both hands through his hair and down the back of his neck. Why was it he could be uncertain and vulnerable in this moment with her? “I thought I was protecting what mattered. I wanted to build sustainability and make sure we’d survive the next crisis.”

“At the expense of what made survival worthwhile?”

Luke’s chest ached. He rubbed at the spot with the heel of his hand, but the pressure wouldn’t ease. “Three families stopped buying our beef this year. The 4H program moved to another ranch. Vendors who used to give us priority service now call us last.”

Claire reached across the table but stopped short of touching his hand. “I interviewed them for the report.”