Page 24 of More Than This Land

Luke’s grip on the steering wheel loosened. His gaze shifted to her for a heartbeat, then slid away.

“They died helping someone.” She spoke through the bands around her chest and the burning in her eyes. “In the awful weeks after, while I was drowning in grief and funeral arrangements and trying to figure out how to run Dad’s shop, you know what happened?”

Luke shook his head.

“The community showed up.” The memory made Claire’s chest feel both heavy and warm. “The same thing we do here, helped me get through the worst days of my entire life. People showed up to sit with me when the silence got too loud. They did what they could, even when it had no monetary gain.”

“I’m sorry.”

“The point is, all those relationships Dad built, helping friends, treating customers fairly, being generous even when it cost him, those relationships caught me when I fell. My parents didn’t die because they were too nice, but the way he treated people had recurring repercussions that saved me.”

Luke pulled the truck onto the shoulder of the empty highway and put it in park. He turned to face her, something raw and uncertain flickering across his features. “But relationships are risky. People let you down. Take advantage. Disappoint you.”

“They do.” She agreed without any hesitation. “That doesn’t mean we stop trying. It means we trust God with the outcomes instead of trying to control everything ourselves.”

“What if trusting means losing everything?”

“What if controlling means never really living?” The countering challenge came from deep in her heart. “I understand your fear. I do. But you can’t manage your way to safety. You can’t eliminate enough risk to guarantee nothing bad will happen. Life doesn’t work that way.”

“Then how does it work?” Vulnerability cracked through his careful control.

“By trusting that doing right by people is never the wrong business decision. If you can believe that generosity builds something stronger than fortress walls, you have all the confidence you need to understand that God’s economy works differently from ours.”

Luke stared at her like she’d spoken a foreign language. His breathing had gone shallow and his face paled. “That sounds terrifying.”

“It is.” Her smile wobbled. “But so is the alternative.”

The highway stretched empty in both directions. Wind rocked the truck, causing it to sway to one side.

“I don’t know how to do what you’re suggesting.” Luke’s admission made his shoulders drop slightly, releasing tension.

“The same way you do anything. One decision at a time. Same way you chose to bring back the ranch’s goodwill.”

“Like today with Tom.” Luke’s hands unclenched from the steering wheel.

“Like today with Tom.” Claire confirmed. “You gave up a slight overhead cut and gained a supplier who’ll remember you worked with him instead of against him. That’s capital you can’t quantify but will matter when you need it.”

Luke turned to stare out the windshield at the Montana landscape rolling toward distant mountains. “My grandfather used to say you can’t out-give God. I always thought that was naive.”

“Maybe it’s the opposite of naive.” Claire studied his profile, the way the afternoon light caught the angles of his face and sharpened the edges. “Maybe it’s the most practical wisdom there is.”

“What if I try and fail?”

“Then you fail, but at least you fail while trying to do the right thing instead of failing while trying to control the uncontrollable.”

Luke laughed, the sound surprised and almost light. Some of the tension drained from his shoulders. “That’s a terrible pep talk.”

“I’m a CPA, not a motivational speaker.” But she grinned, warmth spreading through her chest. “I stand by the point. You’re going to fail sometimes no matter what you do. Might as well fail while being generous instead of failing while being miserly.”

“When you put it that way.” Luke shook his head, his smile lingering a beat before growing wider. “You make terrible life advice sound almost reasonable.”

“It’s a gift.” She relaxed into her seat.

Luke pulled the truck back onto the highway, but the tension shifted, then dissolved.

He spoke several miles later, his voice a low rumble that matched the tires rolling away the miles. “Thank you for putting me in my place. I know I don’t make things like that easy, especially in the moment. I’m glad you didn’t stay quiet and let me make a decision I’d regret.”

“You’re welcome.” She fought down a smug grin. “I think you knew it was the wrong call, but I’ll happily take the credit for convincing you to choose differently.”