Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Monday might be his favorite day of the week, but Fridays came in at a close second, especially when they included clear skies and a hint of chill in the air.
Perfect branding weather. Luke stood near the main corral at daybreak, surveying the preparations his crew had completed the night before.
Portable panels formed working chutes. Propane heaters sat ready for the branding irons.
Medical supplies lined a folding table under the equipment shed’s overhang.
Everything in place and ready to go…except one. Where were the people?
His stomach twisted tighter with each glance toward the empty driveway.
“Expecting a parade?” Caleb walked up beside him, coffee mug steaming in the cool morning air.
“Just checking the setup.” Luke shifted his weight, boots scraping against gravel.
“Uh huh.” Caleb took a long sip.
His jaw tightened. Five minutes past starting time, and only three trucks sat in the parking area. All three belonged to ranch hands.
“Smaller crew this year.” Caleb’s observation held no judgment, but Luke had enough of his own to build a whole new ranch.
“We’ll manage.” His hands curled into loose fists at his sides. “Always do. Have you heard anything from the volunteers?”
“Sure. Got a few who promised to come out. Not as many as usual, but we’ll get the job done. Maybe not as fast as that year we had forty people show up to help, but it’ll get done.” Caleb studied him over the rim of his mug.
Luke remembered that day with a grin. They’d processed two hundred head in record time, and the celebration afterward had lasted until sunset.
“Things change.” He headed toward the barn, needing movement and one last look at the hay to verify his count yesterday.
“They do.” Caleb followed. “Question is whether we’re changing them or if they’re happening to us.”
Graham’s voice carried across the yard. “Truck coming up the drive.”
Finally. His shoulders pulled back, and a quick turn brought a small yellow pickup into view. Tom Martin. Tom climbed out, followed by his wife and two teenage sons.
“Morning, boys.” Tom’s handshake was firm and warm. “Thanks for having us.”
“Glad you’re here. Boys ready to work?” He shook hands with each of them.
“Yes sir.” Both teenagers nodded, eagerness written across their young faces.
More trucks arrived over the next thirty minutes. Each arrival eased the tension in Luke’s chest, but he couldn’t stop his mental counting. Couldn’t stop comparing to past years.
By six forty-five, seventeen people milled around the corral area. Less than half of last year’s turnout.
Noah joined Luke near the chutes, propping one booted foot on the bottom rail. “Could be worse.”
“Could be better.” Luke grabbed a clipboard with the day’s assignments.
“Could be what we deserve after spending a year making people feel unwelcome.” Noah gripped the top bar and twisted his gloved hands around the worn metal. “Can’t expect them to show up when we’ve been showing them the door.”
The crunch of teeth grinding together brought a spike of pain he ignored. “I get it, Noah. I messed up. You don’t have to keep reminding me.”
“Not trying to remind you.” Noah bumped their shoulders together. “Just saying maybe this is rock bottom. Means the only direction left is up.”
Tires on gravel snagged his attention, then held it when he recognized Claire’s sedan, followed by Mom’s SUV.
His pulse jumped into the rapid flare that only ever came when he raced across the fields on horseback.
The thrill and excitement never failed to make him feel better.
Why did the sight of Claire climbing out of her sedan wearing jeans, boots, and a flannel shirt that looked borrowed give that same experience.
She’d pulled her hair back in a practical braid and left her glasses behind.
No business casual polish today. Instead, she walked toward him like she belonged here.
He rubbed the heel of his hand over the pressure in his chest, willing the emotions down where they belonged.
Mom walked beside Claire, talking and gesturing toward the main house where they’d set up the meal area. Claire nodded and pulled a notebook from her bag.
“Well.” Graham snorted from Luke’s other side. Hadn’t his brother gone off with the Martins? He must have missed him coming back. A firm poke in Luke’s shoulder knocked him into Noah. “There’s the real reason you’ve been staring at the driveway like a lost puppy.”
Heat crawled up Luke’s neck. “I have not.”
Noah grinned. “Yeah, you have. It’s too funny.”
“Am not. I mean, it’s not.” He shook his head, but the motion did nothing to shake off his muddled thoughts.
“You should go help them.” Caleb joined them at the panels and poked him just like Graham had only harder.
“They’re fine.” He forced his attention back to the clipboard.
Graham snorted. “Go. You’re going to be useless watching the house instead of the cattle.”
“I’m not—” Luke started.
“Go.” All three of his brothers spoke in unison.
Face burning, he shoved the clipboard at Caleb and headed toward the house, his brothers’ laughter following him across the yard.
He found Claire and Mom in the main house kitchen, surveying supplies. Aluminum pans covered every counter. Mom’s industrial-sized coffee maker gurgled in the corner. The scent of cinnamon rolls baking sent his stomach into a hearty rumble.
“We’ll need to set up tables under the pavilion.” Mom gestured toward the window facing the pavilion with a wooden spoon. “And make sure we have enough seating for everyone.”
“How many are you expecting?” Claire held her pen poised over her notebook.
“Used to plan for fifty.” Mom’s smile turned sad. “I think twenty-five is a good bet this year. Just to be safe.”
The number gut-punched him into almost bending double. His hands flexed at his sides, and he breathed with a low whistling sound in his nose.
Claire raised her head and turned toward him, their eyes meeting across the kitchen. A sympathetic shrug lifted her shoulders before she scribbled in her notebook. “Why don’t we set up for forty?”
“Oh, honey.” Mom patted Claire’s arm. “I don’t want you to waste effort.”
“It’s not a waste if it shows we’re ready to welcome whoever comes.” Concerned brown eyes swept over him. “I’d rather end up with extra seating than risk turning people away because we assumed they wouldn’t show.”
The emotions he’d worked all morning to keep locked away threatened to spill out. His chest expanded with his first deep breath of the day, and the panicked feeling receded.
“You’re absolutely right.” Mom beamed. “Luke, can you and your brothers get the tables set up?”
“Yes ma’am.” Luke lingered near the doorway. “Need anything else?”
Claire tapped her pencil against the notebook pages, her head tilting when she smiled. “We’re fine. Go manage your cattle.”
“Yes ma’am.” Luke echoed, earning a wider smile that made his pulse quicken.
The morning moved into full branding chaos an hour later.
Caleb and the experienced hands worked the chutes, processing calves with a clatter of rattling gates and shouted instructions.
Luke coordinated supplies and assignments, keeping operations flowing.
He’d hop on a horse if needed, but his brothers had that part under control.
Which was good, because his attention kept drifting toward the pavilion where Claire worked.
“You’re doing it again.” Noah rode up beside him, his black gelding dancing in place in eager anticipation of sorting more cattle. “The staring thing.”
“I’m supervising.” Luke adjusted his hat.
“You’re pining. It’s pathetic.” Noah grinned and patted his horse’s neck.
“I will push you off that horse.”
“You can try.” Noah trotted toward the herd. “But then you’d have to stop staring at Claire.”
Luke turned his attention to work.
It was good work. Honest work. The kind of community partnership his grandfather had built over decades.
And he’d nearly destroyed it through spreadsheets and efficiency reports.
A loud whoop pulled him around to face the driveway. Four more trucks rolled into the parking area, one with a trailer full of horses attached.
Luke recognized the first two trucks, and then the driver of the trailer when he stepped out. The young couple introduced themselves and Luke gave all the new arrivals their assignments, giving those who’d been working longest a well-deserved break.
By mid-morning, the corral buzzed with activity and conversation. Laughter carried across the yard. Kids chased each other between the work areas under parental supervision. The smell of burning hair and branded hide mixed with coffee and cinnamon from the pavilion.
Luke moved through it all, greeting people, answering questions, checking on progress. But he couldn’t quite stop tracking Claire as she moved through the crowd. She spoke to everyone she met, smiling and laughing and hugging.
Her voice carried toward him, bringing the conversations about families right to his ears.
She remembered names of people he’d known for years but she’d barely met.
All of them. She remembered Mrs. Jacobson’s sister who was visiting from Colorado.
She asked Tom about his daughter’s cancer treatment.
She asked questions and listened to answers with genuine interest that drew people toward her until she stood in the middle of a ring of people.
“She’s something special.” Mom walked past with a plate of cinnamon rolls, offering him one.
He took a roll and bit into it, using that as an excuse to not answer right away. His voice would probably crack and give him away. “She’s just being friendly.”
“She’s being herself.” Mom held out another cinnamon roll when he finished the first one in three bites. “She cares about you. Anyone with eyes can see it. Question is whether you’re brave enough to care back.”
Graham called his name from the corral. “Got a rejected calf in the barn. Mama won’t let it nurse. Need you to take a look.” He reined his horse around and headed for the barn a quarter of a mile away.