Chapter 8 #2
“I struggle with this more than I’d like.” Pastor Mark’s gaze swept the congregation. “I lean heavily on my own understanding because trusting God feels too risky.”
She shifted in the pew, doing her best not to bump Granny Mama or Linda. Both women stared straight ahead, nodding along with the sermon. Claire did her best to refocus her attention.
“God’s not asking us to be reckless.” Pastor Mark raised one hand and held it open. “He’s asking us to be faithful. When we lean on our own understanding, we’re essentially telling God, ‘I’ve got this. I can handle it. I don’t need Your help.’”
Luke’s head dipped forward.
Claire’s throat ached. She wanted to go to him, to tell him it was okay—that trusting God didn’t mean failure or weakness.
As soon as the sermon closed in prayer, Luke stood. He moved toward the side door with quick strides, resuming his usher position with a tense jaw.
The congregation filed out slowly, stopping to chat in small clusters. Claire helped Granny Mama stand, gathering their things.
They moved into the aisle, flowing toward the exit with everyone else. Luke stood by the door, his professional mask firmly in place.
“Claire.” Ruth joined them at the doorway. “We’d love to have you and Mae over for Sunday dinner. Nothing fancy but it’ll be good to sit down and chat. What do you say?”
Oh boy. Granny Mama would wring her neck if she said no. Even now, her grandmother arched a brow in clear warning. Sunday dinner with the Calloways meant hours in Luke’s presence. It meant risking more of her carefully guarded heart.
“We’d love to.” Granny Mama answered before Claire figured out a polite way to decline. “What time?”
“Oh, just follow us over.” Ruth beamed. “Perfect. Luke, did you hear? Claire and Mae are joining us for dinner.”
Luke turned from the elderly couple he’d been greeting. His eyes found Claire’s across the small space. His expression flickered, a warmth blazing in his eyes…or maybe a trick of the light. He shifted away too fast for her to be sure.
“That’s great.” He moved closer to the door. “Looking forward to it.”
Awesome. Claire hugged her Bible over her stomach and tried not to let his casual words in too deep.
Granny Mama took her arm and all but marched them down the steps and to the sedan. “Do you need a minute to compose yourself?”
“I’m perfectly composed.” But her hands trembled as she dug car keys from her purse.
The drive to 4C Ranch took them through rolling countryside. Claire had been here multiple times for work, but arriving for a social meal turned every thought of being professional on its head.
She parked beside several other vehicles already filling the circular drive. The main house rose two stories, dark green siding bright against the Montana sky. A wraparound porch held rocking chairs and hanging baskets overflowing with petunias.
“What a lovely home.” Granny Mama climbed out slowly, taking in the view. “You can feel the love in a place like this.”
Claire helped her grandmother up porch steps and through the front door Ruth had left open in welcome. Voices and laughter spilled from deeper in the house.
“In here.” Ruth called from forward and to the left.
They followed hardwood floors through a living room filled with large, sturdy furniture and family photos covering every surface and into a massive kitchen, dominated by an oak table meant for twelve.
Ruth stirred a pot on the stove while Caleb, Graham, and Noah set the table. It was all so domestic and unexpected, seeing the Calloway cowboys playing house without any complaints.
And Luke. Her throat went dry, forcing her to swallow hard. Luke stood near the counter, sleeves rolled to his elbows, slicing bread and ignoring the world.
“Welcome.” Ruth hugged Granny Mama, then Claire. “Make yourselves at home. Dinner’s almost ready.”
“What can I do to help?” Claire moved toward the stove.
“Not a thing.” Ruth shooed her toward the table. “You’re a guest. Sit and relax.”
Not possible. Especially with Luke an arm’s length away. She settled into a chair beside Granny Mama, accepting the sweet tea Graham poured. At least she’d have something to do with her hands.
The Calloways brought food to the table in waves. A pan of meatloaf and bowls of okra and mashed potatoes. Fresh rolls steaming from the oven. Green beans with bacon. A salad bursting with vegetables.
“This is incredible.” Claire’s mouth watered.
“Mom’s famous Sunday dinner.” Noah claimed the chair across from Claire. “We grew up on this meal.”
“You’d get bored.” Caleb took the seat beside him.
“You absolutely would not.” Noah reached for the breadbasket. “This is perfection on a plate.”
Wade took his place at the head of the table, Ruth at the foot. Graham sat beside Granny Mama. And Luke, after a moment’s hesitation, slid into the chair next to Claire.
And it was only by God’s good grace that she didn’t choke on her tea when his shoulder grazed hers.
“Let’s pray.” Wade’s deep voice settled the chaos. “Luke, would you give thanks?”
Luke’s hand moved toward the center of the table. Claire realized with a start that the Calloways held hands during grace. Lord, help. Don’t let him feel how nervous I am…or how fast my pulse is racing. She placed her palm in Luke’s.
His fingers closed around hers, the touch callused but gentle.
“Father, thank You for this food and the hands that prepared it.” His fingers spasmed around hers. “Thank You for family and friends who’ve become like family. Bless this meal and the time we share. Teach us to trust You more and ourselves less. In Jesus’ name, amen.”
“Amen.” The chorus echoed around the table.
Luke’s hand lingered in Claire’s for a beat longer than necessary. He pulled away and dropped his hand to his thigh, digging his fingertips into his slacks.
“So, Claire.” Graham scooping some mashed potatoes. “Mom says you helped organize the meal at Friday’s branding. That’s usually her domain.”
“I just followed orders.” Claire accepted the salad bowl from Noah. “Your mother ran the whole thing. She’s very organized.”
Luke took the bowl when she held it toward him. “That’s Mom.”
“Oh, stop.” The older woman’s pleased smile contradicted her words. “I like feeding people. Makes me feel useful.”
“You are useful.” Wade’s expression went soft when he looked at his wife. “You’re the heart of this place. Always have been.”
The easy affection between Wade and Ruth reminded her of her parents. They’d always been that way with each other. Talking about love and praising each other. They’d even finished each other’s sentences.
“How’s the rejected calf?” Caleb redirected attention to Luke.
“Doing better.” Luke’s shoulder brushed Claire’s as he reached for his water glass. “Taking bottles well. Should be strong enough to reintegrate with the herd in a week or so.”
“Luke bottle-fed him in the barn Friday. It was really sweet.” She didn’t mean to open her mouth, but the instinct to show them the real Luke refused to stay buried.
All eyes swiveled to her.