Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
The financial restructuring report should have taken two days. After six hours on the same paragraph, Claire very nearly gave up. What was the point? Luke didn’t really want her advice.
She pressed her pen hard into the margin, leaving a dark indentation impossible to remove. She’d been staring too long, trying to figure out how to convince Luke the numbers were solid and her recommendations were for his own good.
There was no reason to keep circling back to page seven except that page held the line: “Cabin expansion projections”, and every time she read those words, she felt Luke’s thumb trace her jaw and heard his question rumble in the recesses of her mind. Somehow, she’d memorized the sound of his voice.
Do you even want to stay in Covenant Creek?
Claire flipped the page facedown and stared at her coffee.
Avoiding it wouldn’t help.
She flipped it back over and focused.
She’d spent Tuesday evening telling herself the line-cabin conversation had been a mistake. They’d experienced a moment of vulnerability while caught in a storm, nothing more.
Granny Mama moved quietly through the kitchen behind her, a hymn whispering across the space. Something about peace and love everlasting.
That would be nice, but what she really needed was the professional distance she had maintained with every other client. That was the answer. She was a consultant with a job to finish and a life in Billings.
“You have deliveries this morning.” Granny Mama set a fresh mug beside Claire’s elbow without comment on the cold one already there. “Cassidy Holbrook had her baby Tuesday. You signed up to bring lunch.”
“I remember.” Claire closed the report. Some conversations could wait. “And Mrs. Walsh’s knee replacement?”
“This afternoon.” Granny Mama settled into her chair with a crossword puzzle. “And Agnes Pruitt on your way back. She’s been asking about you.”
“I haven’t met Agnes Pruitt.”
“She knows who you are.” Granny Mama filled in a word without looking up.
Claire stood and gathered up the insulated bags Rachael had shown her how to organize her first week in Covenant Creek.
Ruth’s precise method ensured the labeled containers held meals suited to the recipient’s dietary needs.
She’d asked Rachael at the start of the week what everyone preferred and wrote copious notes so she didn’t leave anything out.
Prepping meals and ignoring her feelings about Luke had steadied her nerves, even if it did nothing to help her heart.
Half an hour later, she parked outside the Holbrook house on a quiet street three blocks from the library. A stork yard sign stood near the mailbox, the bright pink announcing their new arrival. Claire gathered her insulated bag and knocked softly.
The door opened and Cassidy Holbrook blinked sleepily at her with hair twisted in a lopsided knot. Spit-up decorated her shoulder and dark half-moons curved under her eyes.
She let out a gasping sort of sob and dragged Claire inside with a firm grip on her elbow. “You came. I told Drew no one would.” She hiccupped. “Sorry. I’m just so tired.”
“Of course I came.” Claire held up the bag. “Would you like me to unpack this for you?”
The house had the particular chaos of new parenthood layered over what had probably been an organized home. Burp cloths draped every surface. A bouncer occupied the center of the living room. Baby swing, nursing pillow, and a pile of clothes competed for space on the coffee table.
“Drew’s at work.” Cassidy moved a stack of thank-you note cards off the couch to make space.
“I told him to go. We need the income. But Lucy cried for three hours last night, and I haven’t slept more than ninety minutes at a stretch, and I keep crying at commercials, and I don’t even know why I’m telling you all this.
You’re basically a stranger.” She took a shuddering breath and flapped her hands at her face as tears flowed.
“I’m your hospitality coordinator.” Claire set the food in the kitchen and unpacked even though Cassidy hadn’t given permission.
She was probably tired of making decisions and answering questions.
“I brought chicken piccata and lemon rice pilaf and those brownies from the Brand Iron Diner.” Claire rocked the large container side to side and raised her eyebrows.
“Rachael told me you’ve been craving chocolate. ”
A sob escaped Cassidy. She covered her mouth with one hand and gave a watery laugh. “I’ve been thinking about brownies for two days.”
“Then sit down and eat before the baby wakes up.” Claire pulled out a clean plate from the cabinet above the dishwasher. “And tell me about Lucy.”
Cassidy sat. Her shoulders dropped three inches as she picked up a fork. For the next twenty minutes, she talked about her daughter, about Drew’s face when he held Lucy for the first time, how he’d cried and then looked embarrassed about crying and then cried again.
Claire listened, cleared dishes, and straightened up what she could without being invasive.
She held Lucy when she awoke while Cassidy ate the second portion she’d been eyeing.
The baby’s weight in her arms, the trusting curl of those tiny fingers, brought a whole new meaning to the phrase “bundle of joy”.
“How do you do it?” Claire rocked Lucy in a side-to-side sway that somehow happened without thinking. “How is it possible to love someone so much when you don’t even know them?”
Cassidy considered the question with a tilt of her head.
“Ignore me. I’m being sentimental.”
“No. I like your question.” Cassidy took another bite of brownie and chewed. “You just do. You don’t really get a choice. She showed up and the love was just there. Love’s funny that way.”
Claire handed Lucy over when Cassidy held out her arms. “I’ll bring more food in a few days.”
Cassidy thanked her while cooing at Lucy, making it almost impossible to leave.
But she had more work to do.
She drove to Bernie Walsh’s house with the windows down, letting the late morning air clear her head.
Bernie’s recent knee replacement kept her in a recliner with an ice machine on her knee for most of the day.
The hospital had coordinated with her husband to help, but neither was in good enough shape to stand and cook.
Bernie met her at the door, the hospital-issued walker tight in her grasp, and waved off Claire’s help.
“Did you hear about Marisol’s recital? She danced the bluebird part she’s been talking about all year.
The whole thing was forty-five minutes of kindergarteners stumbling around a stage, and it was the best thing I’ve ever seen. ”
“I’m sure it was. I’m surprised you’re already up and moving.” Claire unpacked the bag onto Bernie’s kitchen counter.
“Doctor said movement is key.” Bernie lowered herself onto a kitchen chair. “Besides, lying around gives me too much time to think.” She paused. “That’s not always a good thing.”
“What do you think about?” Claire set soup on the stove to warm.
“Oh, the usual.” Bernie folded her hands on the table. “Grateful for another day with my Bob. Glad for every breath the good Lord gives us together.”
Claire’s hands stilled on the pot handle.
“We have a good marriage.” Bernie picked at a loose thread on her sleeve.
“Thirty-eight years and counting. This has sure taught me a thing or two about making plans, though. Figured sure as anything I’d be up and about in a couple of days.
Bob tried to tell me I’d have to take things easy.
Didn’t want to believe him.” She chuckled and twisted a plain gold band around her wrinkled finger. “He wasn’t wrong.”
Claire placed a bowl of soup in front of Bernie and sat across from her, sipping from the travel mug of coffee she’d grabbed at the last minute.
Bernie ate in slow bites. “Bob’s out with the kids today.
They asked him to go fishing. He almost said no.
Didn’t want to leave me here alone. Had to push him out the door to keep him from hovering.
” The older woman lifted her spoon and changed the conversation like it was no more important than the weather.
“Rachael stopped by yesterday. She says you have a gift for helping folks.”
“I try to.” Her chest tightened. “My father taught me that helping others is important.”
Bernie’s gaze sharpened. “Rachael also says you’ve been working out at the Calloway Ranch.”
Claire concentrated on her coffee and tried very, very hard to keep her heart from racing and giving her away.
“I’ve known Luke Calloway his whole life. Right from the day he was born. I watched him grow up into a good man. Whatever you’re doing, keep doing it. That boy needs someone to believe in him more than he needs anything that a management book can teach.”
What was she supposed to say to that? Nothing. Anything she might say risked sounding harsh. Or it might go the complete opposite direction and show how much she cared.
Claire washed Bernie’s dishes then bade her goodbye, promising to visit again before she drove to Agnes Pruitt’s house. The address Granny Mama had given her led to a white craftsman cottage at the end of a picturesque, elm-lined street.
Agnes Pruitt opened the door before Claire knocked.
At seventy-five, with a petite stature, spine as straight as an oak with white hair cut sharply at her jaw and eyes that raked over Claire with a quick assessment, she was the most intimidating of all the people Claire had met.
She wore pressed navy slacks and a cardigan with a hummingbird embroidered on the pocket. “Claire Whitlock.” Agnes didn’t bother nodding but held the door wide. “Come in. I made tea. The good kind, not the bags.”
Claire stepped inside and removed her shoes when Agnes gave her feet a pointed look.
Family photographs covered one wall in an arrangement so careful it was almost architectural.
A writing desk near the window held an open journal.
Bookshelves lined two walls and even the oldest book looked pristine.