Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
The Bluebell County Fairgrounds were almost a second home at this point in Luke’s life.
Even the smell of livestock, sawdust, fried food and engine grease, combined with the sweat of working people who’d come dressed in their best despite knowing better reminded him of home.
He walked through the main gate with his hat pulled low and his shoulders set against the awareness that prickled the back of his neck everywhere he went.
People noticed him…and not in a good way. Not the way they used to with the easy nod of a neighbor or the raised hand of a friend. They noticed him the way people noticed a pile of roadkill or a skunk shuffling across their property.
He’d earned that.
Caleb fell into step beside him, boots raising small clouds in the dry arena dirt.
They passed a cluster of men near the south gate, one of whom turned at the sound of their approach, recognized Luke, and turned away to study the fence rail.
The snub was quick and practiced. Luke’s jaw tightened, but he kept walking.
No sense in arguing with what they all knew to be true.
And no sense in changing when it always blew up in his face like it had with Claire.
“Hendersons are here.” Caleb tipped his head toward a family unloading near the cattle pens. Dave Henderson met Luke’s gaze, held it for a beat, then nodded.
“I see them.” Would his heart ever stop breaking and let him get back to not caring what others thought of him as long as the ranch survived?
Probably not.
“Tom mentioned you delivered their freezer program paperwork this week.” Caleb stuck his thumbs in his belt and increased his swagger as they passed a group of women setting up a cider stand.
What was he going to do? The proverbial fork in the road mocked him. He could continue the path of restitution or go back to how he’d been.
He didn’t care much for the man who’d shut down all the programs. He stopped and gripped the fence rail as they paused to survey the arena floor. “Trust takes longer to rebuild than it does to break.”
“Yeah.” Caleb didn’t offer false comfort, which was one of the things Luke valued most about him. “But you did the work. They’ll come around.”
The arena hummed with a heightened sense of expectation.
Their annual county auction day brought some of his favorite things together.
Buyers clustered in groups, faces unreadable behind sunglasses.
Young ranchers stood near their pens and tried not to sweat through their shirts.
For some of them, their mortgage depended on what the next few hours produced.
A few years ago, he’d been worrying nonstop about making enough money to see them through the winter.
This year, they had cattle up but no desperate need to sell them. Luke eyed the auctioneer’s booth above the main floor. It sat empty, but ready—microphone in place and a man in a large cowboy hat near the stairs.
On the far side of the arena, under a canvas awning stretched between metal poles, a hospitality tent operated at full capacity.
Luke spotted Claire without even trying to look for her.
She moved between folding tables with an easy stride and a wide smile.
She’d left her hair down but pulled back from her face by a single clip.
She wore a blue flannel shirt with the ends tied at her waist, sleeves rolled up, and boots with her jeans tucked into them.
She chatted with a woman Luke didn’t recognize.
He watched her face light up as her head tipped back in laughter at something the woman had said.
The sound carried across the arena, and the hard knot he’d carried in his stomach since their ride relaxed.
He’d heard Claire laugh before, but hearing that sound in this public space, where people who’d been avoiding Luke sought her out without hesitation, pressed hard on the ache he’d been pretending didn’t exist.
“You know staring at her from fifty feet away is not technically an improvement over what you were doing on the ranch.” Caleb elbowed him in the ribs.
“I’m not staring.” He dragged his head around so he faced the cattle pens. “How are our yearlings looking?”
“Strong. They’ll show well. Eli has it all under control.” Caleb accepted the subject change without calling it out. “She’s good for you, Luke.”
“Don’t.” He pushed away from the fence and walked away from Claire’s tent.
Caleb joined him, keeping pace without trouble.
Of course he did. His brother couldn’t possibly leave something alone when he knew Luke would rather lick rusty nails than talk.
“You’re always tight-lipped and surly, but you’ve been worse this week.
Except when you’re giving back the programs you stopped. ”
Luke had no answer for that. He ducked between fence rails and approached their pen where Eli, their foreman, watched over the yearling steers.
A cursory examination revealed what he already knew but gave him a new focus besides what it would feel like if he was the one making Claire laugh with her entire body.
The steers were some of their best, and they’d fetch solid prices if the bidding went right.
“Beautiful animals.” A voice spoke from the adjacent pen.
Luke turned. A young man stood there, early twenties, clean-shaven and nervous as a feral cat.
He nodded at Luke’s yearlings with no attempt at hiding his admiration. “Looking forward to seeing how they sell.”
“Thanks.” Luke leaned on the rail and pointed at the black-and-white banded cows in the pen. “Yours?”
“Yes sir.” The young man stuck out his hand. “Brody Kessler. My family runs the old Garrett property out on Miller Creek Road.”
Luke shook it. “Luke Calloway.”
Brody’s expression shifted, recalibrating. “I know who you are, sir.”
The barely recognizable switch in his countenance pushed out a sigh from Luke.
“What are you running?” Luke gestured toward Brody’s pen and the dozen steers inside. “They look solid.” For a small operation finding its footing. No need saying that, so he bit down on the words that might hurt the young man’s feelings.
“First time selling.” Brody eased his hands into his pockets. “Bought breeding stock two years ago when I took over from my dad. These are my first yearlings. Hope to get enough to cover operating costs and start paying down the equipment loan.”
Luke studied the steers. “Any buyer who knows cattle is going to be interested. Your lot has strong bones and good weight on them. Good, quality beef.”
A buyer who didn’t care about anything but price would offer less than they deserved, which was how he’d operated in the past.
“What are you hoping to get per head?” Luke asked.
Brody named a number, and he ran a mental tally on the market data he’d reviewed this morning. Fair number. Maybe even slightly conservative given current beef prices.
“That’s reasonable.” Luke straightened. “You should get it.”
Brody’s careful posture eased. “Appreciate you saying so.”
They parted and Luke continued his circuit of the arena, reading the room, cataloguing who was buying, who was selling, what the energy suggested about prices. He made notes in the small book he always carried and kept his attention on the task at hand.
He did not, under any circumstances, let his attention drift to the hospitality tent.
His attention absolutely drifted back to the hospitality tent.
She’d moved to the end of the serving line where she talked with a group of older men Luke recognized as the Bluebell County Retired Ranchers Association—men in their seventies and eighties who showed up to every auction more for the social aspect than the commerce.
One of them laughed so hard he had to take his hat off and wipe his eyes.
“You look like a man walking a fence line and not sure which side to fall on.”
Luke turned. Caleb stood behind him with two cups of coffee. He’d completely missed his brother leaving. Good thing he hadn’t been talking to thin air this whole time. People would really be talking about him then.
“Neither looks pretty good. I’d rather keep walking the fence.” Luke took the offered cup and grinned at his brother’s stumped expression.
Caleb recovered with a snort. “Sure.” His brother thumbed his hat back and took a sip, slurping it through puckered lips. “Grandpa used to say the best things in life require you to be brave enough to need them.”
Luke’s grip tightened on the paper cup.
“Told me that when I was seventeen and scared to try out for the rodeo team because I knew there was a chance I’d fail in front of everyone.” Caleb scanned the arena. “But if I never tried, then I’d already failed. Thought you might benefit from the reminder.”
Right. Talking about Grandpa usually put him in a different mindset, but he could almost hear Gramp’s gruff voice reminding the Calloway boys that fear was all well and good but never to let it rule their lives. God was too big for fear to live in them.
Steam rose from the surface of his cup and dissipated.
He knew what he wanted.
He wanted Claire to stay and give them the chance she hadn’t been able to promise.
How did he hold onto that dream without letting fear consume him?
The auctioneer’s voice filled the arena with its rhythmic cadence, numbers rising and falling. It startled Luke out of his thoughts as handlers guided animals through the main ring while buyers lifted their cards to signal bids.
Caleb propped his elbows on the top rail and cocked his head to listen. Luke did the same, taking mental notes. Prices ran fair, maybe slightly soft. The spring surplus had buyers negotiating harder than the animals deserved.
He tracked Brody Kessler’s pen out of the corner of his eye. The young rancher stood with both hands on the rail, face carefully composed, doing the same math Luke was and probably not liking the results.