Chapter 24 — We Didn’t Come Here For A Luna

The roof was finished before midday. Hallie knew because the three people Caleb had chosen came back together, carrying the unused tools instead of sending someone to explain why the job had stalled. Caleb looked up from the worktable.

“Done?”

“Done,” one of them said.

“No one refused the ladder halfway through?”

The woman beside him laughed. “Everyone knew there was a ladder before we started.”

Caleb glanced at Hallie. She tried not to look pleased. Failed.

The man who had objected to the requirement notes the day before stood near the table. He had volunteered for the roof crew after Caleb announced that the work involved height.

He set down a coil of rope.

“The notes helped.”

Hallie looked at him.

“You’re sure you want that repeated?”

“Don’t get ambitious.”

A few people laughed.

Then someone behind her said, “That doesn’t mean she should start deciding how everything here works.”

The laughter stopped. Hallie turned. The speaker was a man she recognized from the yard but had never worked with directly.

He was not angry. That made the statement land harder. Caleb leaned against the table.

“No one said she was.”

“Not today.”

The man gestured toward the repair sheet.

“First she fixes the shortage board. Then people start asking her about assignments. Now we’re changing how work gets organized because she says so.”

“That isn’t what happened,” Hallie said.

“I know you listened.”

The answer surprised her. He looked at the finished repair crew.

“And I know this worked.”

The woman from the crew folded her arms.

“So what’s the problem?”

“Being good at something doesn’t give someone the right to lead the rest of us.”

The words settled over the yard. Hallie heard what was underneath them before anyone named it. The objection was no longer the board.

It was not the repair notes, either. Her. Grant’s wife.

The woman beside the table frowned.

“She hasn’t ordered anybody.”

“No. But people are starting to look at her when there’s a problem.”

“That’s because she usually has an answer.”

“And what happens when that becomes authority?”

Hallie opened her mouth. Closed it. The man looked directly at her.

“We didn’t come to Cedar Draw for a Luna.”

Silence followed. He had finally said it aloud.

Luna. The title Hallie had been trained to carry since she was young enough to believe fate and duty were the same thing. The title Austin had rejected her from.

The title Grant had never offered. Hallie felt every eye near the table shift. Some toward her.

Some toward Grant. That second movement mattered more. They were waiting to see whether the Alpha would settle the question.

Grant came to stand beside Hallie. His hand grazed hers. Hallie turned her palm, and his fingers closed around hers for one second.

His palm was rough against hers. She felt it after. He stepped back.

Not away. Out of the answer. The man who had spoken looked at Grant.

“You going to tell me I’m wrong?”

Grant’s voice was calm.

“No.”

A murmur moved through the people nearby. Hallie looked at him. Grant met her gaze.

Then he said, “You said it to Hallie. She can answer you.”

Nothing else. Grant kept the marriage out of his answer. He kept his Alpha voice out of the disagreement.

Hallie faced the man again. Part of her wanted to defend the work. She could point to the finished roof.

The shortage board. The assignment dispute Caleb had resolved after hearing her opinion. She could prove she had been useful.

But he had already admitted that. His admission made competence irrelevant to the argument.

“I didn’t come here asking to be Luna,” Hallie said.

“You married the Alpha.”

“Yes.”

“That changes things.”

“It changed my marriage status.”

“It changed how people see you.”

Hallie could not deny that.

She had kept regular work. Refused automatic privileges. Sent decisions back to Caleb when they belonged to him.

And still, people were beginning to turn toward her. They had started doing it because her judgment sometimes helped. Because sometimes her judgment helped.

The man’s fear was not imaginary. Hallie looked around the yard. Some faces were openly supportive.

Others guarded. A few uncertain.

“What do you want me to do?” she asked.

He hesitated.

“Stop acting like you know what Cedar Draw needs.”

The woman near the table made an impatient sound. Hallie lifted a hand before she could argue.

“I don’t know everything Cedar Draw needs.”

The man’s expression remained hard.

“I know what worked on one roof,” Hallie continued. “I know what worked on the shortage board after people here told me what was wrong with my first version.”

“And tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow I work.”

His brows drew together.

“That’s it?”

“For now.”

The answer did not satisfy him. Hallie had not expected it to. He looked toward Grant again.

Grant remained silent.

“So nobody’s deciding what she is here?”

Grant answered this time.

“No.”

Hallie looked at him.

He continued, “That isn’t mine to hand her.”

The words landed differently than defense would have. The woman from the roof crew nodded once.

“She helped us today.”

Another worker said, “That’s all I care about.”

The first man shook his head.

“That’s how it starts.”

No one laughed now. Hallie felt the shape of the conflict settle around her. Hallie looked from the finished roof to the man who had challenged her.

Failure would make the argument easy. Success made some people wonder what she would ask to decide next.

Extra hours on a work crew could not answer that. Neither could another finished roof. Her usefulness was already visible.

The fight had shifted to what Cedar Draw believed that usefulness might become. Caleb picked up the completed repair sheet.

“The roof is still done,” he said.

A few people smiled. The man who had objected stayed unsmiling. He walked away without another word.

Hallie watched him go. Grant stayed several feet behind her, exactly where he had stopped after letting go of her hand. Hallie looked at the finished work and the empty space the argument had left behind.

Since arriving in Cedar Draw, she had focused on proving her worth. Now she understood that might be the easy part.