Page 10 of Untaming the Cowboy
Luc clipped the lead rope, keeping his tone even. “She’s a drifter. Plenty of women come through and leave an impression.”
“Not like DeeDee.”
Luc paused mid-motion. “What’d you just call her?”
Beau chuckled. “DeeDee. Said that’s what her folks call her back home. Told me to use it too.”
Luc’s jaw flexed. “That right.”
“Yep,” Beau said, unbothered. “Sweet woman, though. Said she’ll need a few rides while she’s here. I told her I’d help out.”
Luc kept his focus on Blaze’s bridle. “You do that.”
“Oh, I will.” Beau’s grin stretched. “She seemed real easy to talk to. You might try it sometime—beats hittin’ her car.”
Luc huffed out a sound that wasn’t quite a laugh. “Just take care of the damn car, Beau.”
“Already handled, boss,” Beau said, lifting another bale. “Wouldn’t want your reputation takin’ another hit before breakfast.”
Luc shook his head, but the corner of his mouth twitched before he turned back to Blaze. “Let’s get to work, boy.”
But even as he said it, his mind betrayed him, drifting back to the sound of her voice through the storm.
“Luc . . .”
And the way his name had never sounded like that before.
4
DAHLIA
Beau had beenthe one to show her around, full of charm and good manners, the kind that made this town feel less foreign. He’d taken her to The Prairie Spoon, a wood-paneled restaurant that smelled of gravy, pepper, and something fried in butter. The smothered pork chops were rich enough to make her eyes roll back, though she’d told him nothing ever came close to her Granny’s kitchen. He’d laughed at that, the sound tumbling over the clatter of dishes and the buzz of local chatter.
“I would love to have taste some of your Granny’s cooking especially pork chops. This is my favorite dish.”
“Now that I’ve got a friend here, for sure I’ll see what I can do to make that happen,” Dahlia beamed while finishing her slice of apple pie.
On Sunday afternoon, they’d driven through the Ironhaven Commons, a stretch of storefronts and family-run shops. Dahlia found herself picking up things she didn’t really need: homemade soap, a pair of turquoise earrings, a jar of pickled okra that reminded her of summers in Briarwick. A place like this made wanting to live there a comfortable thought.
Now, on Monday, comfort was the last thing settling in her body. It was time to deal with the weekend’s ordeal. She slung her tote over one shoulder—the same one that went everywhere with her, worn soft from travel and incense. Inside were her usual lifelines: a bundle of sage wrapped in cotton string, rose quartz and obsidian tucked in a cloth pouch, her feather fan from home, a small bottle of Florida Water, a notebook scrawled with affirmations, and a few essentials only she’d understand the need for.
She grabbed the strap tighter and gave the room a last glance—the unmade bed, the empty coffee cup on the dresser—before pulling the door shut behind her. The hall carried a soft scent of citrus, white tea, and sandalwood, a calm breath before the day began. Beau’s truck was already rolling up to the front doors when she reached the lobby.
“Morning, DeeDee,” he called, getting out and rounding the truck.
“You’re awfully bright for a Monday,” she teased, adjusting her tote.
“Just trying to start the week on the right side of it,” he replied, holding the door open for her.
She slid into the seat, shaking her head. There was something about Beau that made it easy to fall into conversation. They talked about small things as he drove: how Ironhaven’s weather turned fast this time of year, how the diner served the best sweet tea in three counties, how the roosters outnumbered people near the feed store.
He had a calmness she understood, a way of finding the good in everything. It reminded her how different he was from Luc—the mean ol’ junkyard dog who’d barked more than he spoke. And yet, even trying not to, here she was, thinking about that man again.
The town slipped by in muted shades of gold and rust until the road narrowed near the feed store. Up ahead, a squat building came into view, its faded sign reading Mack’s Auto & Diesel. When she followed Beau inside, a single fan spun lazily in the corner, and the smell of grease clung to the air. The older man behind the counter—tall, wiry, with hands that looked carved from iron—stepped out when he saw Beau’s truck.
“Morning, Mack,” Beau greeted. “Got a friend here from out of town, needs a quick look at her car. Had a fender bender of Friday night at The Hen House.”
Mack gave Dahlia a polite nod, then circled the dented vehicle parked out front. He crouched low, tapped the bumper, and gave a low whistle that didn’t sound promising. Rising, he brushed his palms on his coveralls and motioned toward the office door.
