Page 12 of Untaming the Cowboy
Beneath the inscription, carved smaller and uneven—letters cut by hand, not machine—was another line, softer somehow:
“Together we’ll ride, my friend . . . and blaze some trails.” — L.S.
The sight struck her in a way she didn’t expect. The gate wasn’t just an entrance. It was a story with the kind of grief that builds men and breaks them in the same breath. She glanced at Beau, but he said nothing, his gaze fixed ahead. He then lowered the window and punched in a code on the call box.
As the gates swung open, a gust swept through the valley, carrying the scent of rain and hay. Dahlia’s pulse quickened. Something about this place—the raw beauty of it, the sorrow carved into its bones—felt like a warning and a welcome all at once.
She wasn’t sure which one she should listen to.
5
LUCAS
The radar bledred and orange, a warning flare that a derecho was inbound, faster than forecasted. Luc didn’t need the alert to know it. The air carried that charged stillness that came before hell broke loose, thick enough to taste. Even the horses were restless, shifting in their stalls as if they could sense what was coming.
He cursed under his breath and set the phone down on the workbench. “Hey, keep moving those! They can’t be out here!” he shouted across the yard. “We’ve got maybe an hour before it hits. Y’all start clearing the lower pens and get the feed trucks under cover.”
The wind had teeth now. It lifted the brim of his hat and tossed grit into his eyes. He was halfway across the yard when the sound of tires crunching over gravel cut through the rising howl.
Beau’s black Silverado rolled through the gate and parked near the barn. It was good he’d arrived when he did. Luc needed all the help he could get. He started heading that way when the passenger door opened first.
Luc froze mid-stride.
She climbed out, her long, dark hair tucked under a hat low enough to shadow her eyes. Her fitted tank top flashed a strip of midriff when she reached in the backseat, low-rise jeans hugging her hips, boots already catching dust. She slung a brown leather backpack over one shoulder, then looped the strap of a small black boho bag across her chest.
Luc blinked, pulling it together, and kept walking their way. His voice came out harsher than he meant. “What the hell is she doin’ here?”
Beau climbed out, shutting the driver’s side with a solid thunk. “Relax, brother. I didn’t pick her up for fun. Her rental’s shot and Mack can’t touch it—says y’all’s company’s gotta deal with it. I couldn’t take her to the airport ‘cause you wanted me out here before the storm, so . . .” He gestured toward Dahlia. “She’s ridin’ it out with us.”
Dahlia closed her door and met Luc’s glare head-on. “Trust me, cowboy, this ain’t exactly my dream destination either.”
Luc’s stare moved between them, his jaw tightening. “So you brought her here, without askin’?”
“Wasn’t about to leave her sittin’ in town while the sky’s about to cave in. Would you’ve said yes?” Beau asked, one brow lifted.
“Hell no.”
Dahlia let out a mirthless chuckle. “Good thing your vote didn’t count. I’d hate to see how you treat guests when it’s sunny.”
Luc scrubbed a hand down his face, muttering a curse under his breath. Smart-mouthed, stranded, and still talking back. He told himself it wasn’t worth responding—that she was just another problem to manage before the storm hit.
Beau tipped his hat with a smirk, already moving toward the barn. “We’ve got horses to get to safer ground. You can chew me out later.”
Beau’s words barely landed before Luc turned on his heel, needing motion more than conversation. Motion was better than standing still, and safer than looking at her again.
He threw himself into work—pulling tarps, tightening ropes, driving stakes until his palms burned. Anything to burn off the frustration that came with her being there. But every time he glanced toward the main paddock, she was somewhere she shouldn’t have been: helping one of the men haul feed buckets, tying down the chicken-coop doors like she’d done this a thousand times.
At one point, he caught sight of his ranch hand Mara leading her toward the storm shelter to stash her things. Luc forced himself to look away. She wasn’t staying. The bags didn’t mean anything.
Beau jogged up beside him, a drizzle starting. “You still mad she’s here, or you mad she’s not runnin’ scared?”
Luc yanked another gate closed. “She’s a distraction.”
Beau smirked. “So’s lightning. Still gotta respect it.”
Thunder rolled low across the horizon, shaking the ground. The temperature dropped, sudden as a gasp.
“Wind shift,” Luc said, eyes scanning the treeline. “It’s here. Round everybody up and get inside!” he shouted over the rising roar.
