Page 17 of Untaming the Cowboy
“It’s just food,” he muttered.
Yet, with the next four bites, he couldn’t help the sounds coming from his chest. This was one of the best home-cooked meals he’d had.
Beau chuckled. “You sure?”
Luc glared, but his heart wasn’t in it. He just shrugged it off and focused on the corner of collards waiting for him to devour them.
At the counter, Dahlia turned her back to him, reaching for a knife. He watched as she cut into a small pie cooling beside the stove. She turned, holding out a thick slice. “Want a piece? I found some green apples and couldn’t resist makin’ a small one.”
He should’ve said no. Should’ve stood his ground and remembered why having her here was already a mistake. Instead, he took the dessert plate. Their fingers brushed, barely, and that single touch sparked through him like a live wire. Luc quickly set it down and went back to finishing his meal.
But Dahlia didn’t move. He looked up. Her dark brown, expectant gaze pinned him where he sat. It became clear what she wanted—his reaction. After moving his empty dish to the side, he slid the wedge in front of him, apple filling oozing from the crust. His fork sank into the flaky layers, the scent of apples and spices flooding his senses. Luc didn’t waste another second stuffing the caramelized treat into his mouth.
He looked away first, the taste of sugar and cinnamon on his tongue, and a thought he didn’t dare speak circling low and dangerous in his mind.
His mama’s cooking could fill his stomach, sure. But it wouldn’t keep him warm at night.
The muffled sound that slipped out, Luc couldn’t deny was a moan, had Dahlia bouncing on her toes and clapping with delight. “I knew you’d like it!” she beamed.
Now, he hated how much he did.
Chairs scraped across the floor as boots thumped against worn wood planks. The hot meal had revived them, and within minutes, his crew filed outside to finish what daylight allowed. As the sun sank toward the ridge, the yard stood nearlyrecognizable again—fallen limbs cleared, debris piled, animals accounted for.
Work done, the hands retreated to the bunkhouse that stood beyond the main barn—near enough to answer morning’s call but distant enough to give Luc and Beau their space. Pickup engines growled down the lane, their rumble mixing with evening cattle calls and birdsong.
Luc and Beau lingered alone, surveying the massive oak that had fallen near the house—and at the problem that waited on the porch.
Dahlia.
She sat on the steps, legs crossed, her hair catching what little breeze the late day offered. The setting sun broke through the thinning clouds, painting her skin in warm gold. Wynn had flopped himself down beside her, tail thumping against her boot. Already showing signs of being a traitor.
Luc rubbed across the three days of stubble. “Told you this was exactly why she shouldn’t be here. We run a ranch, not a damn bed-and-breakfast.”
Beau slanted him a look. “She wouldn’t be here if somebody hadn’t damn near T-boned her rental, remember?”
Luc’s mouth pressed into a thin line. The truth of it stung. He scowled. “I already said I’d pay for the repairs.”
“Money don’t fix washed-out roads or closed shops. She’s stuck till they open again.” Beau kicked at the dirt. “Besides, she pulled her weight during the storm. That gotta count for somethin’.”
Luc’s gaze drifted back to her. Must’ve felt his stare, because she rose to her feet, dusting off her jeans. “If y’all are done talkin’ about me, maybe one of you can point me toward a bed that doesn’t come with thunder and flying debris.”
Beau smirked. “See? She’s practical.”
“She’s trouble,” Luc muttered.
“Then give the trouble somewhere to sleep before she finds it herself,” Beau said easily. “Offer her the guest room.”
Luc hesitated, jaw working. Every instinct told himno, but guilt outweighed pride. “Fine.” He raised his voice. “There’s a room down the hall from the kitchen. You can use it till the power’s back and roads clear.”
She blinked, then nodded once. “Okay, I appreciate it. Beau—you stayin’ too, right?”
He tipped his hat, “I’ll be back at sunrise.”
The way she’d asked Beau, not him, twisted something low in his chest. It shouldn’t have gotten to him. But it did. Jealousy wasn’t a feeling he recognized anymore, not since Stacie. Yet, there it was, burning through him like bourbon hitting his gut. He shoved it down quick, and let out a rough scoff, the sound rasping in his chest.
“Then you handle getting her settled.”
He stalked away before either of them could answer, Wynn trotting close at his heel as he crossed the yard.
