Page 20 of Untaming the Cowboy
Before long, they were tracing the inside of the yard. Dahlia’s thighs hugged warm muscle, her hair caught in the wind, and laughter slipped out before she could stop it. When she turned Cookie and let her trot the length of the yard, Beau whooped from the rail, and Mara—along with the other hands on the porch—clapped.
Out of the corner of her eye, Dahlia caught Luc near the barn, one hand resting on his belt, the other shading his eyes. His expression was unreadable, but he was watching.
She wasn’t ready to let go of her new friend. Dahlia wondered if Luc would allow her borrow Cookie for a small search through the back fields. Luc raised an eyebrow when she told him.
“For what?” he asked.
“Medicine,” she said, grabbing her satchel. “Storms stir up good things. Plants heal faster when the ground’s been fed by lightning. At least that’s what my granny says.”
Luc gave her a look halfway between skepticism and concern but didn’t stop her. He stared at his former wild child and shook his head. “Fine. But have her back before supper.”
“Of course, cowboy I’ve got to make sure to feed y’all,” Dahlia said, giving Cookie a nudge for a faster trot.
She guided Cookie down the lane, through tall grass still wet at the tips, scanning the edges of the fence for what she needed—mullein, lemon balm, a little skullcap if she could find it. The air was thick with new life, the kind that comes after destruction. She wrapped the leaves in clean muslin, tied the ends tight, and tucked the resin into a twist of paper.
After getting Cookie back in her stall for supper and brushing her down, Dahlia headed to the house to start on the crew’s meal. The windows were open to the smell of pine and soil, and the kitchen filled quickly with motion. She set water to boil, rinsed the dust from what she’d gathered, and made two separate brews—one gentle for the evening, with chamomile, lemon balm, and a polite kiss of honey; one stronger for the hour before bed, with skullcap, mullein, and pine’s grounding sweetness, a thread of vanilla so it would go down easier.
Chicken and dumplings puffed up in a broad pot, the broth thick and rich; biscuits rose tall and split with steam when she pulled them; a pitcher of sweet tea sweated on the counter, lemon slices floating on top and sugar already dissolved to the bottom.
The hands drifted in, likely drawn by the smell. Each of their faces tipped, sniffing the air as they filed into the kitchen. Beau came in first, tipping his hat with a grin. Mara and two others from the crew washed at the sink before taking their seats, offering quiet nods and smiles of thanks as she brought the food over.
Dahlia laid out the plates and poured the tea, setting things just so until it looked right, simple, but welcoming. Then she stepped back and let them eat.
Luc came in last, stopping at the archway. Dahlia caught his reflection in the window. His shoulders slumped, shirt still marked with the day’s dust, exhaustion written plain across him.
Dahli turned and pointed. “Sit, Crimson Chin,” she said before she could stop herself.
Snickers simmered from his crew. Luc’s brows pinched together as he crossed to the wash sink, running his hands under the tap before grabbing a towel. “Wait, what’d you just call me?”
Mara’s head popped up from her plate. Beau and the other two ranch hands froze.
“Crimson Chin,” she repeated, folding her arms, mouth curving into a smile. “You saved us through that storm, didn’t you? Big strong jaw, cleft chin like Superman, you’ve got heroic tendencies, protective streak a mile wide—tell me that don’t sound cartoon-level heroic.”
Beau let out a holler, nearly spilling his tea. “Aw, hell! I knew it. You ain’t from Houston—your ass from Chincinnati!”
The crew broke into laughter. Dahlia laughed too, realizing they all knew exactly who she meant. Even Wynn, lying near the door, lifted his head at the noise.
Luc’s expression twitched, caught somewhere between exasperation and amusement. For the first time since she’d arrived, the corner of his mouth turned up. Just a smidge, but enough to send warmth through her.
He frowned at Beau as he moved to the head of the table and lowered his big body into the chair. “You just had to join in.” Then he looked at Dahlia, shaking his head. “Cartoons heroes, huh? You really don’t quit.”
“Not when I’m on a roll,” she said, sliding a plate in front of him. “Now eat before the hero complex wears off.”
Dinner continued full of stories about storms they’d survived to jokes about Beau’s crooked fence posts to Mara teasing Luc about finally letting someone in his kitchen. Dahlia soaked it all in, smiling to herself when Luc reached for his second helping without being asked.
When the meal wound down, she filled a mug with the tea she’d made earlier and set it in front of him.
Luc glanced at it, one brow raised, the look somewhere between cautious and curious. “What’s this?”
“Something to help that brain of yours shut down long enough for the rest of you to rest,” she said with confidence.
He met her eyes, narrowing them as if weighing whether to argue. “I sleep fine.”
“Sure you do. And Cookie doesn’t kick.”
Beau snorted into his cup, earning a few quiet laughs around the table.
Luc picked up the mug and took a careful sip. His shoulders eased, and a faint line between his brows disappeared.
