Page 33 of Untaming the Cowboy
He didn’t argue. Just stood there, watching her hand off plates and refill cups, as if memorizing something he hadn’t realized he’d wanted all along.
When everyone had eaten their fill and cleared out for chores, he caught her by the door. “Ride with me into town? Gotta pick up supplies.”
“Sure,” she said, brushing her palms down her jeans. “I need to grab a few things too.”
The drive into Ironhaven felt easy—windows down, radio humming low, the scent of coffee between them. Fields rolled past, miles of open sky that seemed to breathe with them.
Luc’s hand rested on the console, rough knuckles brushing her thigh every so often. It wasn’t intentional, but it wasn’t an accident either.
They stopped at the feed store first. Luc handled business with the owner, talking about fencing and mineral blocks, while she wandered through aisles of leather cleaner, candles, and lavender-scented oil she knew he’d never buy but she would.
She added flour, sugar, and a few herbs to her basket, plus a small jar of honey from a local beekeeper’s stand out front. When she turned, Luc was watching her with that half-smile again—the one that started in his eyes before it reached his mouth.
“What?” she asked, pretending not to blush.
“Didn’t say a word.”
“No, but you were thinkin’ it.”
He opened the passenger door for her. “Get in, woman, before I embarrass you in public.”
They took the long way home, past the open fields where the grass bent in waves. The air was cool, sweet with the smell of rain still clinging from the night before. When he pulled off onto a dirt lane, she didn’t ask why.
He stopped the truck by a clearing that opened to a view of rolling pasture and endless sky. The world went quiet except for the wind and their breathing.
Luc killed the engine and leaned back. “Come here.”
She slid closer, her knees brushing his. The truck bed waited behind them—wide, sun-warmed metal calling them out of their heads and into the present. He climbed out first, reaching a hand for her. When she took it, he pulled her against him, the brim of his hat tipping forward until their foreheads met.
No words. Just that gravity that had always existed between them.
When he kissed her, it wasn’t rushed. It was a slow claiming, built from everything unsaid between them. She felt it everywhere—the way his hands framed her hips, the low sound he made when she whispered his name. They moved to the truck bed, tangled in heat and sunlight, the air turning thick with everything they couldn’t hide anymore.
By the time they pulled back onto the road, the windows were down again and the air carried something sweeter than before. Dahlia rested her hand on his thigh, and he covered it with his own, thumb grazing her wrist in quiet thanks.
Evening came soft and full of color. The crew gathered around the long table out back, plates heavy with food and laughter rolling through the yard. Dahlia poured sweet tea, served peach cobbler still warm from the oven, and felt Luc’s gaze find her again and again.
When the talk turned to weekend plans, she cleared her throat. “I’ve been thinking,” she began. “Now that the power’s back, what if we have a little shindig? Just something light to lift spirits—music, food, maybe a line dance or two. Folks could use it.”
Luc didn’t even pause. “Do it.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah.” He leaned back, eyes on her. “You run with it, DeeDee. You got the touch for that kind of thing.”
She smiled. “Power-Up at the Haven?”
He groaned. “You really gonna name it?”
“Too late. It’s branded.”
That made him laugh, full and real—the kind of sound she hadn’t known he carried until now.
Sleep found her smiling, certain of one truth—somewhere between their bodies and the dark, she’d started untaming the cowboy.
15
Lucas
