Page 38 of Untaming the Cowboy
“You think I need a damn reminder of what she did for me?”
Beau doesn’t flinch.
“No. I think you need a reminder of what you did toher.You ran her off ‘cause she made you feel somethin’. That ain’t strength, Luc — that’s fear wearin’ a Stetson.”
Luc storms off.
Beau just shakes his head.
“Cut your nose off to spite your face, and don’t come cryin’ to me when the whole ranch stops breathin’ with you.”
Beau corners him one afternoon by the tack room.
“You can holler, fire, or stomp your boots all you want, Luc, but you can’t scare grief outta this place. That woman brought more life to this ranch than a dozen spring rains. You keep pushing folks like this, you’ll lose more than your help — you’ll lose the man you fought so hard to become.”
Luc snarled back, “You think I need a damn reminder of what she did for me?”
Beau didn’t flinch. “No. I think you need a reminder of what you did toher.You ran her off ‘cause she made you feel somethin’. That ain’t strength, Luc — that’s fear wearin’ a Stetson.”
Luc stormed off. But before he could get far enough away he heard Beau’s grumble.
“Cut your nose off to spite your face, and don’t come cryin’ to me when the whole ranch stops breathin’ with you.”
Three days later, it’s not the men who break him — it’s Cookie.
She’s standing motionless in the paddock, head low, tail still. No cribbing, no stomping. Her eyes are dull, her body slack. Beau whistles softly; she doesn’t flick an ear.
Luc tries approaching, murmuring her name the way Dahlia did, but she rears violently, teeth flashing, then slumps again, like she’s spent all her fight.
By the fifth day, she stops eating.
Ridge Harvey shows up with his vet bag, all concern and quiet questions.
He does a nose-to-tail check — vitals fine, coat shiny, nothing physically wrong. But the horse looks . . . empty.
When the blood results come back, Ridge stands by the stall, hat in hand.
“Her cortisol’s low. That’s stress, Luc — chronic stress. Not the kind from workin’ too hard — the kind that comes fromlosin’ somethin’.”
Beau can’t help it — he mutters, “She ain’t the only one.”
Ridge glances between them.
“She lost her person. That woman — Dahlia, right? — she must’ve meant somethin’ to this horse. Sometimes animals bond so deep, the separation hits like grief. You’ve got a depressed horse on your hands.”
Luc blinks, incredulous.
“You sayin’ my horse is heart-broke?”
“I’m sayin’ she’sgrievin’.And if you don’t figure a way to get her heart movin’ again, you’re gonna lose her.”
When Ridge drives off, Luc lingers in the stall, watching Cookie’s stillness. Beau steps up beside him.
“You hear what the man said. That mare’s got a soul tied up in that woman’s hands. Ain’t just her, Luc — you too. You both been starvin’ for her since the day she left. You can keep tellin’ yourself you’re fine, but that horse? She’s tellin’ the truth you won’t.”
Luc grits his teeth.
“You don’t understand?—”
