Page 37 of Untaming the Cowboy
Luc didn’t answer. His throat was thick, his chest tighter than it had been in months. “You ever see someone walk into a storm thinkin’ it’s just rain?” he murmured.
Beau’s jaw flexed. “Yeah. And sometimes they don’t come back.”
Luc nodded once. He didn’t say another word. The wind picked up across the prairie, carrying that faint scent of hay and vanilla that still lingered from her hands.
Somewhere out there, Dahlia was gone—but the echo of her song hung in the air, low and aching, like the last note of a hymn that didn’t quite reach heaven.
17
Lucas
18
Dahlia
19
LUCAS
After Dahlia leaves,the ranch loses its rhythm.
Morning chores drag.
The kitchen’s quiet.
No music, no laughter, no cherry-vanilla scent hanging in the air.
Luc’s routine becomes mechanical again — rise before dawn, run drills, avoid everyone.
He’s notliving, just functioning.
And everyone feels it. The men work slower. The wives send casseroles with notes:
“Tell Miss Dahlia we miss her cornbread.”
He throws them away unread.
When he overhears Beau humming one of the songs Dahlia used to play in the stables, he snaps, threatening to dock pay if her name’s mentioned again.
“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 snarls back, the old temper flashing:
