Page 11 of Untaming the Cowboy
“Let’s see what we’re dealin’ with,” he said.
Dahlia and Beau followed him inside. The fresh scent of clover and sweetgrass faded behind them, replaced by the thick, oily tang of metal and grease. Mack moved behind the counter, pulled a clipboard from a stack, and slid it across to her.
“I’ll need you fill this out with your name, number, and the year, make, and model of your car to start the paperwork.”
Rummaging through her bookbag, she retrieved the rental agreement and peeked up at Mack sheepishly. “It’s not my car,” Dahlia admitted.
He looked up at her, brows pulling together. “Then whose car is this?”
“It’s a rental,” she said quickly.
That earned a grunt and a slow shake of his head. “Well, ma’am, I can tell you right now, I ain’t touching that one.”
Dahlia frowned. “Excuse me?
“Rental cars are a whole other mess,” he said, wiping his hands on a rag. “You gotta call the company you rented from.They’ll file a report, get the insurance folks talking to each other. I can’t fix a thing till all that’s cleared. Liability nightmare.”
Dahlia’s brow pinched. “Great. So now what do I do about this banged-up rental?”
“If you haven’t already, call that company right away,” Mack said, folding the rag over his shoulder. “Report the accident, follow whatever they tell you. They’ll work with the insurance folks from there. Until that’s done, my hands are tied.”
Dahlia looked toward Beau, who only lifted a shoulder. She did her best to keep her frustration down, but this was maddening. She’d had her license since sixteen and never been in an accident—now, at twenty-seven, all because of that NASCAR cowboy, she needed a step-by-step guide just to handle a fender-bender.
“If you head up to the airport, they might give you another vehicle for rest of your contract,” Mack added, tone softening. “Sorry it’s not the answer you wanted.”
She sighed. “Guess that’s my luck this week. Would you be able to get me there, Beau?”
Before he could reply, his phone rang. Beau held up a finger, glanced at the screen, and turned slightly away to answer. Dahlia couldn’t make out what was being said, only Beau’s short replies in return.
When he ended the call, he slipped the phone into his back pocket and looked at her, all trace of humor gone. “That was Luc,” he said. “There’s a storm we’ve been tracking. It’s coming in ahead of schedule. Luc’s got everyone locking things down at Blaze Haven.”
Dahlia glanced toward the horizon where the light had already begun to dim, clouds thickening into bruised shades of gray. “What about giving me a tow to the airport? Or at least back to my hotel?”
“Not yet,” he said, shaking his head. “If it passes quick, I’ll run you out there after. Safer to leave the car here till it’s done. The winds’ll tear up the back roads once it hits.”
Her brow lifted. “So what now?”
“You can come with me,” Beau said simply. “Ain’t no use sittin’ here while the sky gets ugly.”
She looked out at the rental, then at him. “Well, I guess you’re right. Let’s go before this place turns into Dorothy’s backyard.”
He chuckled, helping her climb into the truck before circling around to the driver’s side. As they pulled away from Mack’s, the first hint of wind stirred the roadside grass. The landscape rolled wide and restless beneath the changing sky, each mile pulling them closer to Luc’s ranch. While the husky, and raspy deep timbre of Miley Cyrus and her hit “Wrecking Ball” filtered through Beau’s cabin, Dahlia sent text messages to Teylor, and her family letting them know the update on her car situation. Everyone responded within minutes, all the same, telling her to keep them posted on how she makes out.
When she placed her phone back in her bag, Beau lowered the volume, interrupting mid-song right as Miley crooned she closed her eyes and swung, leaving her in crashing, blazing fall. “Figured I should tell you—Luc’s a Marine. He don’t say much about it, but you’ll see it in how he runs things. He’s got his way of keepin’ order, and sometimes it rubs folks the wrong way.”
Dahlia turned toward him, a smirk curling at her lips. “A Marine, huh? That explains why he walks around like he’s inspectin’ everything for perfection.”
Beau laughed. “Ain’t far from the truth. Man can spot a crooked nail from fifty feet and start fixin’ it mid-conversation.”
Her smile deepened, though her thoughts drifted. So that was it. The reason behind the blunt tone, the unbending posture, the eyes that seemed to scan everything and everyone. It wasn’tthe way he was born. It was military training, something he couldn’t shake.
Outside, the sky had turned the color of pewter, the warning that comes before a storm. When the road curved, she caught her first glimpse of Luc’s ranch.
Two immense gates stood ahead with iron and carved wood shaped into the forms of two horses meeting head-to-head, their manes flowing upward. The craftsmanship was raw and powerful, alive even in stillness. Beau slowed the truck, and as they rolled closer, Dahlia read the words etched across the burnished wood:
Blaze Haven
Forged in fire. Raised in sorrow. Rebuilt in silence.
