Page 4 of Untaming the Cowboy
The cowboy had planted himself in front of her with the unbothered calm that made tempers climb. Dahlia let her attention travel upward—from worn boots, past denim that hugged in places that made her throat dry to a belt buckle that caught the light as if it were a warning sign. Her gaze lingered on his chest, where black cotton strained across muscles likely earned from years of hard labor, not gym memberships. When she finally reached his face, their gazes collided. His eyes held the color of storm-washed steel, gray with hints of green, shifting with each passing headlight. The cleft in his chin only made the whole thing worse, a dangerous detail on a man already too handsome for common sense.
A couple drifted past them toward their own car, the woman’s brows lifting at Dahlia’s front bumper with a wince. “Y’all good?” she asked.
“We’re fine. Just a fender bender,” he said, already turning back to his truck as if she weren’t still standing there.
Dahlia pressed her lips together and drew in a five-count breath that did nothing to calm the heat rising under her ribs. She’d be damned if this cowboy’s don’t-give-a-damn attitude ruined her night.
“Like hell it is,” she muttered, digging through her purse. “I’m calling this in.”
“Don’t bother. No point tying up emergency lines for a fender bender,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. “I’ll call it in.”
Her hand stilled. “You will?”
“Doing it now.” He moved several paces away, cell already at his ear.
Dahlia folded her arms, watching the rigid line of his shoulders while he talked into his phone—hopefully with the dispatcher. The bar continued emptying around them, patrons casting curious glances before slipping into their vehicles. She couldn’t tell if she wanted to thank him or throw something at his back.
With a huff, she dug her phone out of her purse and fired off a text to her best friend Teylor:
Girl. Just got hit by some white cowboy who must think this parking lot was a NASCAR race. I’m okay. Waiting for the police. Call you in a few.
Not even a full minute later, her phone buzzed.
“Hold up. What white man hit you?” Teylor came on the line, demanding instead of hello.
“Did you even read the whole message?” Dahlia asked dryly.
“No ma’am. All I saw was you got hit by some white man. Now, what happened, DeeDee?”
Dahlia groaned into a laugh. “Girl. This man backed straight into my rental, then fixed his mouth to say I should watch where I was going. Didn’t ask if I was hurt or nothing. Just looked at me and said I ‘looked fine.’”
“I know you lying. Thenerve!” Teylor snapped, disbelief crackling in her voice. “The police are on their way, right?”
“Yes, I told you that in the text . . .” Dahlia risked a glance in his direction and caught those stormy eyes boring into her. Something fluttered in her chest—not fear, but a strange pull she didn’t recognize. She turned away, skin prickling. “He called them, actually.”
“Good,” Teylor said, her tone softening a notch. “And I’m staying on this line until they get there. You sure you’re not hurt?”
“I’m fine. This car, though?” Dahlia surveyed the front end. “Toast. But trust me, his wallet’s about to feel it.”
“Facts! But insurance’ll cover it.”
“You’re right. Maybe his rate’ll go up then.”
“Serves him right for driving like a bat outta hell.” Her drawl carried a teasing edge. “Now, tell me about Haven’s Chicks—your stories lookedlit.”
Dahlia leaned against the car, the frustration from moments ago giving way to pure excitement. “They killed it! That girl Cashea can blow! Everybody was singing along, dancing and everything. This spot though, The Hen House—they got everything we love—greasy burgers, cold beer, and honey, I had that whole bar boot-scootin’.”
“Lord, DeeDee. You turned that place into a Briarwick trail ride.”
“And did,” she giggled.
Red and blue lights swept across the ground before Teylor could respond.
“Tey, they’re here. I’ll call you when I get back to the hotel.”
“You better. I’ve got your location. Any longer than an hour, I’m making calls. Me and your cousins’ll be on the next flight,” Teylor advised.
“Okay, talk to you in a few.” Dahlia ended the call and moved toward the police car at the same time as the cowboy.
