Page 9 of Untaming the Cowboy
Ramirez’s mouth opened, but no sound came out—only a wet gasp. The gunfire thundered, so loud it swallowed every prayer Luc tried to say. The smell of oil, smoke, and iron filled his lungs.
“Medic! I need a medic!”
Nothing. Only the scream of wind across the desert.
The battle blurred, the heat falling away, the sand softening under his knees. Blood darkened to water. His hands came up empty.
When Luc blinked, the battlefield was gone. Rain fell in sheets, silver against black sky. His chest rose and fell too fast, breaths clouding the cold air. And through the mist, someone stood where Ramirez had been.
Not Stacie.
Dahlia.
Her bare feet sank into mud, jet-black hair heavy with rain, those same layered tresses he’d watched swing under a white rodeo hat. Instead of a crop top and low-rise jeans, she wore white, the fabric plastered to her skin, translucent under the stormlight. She shouldn’t have belonged there, not in his war. But she did—standing still while everything around her burned.
“Luc . . .”
Her voice broke through the thunder, soft but demanding, pulling him toward her. He rose slowly.
“Dahlia?”
She gave his a small smile, and then she reached her hand out.
Luc took a step, then another. The rain thickened. The ground shook. She started to fade, light unraveling her edges until only her eyes remained.
“Don’t go,” he breathed.
Then the world went white.
Luc jolted awake with a violent gasp, his heart hammering against his ribs. Sweat dampened his skin, the sheets twisted around his legs.
He sat there, staring into the dark, the old nightmare still flickering behind his eyelids. For years it had been Ramirez and the desert. Sometimes Stacie, standing in that place she didn’t belong. But now—it was Dahlia.
Why the hell was she in my head?The question echoed in Luc’s mind. He had only met her hours earlier. But there she was, flashing through the wreckage of a dream meant to haunt him. He dragged a hand through his hair, staring at the ceiling as if it might give him answers. Wynn whined, pacing beside the bed, soft pants that broke the silence.
Luc swung his legs off the bed, exhaled slow, and forced her image to the back of his thoughts. He grabbed his watch on the nightstand. 3:50 a.m. He scrubbed a hand down his face, the other reaching to scratch Wynn behind the ears. “Yeah, I know. You’re hungry. I’m up.”
After feeding Wynn, Luc washed up and pulled on his running gear. Outside, the horizon was still ink-dark, a pale seam of dawn pushing through. He stepped into the chill that came before sunrise, swiping through his phone when his usual playlist suddenly felt wrong. Not after that nightmare—or dream—he wanted to hear something else. He put a country station into the queue. Jason Aldean’s hit from the night before flooded his eardrums. Wynn bounded ahead, paws kicking dew from the grass. A thin fog hugged the fences. He stretched once, then took off down the dirt road that cut through his land.
The dusted path stretched ahead as the chorus hit—a song about a girl like her, one he hadn’t met before. The dream still clung to him, sweat mixing with the morning chill. He could almost hear the rain again, and the pull of her voice. Dahlia standing barefoot in the wreckage of his memory.
By the third mile, the horizon had cracked open, streaks of amber cutting through the fog. Wynn kept pace, tongue lolling, tail high. When they reached the last bend before the house, dawn was spreading across the sky—orange bleeding into the low-lying mist, turning the land gold.
Once changing into his usual long-sleeve shirt, breathable jeans, and his Cattleman’s hat, Luc made his way outside. Wynntrotted ahead to the barn, panting loud enough to echo against the stalls. Luc followed him inside, the scent of hay and horse sweat. Blaze nickered softly, impatient for his turn to get out. Cookie pawed at her stall, restless and wild as ever.
“Morning, Speed Racer,” Beau called from the back, stacking bales onto the lift. His hat tipped just enough to hide the grin Luc knew was there.
Luc turned, catching the look. “Don’t start.”
“Oh, I’m gonna start,” Beau said, laughter tucked behind his words. “You, of all people, backin’ into somebody in a parking lot? Special Ops Marine with eyes that see a gnat blink at fifty yards—what happened there?”
Luc gave a low grunt. “Wasn’t payin’ attention.”
Beau leaned an elbow on the rail, eyeing him. “That right? You’re usually watchin’ everything that moves. You sure you weren’t distracted?”“
“Guess I was,” Luc muttered, moving to check Blaze’s tack. “Didn’t expect anyone behind me.”
Beau’s grin widened. “Yeah, I saw the anyone. Can’t say I blame you. Whole town’s already talkin’ about the pretty woman from Briarwick, Georgia. The one who danced her heart out last night.”
