Chapter 1 Lucas #2
“You’re right about that.” Luc lifted the bolt on her pen and greeted. “Good morning, Cookie.”
He stepped back as the door creaked open. Beau wisely moved a few feet away.
Cookie blew out a hard breath, ears flicking back before she shot forward like lightning, tail snapping, hooves drumming across the packed earth. Luc could only shake his head, watching her vanish through the open gate into the pasture.
He turned to the next pen that Beau had opened and held out his hand for Blaze. The stallion stepped forward with calm assurance, the mirror opposite of his daughter’s chaos.
Luc rubbed his nose. “Hey there, bud. That’s your kid. Wished you’d help get her under control.”
Blaze tossed his head and let out a low, rumbling whinny that sounded suspiciously like laughter. Beau barked out a laugh. “Guess the apple didn’t fall far.”
Luc chuckled, running his hand down Blaze’s neck. “Nope. And I’ve stopped trying to catch it.”
After the laughter settled, they went on releasing the rest of the horses from their stalls, the barn now alive with sound and movement.
“Speaking of our wild child, I need to take a ride out to Ridge’s about Cookie’s next visit,” Luc said while tightening Blaze’s bridle. “It’s about time for the annuals on her, Blaze, and a few others. I’ll circle back to help with the cattle after.”
He rode out to Ridge’s clinic, where they went over the schedule for the horses’ annual exams. Once everything was on the calendar, Luc returned before the heat set in, the day already stretching long across the fields.
His hours fell into rhythm: feed rotations, fence repairs, water checks, livestock counts.
The ranch spanned fifteen hundred acres of space that asked nothing of him but his hands.
Sometimes that was enough. Sometimes it wasn’t.
By sunset, he was bone-tired but restless. After a shower, he traded his worn jeans for a cleaner pair, and grabbed his keys. Wynn trailed him to the porch, tail thumping against the post.
“Guard the fort,” Luc told him, ruffling the dog’s head. Wynn gave a soft huff in reply.
In the driveway, his Silverado waited—cobalt blue with a blacked-out grille, lift kit, and oversized all-terrains that made it sit taller than most trucks.
The chrome caught the porch light and gleamed.
It wasn’t his work truck; it was his prized possession, his armor on four wheels.
When the engine roared to life, it filled the still air with something that sounded a lot like release.
The drive into town was short, the road cutting through fields that shimmered in dying light. In the distance, The Hen House’s neon flickered, a beacon of noise, beer, and borrowed company.
Haven’s Chicks were already on stage, harmonizing their way through a cover of Lady A’s “American Honey.” A few locals two-stepped near the floor while others leaned on the bar, watching on.
Luc nodded to the bartender and took his corner seat.
The servers knew him, so it wasn’t long before he had a cold brew hit the table, and a bourbon burger followed—BBQ sauce dripping down the bun.
He took a bite, washed it down with a long swallow, and let the music and the easy rhythm of the place work the day out of his body.
Then the sound shifted. The Haven’s Chicks slid from country comfort into something rowdier—bass dropping low enough to vibrate through the floorboards.
The crowd stirred as the opening of “A Bar Song (Tipsy)” by Shaboozey rolled out, the beat catching fire.
Boots hit the wood. Laughter rose. For the couple of songs, the place came alive—louder and looser.
And then he saw her.
She wasn’t a regular, and definitely not from around here.
She moved, through the growing crowd, an oversized black fan flashing open in her hand, white script blazing across it: Boots, Sage, & a Bad Attitude.
Every snap of that fan hit like percussion.
Her hips swayed to the beat, crop top exposing warm mahogany skin, low-rise jeans hugging every line of her lower half.
Beneath the white hat, her hair fell wild and full.
The band caught her energy and leaned in, rolling straight into Tonio Armani’s “Country Girl.” Now the whole bar was line dancing, and she was in the center of it.
A slow, sly smile curved her lips as she danced, one hand raised, eyes daring the crowd to keep up.
She dipped lower, her ass writing circles in the air.
Luc couldn’t look away.
She never glanced his way, but every slow roll of her body pulled at him, taunting. A woman like that didn’t ask for attention. She drew it. Heads turned. Hell, even the band missed a beat.
But she didn’t belong to anyone in the room. She hadn’t spoken to a soul except the bartender. That made Luc curious. Curious enough to stay longer than he’d planned.
By the time he checked his watch, it was close to midnight.
He dragged himself up, tossed a few bills on the table, and headed out.
Cool night air hit him as he stepped outside, the muffled bass from inside still pulsing through the brick walls.
He climbed into his truck, the familiar rumble of the engine grounding him, though his mind hadn’t caught up.
Some part of him was still back inside, tracing that curve of a smile he shouldn’t have noticed.
He sat for a moment, hands resting on the wheel.
The noise of the bar dulled to a distant throb behind him, leaving just the hum of his own breathing and the low idle of the truck.
He swiped through his playlist until Jason Aldean’s “Girl Like You” came on, the guitar’s slow thrum bleeding through the speakers as he slid the gear into reverse.
Then—
CRUNCH.
His body jerked. He slammed the brake.
“Shit,” he hissed.
Glancing in the rearview he noticed the small car sitting crooked a couple of feet behind his truck. He flung the door open and climbed out.
Gravel crunched under his boots as he moved toward the back of his truck. He stopped between the two vehicles, jaw tight, eyes narrowing at the mangled plastic of the other car.
A few feet away, the driver’s door pushed open.
A woman rose from the seat, white hat tilted just enough to cast a shadow across her face.
Denim clung, red bandana brushing the curve of her thigh.
Under the parking lot light, her skin carried a glow that made Luc forget the rest of the world was moving.
Her.
The girl from the bar. The one who’d had heads turning. And now, standing a few feet away, she looked even more like a line dance goddess. Their gazes collided, and something inside him went still, heartbeat thumping hard in his chest.
She cocked her head. “Well damn, cowboy,” her Southern drawl curling through every syllable. “You just hit my car.”
Jason Aldean’s voice filtered out from the open truck door, singing about a woman who made a man forget his good sense. The irony wasn’t lost on Luc.
His eyes dropped to the crumpled bumper, then lifted back to her. “Maybe you should watch where you’re going,” he said, his tone flat.
Her smile thinned, gaze sweeping him once before she set a hand on her hip, chin tilting just enough to challenge him. The space between them tightened, the air thick with engine heat and something else he couldn’t name.
Luc didn’t know it yet, but the kind of trouble he’d sworn off just found him.