Rope the Moon (Runaway Ranch, #2)(14)

“Sorry. I shouldn’t have…” I trail off, unsure how to end the sentence. Shouldn’t have tried to pick back up? Shouldn’t have gotten this intimate?

Shouldn’t have thought that whatever we once had is still between us?

For all I know, Davis is married. For all I know, he’s forgotten all about me.

He scrapes a hand over his crew cut. “No, it’s okay.” His voice is rough and warm and so damn comforting. I’m horrified when my eyes fill with tears, so before he can see, I turn my face to the window.

I wish we could say more. Wish I could weep in his arms and tell him the absolute nightmare of my life over the last two years. Wish I could tell him what I’ve been up to pre-Aiden. That I found my mother. That I tried and failed to open my own bakery.

Instead, it’s about my face, this baby, and what Aiden did to me.

“How’d it happen?” Davis’s grim, demanding voice has me turning his way. There’s a storm in his dark brown eyes as his gaze lands on my cast, tucked up into the sleeve of my oversized sweater.

Tensing, I shake my head. Pain floods my memory and darkens my vision.

“I don’t want to talk about it, Davis,” I tell him quietly. “It doesn’t hurt anymore. It’ll heal.”

I’m not ready. I can skirt the truth, but the traumatic details about my past…

I can’t. Not yet. It’s too hard. Too heavy. The idea of going into detail to everyone about how badly I fucked up my life makes me incredibly sad.

Davis’s brow furrows. “Would you have told me all this?” he asks thickly. “When you came back?”

I keep my gaze on him. “Honestly, probably not.”

Last night, there was no time to lie. I had so many excuses prepared, but when I saw Davis, every little white lie disappeared. Because he was safety. He was comfort. He was someone who always knew what to do.

Now, in the harsh light of morning, I realize it’s a bad idea. Davis Montgomery is like a dog with a bone. He won’t let go until I tell him everything.

And I can’t tell him Aiden’s name. He’ll kill him.

“All the little white lies I would’ve told. I’d be a legend.”

Davis makes a frustrated sound in the back of his throat.

I stretch out in the seat and say gently, “Believe me, sending out some distressed woman SOS isn’t exactly the way I wanted to come back to town.”

He doesn’t smile. Always the same stern, broody face on this cowboy.

Of course, that’s the face he’s making.

I’m weak. I’m not the girl he knew.

“I didn’t know things were this bad,” he says with quiet rage.

“No one did.” A tear slips down my cheek. “I’m tired, Davis. I’m tired of being good.”

I turn my face to the window, feeling sad. Wyoming turns to Montana as we cross the border. “I’m tired of running.”

Davis’s sharp gaze slides across me, then returns to the highway. “You’re not running. You’re going home.”

Home.

Home to rebuild my life.

At least what’s left of it.

Six years ago, I was at the top of my game. A degree in pastry arts. Culinary festivals. Tutelage under Dominique Ansel. I traveled the country. France. The Keys. The Alps. Budapest. I baked like my soul was a flame and experienced things my small town could only dream of. I ate the world. I never wanted to go back.

Then, three years into my culinary dreams, I met Aiden.

And I rushed into it.

He wasn’t mine and I wasn’t his. At least, not in the way that mattered. He was someone I let into my life. All because the Marine back home didn’t want my heart, so I tried to give it away to the first man that would take it.

I tried.

And I failed miserably.

I fucked up.

Because being with Aiden King was like being blindsided in plain sight.

For the first year, it was good. Then, after I bought the bakery, he changed. Mean. Bitter. Violent. He convinced me I wasn’t good enough. He was the prize and I couldn’t live without him.

Slowly, my world shrank. I left behind my friends, my family, even those bantering texts from Davis that got me through culinary school.

The night Aiden broke my arm was the moment I knew.

Being persistent with the wrong person is death.

But what feels like another death is Resurrection.

Going home feels like failure. Crawling back to a town I rejected. Leaving behind a family I loved. And all for what? Because the past Dakota McGraw wanted to outrun the town she was born? Because I hated how every Friday night football ruled. How our town thought Applebee’s and our local chili potlucks were the prime of life.

I wanted culture, the world, and I had it.

Now it feels like I’m being punished for wanting, for dreaming. It feels like Resurrection was right all along. All I have are broken dreams to go along with broken bones.

I cover my face with my good hand and breathe in.

“How am I going to do this, Davis?” My voice cracks. “Tell my father…”

“It’ll be okay.” His brown eyes spark as his gaze locks on my face and holds. “We’ll figure it out. We’ll find a solution where you’re safe.”

I fight that panicky urge building within. “I don’t want anyone in town to know about the baby,” I blurt.