Rope the Moon (Runaway Ranch, #2)(21)

“You know who the guy is?” Wyatt asks, flinging a dart blindly at the dartboard.

I sigh, already seeing an ambulance ride in my future. “If I did, you think I’d be sitting here?”

“No. I don’t,” Charlie says.

I don’t miss the harsh darkening of his face. The uneasy glances exchanged with Wyatt and Ford. Anger and adrenaline have each of my brothers in their hold. They want to find this guy just as bad as I do.

I stand and cross the floor to snatch the dart away from my younger brother before he injures himself or someone else.

“Why’s she here, Davis?” Charlie asks.

I sit back in my chair, already tired of the conversation. But I owe my brothers clarity about what’s going on. What happens at the ranch affects everyone.

“She thinks her ex will come after her.”

“Fuck,” Wyatt mutters, rubbing the back of his neck.

A muscle jerks in Charlie’s jaw. “Will he?” His blue eyes fall to the security cameras and the screen with his cabin, where Ruby sweeps snow from the front porch.

I harden my jaw. Guilt slices deep. “Trouble won’t land here, Charlie.”

Ruby was hurt because of my fucking mistake, and I spent the entirety of last fall installing new security measures. I vet each staff member until I know their name and face in my sleep. You are beyond on camera. We monitor every inch of the ranch, except for the tree line and forest. Still, if Dakota’s ex plans to come after her, it’s dangerous having her on the ranch and Charlie knows it.

I look him in the eye. “And if it does, I’ll handle it.”

“You’ve handled enough,” he gruffs.

Ford’s expression holds none of its typical laid-back attitude. He looks pissy even for him. “So, the plan is she stays at the ranch?”

I nod. “She stays twenty-four seven until she’s safe.”

A shit-eating grin curls on Wyatt’s face. “And what exactly does that mean?”

I scowl. The last thing I need is Wyatt reminding me Dakota and I are going to be in very close confines for the next however many months.

“You focus on the ranch,” I bark. Of all my brothers, I’m the hardest on Wyatt. He and I have always butted heads over rules and discipline. If he only knew it’s because I’ve been losing sleep over the kid ever since he climbed on the back of a horse. My little brother has at least six I-should-have-died-but-didn’t stories.

“We open in four fuckin’ months and if I’m remembering correctly, you still have a horse to break.”

Wyatt rolls his eyes. “Bossy bastard.”

“Well, you got us,” Charlie says, shoving up to stand. “We’ll help. Whatever you need.”

With a knot in my throat, I give Charlie a nod of thanks. I don’t tell my brothers enough what they mean to me. They’re the ones who’d roll up to my house with an empty trunk and a roll of duct tape, no questions asked.

Without another word, my brothers exit the Bullshit Box. Glad to be rid of them, I go back to my computer. After a glance at the lodge on the security cameras, I pull up Dakota’s Instagram page.

She would snap my neck with a rolling pin if she knew I was poking into her business. But she’s going to have to deal with it.

Find this guy.

It’s the singular war cry in my mind.

As I click through the bright, glossy images of Dakota’s life, I pick apart the kernels of information I’ve been doled out over the years by Stede and Fallon, and even Dakota herself before she broke contact. She traveled the world. Earned accolades. Started her own business.

Her photos show all that and more.

Culinary school graduation. Food festivals. Recipes. Behind the scenes posts of her bakery.

There are no tags. No mention of a man.

Is it you, fucker? My gaze narrows on a man standing watch over Dakota as she holds a tray of cookies. The ball of rage in my chest doubles in size.

She may be smiling in her most recent Instagram pictures, but if I look closely, I can see it. While brilliant and blazing, her smile doesn’t reach her eyes.

Fear. It’s the only word to describe it.

It tracks. Two years ago, is when we lost contact. She pulled away because of her ex.

Now that I have more answers than questions, I can breathe a bit easier. There’s enough of the story to at least puzzle it out. I still don’t have his fucking name, but that can wait.

Once again, guilt tightens my chest. Guilt that I never followed up over her silence. Guilt that I didn’t know anything was wrong.

The only thing worse than knowing I pushed her away is that I pushed her into the arms of someone who hurt her.

“Fuck,” I blast.

Rolling out my neck, I scroll back to the past.

An image of Dakota at Lake Cascade with Fallon, me, and my brothers. A day that stands out in my mind as a top-tier memory.

With a wild whoop, she had jumped into the icy water, and like a fool, I followed her in.

The photo hits like a sucker punch.

She’s cheesing so hard her beautiful brown eyes looked closed. I can see her nipples through the thin fabric of the skimpy bikini she wears, her tight little ass breaking the surface of the lake.

And then there’s a memory that the photo doesn’t show.

Me dragging Dakota under the dock and peeling off those thin bikini bottoms. Slapping her tight little ass as she bounced on my cock and rubbed her tits in my face. All while our siblings splashed twenty feet away.