Rope the Moon (Runaway Ranch, #2)(28)

I tug the gown down and take the photo Winfrey hands me. Without looking at it, I shove it into my purse.

A better mother would want this. A better mother would take the sonogram and hang it on her fridge. And then I’m reminded I don’t even have a fridge and fresh tears hit me once more.

I don’t feel bonded with my baby. I think of my mother and how she always felt so out of reach. How she’d stand at the kitchen counter and stare out the window at the white moonlight. When I asked her what was wrong, she’d pat my head and send me to bed.

What I understand now is that she wanted to run. And she did.

Like my mother, I’m already running scared.

How can I do this? I’ve been on my own for twenty-four hours and already I’m crumbling. But I made my choice. I am here in Resurrection. I can begin again.

I can.

“Dakota?”

I gasp, nearly jumping out of my skin as Winfrey’s hand hits my shoulder.

Her forehead furrows as she settles herself on the stool beside the table.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” I wipe furiously at my face, wishing I could stop crying, grateful that I can at least blame the hormones.

“Dakota.” Winfrey leans in, her wise gray eyes searching my face. “I know Stede’s still in town. Fallon too. You ask them for help, you hear me? If things are bad, you ask for help. This is why we have tribes. We lean on them. Even if sometimes asking for help feels like you’re jackknifing into a pit of vipers.”

“Okay.” I sob-laugh, grateful for the moment of peace she’s given me. “I will.”

“Here.” Winfrey rolls her stool to the cabinet, reaches inside a drawer, and rolls back to me. “You still like these?” she asks, holding out a bag of Red Vines.

“Yeah,” I say, a wobbly smile finding its way to my tear-stained face. “I do.”





“I need a favor.”

A chuckle escapes the whiskey-drenched throat on the other end of the line. “Finally cashing in, Montgomery?”

“Had to sometime.” I keep an eye out for Dakota, but the big foyer’s empty. So I pace. “I only saved your life, is all.”

“So that’s how it is. It’s been seven years. No ‘hello, how are you’ just a ‘you owe me.’”

I snort. “You do.”

“Well, in case you’re interested, I got two kids, a mortgage, and a soon-to-be ex-wife with a bad case of cheating-itis.”

I needle my brow, not wanting to take a walk down memory lane with Rick Ferraro.

At nineteen, I joined the Marines to get out of my small hometown. I liked horses just fine, but I wanted to be a part of something bigger than myself. It was new and unfamiliar but also exhilarating and powerful.

I knew I could do it.

And I did.

I met Ferraro when I joined the Marine Raider team. A unit that specialized in special ops and direct-action missions that had me gone for months with no contact with the outside world. Dark, dangerous shit that not even my family knew about.

Ferraro snorts. “You’re the only reason I got out of there in one piece, so fine, you fuck. What do you want?”

“You still working for that lab?” While others became private bodyguards or law enforcement, Ferraro went to work in a top-secret government agency.

“Damn straight. Sure beats kicking in doors and jumping out of planes.” I hear the wicked smile in Ferraro’s voice. “What it’ll be? Cyanide? Digital revolver? Rail guns?”

I roll my eyes. “Christ, Ferraro, I work on a ranch. No one needs to evaporate a cow.” Phone to my ear, I pace to a carpeted waiting area. “That tracking device you invented. I need one.”

A long pause over the line.

Then a long chuckle rolls out. “Davis Montgomery spooked. Never thought I’d see the day.”

“Yeah, well, that makes two of us.”

“Tell me what for?”

“Tell you to go fuck yourself.”

“Still a stubborn bastard.” Ferraro makes a sound of annoyance. “I’ll get it to you. Keep in mind the SullyScan is unlicensed and experimental.” He chuckles. “The US government wanted to send me straight to the department of ‘the fuck you invented?’”

The tightness in my chest squeezes. “You named it after Sully?”

“Sure did. He’s the reason I invented it, so least I could do was give it his name.”

“Right,” I rough out. Pain lances through me.

Over the line, the shuffle of papers. “You need it, you’ll get it. I got your six, brother.”

Brother.

I shove the tightness back down, launch into what I need.

Ten minutes later, I end the call. I could have used this favor for anything. A cure for cancer. A muzzle for Wyatt. But I used it for Dakota.

I’m not safe. I’ll never be safe.

Her words from earlier haunt me. I need her to understand I’ve got eyes on her. That I’m here to protect her, and I’ll do everything in my power to do so.

Although, if I have to say it, Dakota seems more worried about coming back to town than her ex following her home. As soon as we left the safety of the ranch and stepped out onto Main Street, nervousness came off Dakota in waves.

I heard the small talk between locals after Dakota left town. No matter how far away Dakota was, her memory was an echo I couldn’t shake. The whispers of her lingered.