Rope the Moon (Runaway Ranch, #2)(3)

Even a year later, it hurts.

When she met me, I was one arm down. I was focused on Charlie, and she had none of my excuses as to why I wasn’t working on it. She bossed and bullied me into doing daily rehab. A year later, except for a numb tingling when it rains, it’s back to 90 percent motion.

But that’s Dakota. She cares, she gives, and I’m the bastard who takes.

“You take care of yourself, you hear me?” Her soft, soothing hands stroke over my bicep. “Put this on every night.”

Reaching up, I cup her face. “I don’t regret it.”

She smiles. “I wouldn’t expect you to. Not you, Hotshot.”

Hotshot.

Like I said. She has all my secrets.

When she’s finished, she caps the lotion. Her slender arms loop around my neck, and she nuzzles her face against my cheek. My chest burns. I comb her hair off her flushed cheek. Without thinking, I say unhappily, “I fucking hate that you have to leave.”

Her breath catches.

Shit.

It’s too much. Heat of the moment.

Heart of the moment.

Dakota stares at me. “Davis…is there,” she bites her lower lip, swallows, “something you want to tell me?” Her voice is breathy. Hope lights her expression.

Her question knocks me flat. Fucking Christ.

Stay.

I love you.

They’re the only words that have ever made any sense.

It’s on the tip of my lips and yet…

Her gorgeous face is bright, that daydreamer look in her eyes I’ve long come to recognize as one of the most stunning features of Dakota McGraw. I won’t be the bastard who ruins her dreams. She finally has her chance to get out of Resurrection. I just planted roots here, and she’s pulling hers up. It’s not like I can offer her a castle and a white horse. All I have is a busted ranch, and a broken brother I’m trying to keep alive.

And Dakota—she has her entire future.

A good girl with her life straight. She’ll travel the world, get that bakery she wants, and blow everyone in Resurrection out of the water.

Koty McGraw needs freedom, and I won’t hold her back. This girl’s born to fly. She deserves the world.

With heroic effort, I give a tight shake of my head, ignoring the selfish bastard inside of me that wants to keep her here. “No. Nothing.”

Some of the light dies in her dark brown eyes. Her lips curve in a sad little smile.

Before she can say anything, I’m twisting in her arms and lifting the dog tags from around my chest. I remove and pocket one of the tags, then slip the chain with the remaining tag over her head, clearing hair from her nape as they settle down low between her breasts.

“I want you to take these,” I order. Almost hesitantly, she fingers the tag. “Remember, Koty, you need anything, you call me.”

Mischief sparkles in her eyes, and her lips pull into a flirty one-sided grin. “Anything? Like alibis, kidnappings, simple beatings?”

“And then some.” I softly grip her jaw, forcing her to look at me. “I mean it. Anytime you ask, I’ll be there. Five seconds, five minutes, five lifetimes. I will always come for you. No matter what.”

The words drop between us, weighted. Our gazes hold for one long beat, the small space between us warming several degrees.

“Promise me,” I demand.

Her eyes shutter, then open.

“I promise,” she whispers.

Then I take Dakota McGraw in my arms and kiss her until the sun comes up.





SIX YEARS LATER


Someone once said life begins with a bang and ends with a whimper.

But I think it starts with fire.

Burn everything down to build it back up.

My jeep jostles along the country road, bouncing over a snow-filled pothole, rattling my teeth. Somewhere along the way, I took a wrong turn and now, a sleet-snow rain is coming down in sheets. I’m in the middle of nowhere and cell reception is non-existent.

Desperation fills me as I grip the steering wheel with my good hand, scanning the road for a sign to tell me where I am. After two days in the car, thousands of miles across the country, it’s too late to turn back now.

It would be so easy to pull over onto the shoulder of the road and wait for Aiden to find me and bring me back home. But sense hasn’t caught up with me yet.

My stomach grumbles. Oh god. How long has it been since I ate?

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

I don’t know who I’m talking to. Myself. My stomach. Tears blur my vision and trail down my cheeks until I’m a salty, sooty, sobbing mess.

I should be in my kitchen right now. It’s seven a.m. in DC. The morning rush. I’d be up, hands covered in dough, getting the fast-paced masses to slow down with a simple honeybun.

I glance at the full moon, still burning bright despite the hazy snow-flurried sky.

Rope the moon.

My mother’s words blaze a trail to my heart. She never explained what it meant, but I’ve always interpreted it as go after what you want. Make it yours through grit, grace, or gumption.

And I did. For a long time, until I met Aiden, I roped the moon. I moved the infinity out of my life.

Last night, I took it back.

I can do this. Somehow, I can do it.

My jeep smells like smoke, and I feel a flicker of shame, hear Aiden’s panicked scream in my ears. Help me. Help me!