Rope the Moon (Runaway Ranch, #2)(40)

“It is.” Ruby smiles brightly and spreads her arms. “It’s a woodsy witch winter.”

A laugh bursts out of my mouth, surprising me. “Followed by cynical spring and sad girl summer.”

We share another laugh, and the smile that curls my lips, along with the warm rumble in my chest, is a strange but not unpleasant sensation.

A sharp bark cuts the serenity of the morning, and we look over.

Davis is tossing Keena a ball, his flannel shirt jacket pushed up to his rippling forearms.

He gives me a nod.

A nod so perfectly platonic I want to scream.

I squeeze my eyes shut. Exhale. Open them.

As I stare into the desolate forest, the hair on the back of my neck stands up.

Aiden.

He could be anywhere.

Fear crawls up my spine. What would he do if he learned about the baby?

I shiver.

He’d kill me.

He’d kill us.

That’s when I see the wolf.

The animal darts between the trees. A flick of a white-tipped tail, the snuffle of a gray snout.

Ruby gasps, gripping my hand in hers.

I’ve never seen one up close before. My father used to tell me stories about wolves. Folklore that he learned from a Cheyenne chief when he lived in Wyoming in his twenties. The duality of their meanings always stayed with me. A symbol of destruction and death? A primal reminder of our wild? Or a powerful guiding force?

The wolf strides closer. Five feet away.

I tense and watch. Searching for food, she weaves her way between two downed logs, cunningly avoiding the trap that’s been laid out.

My heart hammers in my chest.

She’s frolicking. Free. Brave.

My eyes flood.

Everything I’m not.

Blinking back tears, I stare up at the vastness of the gray Montana sky. Overwhelming hopelessness creeps over me. I try to suck in air, but I can’t.

Oh god. My lungs are swampy. Like there’s too much oxygen. Like there’s not enough.

The world spins. Tunnels.

Ruby’s hand leaves mine. She calls for someone, her voice crawling beneath my skin.

I see the cowboy hat, the mirage of a man, a marine, striding my way.

My legs give out, but I don’t fall.

“I got you,” rumbles Davis’s deep voice.

And then I’m in his arms, against his solid chest and being carried. My eyes fall closed and I hold on to him. He smells so damn good. Of earth and coffee and wood. Like a cowboy. Like heaven.

“Talk to me, Koty.” The crunch of snow and leaves beneath his boots. His voice sounds urgent.

“I’m okay.”

“Need more than that, Cupcake.”

“There was a wolf.”

“Yeah.” Unnaturally quiet. “There was a wolf, Dakota.”

“You won’t kill her, will you?”

“How do you know it’s a female?”

“I just know.”

“No,” he says finally. “We won’t hurt her.”

“Good,” I whisper, tipping my forehead to his chest.

Then we’re in the lodge. Davis sets me on the couch and crouches in front of me. He tips my chin and clocks my pupils. I lean into his touch, but just as I do, he stands.

I frown. “What’re you doing?”

“Food,” he says, stomping across the room. I swear the man’s all broody angst and muscles.

He enters the kitchen, and I sigh, following him. “I have to get ready for my shift.”

“You have to eat,” he snaps, grabbing a bowl of eggs from the fridge. He sounds exasperated. “Low blood sugar, remember? You aren’t taking care of yourself. You’re goddamn pregnant, Dakota.”

I huff a dry laugh. How is it he remembers things about my pregnancy even I don’t? Warmth curls in my core as he stands at the kitchen counter with the tight sleeves of his jacket shoved up to expose massive forearms. The thick veins in his hands are like a road map for my lust.

I watch as Davis reaches into the basket of eggs, a deep furrow of a frown on his face. His big fingers clumsily smash eggs against the side of a bowl. Shards of shell scatter across the counter.

I can’t take the massacre of the eggs anymore.

“Let me do it,” I say, going to his side. When he doesn’t move from the bowl, I shove his brick of a bicep. It’s like trying to budge a boulder. “Davis. Move.”

He ignores me, lost in his own world, or fuming, and cracks another egg with violent intensity.

I scan the baking and baby items on the counter. Everything crashes into me. Desperate anger I can’t ignore. Frustration. The man’s a walking contradiction. Staying away, yet giving me everything I need.

All of my life, I’ve done it myself. If I let Davis help me, I’m just getting myself into another situation where I depend on a man. What happens when I leave the ranch? When we both move on with our lives?

Losing everything a second time—I can’t handle that. Fucking up my life twice isn’t an option. I don’t have the strength to do it all over again. I don’t have dreams anymore.

I have reality.

And Davis Montgomery is not a part of that.

I square my shoulders and lift my chin. “Stop.” I drill a finger into his chest.

He rests his hand on the counter. “Stop, what?” he asks, his tone neutral.