Rope the Moon (Runaway Ranch, #2)(42)

The gorgeous sight of her shoots straight to my groin. Fuck. I adjust my dick and turn into the counter.

“What do you need, Charlie?” Dakota asks, as she leans back against the island.

“Ruby’s birthday is in May,” Charlie says. “Seeing as you’re in town and all, I was wondering if…” He trails off, his face unnaturally serious even for him.

Dakota smiles. “You want me to make her a cake, Charlie?”

“Yeah,” he grunts.

Dakota’s eyes flit to mine. “You put him up to this?”

“No.” I harden my jaw and glare at Charlie. “She isn’t up for it.” Annoyance prickles. No matter how much tough love I give Dakota, I don’t want her to feel pressured by anyone to get back before she’s ready.

“It’s okay, Hotshot.” Dakota places a palm on my chest. That raging shadow inside of me quiets. “What’s her favorite cake?” she asks Charlie.

“Carrot,” he says. I have to smother a smile at the goofy grin that creeps over my brother’s face. “Cream cheese frosting.”

Dakota nods. “A girl after my own heart.”

Something flickers in her eyes. Fear. Longing. But she anchors herself. Cloaks herself in steel and determination.

“I can do that,” she says after a deep breath. “My cast will be off by then. And I’ll make her the best damn carrot cake she’s ever had in her life.”

Charlie gives her a gruff nod. “I appreciate it.” His eyes move to me. “Headed into town. Need anything?”

I cross my arms. “Be there myself shortly.”

Charlie gives another look to both me and Dakota before slipping out of the kitchen and leaving us alone.

The forgotten bowl of eggs reminds me I was trying to feed Dakota, not fuck her.

I rest my palm on the counter. “Big promise. Are you sure?”

“No.” Her big brown eyes sweep across my face, then the kitchen. “But I think I need big promises.”

“Thank you,” I tell her. “This birthday is important.” At her quizzical expression, I go on. “Ruby has a heart condition.”

“She told me.”

“But that’s not all.” I scrape a hand through my hair. “Last year…her heart stopped, and she died on the ranch.”

Dakota’s hand flies to her mouth. “Oh my god.”

“We got her back, but Charlie—he almost lost her.” I swallow hard. “We owe her the ranch. We owe her our brother.”

“She’ll have the best cake, Davis. I’ll make sure of it.” She heaves a sigh, her fingers curling around the dog tag she wears around her neck. “Now here’s to hoping I can bounce back.”

I go to her, hating the sad look on her face. “You’ll bounce back.”

“I haven’t baked since I broke my arm.”

“He,” I correct, my lips curling in a snarl. “He broke your arm.”

Her eyes fill with tears. My chest tightens at the sight. “I shouldn’t have said what I said to you. To stop doing nice things.” She gestures at the baby book. “I like the photo, Davis. I do.”

I clear my throat. “I thought you’d want it one day.”

She lets out a weak laugh. “I hope so.”

“Listen. I know you think I don’t care, Dakota, but I do.” I tuck her hair behind her ear. Her eyes flutter at the contact. “I care too damn fucking much.”

She might not like me anymore after this, but it’s a chance I’m willing to take.

With that, I reach into my pocket and pull out the SullyScan1700. I show her the small button perched on my palm.

She blinks. “What’s this?”

“It’s a tracker. It pairs with my phone, so I always have your GPS location.” I affix the tracker to the back of the dog tag. It’s small enough to be hidden. “One push and I’ll be there. You hear me, Cupcake? I’ll be by your side.”

She stays silent—or stubborn—and I lean in. “I care, Koty, and never say I don’t.”

Dakota’s face softens. She glances down, analyzing the tracker. “Looks expensive.”

I grunt. “Don’t worry about it.”

Mischief flickers in her dark eyes. Her full lips curve gently. “What if I push it?”

A frustrated growl rises in my throat. “Dammit, Dakota. Don’t push me. I can’t do my job if I’m worried that you’re not safe.”

“Your job,” she repeats, gaze locked and loaded on my face.

The question heats the space between us, causing my heart to flail madly. “Yes, my job.”

It doesn’t matter that it means more than that.

It can’t.





Fallon scowls the minute I step into the corner store.

“Davis dropped the leash?” she asks snidely. She’s in a worn jean jacket, her long caramel hair in a fat fish-tail braid. She looks frazzled and annoyed and entirely too beautiful.

I sigh and tuck my purse under the front counter, shaking off the chill of the winter wind. After a second thought, I keep my parka on. My stomach being the talk of the town is not on today’s agenda. “He’s parked at the station. He gave me this.”