Rope the Moon (Runaway Ranch, #2)(47)

The void in my stomach opens. My jaw tightens. Shame flickers.

I’m alive. Breathing. I should be grateful. But all I can think of is Sully. My team. The night the earth opened up and swallowed everyone alive. The way I left a piece of me behind in that desert.

I fucked up. And it cost me everything.

It’s hard to remember that day. A special-ops mission only my team and my lieutenant knew about. It comes in fragments. Bright colors as loud as the explosion that knocked me away from my team. Panic. Blood. Chaos.

Adrenaline made me move. I crawled through dust and debris to get back to them. I found Sully first.

“They fucking shot me, man,” he gasped.

“Oh fuck.” Horrified, I took in the four bullets peppered across Sully’s chest. “Fuck.”

Sully wheezed a laugh. “That’s what I said, Captain.”

I hunkered next to him, trying to keep my brother’s blood in his body. “I know. Hang in there. Just fucking stay with me.” I looked to the sky for a chopper. But there was nothing, only that black shadow of helplessness growing inside of me.

Sully swallowed. “Must be a hell of a shot.”

“Don’t talk,” I told him, voice tremulous. I gripped his hand. Squeezed. “Save your energy.”

“Save your…speech, Montgomery…” Sully’s eyes dimmed. His voice thinned like a thread. “Say your goddamn prayers.”

“Fuck. You’ll be okay. You’ll make it.”

But he didn’t. Later, I found Ferraro, hunkered down in an old building. We were the only survivors.

That day, the shadow inside me took root.

And it followed me all the way to Resurrection.

“D?” Wyatt’s voice hammers like a drill in my head. He gives me a sideways glance. “You okay, man?”

Mustering as much composure as I can, I rise from my chair and move to the window. My heart pounds in my chest. I will it down to a normal level Ruby would approve of.

“Fine,” I grit out, curling one hand around my nape.

I can feel Wyatt’s questioning gaze burning a hole in my back.

Letting my brothers in is not an option. They don’t know or suspect what I’ve been through. What I’ve done.

I nearly jump out of my skin when the siren goes off.

“Fixed it,” Wyatt announces.

I whip around, hardening my expression.

“Yup, I’m going,” Wyatt drawls, picking up on the fact that he needs to get the fuck out of my vicinity before I unleash big brother bodily harm.

I close my eyes to draw in a long breath.

When I open them, Wyatt and the beacon are gone. So is the box of donuts.

I swear under my breath. It’s going to be a long goddamn day.





Clock ticking toward five, the sun dies a slow death in the sky as early evening shadows creep over the snowy street. First day at the new—well, old—job complete.

Today felt like I was stuck in a freakishly warped version of rewind to the past. Looking for any remnants of that spark between Davis and me, and that sisterly love between me and Fallon. Not to mention, no one in town scowled when I walked by.

My back aches, my feet scream, but I survived.

I can do one day.

On a satisfied sigh, I toss my dusty cloth down and cast my gaze over the quiet store. I’ve stayed productive—wiping shelves that haven’t seen a rag since I left, changing Fallon’s TV setting to something less murdery, and reorganizing the coolers by type.

The Avett Brothers’ “No Hard Feelings” blares from inside the kitchen, where Fallon’s sequestered herself for the last two hours. I stare at the saloon-style door, almost dizzy from the knowledge of what’s behind it. My sister. An oven. Dirty counters. Rolling pins.

But I can’t be a coward my entire life, so I finally push my way through and enter.

The sight that greets me has me smiling. At the counter, dipped low beside stacks of clean dishes, Fallon’s putting on burgundy lipstick using a toaster as a mirror. It softens her, makes her look less vengeful.

“Hot date?” I tease.

She straightens up without answering, only the slow flush of pink over her cheeks gives her away. It always was her damn tell. She can lie all she wants, but those cheeks hold all her secrets.

I wish we could go back. Wish we’d just talk and talk without me having to think of what to say. Wish she felt more like a sister than a stranger. Wish it didn’t make me so sad because I know the void between us is my fault.

Sweat dots my brow, but I move deeper into the kitchen.

Fallon’s response to my nearness is to slide a dirty rag over the countertop and bang on the oven with the toe of her boot. The oven door slips, crooked on its hinges.

I frown. “This still isn’t fixed?”

Fallon snorts. “Oh, we fixed it all right. ‘Bout four years ago.”

“Well, we should fix it again,” I tell her. “I saw the bread you were serving on those sandwiches.” I give her a careful look. “It was burned.”

Her nostrils flare. “Sorry, Chef. I’ll get on that right after I take dad to chemo tomorrow.”

“I can do it,” I offer.

She spends the next minute glaring at me, then says, “No.”

A churning sensation twists my stomach to knots. Because, sure, I’m the one who’s stayed away all these years. I’ve earned her hurt. “I don’t want to be a problem, Fallon. All I want to do is help if you’ll let me.”