Rope the Moon (Runaway Ranch, #2)(55)

I giggle.

“Oh my god.” I smile. “It feels so…weird.”

“It does?” Davis stares at my stomach.

I bite my lip. “Do you want to feel it?” I ask.

He swallows. “Yeah. I do.” He spreads a palm over the side of my stomach and holds it there. We wait. Then I watch his face soften, all his handsome features crinkling in wonder, as there’s the tiniest ripple of movement.

“That’s your baby,” he rasps. An emotion I can’t place crosses his face.

“It is.” More movement now. A tumbling motion.

“Hi there,” I whisper, stroking a hand over my belly.

My baby heard me. He–or–she woke up. Maybe I just did the same thing, too.





“If you punch that computer, Hotshot, I won’t be able to patch you back up. I’m a pastry chef, not a surgeon.” Dakota sighs while I slam buttons on my computer, logging into the department’s database. “Is this really necessary? Don’t you have ranch chores?”

“Your personal safety comes first.”

“Uh-huh,” she deadpans. “My personal safety includes that shower this morning?”

I ignore that.

My frown deepens as I look at her. “This motherfucker is out there walking around, following you, watching you, and I can’t do a damn thing about it. And until you’re ready and willing to tell me who he is, then this is my next recourse.”

Dakota gives one slow nod and stays quiet. Perched in a chair beside me, her gaze drifts to the window of the Bullshit Box, which faces the wooded area across the road in front of the lodge. Wyatt crosses the gravel drive with a vet who’s on his way to check on the horses. Charlie and Ruby have already left for town to replace equipment that’s long overdue. I should pitch in, but all my focus is Dakota.

It’s taken a week to get the security camera footage from Main Street. Richter grudgingly gave it after I threatened to take my dog and walk.

Someone wants to take her away from me. The idea is unthinkable.

And it pisses me off. I need control of my judgment and emotions in a situation like this, and with Dakota in the center of fire, I’m most definitely not.

As I pull up the video from the day Dakota had her panic attack, my police scanner crackles on the desk.

“Car 59 ready to go. Deputy Topper and Deputy Andrews on duty.”

“Dispatch: received 141. You were late to the party tonight, Topper, so you can have the first job. 315 at the top of Dead Fred’s Curve. Vehicle is a black Chevy.”

“Keeping tabs on the town?” Dakota asks with a smile.

“Baby, you know it.”

We sit in silence and watch the sped-up footage from noon until five.

At three forty-five p.m., I pause it. “You know him?”

She shakes her head.

“Wait.” I lean in. After a long second, I frown. “I know him.”

Dakota freezes. “Who is it?”

“Pappy Starr.” I point at the man waddling down Main Street. A big-time rodeo agent, who Wyatt and Charlie have avoided like the plague. I can already hear Wyatt complaining now.

I fast forward and freeze it around the time of Dakota’s panic attack. There is a man, dressed in jeans and a jacket, walking by The Corner Store window.

Dakota leans closer to the screen. Her pupils dilate.

My heart hammers in fury. “Recognize him?”

“No.” A shudder rocks her frame. She folds both arms over her belly. “I don’t think so.”

“If your ex is in town, how’d he get here?”

“He’d fly.” She startles. Grabs my arm. “Davis. He has his own plane.”

I give her a look, fighting the urge to get frustrated with her. “That info would have been handy when you got here, Cupcake.”

“He has money. Owns properties. He could travel anywhere.” A guilty look overtakes her pretty face, and she says, “I call his work every Monday to check in on him. He’s been there.”

“Again, more news that would have come in handy,” I say flatly.

With a small growl that makes me smile, Dakota stands and rubs slow circles on her belly. She’s been touching her belly more often, and I drink her in, noting every single detail. She’s put on weight. Her hair’s shiny and her eyes are without clouds. She looks happier than she has in weeks.

She paces the Bullshit Box, those gears in that beautiful brain of hers turning. “I know I saw him, Davis. I’m not crazy.”

“Not saying you are.” I push out of my chair and go to her. “I don’t doubt that you did. The mind can be a powerful thing.” She stares at me patiently, so I go on, the memories unlocking. “The night after my team was taken out, I was cleaning up in the bathroom and…” A muscle works in my jaw. “I saw Sully in the mirror. I threw up. Freaked the fuck out. My bunkmate thought I was losing it. Now, six years later, I still check the mirror when I go in to wash up. Trauma hides, but it doesn’t go away.”

“Trauma hides,” she echoes.

“I shouldn’t have told you that,” I say with a frown. Why in the hell did I tell her that? Making her feel better, not worse, is the objective.

“I’m glad you did.” She reaches up and cups my cheek. “Makes me feel less alone.”