Rope the Moon (Runaway Ranch, #2)(65)

What that is, I wish I knew.

It’s a wonderful feeling to have him back in my life, but also so terrible because it will end. I’ve loved him for so long, but I have bigger life problems than to tell him how I feel.

Especially right now.

This will end when the baby comes, if not before that, and I have to be okay with it.

Before I cross the sidewalk, my gaze flicks across the street to the Little Prairie Market. Beneath its minimalistic sign, a cheery red strip of metal with silver cursive proclaims, Farm and Famliy Focused. With its white shutters, shiny red fa?ade, and garage style doors, it’s like nothing I’ve ever seen in my town.

It’s beautiful.

I bite my lip, guilt and curiosity crawling through my veins. Do I dare?

Yes, I dare.

I narrow my eyes and cross the street, hustling past the town terror, a ferocious-looking Pitbull named Hungry Hank. I want to see this store Fallon’s been complaining about, but first, I reach for my phone in my back pocket and fire off a text to Davis.

Me: Wanna get frisky?

Davis: Dakota.

I smile at the stern message. My heart thumps as I watch those three bubbles appear, disappear. Falling back into our bantering texts feels right.

Davis: What do you have in mind? Should I bring handcuffs?

I giggle.

Me: Well, it does involve nudity.

Me: I need new bras.

Davis: What?

Me: I want to check out the new market. You’re my bodyguard, right? C’mon, Hotshot. Move those boots for my boobs.

Me: Can you come?

Davis: For you, always.

Davis: Be there in five.

Mission accomplished, I pocket my phone and head inside the store.




“I’m a traitor,” I hiss to Davis, skirting the aisles like I’m hiding from a sniper. “Fallon will kill me.”

He chuckles as his dark eyes rove the store. David Bowie drifts over the speakers, giving it a kind of eclectic cowboy cool. “I have to admit, it’s impressive.”

Impressive is an understatement. Little Prairie Market is everything Resurrection needs. Charming. Innovative. Accessible. And a bigger supermarket chain means no more driving to Billings or Bozeman to stock up—everything is local.

They’re not the devil Fallon painted them out to be, but they’re not doing The Corner Store any favors.

“How can we compete?” I ask Davis. “Dad can keep the store open and bleed money if he wants…but Fallon…she’s wasting away there.”

A thoughtful look crosses his face, and his hand moves to the small of my back. “Maybe you don’t compete?”

I arch a brow. “That’s…helpful?”

He grins and grabs a cart.

I give a cursory glance around. Under the bright lights of the market, it feels hard to hide. From Resurrection. From my stomach.

There’s a handful of people with baskets strolling past a mural of Billy the Kid painted on a crisp white wall. I marvel at the displays of fresh-caught seafood. As I meander through the aisles, Davis behind me, my brain turns his words over and over. Maybe you don’t compete.

Maybe we don’t.

Maybe we change.

The Little Prairie Market has everything we don’t. But we have a restaurant, and the one thing the town doesn’t have—a bakery.

I gasp when I turn the corner and find myself in the home goods section.

More specifically, the baby aisle. Cans of powdered formula, funky wooden rattles, and organic baby food surround me. I find myself pausing, taking in the tiny onesies and plush blankets.

“Holy shit, they do have bras,” I say, lunging for a rack with greedy hands. I unzip my jacket, then push on my chest, my cleavage in upheaval. I moan at the relief. “They’re huge now.”

Davis’s face reddens. “Jesus Christ, Dakota.” His voice is anguished.

I hide a smirk at this big cowboy coming undone. Davis’s appreciation for my breasts knows no bounds. With a flirty smile, I lean into his chest and purr, “But you already know that, don’t you?”

Eyes turning dark and feral, his hand slides to squeeze the curve of my ass.

I drop a bra into the cart.

“I’m going to check out the baking supplies.” I swat at him when he makes a move to follow me. “Stay here. Guard the bras,” I say, enjoying the look of panic on his face.

The last thing we need is the entire town gossiping about us. Even if I can’t get the thought of two earth shattering orgasms from this morning out of my head.

He rolls his eyes, but stands near the aisle endcap, arms crossed, looking like some overprotective bodyguard on baby aisle duty.

Briefly, I let my eyes linger on the sexy sight, then head for the dairy aisle.

“Oh my God,” I say on a breathy sigh.

It’s better than anything I’ve ever seen in my life.

Coolers stocked with the most decadent essentials of ingredients.

French grass-fed butter flaked with sea salt. Crème fraiche. Organic eggs. A hopeful giddiness rises inside of me. I’m already envisioning Ruby’s birthday cake. A carrot cake as tall as the Rocky Mountains. As sweet as the girl I’ve come to know.

“Never thought I’d see it,” a raspy voice says from behind me. I turn, stifling a groan. Sheena Wolfington slinks around a display of soup cans, looking like she’s been lying in wait. “Goodbye Girl on aisle three.”