Rope the Moon (Runaway Ranch, #2)(67)

Davis pays for our items and by the time we walk out the front doors and into the snow, I’ve regrouped. Indignation curdles my stomach.

Grabbing his plastic sack-clad arm, I back us into the alleyway and narrow my eyes at him. “Davis Montgomery. You do not have to keep saving me.”

His stare is stoic. “What’s wrong with that?”

My mouth opens, closes, then his warm rumble of a chuckle washes over me. After letting the bags fall to the ground, he takes my face in his hands. “You can save yourself. I know that. I’ve known that since the minute you walked onto my ranch and force fed me a cupcake. I’m just here to keep you steady.”

I nod, hot tears filling my eyes.

“Steady,” I whisper. “Right.”

It feels like that. No longer adrift. Not anymore.

“No more small-town drama. That isn’t your focus. I don’t want you worked up.” His hand falls to my belly, and I melt into his gentle hold. “I don’t want anyone asking you questions you’re not comfortable with. This cuts out the bullshit.” A rare grin graces his handsome face. “They won’t talk shit about you with me.”

“And why is that?”

His eyes flash. “I know how to kill a man.”

“Because you were a Marine?”

“Because I have a little sister.” On a low growl, he takes my chin and holds it forcefully but gently between his big fingers. His voice a stern, yet, soothing command. “No one in Resurrection knows your story but you, Dakota. You get to tell it. Change it.”

He’s right.

The truth about my child’s father doesn’t matter. What matters is what people believe. That I have grace from my past here in Resurrection.

Still, for him to do this. It asks a lot. Davis treasures his sanity, his privacy.

“I just—”

His eyebrows lift. “What? What is it?”

“Won’t it bother you? People talking?”

“People are already talking,” he says, leaning down until he husks it against my lips. He smells of pine and coffee, his massive body providing a barricade from the wind at the mouth of the alleyway. “At least now they’ll talk about us.”

Us.

That’s all there is to say. The wind blows my words away, and I fling myself at Davis, crashing into him like he’s a stone wall.

Davis smiles, eyes crinkling at the corners, and grabs me tight to him, his muscled arms wrapping around the center of my back. My belly nestles against his.

I brush my lips against his and whisper, “Davis. What are we doing?”

“Cupcake, I don’t fucking know,” he says and kisses me breathless.





Tousled hair. Tangled limbs. Dakota in my bed.

For the last seven days, every night, every waking moment has been us. We haven’t stopped having sex since we got back from the Little Prairie Market. Barely leaving bed except to refuel, rehydrate, and repeat.

But now it’s time to face reality. What the fuck was I thinking? Me claiming Dakota’s baby as mine in front of half the damn town makes things even more complicated. But when I saw her taking Sheena’s attack with a stubborn chin and tear-filled eyes, the shadows inside of me raged. I couldn’t stop myself from stepping in.

The last thing she needs is any small-town drama. So, I kissed her. To make them shut up. To take that sad look off her face. Dakota told me she didn’t want people to know the truth, and this way, the truth is ours and ours alone.

No one will disturb the peace Dakota’s created in her life. Especially not the bastard who put his hands on her. He’s mine. He just doesn’t know it yet.

The late morning sun shines outside my window and my ears pick up the distinct sound of tractors puttering around the yard.

“Shit.” I glance over with a groan. Dakota’s buried beneath the rumpled sheets, so deep all I can see is her mound of dark hair and a creamy white leg tossed over the covers, tangled with mine.

A wave of primal protection crests over me. In a single action, I’ve claimed her. And her baby.

Everything is different. The way we breathe. The way we move. The way we fuck. There’s no more distance between us. And it has me realizing I have to be honest with her about how I feel. What I want. We’re good together, and I want more of that good.

But first, there’s work to be done. Work that takes me away from the gorgeous woman in my bed.

I press a kiss to the top of her head. “Cupcake, I have to go.”

For the first time in years, I’ve shirked my responsibilities on the ranch. Even as a kid, I was the one rounding up my brothers for farm chores. The ranch can run on autopilot with Charlie around, but it’s damn duty that has me dragging my sorry ass out of bed to go help my brothers.

Facing them is inevitable. By now, everyone knows about me and Dakota. I’ve gotten no less than ten texts from the boys at the station. The kicker was a text from Stede yesterday that simply said: Let’s talk, son.

Christ.

The man’s going to kill me.

I owe it to him to have a sit down. Soon, too.

Dakota peeks her head above the blankets, her dark eyes sleepy as she burrows into my chest, causing my cock to jerk like a puppet on a string. “Stay.” Her scratchy morning voice rasps against my skin. “Don’t make me beg.”