Rope the Moon (Runaway Ranch, #2)(73)

My heart pumps hard, dangerously close to giving out. The answer’s close. So close.

“Why wasn’t there anyone else?”

“Because I couldn’t have you.”

For a moment, his simple truth stuns me into silence. The warm edges of a flame flicker against my heart, and I look at him under lowered lashes. “I don’t need a date to know I like you, Davis. I’ve liked you ever since I met you. I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy as the summer we spent together.”

A shudder rocks Davis’s body.

Emotions knot my throat, but I go on. “In fact, all these long years, I’ve been the very best at missing you.”

Dark, smoldering eyes stare back at me, crackling with intensity. This time, he draws my hand closer, his lips sweeping over my knuckles. “As far as I am concerned, we aren’t starting over.”

My lungs constrict. “We’re not?”

“No.” Emotion slashes across his handsome face. His next words come out unguarded and raw. “We’re picking back up right where we left off. I’m not wasting another minute without you.”

Oh. Oh god.

And just like that, my heart’s on the moon.

“Last question,” I announce, trying to hear myself over the hammer of my heart. “What do you want in life, Davis? Like really want?”

Before he can answer, a piping plate of nachos is dropped on the table with a clatter. “Six on the dot,” our server says flatly, setting down silverware roll-ups and appetizer plates.

A growl rumbles in Davis’s throat at the interruption, and I can’t help but laugh out loud. My soul feels so light.

The baby turns over in my belly, causing another cramp, and I gasp. No more time for questions. The truth will have to wait.

“Bathroom,” I say to Davis. “Squish is massacring my bladder.”

“Like I said, kid’s got perfect timing.” But he’s grinning as he stands and carefully helps me off the stool.

Without another word, I’m off in search of the bathrooms.

Halfway there, a thought crosses my mind and I backtrack to stop at the customer service counter.

Gus Sanders, sporting a pornstache and a bowtie that has him looking like a human version of Roger Rabbit, glances up from his phone. “Hey, Dakootie McGraw. What can I do ya for?”

I roll my eyes at his old nickname for me. “Still got the bowtie, huh, Gus?”

“Never stopped.”

“That machine…” I point to Cowgirl Coven. I’m already picturing it in my new bakery. “If you ever plan to get rid of it, will you call me? Sell it to me?”

“Can’t.” He taps out a message on his phone, looks up. “That thing ain’t going nowhere. It’s already been bought and paid for. With strong instructions to never move it from the premises unless we, uh, ‘want our asses beat.’”

I frown. “What? By who?”

He jerks his chin. “You’re sitting with him.”

My eyes rush to Davis, sitting at the high-top, arms crossed, stern and stoic. He bought our machine. My heart gallops as I turn and head to the restroom.

Giddy. It’s the only way to describe how I feel. This perfect moment, this night, this man. That life that once felt so out of reach seems so close all over again.

It’s a step forward.

We’re a step forward.

Us.





Tonight wasn’t just a date.

We’ve flirted, traded trust, confessed secrets. I’ve already said more than I should have with Dakota’s interrogations. But the woman’s a beautiful addiction. A vice.

There’s no more hiding us. After tonight, the entire town knows she’s mine and mine alone.

I meant what I said too.

I’m not wasting another minute. I wasted the last six years. It’s a miracle she’s back in my life.

I won’t lose her again.

I scan my eyes around the arcade, check the time on my watch. The bright dings and pings of the pinball machine don’t compute with the darkness clouding my head.

Something’s wrong.

She’s been gone too long. Fuck. It’s my job to stay close. What if she slipped out? What if he got to her?

My fingers tighten around my beer bottle.

Get it together, Montgomery. Her ex didn’t shimmy down the drainpipe and crawl in through the window.

What if he did, though?

Fuck it.

Dakota can call me overprotective all she wants, but I won’t apologize for keeping her safe.

Hand on my holster, I slip off the stool.

I’m halfway across the floor when my phone vibrates.

The tracker.

Fuck.

Heart in my throat, I bolt across the arcade toward the bathroom.

I slam into the women’s restroom, scanning the space. Only one stall door is closed.

I step up, muscles coiled with tension. “Cupcake, you okay? You in here?”

The toilet flushes, and her hollow voice sounds from the stall. “Davis.”

The edge in her voice sends all my senses snapping into high alert. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“Everything,” she whispers breathlessly. “I’m bleeding.”

The air’s sucked from my lungs. “What?”