Rope the Moon (Runaway Ranch, #2)(74)

The baby. The thought’s a rock in my throat.

The stall door opens, and Dakota, pale and trembling, emerges. She squeezes her eyes shut, sliding one hand down to cup her belly. “I’m having a miscarriage. I know it.”

My chest goes cold as fear bubbles up inside of me.

“Don’t say that,” I tell her.

She stares at me with pleading eyes, shimmering with heartache. “What do we do?”

On instinct, I pick her up in my arms and fight the urge to panic as I rush her to my truck.




Death. It’s been my one constant shadow.

On the ranch, in the military, it’s a part of life. I’ve walked the fine line that comes with the shadowy part of my past. Faced it down when Sully was killed, when I was shot, when my brother lost his mind.

And I fixed all that. I survived.

But this…

This I can’t fix.

Utterly fucking helpless.

I pace the small, sterile room, then go to the back of Dakota’s table to help her into the thin paper-like gown. It’s not the first appointment I’ve been to, but it’s the first time I’ve been inside the room with Dakota. My gut clenches when I see the blood on her balled-up jeans.

“I don’t want to lose my baby,” she says as I help her lie down. Her eyes are wide and bright with tears.

“You won’t,” I rasp. I lean in close, resting a hand on the hard ball of her belly. Hoping to feel the reassuring thump of Squish, but there’s nothing.

Dakota sniffles. “This is my fault. I didn’t want the baby in the first place and now…” A shudder wracks her body. “Now it’ll be taken away from me.”

“Stop,” I demand. “Don’t say that. Don’t think that way.”

My heart’s in my goddamn stomach. I’m just as afraid as she is. I want this baby as much as she does. I want it for Dakota.

For us.

Christ, it’s like the rational part of my brain has turned off. Instead of feeling a duty to keep my hands off her, my heart out of it, it’s been replaced by a duty to step up.

I love this woman, which means I love her child.

It’s as simple as that.

“You bought the pinball machine.” Dakota’s soft voice tears me from my thoughts. She gives me a teary smile. “Gus said you bought Cowgirl Coven.”

I slip my hand around hers. Not long after she left Resurrection, I purchased the machine. The thought of it disappearing like Dakota did left me with an ache in my soul. “It’s my favorite piece of memory in this town. Because it reminds me of you.”

Her laugh is husky, sad. “Thank you. It means so much, Davis.”

She reaches for me, but as she does, she hisses a breath and grips her stomach. Worry flashes over her face.

“Where’s that damn doctor?” I growl, on the verge of storming back into the waiting room and demanding someone get the fuck here now. But I don’t need to. The door opens and inside steps a woman with long silver hair.

“Hi, Dakota.”

Dakota sits up on her elbows. A stream of tears streak down her face. “Hi, Dr. Winfrey.”

“I’d say it’s good to see you, but the circumstances aren’t ideal, are they?” Her gaze flicks to me. “This must be the father.”

“Yes,” I say.

Dakota goes still, turning her face up to meet my eyes. I keep my hand in hers, keep my eyes on the doctor.

“I understand you’re having some bleeding,” Dr. Winfrey says as she washes her hands. “Tell me about it.”

“We were out tonight and when I used the bathroom…” A tremble wracks her. “There was blood. Not a lot, but it was dark red. That’s bad, isn’t it?”

“Any abdominal pain, cramping, fever, chills, or contractions?”

She winces. Fresh tears fill her eyes. “A small cramp. Earlier tonight.”

Please, Christ, let something go right in her fucking life. Let her have something good.

After running a series of tests, Dr. Winfrey snaps on a monitor and wheels it close to the bed. Within minutes, she has a glob of goo squirted on Dakota’s belly and a wand in her hand. “Let’s have a look at that gorgeous baby.”

Dakota grips my fingers tight, like it’s her only lifeline. Her breathing grows choppy, and I stroke a hand over her hair. “Breathe, Koty.”

My heart rate doubles, watching as the doctor slides the wand around. My shoulder muscles are knit so tightly it’ll take a week on the bag to get the tension out.

Then the room’s filled with what sounds like the hooves of a stallion on Montana earth.

“The heartbeat,” Dr. Winfrey explains.

The screen fills with the shape of a baby, and I suck in a breath and stare, feeling like I’ve been sucker punched.

A sob escapes Dakota.

“Found you, sweet pea,” Dr. Winfrey announces.

The shape moves. A little squirm that has me chuckling.

“Oh my god,” Dakota gasps. She lifts her chin to get a better look. “Is it—is the baby okay?”

I frown when there’s no answer.

“Tell us,” I demand harshly.

“I don’t see any placental abruption or premature labor.” Doctor Winfrey squints at the screen. “A small amount of spotting is normal during the second trimester. Having sex or even vigorous physical activity can cause it.”