Rope the Moon (Runaway Ranch, #2)(75)

Dakota tugs on my arm. “Davis, this morning.”

Fuck.

I drag a hand down my face, remembering Dakota’s hands gripping the headboard this morning, magnificent ass arched, as I slipped inside her and pumped until we both came hard.

Guilt winds up in my chest. If it’s my fault, I’ll never forgive myself.

Doctor Winfrey chuckles. “Rest assured, sex is normal, Davis. Especially when pregnant. It makes the world go round, you know.”

“Christ.” A relieved breath shakes out of me. I grin down at Dakota. “Never touchin’ you again, Cupcake.”

She laughs. “Don’t you dare.” Eyes fastened on the monitor, Dakota asks, “So…the baby’s okay?”

Doctor Winfrey looks at me, then back at the screen. “Everything looks fine, but I’d like to keep Dakota overnight just to be safe.”

Dakota thins her lips. I intercept before she can argue her way out of it. “That’s a good idea,” I tell the doctor, shooting Dakota a warning look.

Bossy, she mouths.

I give her a quick kiss. “Get used to it.”

Dr. Winfrey snaps off the monitor. “And that’s my cue.”

“Wait!” Dakota says when Dr. Winfrey rises to go. “I want to know…” Tears leak from her eyes. “I want to know the sex.”

Dr. Winfrey pauses, smiles. “The two of you have a healthy baby boy.”

Dakota chokes out a sob. Her fingertips go to her mouth.

A boy.

A son.

I clear my throat of emotion. “Thank you.”

“Sit tight,” Winfrey says. “I’ll get you admitted and then be back.”

Dr. Winfrey exits the room.

I sink beside Dakota, take her hand. “Thought you didn’t want to know.”

“I didn’t, but…” She sits up on her elbows. “I didn’t want to be attached, but I do now.” Her lower lip trembles, juts out in that defiant stubbornness I love. “At first, I didn’t think I could do it, but I can. And I want the chance. I want this baby.”

“You have him.” I squeeze her fingers. “Your son.”

Fire lights up her eyes. “I don’t want to feel bad about my past. Blame myself or my baby. I want to move on. Live. Be happy.” She laughs, cradling her belly with both hands. “I want him so much, Davis.”

I clear my throat. Shift my weight. There’s no stopping it. Won’t talk myself down. Not anymore.

“You asked me back in the arcade what I wanted in life.” I look into her eyes. “And I never got to give you an answer.”

Her eyes widen.

I trace a line over the high arch of her cheekbone, and say, “This is what I want.” I drop my hand. “And this.” I cup her belly.

Tears fill her eyes. “I can’t ask you to do that, Davis.”

“Do what?”

She wraps her arms tight around herself. “Saddle you with another man’s child.”

“Saddle me.” It comes out gruff. Resolute.

She blinks. “What?”

“Cupcake, I want you.” I lean in, meeting her eyes. “That means I take him, too.”

Her chin quivers and I rub my jaw, smothering a grin. By now I’m used to my girl crying. Goddamn adorable, is what it is.

“Are you sure?” She sounds breathless.

I drop a kiss to her mouth. “So damn sure.”





As the snow melts completely, bringing with it the bright blue skies of April, as only Montana can do, so do my thoughts of Aiden. My son grows low in my belly. Life consists of The Corner Store. My baby.

Davis.

I’ve accepted his words for what they are—a claiming. Some tentative, happy, love-drunk space. For once in a long time, I’m not worried Davis will come to his senses and realize he’s crazy for taking on a pregnant woman, another man’s son.

I have hope. Hope I don’t have to run. Hope we will work out. And though neither of us have said those three little words I’ve long felt, I’m at peace. With what we have and where we are.

The words will come.

Like all the light I’ve found over the last few months.

Finally, I see clearly. I see Resurrection. Maybe it’s how I should have always seen her, but I see her now. Sometimes you have to leave home and come back to find things you never knew you had.

And best of all, I see The Corner Store.

Our old country store has good bones. It can be something so much better. All it needs is a second chance. And I can breathe life back into it like I’ve been doing to myself these last few months.

It’s a Friday afternoon, and I’m pulling a loaf of sandwich bread out of the oven. As usual, The Corner Store is dead. The only sign of life is Fallon. She’s leaning over the counter applying lipstick using a butcher knife as a mirror.

It’s hypnotic. The juxtaposition of her sharp angles. Her beauty and her anger.

“How’s the arm doing?” Fallon asks, without looking at me.

I flex my pale arm, testing it out as I thump the bottom of the golden-brown loaf with my knuckle. The hollow sound tells me it’s done. “Pale and scrawny, but ready for the world.”

“Silly putty,” Fallon notes, straightening up. “Use it to strengthen the muscles.”