Rope the Moon (Runaway Ranch, #2)(79)

I stand and reach for Dakota. I tug her close, loving how she arches into me, like she’s made for me. My. Perfect. Fucking. Girl.

“Checking up on me, Hotshot?” Dakota says, a smile teasing those full lips of hers.

“Damn straight.” I press a hand against the side of her stomach and breathe her in. “Don’t want you out unprotected.” She shivers as I rough the words into her hair.

“So chivalrous,” she purrs, her cheeks flushed pink.

I pull out a chair and help her sit.

“She ain’t unprotected,” Wyatt says, finally coming up from his beer. “Don’t you got a tail on her?”

Dakota arches a brow, leans away from me. “Excuse me?”

“Wyatt,” I snap. “That’s private information.”

“Not anymore,” Ford mutters.

When I sit down beside Dakota, she’s shaking her head in amusement. “Really, Hotshot?”

“Really.” I scoot her chair closer to me and lean in. “Cupcake, that might be the tightest dress I’ve ever seen.” I give her a grin. “Hope you wear it all the time.”

Her lashes flutter. “For you, I will.”

“You’re makin’ this hard, Dakota,” I say, so low only she can hear. “Making me want to lay you down on this table and fuck your gorgeous brains out. Show you how a real man treats you.”

Surprise and desire flare to life in her eyes. “Davis.” It’s a whisper.

“I want everyone to see us.” I run my hand up her bare thigh, between her legs, and trail a finger over the damp spot on her lace panties. “My name on your lips. My hand up your fucking skirt, making you come. End of the night, this entire town will know you’re mine.”

She whimpers and it nearly breaks me. It takes all my control not to take her outside to my truck and fuck her.

“Drinks?” Beef booms, passing Dakota an ice water. My dick throbs painfully in my pants and I briefly consider using it to cool off.

“More fucking alcohol,” Ford orders.

“Pink drink,” Ruby hoots, sticking her glass up in the air.

“How boring is that water?” I ask Dakota.

She scoffs. “Keep talking. Soon as I give birth, I’m wrestling you to the ground.”

A series of pings from my phone has Dakota glancing at me. She giggles and leans in, her bright smile warming the coldest parts of me. “He’s an eggplant.”

Our gazes meet and I run a hand down the curve of her stomach. “Bigger every day,” I husk.

“Why do you have a fucking baby app on your phone?” Ford cuts in.

“Because it matters to Koty,” I snarl at my asshole brother.

He scoffs, tucks his hands under his armpits. “Y’all livin’ in dreamland right now.”

Dakota’s eyes go wide.

A five-alarm fire licks in my chest. Next to me, Charlie cocks an eyebrow at Wyatt.

“You’re out of line, Ford,” I say, my voice low and dangerous. “Watch your fucking mouth when you talk to her.”

Combustible. That’s the only way to describe the space around us. A Luke Bryan song plays on the jukebox as I glare at my twin. Something tells me I’ll have a boot up his ass by the end of the night.

“It’s fine, Davis,” Dakota says in an unbothered tone. “It’s not worth it.” She shifts in her chair and rests a hand on my arm. Her touch is all I need to unclench my jaw. “Don’t let it ruin our night. Besides, you owe me a dance.”

“Whatever, man,” Ford says, glancing up as Beef returns with more drinks. He takes a shot and opens a beer. “Y’all wanna play house, by all means.”

“Way it’s gonna be from now on,” Wyatt warns Ford. “Get used to it. Broads and babies.”

Ruby glances down at the floor, and Charlie leans in to whisper in her ear.

“Not me,” Ford drawls. “Lifelong bachelor right here.”

I roll my eyes.

That’s when Dakota gasps.

“Baby, you okay?” I ask. My gaze immediately finds her belly.

She doesn’t answer, and I look up, following her eyeline.

We all do.

“Holy shit,” Charlie says.

Fallon’s breezing out of the bathroom. Duffel bag slung over her shoulder, she wears thigh-high cowboy boots and a jean skirt. Her shimmery halter top, cut off at the midriff, exposes a tan, toned stomach. Her hair cascades untamed around her shoulders, and the shade of her bright pink lipstick matches her flushed face. She looks like some dolled-up cowgirl.

And Wyatt looks like a hand grenade waiting to explode.

Even Ford’s tongue is on the floor. “So Fallon does own a skirt.” A wicked grin tips his lips.

“What the fuck?” Wyatt blasts. He jolts in his seat, nearly upending his beer onto his lap. “Since when is she dressing like that?”

“Since she met someone,” Ruby says softly.

Wyatt goes stiff.

“Girl’s wilding out,” Ford cackles.

“Well, look at what crawled out of the trash and into our lives,” Fallon says as she takes the seat next to her sister. She squints at me, then looks at Dakota and Ruby. “I leave you alone for five minutes…” A shake of her head. “Traitors.”