Rope the Moon (Runaway Ranch, #2)(81)

I shake my head. “Tonight’s not what you needed.”

“Can’t control everything,” she says, a wry smile on her lips. “My sister, your brother. What’re we going to do with them?”

“Put them in sacks, drop them in the river,” I say, deadpan.

She laughs.

I shrug. “They gotta figure it out. We did.” I take her hand. “You want to dance, Cupcake?”

For three long minutes, the chaos falls away. My eyes lock on Dakota, hers lock on me. Peace. We sway slowly to an old George Strait number on the crowded dance floor.

Like I said, peace.

And then that peace is quickly shattered.

The song on the jukebox changes to the sounds of George Jones singing about loving a good woman until he dies.

My boots screech to a halt. “Fuck.”

That song. It’s the equivalent of dropping an atom bomb on Ford’s heart.

Dakota freezes like a doe in a clearing. “What’s wrong?”

Quickly, I scan the bar. “Where’s Ford?” Jesus, I need tracking devices for every goddamn person in my family.

But I’m too late. The second the chorus hits, there’s the smash of glass. I rip around and watch in disbelief as Ford puts his hand through the jukebox.

Fuck.

Nowhere loves a fight, and the bar erupts into mayhem.

Boots and hats and flying fists. A sea of chaos explodes across the dance floor.

Ruby, trying to help Ford, gets caught up in the surge. Someone grabs her wrist and tugs her onto the dance floor. Ford tries to help her, but a leather-vest wearing biker gets a fistful of Ford’s shirt and shoves him into the wall.

“Cover your eyes,” I growl. I may be pissed at my twin, but the second anyone touches one of my siblings it’s fists out.

Dakota squeaks. “What? Why?”

“You’re about to witness a double fucking homicide.”

Dakota grabs up a beer bottle from the nearest table.

I give her a look. “You planning to swing that or drink it?”

“Go,” she says, eyes glittering with mischief. “Help Ruby. I got this.”

I glance down at Dakota. I hate to leave her, but the way she’s holding that beer bottle reminds me she was born and raised in Resurrection. I kiss her temple. “Hang tight. I’ll be right back.”

It’s with those words that I stomp into the melee.

I don’t start the fight, but I fucking end it.

I close the distance and grab Ford off the jukebox, put a fist through the biker’s face. Before I can drag Ford’s ass out of here, he’s right back in the chaos.

This bar doesn’t stand a chance.

I’m looking around for Ruby when I see Charlie.

I shake my head as Charlie pins a guy to the wall with a violence reserved only for someone who fucks with his wife. When Charlie drops him with one quick punch, I turn back for Dakota.

My heart trips.

She’s trapped in the surging crowd. I catch her flash of dark hair, her frightened eyes.

The crowd surges.

It’s turning bad, fast.

Dakota’s arms drop to her sides. She cradles her belly protectively, flinching as a circle forms around her.

I curse. She’s surrounded on all sides. If the crowd keeps pushing, she’ll be crushed.

“Davis!”

The panic in her voice has the dark shadows inside me snarling.

I sprint toward her, smashing my way through the crowd, until I’m in front of her. I cover her with my body. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

She wraps her arms around my waist, pressing her front to my back. “What about your brothers?” she shouts above the din.

I give a last glance at Charlie slinging Ruby over his shoulder, and Ford cackling like a damn maniac. “They started it, they can finish it.”

Holding her close, I shove our way through the crowd. We’re almost to the door when Dakota is tugged to a stop. With a growl, I whip around. Some drunken idiot has Dakota’s wrist and is trying to tug her back into the fray.

Bad mistake.

A snarl rises in my throat and I have my hand on the guy’s neck so fast he barely has time to squeak out a protest. “Drop her arm or lose yours.”

He does.

I pull Dakota to the side of the bar, skirting the wall, and finally throw open the front door. I get her in my truck and then we’re whipping out of the gravel parking lot.

There’s a long silence and then—

Dakota laughs, long and loud. Her silvery peals of laughter ring out as she holds her belly.

“Well, that escalated quickly,” she breathes.

My knuckles are white on the steering wheel. Looking her way, I quickly scan her for injury. “That could have been bad, Koty. Christ.”

“I know. But it wasn’t.”

I stare out the window, jaw locked. The trust she gives me. I don’t deserve it.

“Check it out,” she says and unveils a golden bottle of whiskey. “Nabbed it on the way out. Like a true local.”

I chuckle. “Bootlegger babe.”

“Just like my daddy.” Her eyes scan the dark road. “Where are we going?”

“Home,” I grit out. I want to speed back to the ranch, but there’s precious cargo beside me, so I force myself to drive slowly.