Rope the Moon (Runaway Ranch, #2)(89)

I watch her size up a big bowl of batter before reaching a hand toward the lip and getting a hard grip. At the contact, she closes her eyes. A tear slips down her cheek, and her knuckles go white as she lifts the bowl, using her healing arm to boost its bottom. A sob slips from her mouth.

But there’s no tentativeness, no recoil.

I want to go to her, but I stand my ground. She needs to do this. There’s something in her face, in her rigid shoulders, that I haven’t seen since I picked her up at that side of the road motel.

A shaky little breath puffs out of her and then she comes alive. She carefully pours the batter into cupcake tins and returns to the flour. She cuts butter into chunks. One-handed, she sprinkles flour on the counter, adds milk and yeast. Armed with a spine of steel, she measures every ingredient with a sniper’s precision.

She’s slow, but she’s sure.

Steady.

Strong.

I’ve never been more goddamned proud.

Meeting my gaze, she nods her head at me.

I drop the wires on the counter and stride toward her until she’s in my arms. She smells of warm dough and cream. I cup the back of her head and bring her sweet mouth to mine.

“You knocked me loose, Hotshot,” she murmurs against my lips. “I couldn’t wait.”

I run my hands down her body, her soft curves fitting perfectly against my palms.

When we pull back, I stare at what she’s created. She hasn’t just baked. She rose from the ashes. Left her past behind in a mess of dough and flour.

Dakota exhales a shaky shudder. “I’m free,” she says, gesturing at the mess. Her hand cradles her belly, leaving behind a white flour handprint.

Fear twists my heart.

My gaze moves from her to the cut brake lines lying on the table.

Dakota’s ready to fight. And it scares the ever-loving fuck out of me.

Because he’s here.

Eventually, he’s coming.

And she knows it.





I sit at Richter’s desk, trying not to let rage consume me. Across from me, Richter carefully sifts through the flight records of Aiden King.

“Looks like he’s been using his plane every other Friday night for the last three months,” Richter says.

I lean in, ignoring the crackle of the police scanner. “New York City?”

Richter nods. “That’s where it says he’s going.” He sits back and runs a finger over his mustache. “He registered the craft with the FAA, but that doesn’t mean he’s not forging his location. Or he knows someone who can delete flight logs.”

“Smart.” I shuffle through the papers, move on to the still images taken around town. Dakota opening the Corner Store. Wyatt down at the rodeo grounds. “He’d be on the security cameras.”

Richter studies me. “They don’t get every nook and cranny in this town. You know that.”

I do.

I also know what Dakota told me.

Aiden plays the long game.

If he can wait a year into a relationship to lay hands on his girlfriend, then he sure as hell can lie low in Resurrection.

“You have enough to get this guy arrested?” Richter asks after a long sip of cold coffee.

“Unfortunately, no.”

“We could open a case down in DC, but you know how that’ll go.”

It’ll go right into the trash.

There’s no police report. No photographs of her bruises. Nothing other than Dakota’s word against King’s. Certainly nothing that will have the cops in DC wanting to take the lead from a small town.

I glance at the files spread across the desk. An unofficial case file Richter’s opened for me. It’s been three weeks since Dakota sprung the name Aiden King on me. Since then, Richter and I have worked tirelessly to dig up anything we can on him.

Other than going missing for forty-eight hours on the weekends, it’s all we have on him. He’s up to something. What that is, fuck if I know.

I could fly to DC, put a bullet in his goddamn head, and end it, but I don’t want to leave Dakota alone. Don’t want to risk us crossing paths. Besides, it’d be a deadly mistake that could cost me everything. Dakota. Our future. The thought of getting caught is enough to make me play it safe. Play it smart.

At least until King sets foot on my turf.

Richter rubs his chin and waits. “Should you be messing with this guy, Montgomery?”

I glance at the blown-up photo of Aiden King pulled from the website of his equities management firm. Arms crossed, he leans back against a brick wall. Pretty-boy attractive with rough stubble and a sharp jawline. Smug fuck. It makes me want to put my fist through his face again and again.

“Yes,” I growl. “I should be.”

“Personal’s dangerous.”

“It is.”

“I don’t want trouble touching my town, Davis.”

“It won’t.” I’ll get him before then.

“Davis.” Buzz Topper hovers over us.

“What?” I bark.

“You want to drop the tail on Dakota McGraw?” he asks.

It makes my stomach churn to ease up on Dakota’s safety.

Crossing my arms, I glance out the window to The Corner Store. Dakota’s new Jeep shines in the parking lot. She’s twenty feet away, and her nearness is intoxicating. She’s the center of my gravity and every second I’m apart from her, I feel like I’m falling off the face of the earth.