Rope the Moon (Runaway Ranch, #2)(90)

As irritating as he is, I consider Topper’s question. She has the tracker, and she’s barely out of my sight. Maybe it’s enough. Still, it has me anxious to think of taking eyes off her, especially now that I know King’s pulling the disappearing act every other weekend. I also can’t underestimate Dakota’s stubbornness. She won’t let me keep her under lock and key forever. Plus, that baby’s coming soon. Our life won’t know what hit it.

Because that’s what this is. Our life.

My son. My girl. No doubt.

“No,” I tell him. “A few more weeks.”

Richter eyes me. “You think about becoming a cop?”

“I got enough on my plate with my brothers.” I slip the photo of King into the manilla folder.

“What you want with that?” Richter demands.

“Target practice.”

Aiden King’s photo is going up on the Bullshit Box’s dartboard. I want to ingrain the asshole’s face in my memory, so if he comes to Resurrection, I’ll know exactly where to aim.

My phone vibrates.

DAKOTA: ALONE IN CORNER STORE. PREGNANT. BORED. HORNY. SEND HELP. OR BETTER YET, A MARINE.

I chuckle. The thought of a naked Dakota pressed against the kitchen wall of The Corner Store has me hard already.

Folder in hand, I shove out of my chair. “Appreciate your help,” I tell Richter and turn for the door.

“Montgomery.” Richter’s boom of a voice stops me. “You don’t have a badge. Remember that.”

My hand fists.

Richter swears under his breath. “I’m breaking rules for you, Davis. Because you’re a good guy. But my station, my town, comes first.”

I give a nod. “I understand that, sir.”

Richter won’t have to break his black-and-white rules. But I will. When it comes to my family, gray is all that matters.

I’m halfway across the parking lot when the sputter of an engine has me turning.

Fuck.

Stede McGraw.

Our meeting flashes through my mind.

A meeting I’ve forgotten.

Quickly, I tuck the folder containing King’s photo under my arm and redirect my stride from Dakota to Stede.

But the old man misses nothing.

Stede’s bushy eyebrows rise. “My daughter safe?” he asks as he wanders toward me.

“She is.”

“I like to hear that.” He motions toward his truck. “You want to talk? Let’s talk.”

We settle inside his dusty pickup, twisting to face each other.

The scent of coffee and sawdust fill the cab of his truck. A photo of Dakota and Fallon as little girls peeks out from the underside of his visor.

“I don’t like rumors, Davis. Not in my town.” Stede’s tone is no-bullshit. “And when I hear rumors, I like to get to the bottom of them.”

“I understand that, sir.” I harden my jaw and look Stede in the eyes. “That’s why I wanted to talk to you today. It’s about Dakota.”

Frowning, he puts his hand up. “I told you to take care of my daughter.”

Fuck. I swallow hard. The man may have cancer, but I have no doubt he’d take me to the mat for his daughter. Especially if he knew I was just on my way to fuck his daughter raw. “That isn’t what you meant; I get it—”

“No, son. It’s goddamn exactly what I meant.” A smile cracks his craggy face. “It took you two long enough.”

The tightness in my chest loosens.

“My daughter’s strong,” Stede says. “She’s a fighter. She makes me the proudest father in the world. And you’re the one she needs.”

“Pretty sure I’m the one who needs her.” I rub my jaw, then come out with it. “I want to marry her, sir.”

It’s the only thing to say. I need a ring on her finger like my last breath. Rope myself to this woman until the end of time.

“Every blessing you want—they’re yours.” His grin widens. “This saves me time and saves you time. You want to marry her and raise that boy as a Montgomery, then you do that. And remember what I told you.”

“And what’s that?”

“Be true. It’s all I ask. Otherwise, I got a shotgun with your name on it.”

“Always.” I grin, my heartbeat jumping all over the place. “You should tell your daughter you’re proud of her, sir. I think she’d want to know.”

The old man’s gray eyes go misty. “Giving me advice?”

I chuckle. “No, Stede. Just sticking my nose where it doesn’t belong.”

Stede holds out a hand, and I take it. “Welcome to the goddamn family, son.”





“You got more than that bun in the oven, Dakota?”

I laugh and wag a finger at the grizzled man peering into the kitchen. “We have fresh cinnamon rolls on Tuesdays, Lou, and you know that.” Balancing on tiptoes, I reach for a container of Skoal behind the counter. “You should quit this if you know what’s good for you.”

He looks both annoyed and embarrassed.

A crash of cans from the beer aisle has me looking up. “Hamm’s is two rows from the top, Clyde.”

Lou takes the can, pays, and hitches his jeans. “Be back Tuesday for those cinnamon rolls.”