Rope the Moon (Runaway Ranch, #2)(92)

“I’m the older sister with anger issues,” I growl. “I protect you.”

Fallon’s face softens. “Dakota, it’s okay.”

“No more secrets,” I beg. Tears hit my eyes. “Tell me. Now.”

Fallon gives a big, dramatic sigh. “Fine.” Then she grins. “I’ll do better than that. I’ll show you.”




I can’t watch.

But even as I’m on the verge of absolutely losing it, I do.

My gaze is glued to Fallon on the back of a raging black bull named Man Killer.

“Rope the moon,” I whisper as Fallon jerks wildly. I wince as her muscular body gets thrashed for a full three seconds before she flies off the bull.

She tucks and rolls, landing flat on her back in the pasture and the dirt. She lies there a long second before she slowly pulls herself to standing. A cowboy lopes up to her and helps her brush herself off.

We’re at Old Cowhand Farms twenty minutes south of Resurrection. Owned by rodeo agent Pappy Starr and an old-school rodeo cowboy named Jerry Malone, Fallon’s been taking bull riding lessons for the last six months. The reason for all her secrets. And her bruises.

At the crunch of grass, I lower myself off the fence and turn to see pearly whites and a Stetson the size of Texas. Pappy Starr, stopwatch in his hand, swaggers his big belly up to me.

Instantly, I don’t like him.

He’s going to get my sister killed.

“You know,” he begins. “I clocked that girl from a mile away, coming up to me with a dream and a dare. And I thought to myself, plucked from obscurity. That’s how I’m gonna tell the story of how I found this pretty little girl.”

He clicks his stopwatch, narrows his beady eyes at me. “Dakota McGraw. The saner of the sisters.”

“Sane, but no less murderous,” I warn. “I don’t want my sister hurt.”

“I don’t want her hurt, either.” He turns an eye toward Fallon, who’s disappearing into the bunkhouse. “God help her, she’s got a horrible fucking attitude, but she’s got a face that means money. She better take care of it.”

I point a finger at him. “You better take care of her.”

Pappy looks down at the stopwatch. “2.3 seconds. Time isn’t good enough.”

“She’s good.” I can’t stop the bite in my voice.

Pappy cackles, his belly bouncing. “We’ll see about that.”

Fallon comes limping out of the bunkhouse, changed into fresh clothes. “How’d I look?” she asks, breaking the ensuing silence.

I open my arms to her. “Absolutely crazy.”

She laughs, pride alight in her eyes, and then throws herself into my hug. I squeeze her tight. When we pull apart, Pappy is sauntering toward the bunkhouse.

“I don’t like him,” I announce, shaking my head.

“No one does.” With that, she hooks her arm through mine and leads me to a picnic table in the middle of the field.

I open the small cooler of waters and beers we’ve brought with us. “He’s using you to make money, Fallon. He doesn’t care if you get hurt.”

She shrugs. “So? I’m using him for the same reasons.”

“Why are you doing this?” Even as I ask it, I know why.

I see myself in her face. Her eyes. Eager. Hungry. Fierce. She wants out of Resurrection as badly as I did.

She pulls one knee up to her chin, letting her other leg dangle. “I want to be the best.”

“You’re the best there’s ever been, Fallon. And I mean it.”

She shakes her head and twists the top off her Coors Light. “I’ve won every other event. I want to win this. I want to ride bulls with the boys. I want to win the PBR Championship. Like Polly Reich. I want a million dollars.”

I inhale a breath. “It could kill you.”

“Everything will kill you.” She wiggles her brows. “That’s why you gotta choose something fun.”

I groan at her absurd logic. “I don’t like that, Fallon.”

“I know…but…Lawless needs surgery with cash I don’t have. I have to move, Dakota. I have to make it out. I want to find Mom. I want those wild horses in Arizona.” Her eyes take on a faraway glaze. “Staying here…it’ll be worse than dying on the back of a bull.”

I remember a fortune teller at the State Fair telling Fallon she had nine lives, and she’s believed it ever since. Since then, she’s been counting down. Defying death multiple times. Jumping off cliffs into the lake, drag racing on the back roads, getting trampled by her nag Lovely. And from then on came a never-ending list of injuries. Broken wrist. Shattered clavicle. Two concussions.

It all started after our mother left. That reckless search for something she hasn’t yet found.

I don’t want this for her.

But she wants it.

“I have a secret,” I say and bite my lip. “I found Mom.”

Surprised, she blinks at me. “Where?”

“Vegas. She’s a dealer at a shitty casino off the strip. At least she was three years ago.”

Fallon picks at her label, her eyes on the chipped wood of the picnic table. “Did she—did she ask about me, or anything?”

I debate lying to her. Then, my heart aching, I say, “No. I’m so sorry, Fallon, she didn’t.” I reach out and squeeze her hand. “She barely knew who I was.”