5
I f looks could kill, Dakota’s fiery glare would incinerate me on the spot.
It was a split-second decision to have her stay at the ranch. Stede can’t protect her if her ex follows her to Resurrection. I promised him I’d keep her safe. I intend to do that.
I park my truck in the paved driveway in front of the lodge and shut off the engine. The last slice of light died out an hour ago, and the big Montana sky is now an inky purple-black.
Dakota, huddled in her oversized sweater, sighs and stares out the window. “So, we’re here. What’s the grand plan?”
“Listen,” I say, and her troubled chocolate-brown eyes turn my way. “I’m not locking you up, Koty. We have good security at the ranch. You can come and go. And when you head into town, I’ll just…”
“Be with me?” Her words spear through my chest like a knife.
“Something like that.”
“And if you can’t?”
“There is no if . I’ll be there.”
Her lush lips thin. “My father wanted to call you. Not me.”
“Good thing he did. You’d probably be back in that shitty motel, planning to ride a cow back to Resurrection.”
My voice is cool, controlled, when all I want to do is wring every ounce of the truth out of her. Remind her of the promise she made, a promise she broke, a promise that scorches me from inside out.
“And who calls it?” Her chin lifts in that stubborn, defiant way of hers. It’s almost a relief to see that flash of fire back in her dark gaze. “Who says it’s over?”
A vein pulses in my temple. “I say it’s over. When you’re safe.”
I’m already pissed off at her newsflash that she planned to come back to Resurrection without a peep about what happened to her. And now her little announcement back at Stede’s that she plans to run if her ex shows up.
Over my goddamn dead body.
Annoyance flickers through her expression. “How long is that?”
“As long as it takes.”
A frown pulls at her brow. “Davis, you can’t keep me here.”
“I don’t accept that, Dakota. I won’t.”
Her laugh is brittle. “Why are you doing this?”
“You helped me back then.” My voice comes out strangely staccato. “It’s my turn to help you.”
“You owe me.” She punches the lock on the truck, a soft sheen to her eyes, a wobble in her voice. “Got it.”
“Now wait a damn minute.” I lock the doors again, keeping her in so she hears me. “It’s not pity or obligation. I made a promise to your father that I’d look out for you. And that’s what I’m going to do.”
“This doesn’t involve you, Davis.”
I clench my jaw and growl. “The hell it doesn’t.”
We sit three feet from each other. Me, on the driver’s side, Dakota curled up against the passenger door. I’m close enough to her that I can see the rise and fall of her chest, the obsidian darkness of her eyes. Dark enough to rival the night.
“I won’t put you in the middle of my mess. Or use you to put my life back on track. I have to do it.” Her delicate jaw tilts, flexes in defiance. “I’m not your problem, Hotshot.”
It takes all I have in me not to growl in frustration. I don’t fucking believe this. She’s on the run, in goddamn danger, for Christ’s sake, and she’s arguing with me.
The fact that it turns me on only pisses me off more.
“You’ll always be my problem, Dakota.” My breath comes out in a harsh exhale. “And you’re not alone. Not anymore.”
Her mouth parts, but she stays silent.
I unlock the doors and hold out my hands. “No lock and key, okay? No house arrest. You go and do what you want. And I’ll be there.”
This time, a hint of a smile plays on her face. “Like a…bodyguard?”
I raise an eyebrow. “I used to do this, you know. I’m good at it.”
She presses her lips together, looks down at her stomach. “Right. Fine.”
We exit the truck, and I come around to Dakota’s side. She stands there for a long second, dark head swiveling as she takes in the ranch, swathed in shadows. The wild howl of the winter. The sting of the winter air. And yet, all I see is her.
Fuck me.
Dakota McGraw is one beautiful woman. In the moonlight’s glow, her beauty shines.
Full lips, hourglass curves that I long to run my hand over.
Her long dark hair flutters in the wind like a raven’s wing.
My hands clench into fists, my cock thickening at the thought of tangling my fingers in those dark locks, weaving each strand around my—
“Davis?” Dakota blinks at me. “Should we go inside?”
“Yeah.” I grab her bag. “C’mon.”
Christ, when did I lose control of my facial expressions?
Hands to yourself, Montgomery.
She’s not mine. She never has been. She’s pregnant, for Christ’s sake. Traumatized. The last thing she needs is a man. The last thing she needs is me.
Duty means keeping her safe. Discipline means keeping my fucking hands off her.
We make it halfway to the lodge when I hear footsteps.
My heart trips, and I freeze when Dakota curls a hand around my bicep.
“Davis,” she whispers, leaning into me. “Someone’s there.”
Tensing, I follow her eye line. I hear it again.
The squeak of the front porch, wooden floor boards rattling. The low shuffle of boots. I feel Dakota trembling beside me, the way her breath has picked up, the way her shoulders could meet her ears.
“Breathe, Koty,” I say, palming the small of her back, before moving in front of her.
I reach for my hip, cursing under my breath.
I left my Glock in the truck.
Already, I’m fucking up.
Bone-white moonlight dances across the lodge, and a shadowy figure descends the stairs.
I move into a fighting stance, mentally calculating how fast I can turn a duffel bag into a weapon of mass destruction, when there’s a hoot from the darkness. “Y’all make it back?”
Fucking Ford. I wonder if my idiot brother knew just how close he was to getting his head bashed in by a duffel bag.
With a ragged breath, Dakota lets loose of my arm. The loss of her contact does strange, herky-jerky things to my heart.
“Goddamn it, Ford,” I snarl, my pulse slowing its panicked tripping. “What the fuck are you doin’ here?”
Ford gives me a crooked grin. “Gun in the glove box?” Ignoring my under-the-breath curse, Ford’s eyes dip to Dakota’s cast but all he says is,“Hey, Koty.”
“Hey, Ford,” Dakota says weakly, mustering a smile. She tucks a lock of dark hair behind her ear. “Good to see you.”
“You too, honey.”
Ford elbows his way around me. All I can do is watch the affectionate reunion as he pulls her in for a hug. I clock her reaction, resisting the urge to yank her back to me, to make sure she’s okay with the contact.
No one will ever touch Dakota again without her permission.
“You back to stay?” Ford asks when he releases her.
Dakota’s shoulders sag. “Looks like it.”
Ford arches a brow, his expression settling into cool curiosity. Uncertainty. “You staying here?”
I give Ford a shove. “Yeah, she’s staying here. Now shut the fuck up and get lost.”
With a look that tells me we’ll talk later, my twin lopes off.
Dakota sees right through me and tilts her head back to apprise me. “You’re the only one who gets to play interrogator, is that right?” She arches a brow.
My jaw flexes. “That’s right.”
We climb the porch steps. I open the door and let her in. It’s pitch black, and I flip on the overhead lights, a great chandelier of antlers that cast a soft glow over the room.
Dakota slips off her parka, and my gaze drops to the small bud of her belly. It’s more noticeable without the jacket, and my heart twists. The thought of her carrying another man’s baby burns me from the inside until my emotions feel charred.
A selfish, stupid thought. There’s no good reason to be acting like this.
I rub a hand over my jaw, getting my bearings. “This is the lodge,” I tell her. “For guests. We’re off-season right now. Open back up at the end of May.”
Her gaze narrows as she looks around the place. “So, this is Runaway Ranch, huh?”
“This is it.”
“What made you decide to fix it up?” Dakota brushes her fingers over one of the stained plank walls.
You.
“I needed a project,” I grunt, glossing over the real reason for turning the 17,000-acre piece of land into a working ranch. “Charlie needed a life.”
“And let me guess, you put everyone to work.”
A rare smile tugs at my lips. “Something like that.”
“It looks so different, Davis.” She takes a step, eyes on the ceiling. “It was just an old building that Fallon and I played hide and seek in when we were kids.” She squints at a spot near the stairs. “You ever find that trap door with the slide?”
I chuckle. “We did. Think Wyatt even gave it a spin or two.”
She turns toward me. Her bright smile’s a shock to my system. “Show me around?”
And I do.
Dakota examines each space with a curious expression, gracefully touching furnishings with her fingertips.
There’s awe in her eyes as she sees the hard work of the last six years.
Timber beams in the cathedral ceiling. Wood plank floors.
Cognac couches with plaid loveseats arranged in a U-shape.
The massive stone fireplace in the great room.
The pine bar with the neon BAR M sign blinking bright pink behind it.
Dakota presses her good hand to her chest. “I can’t believe you did all this.”
I usher her forward. “I don’t know where we’d be without it.”
When we get to the kitchen, Dakota freezes.
“It’s a chef’s kitchen,” she breathes.
“It is. My little sister designed it.” I step inside but Dakota lingers in the doorway, admiring the expensive stainless-steel appliances Emmy Lou insisted on. “She likes to bake, too.”
“Shame.” Her soft tone is wistful. Slowly, she follows me in. “This big kitchen just sits empty all these months.”
I open the huge fridge and curse at the meager contents. Moldy bags of salad, a ham steak, and a twenty-four pack of Miller High Life. On the large steel counter is a family-sized can of green beans.
I curse again when I see the joint sitting in the ashtray.
Fucking Wyatt.
I turn back to Dakota, and my gaze falls to her stomach. Even though we had dinner at Stede’s, I ask, “You want something to eat?” Not that there’s much I can make for her.