7
S howered and wrapped in a fluffy white towel, I sit on the edge of my bed and check my phone. The text confirming my doctor’s appointment has my stomach churning. A favor my father pulled with his connections at the hospital. My small town moves slowly, except when it moves fast.
Just like this baby. It’s coming whether or not I like it.
I press a hand against my stomach and just as quickly pull it back. Hot tears sting the backs of my eyes.
Though I fell into an easy sleep last night—sleeping in the big empty lodge never felt more freeing—I woke up at three a.m. My internal clock is always on bakery hours. Finally, when the sun rose, I put my insomnia to use by putting together a plan to feel not so adrift.
I’m determined to get my life back.
Even if all I want to do is lie in bed all day and wallow.
I sigh and change into a sweater and jeans. After towel drying my hair, I add powder to cover my bruise, flinching when I come to the cut on my swollen lip. I straighten up, gauging my weary reflection in the mirror. Does Davis see me as anything other than a woman in distress?
It doesn’t matter how he sees me. He’s moved on with Keena. Even as jealousy zings through me at his cavalier mention last night, I have no right to be jealous. It’s been six years. We were never anything, anyway.
I came back to Resurrection because Davis meant safety. Peace. I don’t know how my brain convinced my heart he wouldn’t have been the first person I ran to. His arms always had me. Even if now it’s like a whisper of a ghost between us.
I return to my spot on the bed. The room is loft-like and cozy. A sturdy desk in the corner. A clawfoot tub set over glossy blue tiles. Slanted windows above the bed let the morning sunlight through.
I haven’t unpacked. My bag sits on a corner chair in the spacious room.
Everything about this return home seems so tentative. My baby, my choices, my freedom.
Don’t tempt a good thing. Wait it out. Plan.
It’s what I did for a week. After I found out I was pregnant, I planned my getaway, and I waited. I had been so careful. But Aiden was smart.
I won’t make the same mistake.
Plan.
Otherwise, I might do something crazy like run.
I pick up my phone and scroll through the news reports about my bakery.
Images of the charred wreckage of my bakery bring hot tears to my eyes, taunting me.
The investigators don’t think it’s arson, but they want to speak to me. An email in my inbox requests a Zoom or a phone call. My heart trips and I stare at the screen for half a second before I turn it off.
Nerves are a grenade of dread in my gut.
How do I explain this? Aiden will never let on that he was there that night. Then he’ll hunt me down.
“You fucker,” I tell my phone.
Part of me wants Aiden to chase me down. And part of me wants to hole up here at Runaway Ranch. I’m brave but scared. Broken, but whole.
I feel like some yin-yang of a woman.
Pocketing my phone, I exit the room and keep my gaze aimed forward as I walk down the hall, not wanting to run into Keena on my way out.
I pad down the stairs, taking in the great lodge. It’s even more beautiful in the daylight. Cognac couches and rustic rugs. Antler chandeliers and wagon wheel coffee tables. It fits the Montgomery brothers to a T—rustic and moody and masculine.
My breath catches as I stop outside the kitchen. It had me transfixed last night and damn if it isn’t stealing my heart in the easy light of morning.
Slowly, I walk inside. The kitchen’s been cleaned and there’s a bag of flour sitting on the shiny steel prep table that wasn’t there last night.
The invisible band wrapped around my chest tightens.
Coward. Worthless.
Aiden’s voice is like a gaping black hole following me around. Growing even when I’m out of his dizzying orbit.
Gritting my teeth, I focus on the ball of my fist. The hard dig of my nails into the meat of my palm.
On a shaky breath, I take a step forward.
Just one step.
My gaze returns to the bag of flour. It would be so easy to dip my fingers in the silky texture, add a fine layer to the countertop, and whip up a batch of cinnamon rolls.
When I press my good hand on the cool marble of the countertop, I gasp. Pain zings through my broken arm. So intensified it feels like it’s the first time all over again. My ears ring.
And then I’m back in my kitchen.
Back there. With him.
My tears on the steel countertop. My screams. His threat.
He dipped low, clammy fingers on the back of my neck, his rough voice at my ear. “Remember this, Dakota. I will fuck with your life until you don’t have one.”
And then—
I blacked out.
A week later, I found out I was pregnant.
And I knew I had to get out.
Shivering, I squeeze my eyes shut and take a breath. My good hand is numb. Chills run through my body as my breath comes out in a shallow ragged pant. I feel like I’m dying in broad daylight.
“Breathe,” I hiss through my teeth.
In and out. In and out.
I turn and press my cheek against the cool kitchen wall. The sensation brings me back down to earth.
How in the hell am I going to get my life back together if I can’t even set foot in a kitchen without losing it?
Aiden broke my arm that night.
But really, he broke all of me.
I stay like that until the sensation in my good hand comes back, the tightness in my chest ebbs.
Wiping my eyes, I look around the kitchen, grateful I’m still alone.
Grateful Davis hasn’t picked this opportunity to ride to my rescue once again.
He can’t see me like this. He’s already done enough, strong arming me into living on the ranch for God knows how long.
If Aiden came here…Davis and his family could be in danger.
The thought is too awful to comprehend, so I shake my head, clearing it.
After grabbing my parka from the front door coat rack and tossing on a mitten, I exit the lodge through the back double-glass doors.
The morning air is biting and crisp. Exactly what I need to anchor myself in the present.
I step through the light powder of fine snow on the back porch just in time to see Wyatt Montgomery tear across the pasture on a gold-colored gelding. He flashes his trademark cocky grin and tips his Stetson toward me before redirecting his attention to the cowboy in the field.
My father told me Wyatt’s been training cowboys in the off-season, including Fallon. I’m surprised she lets him, considering what he said about her. But if I know my sister, she’s planning to eat the hearts of all those who have wronged her.
Wyatt’s sharp snap of command cuts the crisp air, and the cowboys are off, running loops around the pasture. I shield my eyes from the sun, unable to hide my smile—looks like the wayward Montgomery boys have grown into successful men.
When I turn the porch corner, I gasp.
The ranch. It’s even more beautiful than I remember.
Jagged mountains cut the indigo sky. Sunlight sparkles across the dusting of snow.
Montana in its madness. At its finest.
My gaze lands on the protective barricade of forest around the ranch. Fear rolls through my bones. It’d be so easy for Aiden to be out there. Watching, waiting. Coming for me when I least expect it.
That’s when I see Davis.
And every bit of turmoil inside of me quiets.
He’s yards away at what looks like a small barn or shed. A sign above it reads: Warrior Heart Home. A German Shepherd runs after him, nipping at his boots. Davis lifts a hand and the dog halts in its tracks.
Then he goes and turns his baseball cap around. The single motion upends the entire alignment of my hormones. Hot. So goddamn sexy. The sleeves of his hoodie mold to his sculpted arms, and with his stubbled jaw, and broad shoulders, the effect is devastating.
I take a step toward him, but I freeze when the dog lunges and snarls at Davis. Sharp barks blast the air.
I look around for someone to help before he gets his face ripped off, only I’m stunned when Davis gets down on his knees in front of the dog.
Nose to nose. He’s calm, no malice in his expression as he kneels there and lets the dog bark in his face.
That chiseled jaw of his remains steady as he takes the dog’s abuse.
Commanding. Calm. Fearless.
A glimpse of the former Marine curls my toes. I wouldn’t want to be the man or dog who faced him down.
His deep voice carries on the air. “We’re gonna get you someplace safe, girl. Aren’t we? Just gotta get you into shape first.”
My heart flips in my chest.
This is why I fell for the man. Kind. Patient. Even with his dark, jagged pieces.
I watch as Davis and the dog engage in what looks like a type of training exercise.
They run in tight lines across the frozen grass until they’re both panting hard.
When they’re finished, they disappear into the shed.
Not long after, Davis re-emerges. As if he’s felt my eyes on him the entire time, he lifts a hand, waving me over.
“Mornin’,” he drawls. His breath makes white puffs in the morning air.
“Morning,” I say, trying not to stare. I’ve never seen bicep definition like that in a hoodie.
“What’d you think of the show?”
“Couldn’t miss it.” My gaze homes in on the small shed. “What is this?”
“It’s the Warrior Heart Home.” He puts a hand out like he’s about to touch me, then stops himself. “Follow me. I’ll show you.”
He ushers me across the threshold into the small shed-like structure.
However, once inside, it’s anything but.
It’s a state-of-the-art kennel facility.
I take in the beds with plush fleece bedding and the wall-to-wall shelves neatly holding bags of dog food, grooming supplies, and equipment.
Skylights flood the interior with natural light.
A dozen dogs roam the fenced-in outdoor play yard.
“It’s a Marine dog rescue,” Davis explains, hanging up a leash on a hook. “I train them, then rehab and rehome them. Dogs I can’t rehome live here on the ranch.” He shifts when I don’t tear my gaze away from his face. “What?”