12
D akota’s kiss keeps burning on my lips like a fire I can’t put out.
My muscles scream as I hammer the punching bag. Movement’s the only way to keep my mind off everything. “Goddamn it,” I mutter, taking a swing that shakes the bag. I can feel the tension of the last three days falling away.
The gym behind the lodge is an old piece of barn we rehabbed.
In its center, a punching bag, and off to the side, hay bales stacked for high jumps.
Free weights litter the cement floor. It’s shit for insulation—running hot as hell in the summer and ice cold in the winter, but it does the job.
Gets me out of my head so I don’t go insane.
I pause to re-tape my hands. A mistake. My mind goes to Dakota.
I rub a hand over my lips, still feeling her kiss. It was a hundred proof. And against all my bad judgment, I want another round.
After six long years, her sweet taste was heaven. A second chance I never thought I’d get again.
And it has to end now.
What the fuck was I thinking kissing Koty McGraw?
Sure, she kissed me . But I kissed her back.
Temptation was the devil on my shoulder, telling me to haul that woman into my room and strip her bare.
Tear off those panties and paddle that pretty ass pink in punishment for coming to me while I was in the grips of a nightmare that could have hurt her.
Spread those legs and taste every sweet inch of her.
Instead, I stopped her. Stopped us. That flash of anger in her eyes almost had me regretting my decision.
But she was gone before I could change my mind.
And a good thing too.
I wanted her too goddamn much.
The memory of her soft fingers sweeping over my scar—our heated, soul-baring words—kept me up for the rest of the night. Fuck, how I missed that. Missed us . Secrets. Late night confessions. If I have walls, Dakota’s my bulldozer.
Forever breaking me down. Getting me to crack.
I only do that with her.
I miss you.
Those words fucked with my mind.
Have me questioning what we are. And it scares the hell out of me.
It’s not the time to think about us or the stranglehold this woman has on my cock. It’s time to think about her.
She’s suffered so much and it feels like my fucking fault.
I never asked her to stay. I pushed her into the arms of some sick fuck who hurt her.
If we cross lines and it ends badly, she’ll leave, or worse, run.
Christ, the thought of her taking off in the middle of the night has my blood pressure skyrocketing.
The last thing I want to do is overstep.
Her friendship’s too important to me to lose that.
Maybe after all this is over, we can talk. I can clear up all the bullshit, say everything I should have said that summer, but…
It’s anything but simple. She needs to heal. Focus on that baby.
And me, I have the ranch. With summer slowly approaching, it’s going to take all of us to get it back up and running.
The lodge needs a fresh coat of paint. The chateaus’ need new floors.
There’re two horses Ford and I have to haul to Missoula.
My loyalty is to my ranch, my brothers, and also the promise I made to Stede.
Protect Dakota.
Not fuck her.
The CB radio buzzes, and Wyatt’s droll voice rings out on the channel I share with my brothers. “We got the Cupcake headed to the barn with the Fairy Tale.”
A growl from Charlie.
I groan at my younger brother’s attempt to play dispatcher. “Knock it off,” I snap into the radio. “And stop calling her Cupcake. Christ.”
That’s my nickname.
Through the window, I watch Dakota follow Ruby out of the lodge. Her dark hair’s peppered with snow, her jacket zipped tight around her belly.
I grin at my secret weapon.
Ruby.
I asked her to get Dakota out of the house this week, knowing it’s impossible for anyone to say no to Ruby.
She needs sunshine, and Ruby and the Montana sky are the best remedies around.
I watch Dakota disappear around the corner, my heart aching.
You’re not helpless. Dakota’s words from last night float into my mind.
Which couldn’t be further from the truth. When it comes to her, I am fucking helpless.
I avoided her question last night. My nightmares are no longer about my fucked-up mission. For the last two years, they’ve been about Koty. The phone call that won’t go through. Me, screaming out to a girl who won’t answer.
I wish she could see herself the way I see her. Beautiful. Strong. Smart. She has this, even if she doesn’t know it, and I refuse to let her wallow. However long it takes to pull her from the shadows into the sun, I’ll do it.
Wyatt’s lazy drawl rings out. “You got a shit-ton of packages, D.”
Gritting my teeth, I pick up the radio. “Where?”
“Bullshit Box.”
After one last brutal punch, the bag groaning under the momentum, I aim my boots for the ranch. Keena barrels beside me, romping in the fresh coat of snow covering the ground, snapping at snowflakes.
The sight of the Runaway Ranch sign standing tall and proud in the distance resets my mood.
Charlie and Ford, both wearing Stetsons, load up a rusted Chevy with saddles to be repaired in town. They give me a wave and I hold up a hand. As much as I bark at them, working with my brothers is something I would never change.
I trek through the lodge’s gravel lot and head up the deck steps to the Bullshit Box.
Before I can enter, Wyatt greets me at the door with a shit-eating grin. “Girl problems?”
“Wyatt.” I close my eyes, not in the mood. “Tell me something productive or get the fuck out.”
He gives me a salute. “Packages are on your desk.”
It takes me fifteen minutes to unpack it all. I scan what I ordered.
A foam body pillow. Prenatal vitamins. Morning sickness pills, just in case. Bottles. So many types of goddamn bottles.
It’s like a bomb of color and cheer has gone off in the Bullshit Box. I blink and look down at Keena, who cocks her head.
I have no idea what Dakota needs, so I got her everything and then some.
I slide a thin book toward me. On the front, in bright yellow script, it reads MY BABY.
I close my eyes for a long second, then open it. My chest feels tight as I reach into my desk drawer and pull out the sonogram photo Dakota gave me. I flatten a hand over a corner, straightening it, then clumsily attach it to the first page, under the words MY FIRST PHOTO.
The tick of my jaw pulses in time with my heartbeats as I stare at the black-and-white blur. I don’t know why this is important, it just is.
Dakota needs this. Maybe not right now, but she will.
A flash of light has my gaze falling to Charlie’s desk and an overseas priority shipment. One I’ve been expecting.
“Christ,” I mutter, grabbing up the small, steel-looking package. “Idiots.”
I break the security seal with a pocket knife to get into the Fort Knox-like box. It had been a gamble reaching out to Ferraro, but it looks like the bastard came through.
Pain lances through me as I stare at the tracking device in my palm, the words SullyScan1700 curving around its side. I exhale and force myself through it.
The tracker/panic button is about the size of a dime, but inside, it’s loaded with military-grade software.
A rush of relief spears me. Dakota starts work next week, and I’m antsy as fuck knowing she’ll be off the ranch. I need to anticipate everything. Plan for the worst. I can’t cage Dakota. I won’t.
Especially not after what she’s been through.
So, this has to be the next best thing.
I hold the small tracker up to the light and chuckle.
She’s gonna fucking hate me.