20
“I f you punch that computer, Hotshot, I won’t be able to patch you back up. I’m a pastry chef, not a surgeon.” Dakota sighs while I slam buttons on my computer, logging into the department’s database. “Is this really necessary? Don’t you have ranch chores?”
“Your personal safety comes first.”
“Uh-huh,” she deadpans. “My personal safety includes that shower this morning?”
I ignore that.
My frown deepens as I look at her. “This motherfucker is out there walking around, following you, watching you, and I can’t do a damn thing about it. And until you’re ready and willing to tell me who he is, then this is my next recourse.”
Dakota gives one slow nod and stays quiet.
Perched in a chair beside me, her gaze drifts to the window of the Bullshit Box, which faces the wooded area across the road in front of the lodge.
Wyatt crosses the gravel drive with a vet who’s on his way to check on the horses.
Charlie and Ruby have already left for town to replace equipment that’s long overdue.
I should pitch in, but all my focus is Dakota.
It’s taken a week to get the security camera footage from Main Street. Richter grudgingly gave it after I threatened to take my dog and walk.
Someone wants to take her away from me. The idea is unthinkable.
And it pisses me off. I need control of my judgment and emotions in a situation like this, and with Dakota in the center of fire, I’m most definitely not.
As I pull up the video from the day Dakota had her panic attack, my police scanner crackles on the desk.
“ Car 59 ready to go. Deputy Topper and Deputy Andrews on duty. ”
“ Dispatch: received 141. You were late to the party tonight, Topper, so you can have the first job. 315 at the top of Dead Fred’s Curve. Vehicle is a black Chevy. ”
“Keeping tabs on the town?” Dakota asks with a smile.
“Baby, you know it.”
We sit in silence and watch the sped-up footage from noon until five.
At three forty-five p.m., I pause it. “You know him?”
She shakes her head.
“Wait.” I lean in. After a long second, I frown. “I know him.”
Dakota freezes. “Who is it?”
“Pappy Starr.” I point at the man waddling down Main Street. A big-time rodeo agent, who Wyatt and Charlie have avoided like the plague. I can already hear Wyatt complaining now.
I fast forward and freeze it around the time of Dakota’s panic attack. There is a man, dressed in jeans and a jacket, walking by The Corner Store window.
Dakota leans closer to the screen. Her pupils dilate.
My heart hammers in fury. “Recognize him?”
“No.” A shudder rocks her frame. She folds both arms over her belly. “I don’t think so.”
“If your ex is in town, how’d he get here?”
“He’d fly.” She startles. Grabs my arm. “Davis. He has his own plane.”
I give her a look, fighting the urge to get frustrated with her. “That info would have been handy when you got here, Cupcake.”
“He has money. Owns properties. He could travel anywhere.” A guilty look overtakes her pretty face, and she says, “I call his work every Monday to check in on him. He’s been there.”
“Again, more news that would have come in handy,” I say flatly.
With a small growl that makes me smile, Dakota stands and rubs slow circles on her belly. She’s been touching her belly more often, and I drink her in, noting every single detail. She’s put on weight. Her hair’s shiny and her eyes are without clouds. She looks happier than she has in weeks.
She paces the Bullshit Box, those gears in that beautiful brain of hers turning. “I know I saw him, Davis. I’m not crazy.”
“Not saying you are.” I push out of my chair and go to her.
“I don’t doubt that you did. The mind can be a powerful thing.
” She stares at me patiently, so I go on, the memories unlocking.
“The night after my team was taken out, I was cleaning up in the bathroom and…” A muscle works in my jaw.
“I saw Sully in the mirror. I threw up. Freaked the fuck out. My bunkmate thought I was losing it. Now, six years later, I still check the mirror when I go in to wash up. Trauma hides, but it doesn’t go away. ”
“Trauma hides,” she echoes.
“I shouldn’t have told you that,” I say with a frown. Why in the hell did I tell her that? Making her feel better, not worse, is the objective.
“I’m glad you did.” She reaches up and cups my cheek. “Makes me feel less alone.”
It’s a compulsion to lean in and sweep my mouth against her lips.
I hold her close, trying to tamp down the guilt welling in my chest. Temptation bested me last week. In her fragile state, Dakota should have been off-limits, yet I took advantage of that.
What kind of asshole fucks a woman when she’s vulnerable?
Me. I’m the asshole.
I told myself she needed it, when I was the one who fucking craved it. And now, I don’t know what the hell we are. We’re a bad idea, a second chance, all rolled up into what-the-fuck-are-we-doing?
She’s living on my ranch, but for how long? Any talk of her moving out leaves me with a hollow ache in my chest.
And yet, I have no rights to her. Dakota needs to heal, not jump into a relationship. All I can offer her and her baby is protection.
Because that baby changes everything.
A chime on her phone has Dakota glancing down. “Oh.” Her mouth pulls up in a slow smile.
“What is it?”
“I’m twenty-one weeks today,” she says, slightly breathless as she scrolls through her screen. “I downloaded an app. It’s all about babies. Today, he–or–she’s the size of a—”
“Carrot.”
“What?”
Shit.
I scrub my hand over my face. Try to turn away. “Nothing.”
She gasps and grabs my shoulder, yanking me back toward her. Her dark eyes contain sheer joy. Disbelief. “Davis Montgomery, are you checking up on me?”
“Have to, Cupcake.” I stop fighting it and run my hands over her shoulders, into all the silky dark hair. “Comes with the job description.”
“Oh, it does, does it?” There’s a playful lilt to her voice. “And what all does that entail?”
I grunt. “Confidential information.”
Dakota smiles and leans in for a kiss. Every nerve ending jerks to attention. With a growl, I haul her against me, giving in to the shadows that swim inside my chest.
Touching her is happening now. No way to deny it—I can’t keep my hands off her.
Fuck. I already know I won’t survive this. But I haven’t survived the last six years without her, so I’ll call it a draw.
“ We’re onsite at that 315. Looks like the vehicle skidded off the road while heading north. ” The dispatch radio crackles. “ Cab has gone over Dead Fred’s Curve. We’re waiting for an ambulance. One adult male and one adult female. Vehicle’s plates are BVD425. ”
I freeze, recognizing the plate number. Fear lodges itself into my gut. “Fuck.”
A worry line appears on Dakota’s brow. “Davis? What’s wrong?”
My heart thumps, but my voice is steady. “That’s Charlie’s truck.”
I rush across the office and rip my keys off the table.
Dakota hurries after me. “I’m going with you.”
Dread curls in my stomach as I round the bend to see Charlie’s pickup truck hanging over the edge of Dead Fred’s Curve. Smoke rises from its hood. The left fender crumpled like a tin can.
Dakota gasps. “Oh my god.”
With my knuckles wrapped white on the wheel, I do a quick sweep of the scene. Richter, arms crossed over his chest, speaks with another cop. Charlie and Ruby sit in the back of the ambulance. A blanket is wrapped over Ruby’s shoulders, her face turned toward Charlie.
“It’ll be okay,” Dakota says, laying a hand on my arm.
My heart races. I pull over onto the side of the road, cut the engine, and hop out.
Richter turns when he sees me coming, sticking an arm out to bar me from the scene. “This isn’t for you, Montgomery.”
“The hell it isn’t,” I snarl and bulldoze past him.
Charlie stands when he sees me. I cup him by the face and search his eyes. “You okay?”
He shakes his head. “No, we’re not fucking okay.” His voice is frustrated.
“What happened? You hit ice?”
“No. Someone tried to run us off the damn road.”
“Start talking,” I order. “Now.”
Anger creases his face. “We were headed back to the ranch and someone sideswiped the truck. Came out of nowhere. He hit me on the left and it aimed us right at the cliff’s edge. I pumped those goddamn breaks, but he came back and hit me once more for good measure.”
Charlie pulls Ruby up beside him. He looks more shaken than she does. And I know why. He almost lost her. Again.
A swear blasts out of his mouth. “Motherfucker tried to run us off the road, I’m goddamn sure of it. I barely got Ruby out before I got myself out.”
“Trying to play hero,” Ruby admonishes softly. With a grunt, Charlie tucks her under his arm.
A white-hot anger claws its way under my skin. Beside me, Dakota tenses.
“No sign of the other vehicle,” Richter says, stepping into the circle. “Guy fled the scene.”
“You see the guy?” I ask Charlie.
“Bastard had a trucker hat pulled low.” Charlie growls and shakes his head. “I gave Richter the best description I could.”
“No other witnesses? Plates?” I ask, glancing toward the smoking truck.
“No. Not even a partial.” Richter nods my way, knowing I’m not happy. “His car got it bad too, so we’ll be on the lookout for an older Tahoe with front-end damage. We’ll find it, Montgomery.”
“You need a hospital?” I look at Charlie, not missing his fingers on Ruby’s wrist, monitoring her heartbeat.
“No,” Ruby says before Charlie can answer. Then, seeing us all stare at her, she draws herself up and glares at Charlie. Her bottom lip sticks out in a stubborn pout. “Cowboy, no. I’m fine.”
“Come on.” Dakota holds out her arm to Ruby. “We’ll give you a ride back to the ranch.”
Charlie and I watch them walk off. Then I lean into him. “I want everyone in this family staying close. You hear me?”
“Things are fucked.” Charlie drags a hand down his dark beard. His eyes flick in the direction of Ruby. “They have been ever since Koty set foot on the ranch.”
I stiffen. “You asking me to turn her out?”