23 #2
“I can’t wait for this.” Sheena crosses her arms, the glee in her voice unmistakable.
My chest fills with panic. So much of my skin is tight, chilled. I want a way out, an escape hatch, but all I can do is sink.
“There you are. I’ve been looking for you.” The boom of a voice makes both Sheena and I jump.
Davis strides my way, his gold-flecked eyes fierce and flashing.
Before I can say anything, a massive hand slides down my ass. Davis cups it. Squeezes. I squeak and lurch forward, but he grabs me back and locks me to his body. Then he stares down into my eyes and plants his mouth to mine.
I go limp. Molten.
The kiss is soft and sweet, his lips sweeping over mine, his tongue playfully tangling. When he pulls back, he keeps me firmly in his grasp, refusing to let go.
I squirm, wanting to get out of the public gaze. Two aisles down, Chet Hill, an old fishing buddy of my father’s, double takes.
“Davis.” I gape up at him, clinging to his broad chest. I try to shove him away, but he refuses to budge. “What are you doing?” I whisper.
Eyes searching my face, he tucks a lock of hair behind my ear. “You ready to go, Cupcake?”
Sheena, her face sour, recoils. “Are you two—”
“Yes,” Davis growls, his expression murderous.
And then it softens as he looks at me and places a broad palm on my belly.
A message so obvious I want to cry.
If Sheena’s jaw could permanently unhinge, it would be on the floor.
My knees are jelly. Every ounce of fight dissipates as I go pliant against Davis’s rugged chest.
Sheena clutches her grocery list in her fist. “I don’t fucking believe it.”
Davis’s face turns to stone as he whips his head to Sheena. “Didn’t you learn your lesson with Fallon?” he growls in a tone that no sane person would argue with.
Sheena’s screech of colorful curses echoes through the market as she walks away.
Davis tilts my chin up to meet his concerned gaze. “You okay, Cupcake?”
“Why’d you do that?” I ask, dazed, still clinging to him.
“Because,” he grits out. He gives me a scolding look, steers us forward to retrieve the cart. “I saw that fist you were ballin’, baby. No fighting. Not in your condition.”
“But…” My mind cartwheels. “Everyone will know, Davis. Everyone will think you’re the father.” I rapidly blink against the warm sear of tears, Davis’s possessive arm around my waist. “Oh my God.”
Davis curls one hand around the cart handle and guides us forward. Amusement creases his handsome face. “That’s kind of the point, Cupcake.”
My jaw drops and I process his words as we head to the checkout. I’m vaguely aware we’ve reached the register when Davis passes over the bra, a stuffed blue bear, and a baby monitor to the clerk.
“Hey, Pete,” Davis says.
Pete Perry’s eyebrows slant low. “Damn, Montgomery, you got a baby on the way?”
Davis chuckles, hands over another stuffed bear. Pink this time. “Sure looks like it.”
My entire body turns to a puddle, and I grip the conveyor belt to stay afloat. Oh, this man. Protecting me in so many other ways than just bodily.
Davis pays for our items and by the time we walk out the front doors and into the snow, I’ve regrouped. Indignation curdles my stomach.
Grabbing his plastic sack-clad arm, I back us into the alleyway and narrow my eyes at him. “Davis Montgomery. You do not have to keep saving me.”
His stare is stoic. “What’s wrong with that?”
My mouth opens, closes, then his warm rumble of a chuckle washes over me.
After letting the bags fall to the ground, he takes my face in his hands.
“You can save yourself. I know that. I’ve known that since the minute you walked onto my ranch and force fed me a cupcake. I’m just here to keep you steady.”
I nod, hot tears filling my eyes.
“Steady,” I whisper. “Right.”
It feels like that. No longer adrift. Not anymore.
“No more small-town drama. That isn’t your focus.
I don’t want you worked up.” His hand falls to my belly, and I melt into his gentle hold.
“I don’t want anyone asking you questions you’re not comfortable with.
This cuts out the bullshit.” A rare grin graces his handsome face.
“They won’t talk shit about you with me. ”
“And why is that?”
His eyes flash. “I know how to kill a man.”
“Because you were a Marine?”
“Because I have a little sister.” On a low growl, he takes my chin and holds it forcefully but gently between his big fingers. His voice a stern, yet, soothing command. “No one in Resurrection knows your story but you, Dakota. You get to tell it. Change it.”
He’s right.
The truth about my child’s father doesn’t matter. What matters is what people believe. That I have grace from my past here in Resurrection.
Still, for him to do this. It asks a lot. Davis treasures his sanity, his privacy.
“I just—”
His eyebrows lift. “What? What is it?”
“Won’t it bother you? People talking?”
“People are already talking,” he says, leaning down until he husks it against my lips. He smells of pine and coffee, his massive body providing a barricade from the wind at the mouth of the alleyway. “At least now they’ll talk about us.”
Us.
That’s all there is to say. The wind blows my words away, and I fling myself at Davis, crashing into him like he’s a stone wall.
Davis smiles, eyes crinkling at the corners, and grabs me tight to him, his muscled arms wrapping around the center of my back. My belly nestles against his.
I brush my lips against his and whisper, “Davis. What are we doing?”
“Cupcake, I don’t fucking know,” he says and kisses me breathless.