13
D amn Davis Montgomery.
For the last week, baking supplies have appeared every morning. Like ghosts drifting out of the darkness to taunt me with the past.
Today, on the kitchen counter—a warm cup of coffee with sugar and cream. A small notepad. A beautiful ceramic pie plate. Bags of flour—almond and white. Jam and figs. Gold bricks of butter stacked in a pyramid shape.
Recipes weave through my mind. Beautiful, perfect pairings. Scones and jam. Cowboy cookies. Pain au chocolat.
Dares. Evil, delicious dares left behind by a cruel man named Davis Montgomery.
And it’s working.
The fucking nerve of that man. He gives me the cold shoulder all week, only to do the sweetest things that make me want to break down and bawl.
And what did I do? Two days into my house arrest and I kissed him. And he tore away from me like I was on fire.
Now? Now he’s avoiding me like a plague.
That Marine of iron willpower is a war manual that’s hard to read. I’m tired of trying to understand him.
One thing is clear: Davis and I can never go back to the way I want us to.
I’m pregnant. A mess. A liability. A man like Davis is honor bound, duty driven.
I am a job. A favor to my father. A fling from the past. And the past stays in the past.
I press a hand to my heart as I scan the baking supplies once more. My fingers dance over the small notepad, reminiscent of the ones I used to write my recipes. I open the cheery yellow cover and stare at the blank page. A clean slate.
But what about me? Do I get a new start?
That girl who kissed Davis last week was the real Koty McGraw. All confidence and charisma. Someone not afraid of setting foot in a kitchen or taking a risk. Or kissing a cowboy.
Beyond the windows, the darkening sky is heavy with the threat of more snow. The hum of an engine reverberates in my bones as Davis’s truck rattles over the gravel driveway. I stare at him for a long second, his black Stetson a shadow against the sun, then tear myself away from the window.
I drift from the island to the counter, frowning when I notice a large box. On the front, is a sticky note with my name. I smile at Davis’s chicken scratch scribble. Then I open the box.
My smile disappears.
Inside:
Baby supplies. Prenatal vitamins. Nausea pills. Bottles. One of those happy baby books.
My eyes blur with tears as I stare at the baby book. I still haven’t felt my baby move. Something’s wrong with me. My baby knows it. Knows its mother is a basket case.
It’s hiding just like I am.
Is this why Davis has been in the Bullshit Box for the last week? Ordering supplies for me? Leaving me granola bars around the house because I have low blood sugar? Taking care of me because I can’t take care of myself? The thought is as touching as it is horrifying.
I’ve only been on my own for a week and I feel like I’m failing.
Although, I rallied long enough this morning to take a Zoom meeting with the insurance adjuster.
It was hard, but I owned up to running. I told them I left the scene immediately and fled the state because I feared for my life due to my ex.
They seemed to believe me, so now I wait for them to conclude their investigation and determine it’s not fraud.
At least one thing in my life isn’t a complete cluster.
Dutifully, numbly, I reach for the jar of prenatal vitamins. It feels like I’m going through the motions as I swallow one down. It sinks like a lead weight in my gut.
And then, the image creeps.
My entire body freezes.
Fire. Searing heat. Aiden screaming “help me” over and over again.
I ran. I let my bakery burn.
Coward. You fucking piece of pathetic shit.
I shake my head. Squeeze my eyes shut.
No. That’s Aiden talking. Breaking me down. Not me.
The back door opens, and I sigh.
Like clockwork, Ruby peeks inside the kitchen, a sherpa hat with furry ear flaps on her head. Her blue eyes light up when she sees me.
“Hi, Dakota!” Ruby chirps. Her genuine, happy face never ceases to amaze me. She’s like the brightest lemon meringue I’ve ever made.
I force a smile. “Hi, Ruby.”
“You want to walk to the pasture today?” she asks, like she’s done every morning for the last week. A fact that makes me think Davis has put her up to this.
I very much do not want to walk to the pasture. I want to hibernate in bed for the rest of my life. But the baby in my belly won’t let me. Neither will Ruby Montgomery.
Yesterday, we basked in the sun on the front porch. The day before, we met the horses.
I check the time and it’s only eight. I’m due at the Corner Store at eleven to help Fallon with the afternoon shift.
Back to the land of the living.
After a week at the ranch, I crave work. Someplace to get away and feel normal. In my bakery, I was up early and down late. Perfecting recipes, negotiating with vendors, mentoring my sous chefs. To be stagnant and feel out of control messes with my mojo.
I can’t hide out at the ranch forever. Besides, who’s to say Aiden’s even looking for me? He could have let it go.
Let me go.
Maybe what was left of us burned up in that fire.
But I know it’s too easy.
Too easy for Aiden.
Too kind.
“C’mon,” Ruby says, extending a hand. “Let’s go for a walk and see how it goes.”
See how it goes.
The thought calms me somehow, casting a golden glow into my chest. Like I only need to put one foot in front of the other to move. It’s that simple.
“Okay.”
We head out onto the wraparound back deck and down the steps. The morning air is crisp, and sunlight streams through the trees. Ford and Wyatt, on their horses, whistle at us as they load up the horse trailer.
“Today we should see the garden.”
I glance over at Ruby. “Garden?” I echo, casting a glance over the frozen earth. No garden has a chance of survival in this barren Montana wilderness.
At my look of confusion, Ruby laughs. “I’ll show you.”
She links an elbow through my good arm. Barely acquaintances for a week, but already, Ruby’s a friend.
Our shoes crunch frozen grass until we come to a spot in the pasture near the Runaway Ranch gates.
“You’re right.” Ruby’s light voice floats. “It’s too early for a garden, but it’s going to be right here. Sunflowers. They’re my favorite.” She sinks to the ground and tugs off a glove.
I sink beside her and watch as she scrapes back the snow with her mossy green manicure and digs down into the earth.
“Look,” she says, her fingertips stained black. In the dirt, small buds of green grow beneath the melted snow. “Baby blooms.”
“Can they grow in the dark?” I ask.
“No.” She smiles. “But no matter how dark it is, they always find light.”
My heart twists as I study the ground, tracing a finger over the small green buds.
Then we stand.
“Keep going?” Ruby asks.
A wave of dizziness washes over me. I forgot to eat, and I can feel the prenatal vitamin sitting in my stomach like a brick. Still, I force a smile and say, “Sure.”
“You run the social media at the ranch?” I ask as we continue our walk.
She nods, glancing down to study my belly. “For now. I want to open a flower shop on Main Street.”
I can’t hide my surprise. “In Resurrection?”
“There’s a shop across from the antique store,” she says. “It would be perfect.” She gives a little shrug. “Charlie and I are just waiting.”
“For what?”
“For my heart. I have a heart condition. But I had a surgery last year that’s helped a lot. Now we have the ranch and…” Her light blue eyes fall to my belly, a sadness dimming them. “And other stuff to deal with.”
Silence as we walk.
“You own a bakery.”
I shake my head. My heart hammers. “Used to.”
Every award I earned for Milk & Honey pops into my head. Pastry Chef of the Year. Best New Bakery in DC—twice over. My creations pushed the envelope, and I was the best in the business.
But I don’t say any of that.
We continue walking, our breath puffing white as we pass the lodge. We circle behind it and come to a thick grove of fir trees bordering the national forest. It’s like a protective barricade around the ranch. A solid iron fortress of frozen wild.
My breath catches. “It’s beautiful.”
“It is.” Ruby smiles brightly and spreads her arms. “It’s a woodsy witch winter.”
A laugh bursts out of my mouth, surprising me. “Followed by cynical spring and sad girl summer.”
We share another laugh, and the smile that curls my lips, along with the warm rumble in my chest, is a strange but not unpleasant sensation.
A sharp bark cuts the serenity of the morning, and we look over.
Davis is tossing Keena a ball, his flannel shirt jacket pushed up to his rippling forearms.
He gives me a nod.
A nod so perfectly platonic I want to scream.
I squeeze my eyes shut. Exhale. Open them.
As I stare into the desolate forest, the hair on the back of my neck stands up.
Aiden.
He could be anywhere.
Fear crawls up my spine. What would he do if he learned about the baby?
I shiver.
He’d kill me.
He’d kill us.
That’s when I see the wolf.
The animal darts between the trees. A flick of a white-tipped tail, the snuffle of a gray snout.
Ruby gasps, gripping my hand in hers.
I’ve never seen one up close before. My father used to tell me stories about wolves.
Folklore that he learned from a Cheyenne chief when he lived in Wyoming in his twenties.
The duality of their meanings always stayed with me.
A symbol of destruction and death? A primal reminder of our wild? Or a powerful guiding force?
The wolf strides closer. Five feet away.
I tense and watch. Searching for food, she weaves her way between two downed logs, cunningly avoiding the trap that’s been laid out.
My heart hammers in my chest.
She’s frolicking. Free. Brave.
My eyes flood.
Everything I’m not.
Blinking back tears, I stare up at the vastness of the gray Montana sky. Overwhelming hopelessness creeps over me. I try to suck in air, but I can’t.
Oh god. My lungs are swampy. Like there’s too much oxygen. Like there’s not enough.
The world spins. Tunnels.