26
T onight wasn’t just a date.
We’ve flirted, traded trust, confessed secrets. I’ve already said more than I should have with Dakota’s interrogations. But the woman’s a beautiful addiction. A vice.
There’s no more hiding us. After tonight, the entire town knows she’s mine and mine alone.
I meant what I said too.
I’m not wasting another minute. I wasted the last six years. It’s a miracle she’s back in my life.
I won’t lose her again.
I scan my eyes around the arcade, check the time on my watch. The bright dings and pings of the pinball machine don’t compute with the darkness clouding my head.
Something’s wrong.
She’s been gone too long. Fuck. It’s my job to stay close. What if she slipped out? What if he got to her?
My fingers tighten around my beer bottle.
Get it together, Montgomery. Her ex didn’t shimmy down the drainpipe and crawl in through the window.
What if he did, though?
Fuck it.
Dakota can call me overprotective all she wants, but I won’t apologize for keeping her safe.
Hand on my holster, I slip off the stool.
I’m halfway across the floor when my phone vibrates.
The tracker.
Fuck.
Heart in my throat, I bolt across the arcade toward the bathroom.
I slam into the women’s restroom, scanning the space. Only one stall door is closed.
I step up, muscles coiled with tension. “Cupcake, you okay? You in here?”
The toilet flushes, and her hollow voice sounds from the stall. “Davis.”
The edge in her voice sends all my senses snapping into high alert. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
“Everything,” she whispers breathlessly. “I’m bleeding.”
The air’s sucked from my lungs. “What?”
The baby. The thought’s a rock in my throat.
The stall door opens, and Dakota, pale and trembling, emerges. She squeezes her eyes shut, sliding one hand down to cup her belly. “I’m having a miscarriage. I know it.”
My chest goes cold as fear bubbles up inside of me.
“Don’t say that,” I tell her.
She stares at me with pleading eyes, shimmering with heartache. “What do we do?”
On instinct, I pick her up in my arms and fight the urge to panic as I rush her to my truck.
Death. It’s been my one constant shadow.
On the ranch, in the military, it’s a part of life. I’ve walked the fine line that comes with the shadowy part of my past. Faced it down when Sully was killed, when I was shot, when my brother lost his mind.
And I fixed all that. I survived.
But this…
This I can’t fix.
Utterly fucking helpless.
I pace the small, sterile room, then go to the back of Dakota’s table to help her into the thin paper-like gown. It’s not the first appointment I’ve been to, but it’s the first time I’ve been inside the room with Dakota. My gut clenches when I see the blood on her balled-up jeans.
“I don’t want to lose my baby,” she says as I help her lie down. Her eyes are wide and bright with tears.
“You won’t,” I rasp. I lean in close, resting a hand on the hard ball of her belly. Hoping to feel the reassuring thump of Squish, but there’s nothing.
Dakota sniffles. “This is my fault. I didn’t want the baby in the first place and now…” A shudder wracks her body. “Now it’ll be taken away from me.”
“Stop,” I demand. “Don’t say that. Don’t think that way.”
My heart’s in my goddamn stomach. I’m just as afraid as she is. I want this baby as much as she does. I want it for Dakota.
For us.
Christ, it’s like the rational part of my brain has turned off. Instead of feeling a duty to keep my hands off her, my heart out of it, it’s been replaced by a duty to step up.
I love this woman, which means I love her child.
It’s as simple as that.
“You bought the pinball machine.” Dakota’s soft voice tears me from my thoughts. She gives me a teary smile. “Gus said you bought Cowgirl Coven .”
I slip my hand around hers. Not long after she left Resurrection, I purchased the machine. The thought of it disappearing like Dakota did left me with an ache in my soul. “It’s my favorite piece of memory in this town. Because it reminds me of you.”
Her laugh is husky, sad. “Thank you. It means so much, Davis.”
She reaches for me, but as she does, she hisses a breath and grips her stomach. Worry flashes over her face.
“Where’s that damn doctor?” I growl, on the verge of storming back into the waiting room and demanding someone get the fuck here now. But I don’t need to. The door opens and inside steps a woman with long silver hair.
“Hi, Dakota.”
Dakota sits up on her elbows. A stream of tears streak down her face. “Hi, Dr. Winfrey.”
“I’d say it’s good to see you, but the circumstances aren’t ideal, are they?” Her gaze flicks to me. “This must be the father.”
“Yes,” I say.
Dakota goes still, turning her face up to meet my eyes. I keep my hand in hers, keep my eyes on the doctor.
“I understand you’re having some bleeding,” Dr. Winfrey says as she washes her hands. “Tell me about it.”
“We were out tonight and when I used the bathroom…” A tremble wracks her. “There was blood. Not a lot, but it was dark red. That’s bad, isn’t it?”
“Any abdominal pain, cramping, fever, chills, or contractions?”
She winces. Fresh tears fill her eyes. “A small cramp. Earlier tonight.”
Please, Christ, let something go right in her fucking life. Let her have something good.
After running a series of tests, Dr. Winfrey snaps on a monitor and wheels it close to the bed. Within minutes, she has a glob of goo squirted on Dakota’s belly and a wand in her hand. “Let’s have a look at that gorgeous baby.”
Dakota grips my fingers tight, like it’s her only lifeline. Her breathing grows choppy, and I stroke a hand over her hair. “Breathe, Koty.”
My heart rate doubles, watching as the doctor slides the wand around. My shoulder muscles are knit so tightly it’ll take a week on the bag to get the tension out.
Then the room’s filled with what sounds like the hooves of a stallion on Montana earth.
“The heartbeat,” Dr. Winfrey explains.
The screen fills with the shape of a baby, and I suck in a breath and stare, feeling like I’ve been sucker punched.
A sob escapes Dakota.
“Found you, sweet pea,” Dr. Winfrey announces.
The shape moves. A little squirm that has me chuckling.
“Oh my god,” Dakota gasps. She lifts her chin to get a better look. “Is it—is the baby okay?”
I frown when there’s no answer.
“Tell us,” I demand harshly.
“I don’t see any placental abruption or premature labor.” Doctor Winfrey squints at the screen. “A small amount of spotting is normal duringthe second trimester. Having sex or even vigorous physical activity can cause it.”
Dakota tugs on my arm. “Davis, this morning.”
Fuck.
I drag a hand down my face, remembering Dakota’s hands gripping the headboard this morning, magnificent ass arched, as I slipped inside her and pumped until we both came hard.
Guilt winds up in my chest. If it’s my fault, I’ll never forgive myself.
Doctor Winfrey chuckles. “Rest assured, sex is normal, Davis. Especially when pregnant. It makes the world go round, you know.”
“Christ.” A relieved breath shakes out of me. I grin down at Dakota. “Never touchin’ you again, Cupcake.”
She laughs. “Don’t you dare.” Eyes fastened on the monitor, Dakota asks, “So…the baby’s okay?”
Doctor Winfrey looks at me, then back at the screen. “Everything looks fine, but I’d like to keep Dakota overnight just to be safe.”
Dakota thins her lips. I intercept before she can argue her way out of it. “That’s a good idea,” I tell the doctor, shooting Dakota a warning look.
Bossy , she mouths.
I give her a quick kiss. “Get used to it.”
Dr. Winfrey snaps off the monitor. “And that’s my cue.”
“Wait!” Dakota says when Dr. Winfrey rises to go. “I want to know…” Tears leak from her eyes. “I want to know the sex.”
Dr. Winfrey pauses, smiles. “The two of you have a healthy baby boy.”
Dakota chokes out a sob. Her fingertips go to her mouth.
A boy.
A son.
I clear my throat of emotion. “Thank you.”
“Sit tight,” Winfrey says. “I’ll get you admitted and then be back.”
Dr. Winfrey exits the room.
I sink beside Dakota, take her hand. “Thought you didn’t want to know.”
“I didn’t, but…” She sits up on her elbows. “I didn’t want to be attached, but I do now.” Her lower lip trembles, juts out in that defiant stubbornness I love. “At first, I didn’t think I could do it, but I can. And I want the chance. I want this baby.”
“You have him.” I squeeze her fingers. “Your son.”
Fire lights up her eyes. “I don’t want to feel bad about my past. Blame myself or my baby. I want to move on. Live. Be happy.” She laughs, cradling her belly with both hands. “I want him so much, Davis.”
I clear my throat. Shift my weight. There’s no stopping it. Won’t talk myself down. Not anymore.
“You asked me back in the arcade what I wanted in life.” I look into her eyes. “And I never got to give you an answer.”
Her eyes widen.
I trace a line over the high arch of her cheekbone, and say, “This is what I want.” I drop my hand. “And this.” I cup her belly.
Tears fill her eyes. “I can’t ask you to do that, Davis.”
“Do what?”
She wraps her arms tight around herself. “Saddle you with another man’s child.”
“Saddle me.” It comes out gruff. Resolute.
She blinks. “What?”
“Cupcake, I want you.” I lean in, meeting her eyes. “That means I take him, too.”
Her chin quivers and I rub my jaw, smothering a grin. By now I’m used to my girl crying. Goddamn adorable, is what it is.
“Are you sure?” She sounds breathless.
I drop a kiss to her mouth. “So damn sure.”