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Best friends in grade school, bitter rivals in high school. We fought over head cheerleader, prom queen, and Sam Bailey. I came out on top. But from the delighted look on Sheena’s face, not anymore.
“How’s that big fancy job of yours?” Sheena sneers, waving her blood-red nails in the air. Her black hair, once a long tumble of curls, is cut into a shaggy bob, and she has too much makeup on her angular face. She’s a forever buckle bunny chasing cowboys, getting her entire personality from a rattlesnake.
Humiliation flames over my cheeks. “I’m home. You can probably figure that out for yourself.”
“Restaurant didn’t work out, huh?” Sheena’s lip curls. “And now the golden girl’s back. Knocked up. Without a man. Never thought I’d see the day.”
She gives me a long, satisfied look and I flinch.
My heart twists and I cover my belly protectively. My baby doesn’t deserve this.
She makes a sour face. “Thought you’d do things differently, didn’t you? Thought you were so great, and now, look who’s come crawling back.”
“You’re in the big leagues of petty, Sheena,” I say, feeling sad and exhausted. I glance at the end of the aisle, and Davis is nowhere to be seen. Great. Now I have to extricate myself from Sheena’s claws.
“Get on the bench, baby.” Sheena advances. “Everyone’s talking.”
A flicker of the old Dakota McGraw rises in me. A memory surfaces of me knocking her on her ass in eighth grade for calling Fallon “trailer park pretty.” You can take the girl out of Montana, but you can’t take Montana out of the girl.
Head high, Koty. Rope that fucking moon.
I lift my chin, ball a fist. “I’d rather be talked about than be the miserable bitch doing the talking.”
“But talking’s fun. So, who’s the father, Dakota? We’re all curious.”
The question stops me cold.
“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.
