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Dakota’s cloudy eyes clear. I press her back against the side of the lodge and hook my finger through her dress strap. A fire builds between us.
“Since we got a babysitter, think it’s time we go back to sneakin’ around.”
A magnificent smile stretches across her face. “Oh, you do, do you?”
I’m already leaning in. I need that full mouth on mine. Need her against me. “I do.”
I clasp her neck and bring her in for a kiss.
We pull back, panting, and I keep her against me. I don’t dare let her go.
A warmth spreads in my chest, behind my eyes. “I love you, Koty,” I rasp out, my voice thick with emotion.
Dakota lets out a sigh of contentment. “Thank you.” She tilts her face to look up at me. “You changed my heart, my last name, my entire world, Davis.
“Every day,” I promise. “Every day, I will change your life.”
Years ago, when Dakota left Resurrection, she left me dreaming of the day she would be back in my arms. And here sheis. So much joy I never thought I deserved. But now, I know I do. My wife. Our son. Our life.
Our home on Runaway Ranch.
SOME YEARS LATER
“Like this?”
“Perfect,” I say and step aside to watch Duke roll the rolling pin over the dough. I smile and note the cute quirk of his tongue. Solemn, quiet intensity is my seven-year-old son.
Duke frowns as the rolling pin sticks to the dough. “Shoot.”
I dip my hand in the silky flour and dust some over the surface. “There. Try that.”
“Okay.”
This is our Friday after-school tradition. The scent of freshly baked bread. The set of the coral sun. The plumes of flour cascading in the air.
Just us, prepping at the bakery for the weekend. And we always get in a game of Cowgirl Coven. I moved in the pinball machine not long after we opened. I want my son to love what I love. Even if it doesn’t last, some part of him will always know what makes his mother tick.
I ruffle his dark, fluffy hair. “What kind of pie are we making today?”
He wrinkles his nose. “Peach.”
“Good choice.”
After smacking a kiss on the side of his head, I leave him to it and disappear into the front. With a sigh, I run my eyes over my dreamy little world.
The Huckleberry. My bakery, adorned in hues of lilac and lavender. The bakery has been open for almost six years and is beloved by locals and food critics alike. After a write-up inFood & Wine, it’s been an extreme sport to keep up with the demand of tourists.
Cowboy Cupcakes. Ruby’s Bucket List Carrot Cake. And, of course, my iconic huckleberry and lemon cinnamon rolls.
The chimes above the door jingle. I smile at the familiar stomping stride and the sound of little feet.
“Mama!”
I swipe my five-year-old, Lainie, up in my arms. “Hey, dirty girl.” I dab at the mud on her cheek. There’s grass in her wild chocolate-brown curls. “What happened to you?”
My husband stands there grinning. He never fails to set my heart aflame. He wears his Warrior Heart Home T-shirt. The ranch has taken up even more of Davis’s time. Two years after I had Duke, it became an official sanctuary for dogs. And it’s grown bigger than it’s ever been, which means we’ve hired instructors and military veterans to train the dogs. Each dog finds their forever home, thanks to Davis. Though Keena’s old and grouchy, she’s still our best girl at the Warrior Heart home.
Lainie’s chocolate-brown eyes sparkle. “Uncle Ford took me down into the canyon.” She lifts and waves her dirty fingers. “You know, the one with the skeletons.”
