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I told myself she needed it, when I was the one who fucking craved it. And now, I don’t know what the hell we are. We’re a bad idea, a second chance, all rolled up into what-the-fuck-are-we-doing?
She’s living on my ranch, but for how long? Any talk of her moving out leaves me with a hollow ache in my chest.
And yet, I have no rights to her. Dakota needs to heal, not jump into a relationship. All I can offer her and her baby is protection.
Because that baby changes everything.
A chime on her phone has Dakota glancing down. “Oh.” Her mouth pulls up in a slow smile.
“What is it?”
“I’m twenty-one weeks today,” she says, slightly breathless as she scrolls through her screen. “I downloaded an app. It’s all about babies. Today, he–or–she’s the size of a—”
“Carrot.”
“What?”
Shit.
I scrub my hand over my face. Try to turn away. “Nothing.”
She gasps and grabs my shoulder, yanking me back toward her. Her dark eyes contain sheer joy. Disbelief. “Davis Montgomery, are you checking up on me?”
“Have to, Cupcake.” I stop fighting it and run my hands over her shoulders, into all the silky dark hair. “Comes with the job description.”
“Oh, it does, does it?” There’s a playful lilt to her voice. “And what all does that entail?”
I grunt. “Confidential information.”
Dakota smiles and leans in for a kiss. Every nerve ending jerks to attention. With a growl, I haul her against me, giving in to the shadows that swim inside my chest.
Touching her is happening now. No way to deny it—I can’t keep my hands off her.
Fuck. I already know I won’t survive this. But I haven’t survived the last six years without her, so I’ll call it a draw.
“We’re onsite at that 315. Looks like the vehicle skidded off the road while heading north.”The dispatch radio crackles.“Cab has gone over Dead Fred’s Curve. We’re waiting for an ambulance. One adult male and one adult female. Vehicle’s plates are BVD425.”
I freeze, recognizing the plate number. Fear lodges itself into my gut. “Fuck.”
A worry line appears on Dakota’s brow. “Davis? What’s wrong?”
My heart thumps, but my voice is steady. “That’s Charlie’s truck.”
I rush across the office and rip my keys off the table.
Dakota hurries after me. “I’m going with you.”
Dread curls in my stomach as I round the bend to see Charlie’s pickup truck hanging over the edge of Dead Fred’s Curve. Smoke rises from its hood. The left fender crumpled like a tin can.
Dakota gasps. “Oh my god.”
With my knuckles wrapped white on the wheel, I do a quick sweep of the scene. Richter, arms crossed over his chest, speaks with another cop. Charlie and Ruby sit in the back of theambulance. A blanket is wrapped over Ruby’s shoulders, her face turned toward Charlie.
“It’ll be okay,” Dakota says, laying a hand on my arm.
My heart races. I pull over onto the side of the road, cut the engine, and hop out.
Richter turns when he sees me coming, sticking an arm out to bar me from the scene. “This isn’t for you, Montgomery.”
