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Rope the moon. My mother’s words blaze a trail to my heart. She never explained what it meant, but I’ve always interpreted it as go after what you want. Make it yours through grit, grace, or gumption.
“You came,” she says, sighing into my chest. “You called.” I exhale, tension leaving my body as I wrap my arms around her.
In the fluorescent light of the motel, I see a bruised cheekbone. Black eye. A busted lip. Rage courses through me, swift, blinding. “Who did this, Dakota?” I demand, fighting to keep my voice controlled even as my breath comes out in ragged pants. “Who. The fuck. Did this?” Her eyes flutter closed. “Davis, don’t—” “Cupcake, I’m gonna need you to shut that pretty mouth and let me hold you.”
Davis Montgomery is as rugged as the leather jacket he wears. Sculpted muscle. Broad shoulders. Tan as buckskin. Close-cropped brown hair. The light scruff on his face frames a strong jaw. Stern brown eyes with crinkles at the corner that exude an intense, ferocious energy. And that soft, southern drawl. Whiskey, honey, and a late-night lullaby all rolled into one handsome country boy.
“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.”
“You and that baby—I’m going to spoil you fucking senseless. Love you both so damn hard. Protect you until the end of my goddamn days. I swear to God.”
“We ain’t cowboys if we’re not on our knees in front of a good woman.”
