Page 10 of The Runaway and the Rugged (Dusty Meadows #1)

Why did I suddenly feel like shit now? It wasn’t like I was connected to her in any way or seriously cared about what she thought of me. I had the right to be pissed off. I had the right to scold her any way I fuckin’ pleased, but something a lot like guilt began to wash over my conscience.

Then on a long, drawn-out sigh that rumbled through my chest, I swiftly dismounted from Ella. I could feel her stare on my form.

Watching intently.

Likely preparing for another round of criticizing. I couldn’t blame her, though. She didn’t know who I was, or the fact that ever since we've met, I haven’t been the most hospitable.

I closed the remaining distance between us, my boots just shy of her bare feet that were resting on a dry patch of dirt. Her toes curled inward, sending my gaze upward.

Fuck, she was beautiful.

No wonder her fiancé was losing his shit. With one look I was completely spellbound. Mouth dry and everything. Her piercing olive eyes down to the smattering of freckles that dusted across cheeks.

“Come on, Outlaw.” I stuck out my palm, hoping she’d see this as some sort of truce.

A flicker of fire danced in her eyes as she narrowed them at my outstretched hand and looked over my shoulder at Ella.

“You want me to…” Apprehension lined her words, causing the corner of my mouth to lift. Her throat bobbed with uncertainty as her eyes scanned over Ella.

To someone who had never been around a horse, I could see her as looking intimidating. She was damn near the same size as some of our males—broad shoulders, meaty legs—but despite her size, she was the most gentle horse on Hideaway Haven Ranch.

“Sit on the back of Ella? How else do you plan on getting back to your wedding? Surely you don’t think I’m going to let you walk.” I let my hand fall to my side.

Her stare snapped back over to mine, packing one hell of a punch to my gut as they collided head-on. So much uncertainty filled those staggering eyes that if I were a better man, I’d lift her from that rock and ask her what this was all really about.

She didn’t need to walk over a mile to catch a breather. This was somethin’ else entirely. Somethin’ a man like me had no business getting in the middle of and yet, here I was.

Wondering.

“Ella? That’s her name?” She glanced back over at Ella, skepticism still blatant in her expression, but there was also a trace of softness lifting on her eyes.

“Wanted to name her something different, but my daughter wasn’t havin’ it.”

She glanced down at my left hand before quickly catching herself. Clearing her throat, she sat taller, sending my wandering eyes down the valley of her chest.

Shit.

She was in a wedding dress, for fuck’s sake. One that you had no business imagining what laid beneath it.

“A daughter, huh?” She seemed shocked by that sliver of information. “So, you must be the infamous Garth then?”

Shifting on my boots, I tipped my hat on a scoff.

“The one and only. I’m guessin’ Greta told you all about us?”

Greta sure had a big mouth, so there was no tellin’ what she already knew about me. But gauging by her impassive expression, nothing too in depth.

“No, she didn’t talk too much about herself or your family. She just mentioned having two brothers, and I assumed… you were the other one.”

I cocked an eyebrow in her direction.

“You assumed I was Griff? Why?”

She shifted around like she was uncomfortable by my question. Even her creamy cheeks turned a pretty shade of pink.

“I… I just assumed when she said one of her brothers had grumpy tendencies and preferred animals over people…”

“You thought that was me,” I added.

She glanced at me, obvious unease in every movement and expression on her face.

“Can you blame me? You aren’t exactly being the sweet, caring Garth she made you out to be.”

Sweet? Caring?

I wouldn’t exactly say I was any of those things, but after having Grace, I discovered a whole other, softer side of me that I never knew I had.

“I almost had a dead bride on my ranch, forgive me for not bein’ the pleasant brother that Greta told you I was.”

Her eyes widened.

I may have exaggerated the dead bride part, but it was the only way I could make her see it from my perspective. For a city girl like her who knew nothing about the possible dangers on a ranch, it was my job to tell her.

“Far from pleasant.” She nailed me with a scowl before turning her head to the side and crossing her arms around her waist.

Great, I’d pissed her off even more and now I had to find a way to get her on the back of Ella. I wasn’t normally this irritable, but there was somethin’ about her that was triggering my bad mood.

“You’re right.” I let out a heavy sigh, hoping she’d recognize the sincereness in my tone. “I’m not normally this…”

“Rude? Out of line? Unpleasant?” she finished for me, her glowering eyes now pinned directly at me.

My pulse quickened.

I couldn’t decide whether to be offended or amused.

With my jaw clenched tight, the muscles in my mouth struggled to prevent an involuntary grin from forming. In a quick attempt to hide it, I lifted my hand and used the pad of my fingers to rub along my mouth.

“Sounds about right,” I admitted, “but if you were to ask my twelve-year-old, she’d also add overbearing to the list.”

“Well, it’s nice to hear that I’m not the only one who has felt your intense approach to things,” she grumbled, but there was a lightness in her tone that settled some of the tension lingering in the air. “Though, I’m sure you’re much more… protective of her.”

“Being overprotective runs through my veins, Outlaw. Hence why I reacted the way I did when I found you.”

Her eyes shot over to mine.

“Are you protective of all the women you meet?” Her copper brow lifted high.

“Only the ones I find wandering our trails on their wedding day.”

She flinched at the mention of her wedding day. It was so subtle, I nearly missed it, but there was no mistaking the questionable reaction my statement gave her.

Was it persisting nerves that made her wince?

Whatever it was caused her to go quiet. It made my stomach twist and oddly enough, bothered the hell out of me. I wasn’t an expert by any means at consoling someone, but all I could think about doing was exactly that.

Who wouldn’t want to be this woman’s hero? Even I wanted to jump at the opportunity, as ridiculous as it sounded.

Then swiftly shaking off those thoughts, I gradually lowered my knees until I was at eye level with her. She watched me intently, noticeably taken aback by our close proximity, my outstretched hand pointed in her direction.

“What do you say we forget about the last five minutes and start over, yeah?”

With a furrowed brow, she eyed my palm warily. Very fiercely, if I do say so myself, as if deliberating with herself whether she wanted to trust me. She didn’t have much of an option at this point, but luckily, it didn’t take long before I noticed the arms around her waist loosening.

It sent my heart into a slow frenzy.

Then ever so slowly, as her arms fell from the comfort of her middle, she placed her hand in mine. Soft, utter perfection was all I felt against my rough, calloused skin. A feeling I had long forgotten over the years until now.

“I suppose I can do that.” Though her tone lacked the confidence and spunk from earlier, it was clear in her firm grip on my hand that she was someone fearless.

“Glad to hear that, Outlaw.” I smiled teasingly. “Garth Calhoun, co-owner of Hideaway Haven and father to a rebellious twelve-year-old daughter.”

The corner of her mouth lifted into a grin.

“Emelia Quinn,” she spoke, her voice lighter and less apprehensive.

Emelia.

“It’s nice to officially meet you, Emelia.”

With her palm still locked with mine.

“Now what do you say we get you back to your wedding? Got a few people worried about you, my sister included.”

Her body went eerily stiff.

I don’t mention her fiancé, knowin’ that would cause another layer of worry.

“I…” She trailed off, her eyes going glossy. “I can’t,” she whispered, her voice trembling and shaky as if it took all her strength to get those words out. Her head plunged downward, and all the stunning curls concealed her face, it was hard to make out exactly what the hell was going on.

“You can’t what?”

It was obvious from the soft sounds of weeping and sniffling that she was upset and crying. It wasn’t a good fuckin’ sign at all. The only tears a bride-to-be should cry are those of joy, but this was anything but. These were of sadness, uncertainty, and dare I say vulnerability.

I didn’t like it. Not because it made me uncomfortable but because it made my chest feel funny— like a flutter or tightness I couldn’t explain.

“I can’t do it. I can’t go back.” She lifted her head, revealing a fountain of tears streaming down the apples of her cheeks.

Her admission seemed to have shocked herself more than it did me as her palm had fallen onto her chest, directly over her heart.

“I can’t go back, Garth,” she repeated, this time throwing in my name.

I stared at her long and hard. Searching for more. Searching for anything. Then finally, as if all her resolve crumbled around her, a sharp gasp tore through the air. “I can’t marry him.”

Fuck.