Page 22 of The Runaway and the Rugged (Dusty Meadows #1)

GARTH

S eeing her in my clothes stirred something dangerous to my ego.

She looked good in an almost too good to be true kind of way. I thought she was breathtaking yesterday, all done up and in a dress, but this morning—nothing would ever top that. Bare face, messy hair all over the place, she looked more real today.

More attainable. Seeing her in my sleep tee and pants only kick-started a rush of desire I found impossible to ignore. It’d been too long since anyone’s evoked those types of feelings inside me and for a split second, I embraced it, soaking it in until I realized how wrong it was.

Last thing I needed was for Grace to catch on to the more-than-obvious attraction I had for our guest and spark her mind with unspoken assumptions and ideas.

She was a girl blessed with a vivid, wild imagination and I wouldn’t be the least bit shocked if she already had a hopeful vision in her head that something would develop between Emelia and me.

She was nearly a teenage girl, with I’m sure her own notions and ideas on the topic of love, as much I loathed to admit it.

She wasn’t dumb.

She wasn’t oblivious.

I hadn’t reacted this way toward a woman in damn near forever, and certainly not in front of my daughter.

Her casual smirks in my direction on the way back to the house were an indicator of how not-so-subtle I was.

Almost in a teasing manner. Now at the house with Grace and Emelia trailing just a short distance behind me, I could hear the quiet back and forth whispers from the two of them.

What was being said? I had no clue and I wasn’t sure if I wanted to know.

“Gram makes the best breakfasts,” Grace announced loud enough to hear, her tone taking on a more joyful lilt as we entered the kitchen. Her grandma, my mom, was busy cutting up a fresh cantaloupe when her gaze lifted and landed on me.

“Oh good, you found the little troublemaker,” she teased, shaking the knife in the direction of Grace who skipped over to the stool directly across from her.

She had her grandmother wrapped around her finger as much as she did me, the only difference was she cared more about her opinion than she did mine.

“I am no such thing,” she said, laying a hand over her chest as if wounded. “In fact, if Dad wasn’t so overprotective, I might not feel the need to be so curious.”

Walking over to the fresh pot of coffee, I threw a look over my shoulder at Grace.

“Hey now, I don’t think he’s asking too much to know where you’re at. Twelve ain’t even close to eighteen, sweetheart.”

Damn right it ain’t.

With my back turned, reaching for two mugs, I could hear her groan in response. Clearly annoyed, but careful not to push her limits with her grandma.

After pouring the coffee into both mugs, I grabbed one and turned to find where Emelia was. Hiding at the entryway of the kitchen, her nervous eyes darted across the entirety of the kitchen before landing on me.

“Coffee?” I asked, drawing both Grace and Mom to snap their attention over to me. “No creamer, but we got milk and sugar.”

Her shoulders squared up at the newfound attention I had brought onto her.

“Uh, yes, black is fine, thank you.” She slowly tiptoed her way into the kitchen toward me, and already I could sense my mom was about to unload a barrage of questions onto our guest as her eyes widened on Emelia.

“Oh my!” Mom gasped as she lowered the knife onto the cutting board and wiped her hands clean on the apron around her waist. “Garth, where are your manners? You didn’t tell me we had a guest coming—” She paused, eyeing me with an exasperated stare. “Where is your shirt?”

Grace chuckled while I rolled my eyes.

“Mom, this is Emelia,” I introduced as Emelia closed the gap between us and hesitantly grabbed the coffee from my hand. “The one I told you about yesterday.”

She was busy watching Emelia with immense interest, smiling ear to ear at the woman standing beside me. There was no doubt she caught on to just how beautiful she was, and as a few short moments passed, a flicker of awareness flashed in her eyes.

She recognized Emelia was wearing my clothes.

Fuck.

How did I explain that?

“Emelia, this is my mom.” I coughed into my palm, before taking a much-needed sip of coffee.

“Lovely to meet you,” Emelia greeted, her voice still a bit raspy from yesterday, but pleasant nonetheless. “Thank you for letting me stay here last night. If it weren’t for your son and daughter being so accommodating and understanding, I don’t know what I would have done.”

“Good to hear that the compassionate Calhoun trait still runs thick in their veins.” She stepped forward, extending her arms out as if Emelia was some long-lost friend who would embrace her.

My mom was a people person. Whoever she met, she instantly connected with, making a point to forge a genuine bond with them despite who they were.

And right now, Emelia was on her radar. Bright, friendly smile and a hopeful gleam in her gaze that resembled Grace’s, I knew there was no way she’d let her leave without a memorable introduction.

From the corner of my eye, I could see the hesitation in Emelia’s posture, but once my mom had closed the distance between them, Emelia slowly relaxed and fell into the hug.

“Call me Winnie.” My mom spoke close to her ear before pulling away. “I was wondering if I was going to get the chance to meet you. I’m happy Garth was able to get you to come for breakfast.”

“She’s beautiful!” she mouthed over Emelia’s shoulder, as I shook my head on a grunt.

Here we go.

“Well, it all looks great,” Emelia complimented as they slowly pulled away from their embrace. “I can’t remember the last time I had a breakfast like this.”

I wasn’t sure if she was lying to make my mom feel good, or if she was telling the truth. I would've thought her ex was the kind of man who insisted on having a full spread of food at every meal, but by the wholesome gleam in her eye, it became obvious she was being truthful.

“Help yourself, darlin’! I’m sure you’re starved.”

Emelia nodded graciously, but remained hesitant on where to start. Grace, of course, already had her plate stacked high with an empty plate in the other hand waving in the direction of Emelia.

“Got you a plate!” Grace offered as I nudged Emelia to go ahead.

“Go on, Outlaw,” I whispered low enough so no one besides the two of us heard it. I didn’t need their reactions or unnecessary commentary on the harmless nickname I had given her.

Emelia reluctantly shifted toward my daughter and grabbed the plate from her hand.

Grace began telling her what to try and how everything was uniquely made, while I lingered in the back, intrigued by my daughter interacting with her.

It wasn’t every day I was able to witness something like this.

The brightness that was lifted onto Grace’s face by someone other than her family.

As much as I knew I shouldn’t enjoy this, I couldn’t help but do so. Even if it was just a moment of filling their breakfast plates.

“Make sure you try some of those biscuits and gravy,” my mom added as she went back to cutting the cantaloupe. “And dammit, Garth, go upstairs and put a shirt on. We have a guest dining with us.”

A grunt rumbled its way up my throat as Grace turned her head to stick her tongue out at me.

Little shit.

“Oh, it’s okay, he’s fine. I don’t feel… uncomfortable or anything. It’s nothing—nothing I haven’t seen before,” Emelia rambled, causing my eyebrow to damn near hit the ceiling from how high it lifted.

Nothing she hasn’t seen before?

Why did I suddenly want her eyes to get another good long look at me to change that statement?

“Besides, as much as I would love to stay, my friend is currently sleeping in the cabin and I should really be there when she wakes up.”

Grace pouted.

“Why don’t you just wake her up and she can eat breakfast with us?” Grace suggested, clearly already attached to Emelia’s presence and trying to come up with anything to make her stay a little longer.

“She’s not exactly a morning person, if you know what I mean.”

Grace laughed.

“Aunt Greta and Uncle Griff aren’t morning people either. The best way to wake ’em up early in the morning is by telling them that one is looking for the other.”

Folding my arms across my chest, I leaned my shoulder against the wall beside me.

“That was you all this time?” I questioned my shit disturber of a daughter, wondering why I never put two and two together as to why Greta and Griff would every now and then wake up arguing.

They’d come storming into my house, blaming it all on me when in reality it was the little girl.

“Gracelyn Marie Calhoun, now why in God’s name would you do that? You know those two are fire and kerosine.”

“Because it was something fun to do and since they were already up, they’d take me places.” Grace shrugged as I gave her a flat-eyed stare. “It wasn’t like I did it every day.”

No wonder they could barely stand each other. It was partly due to their damn niece.

Suddenly, a low groan, followed by the sound of slippers slapping against the wood floor, carried into the kitchen.

“Please tell me Garth didn’t eat all the bacon.”

Speak of the devil. Greta strolled in yawning, her hair piled high onto the top of her head as she headed straight for the breakfast spread.

“You’re lucky I ain’t hungry,” I teased as her sleepy eyes formed into a heated glare. Instead of responding, she walked over to Grace and planted a kiss onto the top of her head.

“Mornin’, trouble,” she mumbled.

“Morning, Aunt Greta, look who’s joined us for breakfast.”

Greta shifted her stare around the other side of Grace and a wide smile lifted her lips.

“Oh good, you’re here! I was planning to check on you after I ate, but it looks like Garth beat me to it.” The corner of her mouth curled, making it impossible to ignore the reaction from Emelia.

Red face and quiet cough.

Dammit, Greta, shut the hell up.

“How’d you sleep? Good, I hope?”