Page 33 of The Runaway and the Rugged (Dusty Meadows #1)

EMELIA

G arth and I were back on speaking terms. He ended up carrying me into bed the other night after picking me up from the gas station. He tucked me in, and woke me up to a sweet, short apology, but it was nothing like the other one he gave me when he thought I was asleep.

It was an apology that was never meant to be heard and I was okay with that.

Our relationship had returned to its normal, somewhat playful rhythm, but it was evident there was something missing. I just couldn't quite put my finger on it.

“You doin’ all right over there?” Garth called out to me from the other stall, his voice echoing over.

Stabbing the pitchfork down into the straw, I used the sleeve of my shirt to wipe the bead of my sweat off my forehead.

“Yeah, I’m almost finished,” I called back as a rush of adrenaline spiked through me at the thought of completing the task.

“Already?” he shouted, clearly shocked. “You got someone in there helpin’ you?”

I chuckled.

“Am I faster at scooping up horse shit than you are, cowboy?”

He snorted out loud.

“Must be, Outlaw,” he stated. “I’ll gladly give you that title.”

“Without a doubt, the fastest damn mucker in all of Texas, wouldn’t you agree?” I attempted a Southern accent, butchering it completely, when a burst of laughter erupted from Garth’s stall.

“I’ll agree that your Southern accent needs a lot of work,” he teased.

With one final scoop, I scanned the stall one last time before stepping out into the hall of the stable and sauntered down to where Garth was.

“Hey, slowpoke, you almost…” The words died on my tongue the moment my eyes landed on his bare, muscled torso. Muscles flexing with each jab of the shovel, my mouth fought to stay open.

Holy, fuck.

Luckily he hadn’t noticed me eye fucking the hell out of him, and I was able to get a few more seconds of admiring and drooling in before he turned and caught me standing in the doorway.

“Finished,” he grumbled, stalking past me to go hang up the shovel.

I was still recovering from the sight of him shirtless, and just when I thought I could keep my cool, he reappeared, this time with a backward ball cap on his head and a water bottle pressed to his mouth.

Throat exposed, my gaze traced a deliberate trail down his neck, lingering on the dark curls sprinkled on his chest, before sliding over the glistening dips and curves of his abdomen.

Garth Calhoun was all man.

Older, wiser, sexier, I couldn’t tear my eyes away even if I tried.

He finally pulled the water bottle from his mouth and held it out for me to take.

“Thirsty?”

Yes.

A million times yes.

With a hesitant hand, I grabbed the crinkling bottle and brought it up to my mouth.

He probably figured I’d hover it above my lips, wary of germs and all that, but I was feeling selfish.

I pressed it softly against my lower lip and tipped it back.

The water was cold, fresh, and had a faint trace of Garth on the rim.

And just as I had watched him, he did the same with me. Eyes locked passionately onto my throat, he dipped them down my body in a slow, meticulous manner. It was the first time he had done it so openly, so freely. It made my thighs twitch involuntarily.

As I went to lower the bottle, the familiar voice of Greta materialized from the doorway of the stable, cutting through whatever trance both Garth and I had been sucked into, eliminating the moment entirely.

“Garth, I need your… Oh!” She gasped openly, her stare falling on Garth and his chest, then over to me. “Didn’t mean to interrupt whatever’s goin’ on here.”

“You’re not!” I responded, and at the same time Garth said, “Nothin’s goin’ on.”

Great.

Now we sounded suspicious too.

“You’re not,” Garth clarified. “We just finished up. What do you need?”

Greta appeared flustered, her cheeks turning the same shade mine did whenever I was ready to sink into the floor.

“I… well, I needed to…” She paused, shaking her head with a furrowed brow. “Shit, I can’t remember what I came in here for.”

“Must not have been that important then,” Garth stated before walking over to the hook on the wall that held his shirt. One arm after the other, he pulled the green shirt over his head and down his torso.

“How’s ranch life been treatin’ you? Sorry I haven't been around to check on you. I’ve been swamped with scheduling everything for the ranch since no one else wants to deal with it.”

She was referring to her brothers.

“It’s okay, no worries. But it’s been good. Different, but so far I’m realizing it’s the change I needed,” I admitted, feeling Garth's gaze heavy on my back before it disappeared altogether.

“I’m glad you’re adjusting well. I’m sure it's a one-eighty from livin’ in New York, but I promise you, nothin’ beats this.”

More like I was living on a different planet, but I didn't say that. I simply nodded.

“And nothin’ beats chicken wing night at The Lonely Barrel.” She chuckled, then lifted her eyebrow in question. “You up for goin’ out tonight?”

“Chicken wing night?” Garth threw himself into our conversation. “Isn’t the only reason you go because it’s dollar draft beer night too?”

Greta perfected the perfect glare and it was aimed directly at her brother.

“No, that’s not the only reason I go, Garth.” She frowned. “Their chicken wings happen to be a way better deal and taste a helluva lot better too.”

“Right…” He stretched the word out. “So, you don’t plan on havin’ a dollar beer then?”

Greta shifted her stance, blowing out a short breath before responding.

“Maybe a few? Why the hell does it matter to you anyway?” She crossed her arms defensively as the scowl on her face deepened.

“Why’s it matter? ’Cause if Emelia ends up goin’ out with you tonight, I need to know you won’t be chuggin’ those cheap beers like you’re at some wild college party.”

Greta’s mouth dropped.

“Are you trying to make me look like some reckless party girl who doesn't know when to quit? I’ll have you know, I haven’t had more than three beers at The Lonely Barrel in a long damn time now.”

I shot a glance at Garth, whose expression hadn’t changed once.

“Thanks to Shane, you haven't."

Shane?

Who is Shane?

“Shane’s just about as bad as you are with bein’ overprotective. Besides, it’s not like I don’t know how to handle my beer.”

He scoffed.

“No? What about the time you started a wet shirt contest, without the shirts?”

A laugh worked its way up my throat, but I quickly suppressed it just in time.

“I already told you that I was dared to do that! And you know I can’t turn down a dare, especially when I’ve been drinkin’.”

He sent her a no-nonsense look, one similar to those he gave Grace.

“Can’t turn a dare down? How old are you? Twelve?” he scolded. “Come on now, Greta. Half of Dusty Meadows has had the pleasure of seein’ your damn tits.”

Greta’s face flashed bright red, but she refused to back down.

“Well, ain't they some lucky sons of bitches.” She exchanged her embarrassment for a wide, cunning grin and a light, airy chuckle. “Got a few compliments after too.”

I’m sure the last person who wanted to hear any of that was her older brother. Mouth twisted, head shaking, he walked in the direction of Ella’s stall, possibly in need of a good amount of space between them.

“It’s easy to get under his skin,” she mumbled through her laughter as my gaze followed his confident steps.

No longer shirtless, I refrained from ogling him and instead observed quietly as he gently caressed down the front of Ella’s muzzle.

“So, what do you say, want to have some real fun tonight?” she disrupted, a suggestive, knowing smile spreading across her face as if she were reading into how I viewed her brother.

I put in my best effort to come off as indifferent and casual, but it was obvious she was able to see right through me. I wasn’t subtle in my attraction toward Garth, but that’s all it was, attraction.

“Okay.” I nodded, thinking this might be exactly what I needed to distract me from the small, developing crush I had on Garth.

A night out, good food, and some fun. Something I haven’t done in years.

“Yeah, I’ll go with you.”

Greta grinned.

“Perfect, I’ll pick you up around seven?”

“Sounds good.”

As she turned and walked out the stable, my stomach flipped with excitement.

I couldn’t remember the last time I’d actually gone out without the presence of a manipulative, power-hungry man watching my every move.

I don’t think I’ll know what to do with myself without the constant worry of feeling monitored.

Clarke would want me to let loose. Greta would probably encourage it as well, but I don’t think I was ever meant to be that type of person.

I enjoyed quiet fun, the soft laughter from a friend who’s dancing silly, or the story of a date gone wrong.

As much as I admired those who exhibited courage, the carefree attitude and ability to find fun anywhere, I knew that wasn’t who I was.

And tonight, I finally had the chance to be my authentic self.

Suddenly, pulling me from my thoughts, Garth came up beside me with a look I’ve never witnessed before flashing across his face. Like he had a million questions in his head but couldn’t get them out.

“You goin’ out with Greta tonight?” he asked, lifting the cap off his head to run a hand through his damp, unruly hair.

I gulped.

“Yeah, I figured it would be good for me to get out.”

He nodded as his jaw went taut.

“Don’t let Greta pressure you into doin’ anything you don’t want to do. She can be a bit of a live wire whenever she sets foot in that place.” He sounded genuinely concerned, but I just laughed it off.

“I’m a big girl, Garth. If I don’t want to do something, I won’t.”

My words seemed to have eased some of his worry and I noticed the way his shoulders relaxed slightly.

“Good,” he grunted. “If you need anythin’, if Greta’s actin’ a fool, or you want to come back early, get a hold of me and I’ll come get you, yeah?”

I should have expected his concern, the anxious tone that weaved through his words, but I didn’t expect it at this level. It was sweet, yet not so gentle as if he were trying to convince me to stay home instead.

“Okay.” I nodded through a rising smile. “If by some chance I need anything, I’ll be sure to contact you.”

His chest expanded on a breath that lasted the span of a heartbeat.

“Not lookin’ to be an overbearing asshole, I just know the types of people that frequent that place, and I’m makin’ the assumption you’ve never been to a bar like The Lonely Barrel before.”

He was right, I hadn’t and I think it was more than reasonable to make that judgement.

“It’s loud, a little chaotic at times, but Shane runs a damn tight ship over there and keeps it as safe as he can.”

There was the name Shane again. He must be the owner of the bar.

“I can handle it, Garth,” I reassured. “You should know this by now that I can handle anything.”

A mixture between a low laugh and snort tumbled past his lips, sparking my mouth to curl upward in amusement.

“Damn right, Outlaw.” His voice was like gravel and pure sin blended together. “Remember what I said. You need anything, call.”

How could I possibly forget that? A ruggedly handsome cowboy telling me to call him if I needed anything. There was no way I’d let that slip past my mind.

“Yes, Garth.” I put on my sweetest, most charming grin yet while batting my lashes.

His gaze lowered briefly before narrowing skeptically.

“Think I should start callin’ you trouble now,” he grumbled with the shake of his head. He started to walk off, leaving me standing in the center of the stable.

“I prefer Outlaw!” I announced to his back.

“And I prefer you not be trouble!” he grunted back with humor laced in his tone. Then moments later, before leaving me alone, he flashed me a genuine smile. “Have fun tonight, Outlaw, but not too much fun.”