Page 36 of The Runaway and the Rugged (Dusty Meadows #1)

EMELIA

G ripping the rim of the toilet bowl, I was severely regretting my choices last night. A never-ending stream of barf and whatever else was in my stomach continued to assault Garth’s clean, pristine bathroom as my head pounded like a relentless beat.

I couldn’t remember how much I had to drink.

After the fourth, everything became a hazy cloud of confusion with only fleeting glimpses of what happened last night flickering through the mist. Something must have happened for me to be in Garth’s home.

What that was, I’m not so sure I wanted to find out.

After I felt like I had cleansed my entire stomach of the poison, I rinsed my mouth for the next ten minutes before stumbling out of the bathroom and into the hallway.

“Emelia?” The familiar, soft, Southern twang of Grace sounded from the end of the hallway, where she was just walking out of her room.

My head pulsed.

“Yeah, it’s me. Hi, Grace.” I winced, my throat dry and raspy as I spoke.

I’m sure I looked like I had just been run over by a truck.

“I didn’t know you stayed the night.” She padded over to where I stood, her hair and bangs adorably messy from just rolling out of bed. “Are you feelin’ okay?”

I’ve never felt so queasy in my life and my pounding head needed serious pills, but instead, I forced myself to lie and nodded.

“Yeah, I’m okay. Your aunt Greta and I just had a long night out.”

Speaking of Greta, where the hell is she?

“Yeah, I overheard Dad this morning in the hallway. He didn’t seem too happy with Aunt Greta.”

“What did he say?” My stomach lurched as I asked.

“That he doesn’t understand why she had to drink so much and then mentioned something about you.”

Wonderful.

“And that’s all you heard?”

She nodded.

“Some of it was hard to make out, but you don’t have to worry so much, my dad isn’t mad at you.

” She smiled reassuringly, but I had a hard time believing it.

He had to pick both Greta and me up from the bar, and I couldn’t for the life of me remember why until a flash of remembrance hit me.

Messaging him from Greta’s phone. Sending him a video of me getting lifted onto a table… Oh hell.

My throat tightened with the realization that I was the reason Garth came to the bar last night.

“Are you okay? You look like you’re about to get sick.” She eyed me cautiously, like at any second I was about to blow chunks.

I was beginning to feel like I might.

“Yeah.” I forced myself to nod, swallowing the massive lump lodged in my throat. “Yeah, I’m okay. Do you… Do you happen to have a phone I could use?”

I couldn’t believe I was asking Grace, a twelve-year-old, if she had a cellphone. Even she knew that was strange from the arched brow and confused glance she shot my way.

“Do you not have a phone?”

“No, not at the moment I don’t.”

She gasped audibly as if it were the most absurd thing she’s ever heard.

“How do you even function?!” She reached for my palm and began to drag me along toward her bedroom. “My dad hates all technology, he says the outdoors is where us Calhouns belong, not behind some damn screen all day.” Her words dripped with the mocking tone of her dad.

“So, you don’t have a phone?” I chuckled while picturing a brooding, huffing Garth trying to explain to Grace all the reasons why she shouldn’t have a phone while she begged and pleaded until she ran out of breath.

Once in her room, she closed the door and walked over to a purple nightstand.

“I do.” She shot a smile over her shoulder. “It took a lot of convincing and some crying, but Dad eventually caved and got me one.”

I laughed.

“You have him wrapped around your finger, huh?” I asked, taking notice of her adorably styled bedroom.

With shades of purple and blue, it looked like someone spent a great deal of time and care into decorating this room.

From the small bookshelf and reading corner, to the fuzzy aqua-colored rug that was placed in the center of the room, it was a room I would’ve killed to have at twelve.

“I’m pretty good at getting what I want.” She shrugged with a ghost of a smile spread across her lips. “Most of the time anyway.”

I didn’t doubt it.

She sounded like a miniature Greta with her dad’s softness.

“Here.” She held out an iPhone with a pink, glittery case. “I’m going to shower while you’re on the phone.”

“Thanks, Grace.” I gently took the phone from her hand and soon, she vanished out her bedroom door with a small pile of clothes and whatever else she needed in her arms.

Quickly tapping onto the screen to bring it to life, I navigated the keypad and dialed Clarke’s number before pressing call.

With nerves jolting through my entire body, I gently eased myself onto the edge of Grace’s bed just as Clarke’s sharp, curious voice cut through the ringing tone with a “Hello?”

My heart lurched.

“Clarke, it’s me, Millie,” I responded emotionally as a brief pause settled into silence.

“Dammit, Millie!” she shouted, half relieved, half annoyed. “You were supposed to call me!”

I winced.

“I know, I’m sorry. I’ve been busy with getting settled in and forgot to call.”

It was partly the truth. I wanted to call Clarke and let her know that I was doing better than I had anticipated. That maybe this place was exactly what I needed, but admitting it felt utterly ridiculous.

Because it wasn’t just Hideaway Haven, or the small town of Dusty Meadows I was beginning to fall for, but a rugged single dad who had made it plainly obvious he wasn’t looking for anything serious.

Just as I wasn’t either.

But tell that to my traitorous heart.

“I was minutes, and I do mean minutes, from hopping into my car and driving all the way to Texas.”

Stifling a laugh proved to be impossible when it came to Clarke, even when she said things I shouldn’t find funny.

“You would drive here? Even though you hate long car rides?” I chuckled.

“You’re damn right I would!” she stated matter-of-factly. “And you’re the only person I would ever do it for.”

God, I missed her.

“Well, that makes me feel better, but you don’t have to come here, Clarke.

Everything is fine. I found a part-time gig at a local bar, so I’ll be able to save some money.

I’ve been helping Garth around the ranch and I got…

drunk,” I whispered as if it was some scandalous news I didn’t want getting out.

“I think things will actually work out.”

In between my words, I heard a gasp.

“And how closely have you been working with Garth? Closely as in helping him just as much off the ranch as you are on?” She attempted to imply it in the most innocent, yet objectifying way she could.

My cheeks ignited.

“No, of course not. He’s technically my boss.”

She scoffed.

“All the more reason to then,” she said enthusiastically.

“What do you mean ‘all the more reason to’?” I barked out a laugh, nearly puking from the motion.

I’m never drinking again.

“Think of all the kinky boss-employee scenarios out there. There has to be a ton of them.” The second the words fell from her mouth, I immediately regretted asking.

“Jesus, Clarke. Not everything is a romance novel. Especially this situation. There’s nothing remotely romantic about leaving a man you almost married, all the while struggling to figure out how to live and care for yourself and simultaneously try to figure out who you are as a person,” I went on until silence greeted me.

“Sounds like the perfect beginning to a beautiful love story.”

Of course she would think that. She was a closeted romantic who wanted the fairy tale and happily ever after.

“Definitely not,” I responded with the swift shake of my head. “Besides, after last night, I highly doubt Garth would even consider me a friend anymore.”

“Why? What happened?” she questioned, sounding genuinely interested.

“Let’s just say I made a complete fool out of myself. Drank way more than I should have at a cowboy bar, messaged Garth from Greta’s phone that I stole, and ended up getting manhandled onto a table.” I was so embarrassed I needed to pause to take a breath.

“Wait… hold on a second…” She drew in a quick breath. “Are you hungover right now, Millie?”

She knows I rarely drink, so it must have been a complete shock to her knowing that I did last night.

“More like dying, but just you wait, there’s more… I somehow ended up sending a video of me being lifted onto a table and sent it to Garth.”

She chuckled.

“Please tell me he tore through the streets like a madman to get to you and threw out a whole ‘protective, no one touches her’ scene in front of the whole bar.”

A subtle smile lifted on my face.

“I was out of it by the time he showed up, but I have a memory of him… carrying me.”

And me snuggling into his chest.

I didn’t disclose those details, but it was clear that him just carrying me was gasp-worthy enough.

“That man is in love.”

My eyes made sure to scan the door just in case Grace, or anyone else, decided to barge inside the room. When I was sure no one was there, I responded.

“No, he's just… protective.”

There was another short pause that even had me slightly questioning my own words.

“And why do you think he’s protective?”

Why? Because he’s a good man. A good father. The kind of person who would do that for anyone, wouldn’t he?

Just when I was going to answer, a firm knock at the door sent a jolt through my body, making me tense immediately.

“Bug, you awake in there?” Garth announced from behind the door. My stomach sank then fluttered with a swarm of butterflies all at once.

“Oh shit,” I mumbled into the phone, not knowing what to say or do. “I have to go, I’ll call you as soon as I can!”

Before she could respond, I swiftly tapped the end call button and rose from Grace’s bed with unsteady feet. With my equilibrium off balance, a pulsating headache, and weak muscles, I nearly toppled over onto the floor, prompting Garth to quickly swing open the door from the sound of me stumbling.