Page 7 of The Runaway and the Rugged (Dusty Meadows #1)

GARTH

“ Y ou up yet, bug?” I knocked on Grace’s door for the third time this morning and once again, I received no response. It wasn’t unusual for my daughter to sleep past her alarm, but it was unusual to not hear any grumbled words of annoyance in return.

I rapped my knuckles against the wood one last time before leaning closer to the door.

What the hell was she doing in there?

Tempted to barge inside her room, I ultimately restrained myself knowing I’d have another argument on my hands if I did so.

Now that she was twelve—the awkward phase between childhood and adolescence—I’d been trying my damned hardest to let her have some independence.

But it wasn’t the easiest task when my daughter was practically a clone of myself when I was younger.

Headstrong, stubborn as a mule, and with a hint of a rebellious streak, she was a blend of each Calhoun. My brother Griffin, the silent grump, and my sister Greta, the free spirit of the family. She had traits from all three of us, making Grace an entire breed of her own.

Lord, help us all.

With my patience runnin’ thin, I pounded my fist more firmly onto her door.

“Grace, I know I said I wouldn’t come into your room without permission, but I’m about five seconds away from breakin’ that rule.

” My tone straddled the line of flying off the handle, but I reeled it in as much as I humanly could.

Was she purposefully ignoring me? I didn’t see a reason as to why she would, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t upset about something. Half the time, I had no fuckin’ clue what I did. And being the willful girl she is, I’d have to figure out myself exactly why I was suddenly blacklisted.

This time, before I confronted her, I backtrack the last couple days in hopes of finding anything useful. As I rummaged through each clear memory, I found myself stumped. If anything, I thought we were having a good week.

Feeling even further confused, I was moments away from swinging her door open, when the sound of the bathroom door unlocking seized my movements.

In a daze and completely unaware of what was going on, Grace stepped out into the hall, mumbling the lyrics to a song I didn’t know.

Her voice was slightly groggy and raspy from just waking up while her hair resembled a nest.

Still fuckin’ adorable like always.

Relieved, I felt like I could breathe normally again.

I swear, my daughter is going to send me into an early grave.

Her gaze lifted, noticing my still rigid form standing just outside her bedroom door. A tiny smile lifted on her face, but it quickly fell as she let out a yawn.

“You all right, bug?” I asked, still a bit unsettled and needing some reassurance.

Her dark, wispy bangs fell over her brows, reminding me that I needed to take her to get a trim soon.

“Yeah, why?” She looked at me funny, like I was asking her the most ridiculous question there was.

She stopped a few feet short from where I stood, her arms crossing over her chest.

“Not used to you getting up from your alarm.”

Rolling her eyes, I couldn’t stop a grin from replacing my steely expression.

“Dad, I always wake up from my alarm,” she scoffed. “I just sometimes choose not to get out of bed right away.”

I should have caught on to that sooner. I used to play the same trick with my parents too.

“Real question is, are you okay?” Grace eyed me skeptically, her right eyebrow arched. “You look… tense.”

Jesus, she sounded too much like an adult.

What happened to my little girl? The one who’d run to me every morning wearing a giant smile and wrapping her lanky arms around my legs.

It seemed like almost a lifetime ago when that was our routine.

Now it consisted of morning scowls and begrudging grumbles.

“Tense?” I laughed. “And how do you know what that looks like?”

Her shoulders dropped in a shrug, “I’m in seventh grade. I know a lot of things.”

She knows a lot of things? The hell does she mean by that?

“Plus, you and Uncle Griff practically invented the word tense.”

Invented it? Yeah, we had our moments, sure, but it wasn't like I was constantly on edge. Is that really what she thought?

At a sudden loss on how to respond, Grace brushed right past me and opened the door to her bedroom. “You both need girlfriends…” she mumbled as my back was still turned.

I spun around on my heel with a wide-eyed expression centered on my daughter. There’s no way she came up with that on her own. She must have picked it up from someone, whether it be Greta, my mom, or maybe even Beau.

Thanks, guys.

It wasn’t a topic that was discussed. I didn’t date, I didn’t talk to women, and it never seemed to be an issue until now.

“Where’s this coming from?” Bracing my palms onto the top of the doorframe, I regarded her carefully. It was hardly something I wanted to discuss, let alone with my twelve-year-old, but I knew it needed to be addressed.

She shrugged again while ruffling through her clothes.

“Don’t you think it’s a little weird that you don’t have a wife, or at least a girlfriend?” Her eyes dipped over in my direction before returning back to her drawers. “Isn’t that supposed to be a goal in life? To have a family?”

My heart thundered painfully in my chest. In a previous life, I was convinced I had it all.

The career, the perfect partner, but as it turned out, my purpose in life was to be the best dad I could be.

Though, it wasn’t without its challenges, the idea of letting someone in again fucking terrified me.

“I do have a family. I have you, Grandma, Uncle Griffin, and Aunt Greta. That’s all I need.”

“What about Bear?” she asked, her mouth twitching with amusement.

Bear was the nickname she had given Beau. Who the hell knows why, but over the years it just stuck. Though he was a major pain in my ass, he was a loyal pain in the ass who would do anything for just about anyone.

“Bear? He’s more like a persistent dog that keeps comin’ back, annoyin’ the hell out of your sister and I.”

She giggled.

“Bear’s the best.” Her words sparked my eyes to roll.

Nothing more wounding than hearing my daughter say a man other than her father was the best. As if noticing a heaviness lingering in the air, Grace’s eyes softened with the acknowledgment of her words.

They weren’t meant to hurt, they weren’t meant for me to read too much into, but it didn’t stop me from doing exactly that.

The trials and tribulations of being a single dad: constantly questioning whether you’re good enough. It was an internal battle that seemed never-ending and despite all my efforts, I just never felt good enough.

“But he’s got nothing on you.”

My heart flipped with the warmth only a father could understand.

She was my strong-willed, sporadically troublesome daughter, but she was also the most compassionate, kind-hearted girl I knew.

And fleeting moments like these I wanted to preserve in a bottle and store them in the most secure portion of my mind.

“Thanks, bug.” My throat tightened with emotion.

“And no, I don’t think it’s weird that I don’t have a girlfriend, but I’m assumin’ you do.

” I returned to our previous topic while studying her movements closely, searching for an inkling of an answer as to why she felt the way she did.

Unfortunately, she was a hard nut to crack.

She seemed too engrossed in finding an outfit for school than she was with revisiting the subject.

“It doesn’t bother me. I mean, yeah, it would be kind of cool to have another girl around. Maybe someone who actually knows how to curl hair and cook good food.” With a pile of clothes in hand, she shot me a look that I couldn’t decipher. Or maybe just one that I didn’t have the strength to.

“Aunt Greta knows how to curl your hair. Remember that school dance you had, she did your hair up real nice with all those big curls,” I added, having a sudden flashback of the night that nearly sent me into an early grave. “And cook good food? Are you trying to say that I don’t?”

“Aunt Greta had no clue what she was doing. She only agreed to it because she knew you’d screw it up even more than she would.”

My eyes narrowed.

“And you cook fine, most of the time.”

Speechless, I removed my hands from the doorframe.

Did I say kind-hearted before? I meant ruthless.

“You’ve never said anything to me about my cooking before.” I scoffed incredulously.

“I didn’t want to hurt your feelings.”

Little too late for that, bug.

“I’m not saying that everything you cook is bad.” I was hit in the chest with a stuffed animal, shifting my attention back to my daughter. “Besides, it’s not just about the cooking, or curling my hair…”

Her voice faded into a more serious note as she plopped down onto her bed. Hands cradling the clothes in her lap, I swiftly crossed the threshold of her room.

“Grace…” I dropped down beside her, pulling her tightly into my side. Her round, innocent eyes peered up, capturing mine.

“You have a big heart, Dad, and I just don’t want you to regret not letting anyone else see that.”

Her words hit me like a punch, knockin’ all the air right from my lungs.

“I have no regrets, Grace, never. The only person I need in this big ol’ heart of mine is you.”

I pressed a kiss to her button nose before letting my arm fall from around her waist. “If you can get ready in less than ten minutes, I’ll take you by the coffee shop before school.”

A megawatt smile spread across her face. If anything could put a smile on her face, it would be her favorite coffee shop.

“Really?” she asked, her eyes now glowing with excitement.

“Really, bug.” I chuckled. “Now hurry up, I’ll be waitin’ downstairs.”

Heading down the steps, I could hear the sound of Greta stomping around in the kitchen, mumbling a string of curses to herself. It wasn’t unusual for her to show up unannounced, but whenever she did, it was usually to deliver bad news.

Rounding into the kitchen, I spotted my sister leaning against the fridge with her phone pressed firmly against her ear.

“We don’t have the time or the luxury to be makin’ mistakes right now, Natalia. I have a hundred plus guests arriving tomorrow and I still don’t have the tables we requested.”

Her simmering eyes found mine.

“Mr. Bettencourt specifically asked for the long, rustic tables, and instead I was sent twenty-five round tables.”

My stomach twisted.

The past two weeks had been nothing but chaotic hell for all of us on the ranch. With random people coming in and out, decorators, photographers, our peaceful little haven was turning into everything I despised. Even the horses felt the shift.

I needed this wedding to be done and over with.

I wasn’t sure why Greta demanded that we go through with it anyway.

It was a damn headache. It wasn’t like the ranch was in desperate need of money.

Basically, a wealthy asshole showed up on the ranch offerin’ all kinds of money to have his wedding here, and Greta would've been foolish to turn it down.

And now here we are.

Dealin’ with tables and chairs.

I shook my head, needing out of the kitchen and away from all this wedding nonsense.

“Don’t you dare walk away, Garth! I need your help!” Greta shouted, but I didn't stop. I continued until I was out on the porch, safe from Greta.

Safe from all this wedding chaos.