Page 21 of The Runaway and the Rugged
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.
7
EMELIA
“Ican’t marry him.”
I’d finally said it out loud. The words that had been plaguing me for weeks now, I finally let them out. Though I was unable to stop the tears from falling, there was nothing more liberating than breaking free from the hold Nathaniel had on me.
Fucking terrifying, yes, but I felt as though I could finally breathe again.
