Page 5 of The Runaway and the Rugged
As my fingers wrapped around the smooth texture of my phone case, I paused at the sound of someone calling out to me.
“Ma’am.” A rugged voice cut through my mumbling as both Clarke and I instinctively peered up at the stranger standing before us. A tall, semi-tatted figure was leaned up against a rusting pickup truck with a toothpick dangling from his lips. A playful smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth as his gaze swept over the two of us. “Sorry to interrupt, but I assure you there’s no mistake.”
Confusion urged me to release the phone in my hand and focus heavily on the man that was watching us.
He looked young. Younger than Clarke and me, but it was clear in his muscular build and weathered lines etched on his face that he lived a hard life. With a short mane of golden hair and black ink wrapped around his exposed arm, he looked every bit of trouble.
“And who might you be?” Clarke raised her chin in curiosity as her gaze took in his appearance with unapologetic interest.
He was exactly her type.
Tall, tatted, and exuded trouble.
“Your chauffeur for the day.” He uncrossed his legs and tipped his head in greeting. “Name’s Beau Bennett.”
His gaze lingered over Clarke briefly before slinking its way over to me.
“And you must be Ms. Emelia Quinn.” The corner of his mouth lifted as another tidal wave of confusion struck me.
“Uh… Yes.” I readjusted the strap of my purse and shot Clarke a questioning glance, silently asking, “What the hell is going on?” as if she knew more than I did. “How, uh, exactly do you know my name, Mr. Bennett?”
The small dimples in his cheeks deepened as a low rumble of a laugh tumbled from his mouth. “Shit, sunshine. Haven’t been called Mr. Bennett for a long time.” He shook his head, a playfulgleam dancing on his face. “There’s no need to be all proper with me, Beau is just fine.”
Before I could respond, Clarke uncrossed her arms and spoke.
“Listen, Beau, my friend and I were sent into the middle of nowhere and have no idea what the hell is going on. So, if you could fill us in on why we're here, that would be great.”
His gaze returned to her, and this time, a broader smile spread across his face as he took in her fiery demeanor.
“And you are?”
Narrowing her eyes, she let out an exasperated huff.
“My name is Clarke. And now that's out of the way, can you tell us why you’re here to pick us up?”
“If I could tell you, Clarke, I would, but I was strictly told from the boss lady not to say anything.” He pushed off the side of his truck, tore the hat off his head, and raked a hand through his cropped hair. “Or in her words, I better keep my pretty mouth shut or else she’ll have me shoveling horse shit with my bare hands for the next month.”
Boss lady? Horse shit? What in the hell was going on?
“Look, if you could just tell us if Nathaniel Bettencourt had anything to do with this then maybe we can move forward from here.”
As we lingered in the sweltering heat, my agitation grew with each passing moment. More so with Nathaniel for putting me in this situation and refusing to tell me what he had planned for me.
“Real fancy dressed guy with blond hair?” he teased, causing a flush to break out on my cheeks.
Annoyed, I blew out a long, drawn-out breath.
“Yes,” I grumbled.
“Yeah, sunshine. I know him.” He grinned, sending my eyes rolling at the unoriginal term. “Met him about a week ago, seems like a… decent guy.”
“Decent,” I grumbled to myself.
Not exactly the glowing praise every woman dreams of hearing about their future husband.
“So, you’re telling me that Mr. I Only Travel to the Most Opulent of Destinations set foot here? In the middle of nowhere?” Clarke chuckled in disbelief, shooting a jolt of humiliation throughout my chest.
Yes, Nathaniel could be shallow at times and perhaps a little one-dimensional, but hearing it come from others made me question my own character.
