Page 60 of The Runaway and the Rugged
And to my shock, Garth would play along. Not all the time—after all, he was a dad—but when he did, it never failed to bring a smile to my face.
“He’s better than good and he’ll be even better when we see him in concert.”
“That’ll be a you and Aunt Greta thing,” Garth muttered as he shifted the gear into reverse, laying a palm onto the back of my seat as he turned his head to peer out the rear window. A moment later, he had reversed the truck with ease, then steadily shifted back into drive.
“Emelia, you could go with us too,” Grace added as I twisted my head around.
“If I can find some sort of part-time job, sure. It’s been a while since I’ve been to a concert.” I smiled, noticing the way Grace’s face brightened.
“You like him too, huh?” Garth asked, a hint of annoyance laced in his tone.
I had a strong feeling he was forced to listen to him a lot due to Grace.
“He’s okay.” I shrugged. “I’m not overly huge into country music.”
Grace groaned as though my words had genuinely saddened her.
“Well, you better get used to it around here.” He shot me a glance. “It’s the sound around these parts.”
“You’re a country fan?” I questioned, though I was almost positive I knew the answer.
“Runs deep in my veins, Outlaw,” he made clear before changing the station on his radio. A low, static thrum of George Strait played and surprisingly, Grace started to quietly sing along.
“Beau sings too!” Grace added from the back. “I might like his singing a little more than Morgan Wallen.”
An image of Beau up on a stage, singing and charming all the local cowgirls came to mind. If anyone could embody the country star persona, it would be Beau.
“Does he play anywhere?” I asked curiously as Garth appeared less than interested in the topic of Beau.
“Yeah, at The Lonely Barrel. He plays on the weekend sometimes, right, Dad?”
Garth grunted.
“About twice a month,” he answered.
Peering over at Garth, he effortlessly turned the wheel with one hand.
“What’s The Lonely Barrel?”
“A country bar just on the outskirts of Dusty Meadow.”
A country bar? What exactly made up a country bar anyway? Was it men like Garth? Almost immediately my skin broke out in a rampant sweat just thinking about it.
“Oh, is it somewhere you like to go?”
I bet the second he walked in, all eyes were drawn to him. I knew if I found myself in a place like that, I wouldn’t be able to tear my eyes away from the rugged man truly the epitome of a cowboy.
“No, he rarely goes there because he’s stuck with me. Aunt Greta, on the other hand, that’s a different story,” Grace replied, causing me to laugh.
“Stuck with you? What the hell does that even mean? I’d much rather stay at home with my daughter than go out to some bar, and you know that,” Garth defended strongly, although his gaze remained steady on the windshield. “Besides, Greta doesn’t have kids or responsibilities like I do, so she’s free to do whatever she wants.”
I felt pressure against the back of my seat, and from the corner of my eye, Grace leaned in close to my ear.
“She goes to meet boys.” Grace chuckled softly, intending it as a whisper, but Garth definitely heard and shot a sharp look at her.
I tried to keep my lips shut tight, but a chuckle slipped right through.
Instead of responding, or acknowledging what she said, he kept quiet and stoic until he pulled the truck into a small run-down gas station and parked.
