Page 61 of The Runaway and the Rugged
“Thirsty?” He directed the question at me as he killed the engine on the truck.
Extremely, I wanted to respond, but instead nodded.
The corner of his mustache lifted slightly as he exited the truck. And just like the other previous times that I’ve rode in the passenger seat, he jogged over to my door and opened it along with Grace’s.
I was still getting used to the fact that men like this existed.
“Thanks,” I whispered, bracing myself mentally for the strange looks I’ll more than likely get from the outfit I was wearing. Then stepping out of the truck, I followed closely behind a skipping Grace who opened the gas station door for her dad and me.
“Does this mean I can get a slushie?” Grace flashed a wide grin as we passed through the door. Garth shook his head with an amused scoff, but ultimately nodded in approval.
She squealed in excitement and zoomed past us.
“Afternoon, Carl,” Garth greeted the man at the front register with the tip of his hat.
“Garth, long time no see,” he returned the greeting as his gaze shifted to me. “And who is this pretty little lady?”
With a bright, genuine, somewhat toothless smile, I didn’t take offense to his compliment. He was older with a potbelly covered by a pair of dark blue overalls. He looked like he belonged in a mechanic shop rather than a gas station.
“This here’s Emelia.” Garth sauntered over to a cooler with water and grabbed one. “Emelia, meet the longest, most-tellin’ resident of Dusty Meadows, Carl.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Carl.” I gave him a short wave, noticing the way his gaze examined my outfit with curiosity.
“What in the hell do you got on? You look like you just crawled blindfolded out of a Salvation Army,” Carl teased as heat flooded my cheeks.
“Be nice to our newest ranch hand, will yah?” Garth chuckled as he made his way over to the register. Then setting the bottle of water down, he leaned his side against the counter while locking his arms across his chest. “She ain’t got that thick of skin yet.”
My eyebrows lifted high at his accusation.
“She don’t need no thick skin!” Carl argued before shifting his stare to me. “You don’t need no thick skin, Emelia. You’re the prettiest thing we’ve had in this small town in a long while. Ain’t nobody goin’ to mess with you, and if they do, you can send ’em on down to the rusty spur refuel.”
I looked between the two men and smiled shyly. I seriously doubted that I was the “prettiest thing” Dusty Meadows had seen, and for some reason, I looked to Garth, expecting something other than an unwavering, burning gaze. He didn’t deny Carl’s claim nor agreed, but something in his gaze ultimately gave me the answer I definitely didn’t need to know.
“Don’t need you breakin’ your hip again trying to defend Emelia here, besides, she’s got me now,” he responded nonchalantly, sparking my heart to go into overdrive.
She’s got me now.
I wasn’t even sure if he knew what he had said, or realized how it sounded. Even his tone, all gravelly and full of hard truth had me practically panting for more words like that.
“Oh, my mistake. This your ol’ lady, Garth?” Carl’s smirk widened as they bounced between Garth and me.
“No, she’s the new help on the ranch,” he grunted. “Thought I already said that.”
They continued to go back and forth, bickering about what was said and what wasn’t, so I decided to go find Grace. Down the short aisle and off to the left, Grace was busy pulling on a lever, filling a cup with a mixture of blue and cherry slush.
“This one is yours,” Grace announced as I settled in beside her. Slightly overfilling it, she placed the oval lid onto the top and handed it over with a grin. “Hope you like blue raspberry and cherry.”
Both colors drizzled down the side, blending together at the bottom in a purplish hue. Her hopeful, excited expression made me forget about the sticky mess on the cup and I gladly accepted it, eager to get a taste.
“I haven’t had a slushie like this in years.” I reached into the holder beside the machine, pulled out a straw, and slid it into the drink before bringing it to my lips. Then taking a quick sip, I was instantly taken back to my teenage summer years. “My mom used to bring me slushies home every Friday when I was in high school. She’d always get me something different and I would have to guess what flavor it was.” I smiled at the memory.
“Wow, sounds like you have an awesome mom.” Grace gave me a wonder-struck expression as if she’d secretly wished she could have something like that too.
“I did,” I answered somberly. “I had an amazing mom.” I took another long sip, hoping a brain freeze would cure the sadness.
Grace tilted her head to the side, her bangs falling over and obscuring her one eye.
“Oh.” She frowned. “Does that mean… your mom is…?”
