Page 73 of The Runaway and the Rugged
“Better find ’em, boy. That’s a real special girl right there, would hate to see her go.” Carl was laying it on thick, making me believe that he knew I wasn’t asleep, but I wasn’t quite sure.
“Yeah,” Garth sighed. “She’s… somethin’.”
What did he mean by that? I wasn’t sure I even wanted to know, terrified of discovering the truth.
“Anyway, I’ll get her out of your hair,” Garth announced, and just when I thought he would tap my shoulder or call my name to wake me up, he didn’t. Instead, he slipped his arm underneath my knees while the other went behind my back. Moments later, I was lifted effortlessly from the chair.
“Be sure to tell her she can come visit here anytime she wants,” Carl announced as Garth began to walk, each step drawing my face closer into the center of his hard chest.
“I will. Night, Carl.”
Body pliant, eyes still tightly shut, I let him carry me until he stopped at his truck, opened the door, and gently lowered me inside. With my head laid back against the headrest, I could feel his presence next to me, observing me closely like he’s done so many times already.
This time was different, though.
He thought I was asleep and when I felt the delicate brush of his fingertips along my forehead, I swear I nearly fainted on the spot.
“Won’t have the courage to say this when you’re awake, so I’ll say it now,” he muttered lowly, nervously. “I’m an asshole, the biggest damn asshole there is, and I’m sorry for hurtin’ you. You deserve all the good, happy things life has to offer and I hope that stayin’ here, you’ll be able to find just a little bit of that.”
My heart rate skyrocketed to the point of no return.
“So fuckin’ beautiful,” he grunted as if it pained him to speak, and once again, he swept his fingers across my forehead, thistime, gently pushing my hair away from my face. “I hope you’ll forgive me, Outlaw.”
Seconds later, he removed his hand, his presence, and closed the passenger door before jumping inside the truck and driving us back to Hideaway Haven.
Leaving me breathless.
Leaving me speechless.
22
EMELIA
Garth and I were back on speaking terms. He ended up carrying me into bed the other night after picking me up from the gas station. He tucked me in, and woke me up to a sweet, short apology, but it was nothing like the other one he gave me when he thought I was asleep.
It was an apology that was never meant to be heard and I was okay with that.
Our relationship had returned to its normal, somewhat playful rhythm, but it was evident there was something missing. I just couldn't quite put my finger on it.
“You doin’ all right over there?” Garth called out to me from the other stall, his voice echoing over.
Stabbing the pitchfork down into the straw, I used the sleeve of my shirt to wipe the bead of my sweat off my forehead.
“Yeah, I’m almost finished,” I called back as a rush of adrenaline spiked through me at the thought of completing the task.
“Already?” he shouted, clearly shocked. “You got someone in there helpin’ you?”
I chuckled.
“Am I faster at scooping up horse shit than you are, cowboy?”
He snorted out loud.
“Must be, Outlaw,” he stated. “I’ll gladly give you that title.”
“Without a doubt, the fastest damn mucker in all of Texas, wouldn’t you agree?” I attempted a Southern accent, butchering it completely, when a burst of laughter erupted from Garth’s stall.
“I’ll agree that your Southern accent needs a lot of work,” he teased.
