Page 15 of The Runaway and the Rugged
“And you cook fine, most of the time.”
Speechless, I removed my hands from the doorframe.
Did I say kind-hearted before? I meant ruthless.
“You’ve never said anything to me about my cooking before.” I scoffed incredulously.
“I didn’t want to hurt your feelings.”
Little too late for that, bug.
“I’m not saying that everything you cook is bad.” I was hit in the chest with a stuffed animal, shifting my attention back to my daughter. “Besides, it’s not just about the cooking, or curling my hair…”
Her voice faded into a more serious note as she plopped down onto her bed. Hands cradling the clothes in her lap, I swiftly crossed the threshold of her room.
“Grace…” I dropped down beside her, pulling her tightly into my side. Her round, innocent eyes peered up, capturing mine.
“You have a big heart, Dad, and I just don’t want you to regret not letting anyone else see that.”
Her words hit me like a punch, knockin’ all the air right from my lungs.
“I have no regrets, Grace, never. The only person I need in this big ol’ heart of mine is you.”
I pressed a kiss to her button nose before letting my arm fall from around her waist. “If you can get ready in less than ten minutes, I’ll take you by the coffee shop before school.”
A megawatt smile spread across her face. If anything could put a smile on her face, it would be her favorite coffee shop.
“Really?” she asked, her eyes now glowing with excitement.
“Really, bug.” I chuckled. “Now hurry up, I’ll be waitin’ downstairs.”
Heading down the steps, I could hear the sound of Greta stomping around in the kitchen, mumbling a string of curses to herself. It wasn’t unusual for her to show up unannounced, but whenever she did, it was usually to deliver bad news.
Rounding into the kitchen, I spotted my sister leaning against the fridge with her phone pressed firmly against her ear.
“We don’t have the time or the luxury to be makin’ mistakes right now, Natalia. I have a hundred plus guests arriving tomorrow and I still don’t have the tables we requested.”
Her simmering eyes found mine.
“Mr. Bettencourt specifically asked for the long, rustic tables, and instead I was sent twenty-five round tables.”
My stomach twisted.
The past two weeks had been nothing but chaotic hell for all of us on the ranch. With random people coming in and out, decorators, photographers, our peaceful little haven was turning into everything I despised. Even the horses felt the shift.
I needed this wedding to be done and over with. I wasn’t sure why Greta demanded that we go through with it anyway. It was a damn headache. It wasn’t like the ranch was in desperate need of money. Basically, a wealthy asshole showed up on the ranch offerin’ all kinds of money to have his wedding here, and Greta would've been foolish to turn it down.
And now here we are.
Dealin’ with tables and chairs.
I shook my head, needing out of the kitchen and away from all this wedding nonsense.
“Don’t you dare walk away, Garth! I need your help!” Greta shouted, but I didn't stop. I continued until I was out on the porch, safe from Greta.
Safe from all this wedding chaos.
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