Page 62 of The Runaway and the Rugged
I nodded with a reflective smile.
Her adorable eyebrows scrunched together in hesitation, and after a moment, she slowly closed the remaining distance between us and wrapped her arms around my middle. It was asoft, meaningful hug that took me a second to process. I wasn’t expecting it.
“I’m sorry, Emelia,” she whispered against my chest as my arms still remained frozen at my sides. “My mom’s not around either.”
My heart cracked at her confession.
What did that mean? Had her mom passed also? Or was she simply not in the picture? Whatever the reason, I didn’t feel like it was my place to ask, so instead, I placed the drink onto the counter beside me and folded my arms around her body.
“Thanks, Grace,” I said in a tender voice. “I’m sorry too.”
She nestled herself even more into our hug, holding on tighter as if she never wanted to let go. And in this moment, I didn't want to either.
Was this what it felt like for my mom when she hugged me? A sudden, deep comfort that resonated through my bones? Granted, I wasn’t Grace’s mother, but I couldn’t help but wonder if she felt the same reassurance she was giving me.
And just when I was about to gently pull away from the hug, I captured Garth’s eyes watching us with surprised intensity. Hands shoved deep into his pockets and a tight-lipped expression, I felt my throat clog with emotions and words too difficult to decipher.
Well, of course he looks surprised, you’re hugging his daughter you just met yesterday!
Clearing his throat, he stood taller with an unclear demeanor.
“You both ready to head back?”
Grace jumped, causing us both to let go and step away from each other.
“Yeah! I got Emelia and I both slushies.” She grabbed her cup and handed me mine.
“See that.” Garth nodded, his stare pivoting over to me for half a second.
He ended up paying for the drinks, then after a quick friendly goodbye to Carl, we got back into the truck and left for the ranch.
18
EMELIA
Iwoke up the next morning with a headache from hell. Whether it was from a crappy night of sleep or the nerves from what today would bring, I was less than thrilled to roll out of bed. After getting back from shopping yesterday, Garth refused to leave without making sure I was fully settled in. He carried in all the bags himself and meticulously checked every corner of the small cabin for anything out of the ordinary. Only after thoroughly inspecting everything did he and Grace finally decide to leave, but not before telling me to be ready at seven tomorrow.
Stretching my arms above my head, I peered over at the clock mounted above the fireplace. It was quarter to seven. My hair needed detangling, my teeth needed brushing, and my fatigue called for coffee. I quickly checked each one off, and when it was finally time to put on my new boots, my gaze mistakenly connected with the opulent silver band I left on top of the dresser beside the bed.
A flood of emotions and questions surged within me. Overwhelming me to the point I was unable to move from the spot. A painful reminder of seven long, wasted years. Areflection of the woman I had become and a desperate yearning to be someone new.
Someone that’s unapologetically me without the influence of anyone else.
Was Nathaniel searching for me? Was he going out of his mind wondering where I was? I should feel guilty, or at least something other than relief, but I didn’t. I didn’t feel much of anything other than anger. And even now, gazing down at the ring, all I could think about was how desperately I wanted to get rid of it.
Maybe I should have sent it with Clarke when she took my phone with her, at least then it wouldn’t be scattering my mind. It served no purpose here except as a painful reminder. Finally fed up, I grabbed it and hurled it into the drawer where it was hidden away.
I resumed slipping into my boots when right on time, there was a firm knock on the door.
“Coming!” I shouted.
Walking in boots I’d never worn, just a short distance to the front door felt like a damn mile. Stiff and unbelievably snug, I hoped I’d be able to break them in soon.
Once at the door, I gradually pulled it open, revealing a less-than-chipper Garth with one hand rested on the doorframe and the other toying with his beard.
“You’re awake.” His stare trailed down the entire length of me before slinking their way back up to my face.
How is it possible for this man to get even better-looking each and every day?
