How a Cowboy Stole Her Heart (11 page)

With shaking fingers, she reached behind her back, undid her bra and let it slide down her arms until it joined her blouse on the kitchen floor.

 

Clay swallowed against the lump that lodged in his throat. The backs of his eyes burned but he would not cry. Not when Megan was in front of him, being so very strong. Not when she trusted him this much. He loved her. She wouldn't let him say the words but it was true. He could see through her plan. She was trying to shock him into leaving so they wouldn't have to deal with what was between them. She was scared, too.

His gaze left hers and dropped, as they both knew it would. A hole seemed to open up in his core at the sight of her. One breast, pert and rosy-tipped, as natural as a warm spring rain. And her right side—flat, with a scar
running from where her breast had been toward her armpit. The redness had healed long ago, but not so long as to make the scar invisible. It stood out clearly against the paleness of her skin.

He looked up into her face and saw the tears streaking down her cheeks, even though she'd never moved during his visual examination. Her eyes clashed with his, flared with defiance. By God, she was something. He'd called her obstinate, pigheaded, and even blind, but he'd missed out on something. Brave. Right now, faced with what he knew was horribly transparent and painful, she refused to cower.

She bent to reach for her bra and Clay stepped forward, putting his hand on her arm. Her head snapped up in alarm.

“Don't,” he said roughly. It sounded too loud in the quiet kitchen. “Don't hide, please.”

She straightened, but this time he noticed her shoulders hunched a little, like she was trying to shelter herself. He reminded himself to be gentle. She was expecting him to turn away. He moved his thumb and wiped away the tears that hung on her lashes. “Don't cry,” he murmured. “My beautiful girl, don't cry.”

Her lower lip quivered and he watched, intrigued, as she bit down on it.

Clay hadn't known what to expect. He'd checked Google for pictures to try to understand, to prepare himself, but it was different because it was Meg. She was not a cold, clinical photograph. She was flesh and blood, before him now, and the changes wrought on her body didn't make him want her any less.

As gently as he possibly could, he let his fingers trail down her neck. He felt her tremble beneath his fingertips and forced himself to go painfully slow. He curled
his fingers, letting them ride with a featherlight touch over the full curve of her breast. He met her gaze, making sure everything was all right, and was startled to see her pupils widen and her cheeks flush. Silently he asked permission. She held herself as rigid as a statue, her breath barely moving her chest as he took those same fingers and traced the line of her scar. Not quite as soft as the rest. Strong and tough. A warrior's mark. His heart pounding, he pressed his palm against the skin where her breast should have been.

 

Meg wasn't sure how much longer she could hold on to the thin thread of control. It had been torture standing before him, watching his gaze sweep down to stare at her mark. She'd nearly covered her healthy breast out of embarrassment, but she'd clenched her hands at her sides, determined he see it all. If they were suddenly talking about sex and love there was no room for false modesty. So she'd steeled herself for his revulsion, prayed for a quick end to the examination and a swift return to common sense.

Only it never came, and the longer he looked the more it tore her apart.

Now he was touching her and she was really fighting to keep from losing it. His fingers grazed her breast and she felt her body betray her, terrifying her with the intensity of her reaction. This wasn't how it was supposed to happen. It was supposed to be less, not more. Not this much more.

His fingers traced along the curved scar and then he pressed his palm against the spot where her breast had been. She felt the pressure of his hand, but the skin was numb. The soft, feathery sensations from the other side
were absent here, and Meg wondered if she'd stopped feeling the same way the nerves in her chest wall had.

“I can't feel it,” she whispered, closing her eyes. “I want to. I can imagine it. But I can't feel it, Clay.”

“It doesn't matter. You're so beautiful, Meg. So brave.”

But she wasn't. She wasn't beautiful, and as far as bravery, well it was all an act that she'd been keeping up for months. She shook her head, but he stopped her with the husky timbre of his voice. “I love you, Meg.”

He folded her into his arms and Meg felt the rough fabric of his shirt against her skin, the warmth of his hands splayed across her naked back. Clay had just said he loved her. The world seemed to shrink into a microcosm of this moment where it was just the two of them and everything else was shut outside. His breath was warm against her hair, his lips soft as he kissed just above her ear. Not a kiss of passion, but more. A forever kind of kiss and Meg felt her heart turn over.

She couldn't say the words back; not because she didn't want to, but because it was too much to process in a short amount of time. She was still absorbing the sound of his declaration when he began kissing her again. Meg tried to give herself over to the sweetness of the sensation. Clay was a good man.
The
man, and he'd just said he loved her. She had expected a very different reaction from him just now and she should be happy. What on earth was her problem? She ignored the uneasy feeling, closed her eyes and sank into the kiss, reached for his shirt buttons and began unbuttoning them. With his lips still fused to hers he pulled his arms out of the sleeves and pulled her close, skin to skin. Meg's heart pounded as panic started to set in. She tried to ignore it, but when he scooped her up in his arms she lost her tenuous grip on her fears.

“Put me down.” He started to walk toward the hall
that led to the bedrooms at the back of the house. “Clay! Stop. Please.” Her breath caught on a sob. He released his arm and she slid slowly down until her feet hit the floor. Her bra and shirt were several feet away now and she felt horribly exposed. She crossed an arm over her chest.

“I can't do this. I thought I could, but I can't.”

“I rushed you,” he said, his gaze tender and understanding. “It's okay, Meg, we can take it slow…”

Oh, God, he was making it even worse than it already was. He had to stop being so patient, so understanding. Because she was beginning to see a glimmer of the real truth and she had to get out of here before he pushed too far.

“No,” she answered. She had to stop trembling. “I didn't come here for this. I came here to salvage our friendship. I
can't
, Clay.”

“There's more than friendship between us. How can you deny it?”

He raised his hand to cup her face and she backed away. It seemed a short time ago that he'd thrown love in her face and she'd been so hurt. Now their positions were reversed and she had to add regret to all the emotions churning within her. “I don't want this,” she said, momentarily impressed at how clearly it came out. She had thought that revealing her scars was her biggest fear, but she'd been horribly wrong. She'd thought that Clay's past would get in their way and she'd been mistaken about that, too.

No, he'd been the one who was right all along. She was the one standing in their way. He might love her now but she'd loved him longest. And if they did this—made love, began a real relationship…

For all her brave and optimistic talk, she knew the deep down, ugly truth. She was petrified of her cancer
coming back. And if she willingly entered into a romance with Clay, that might mean having him and then losing him, breaking her heart. She wanted to believe he'd stand by her, but it was a lot to expect. She knew the statistics. Knew what reoccurrence could mean. Even if he did stay…

It wasn't a big stretch to envision the eventual outcome. And then where would Clay be? Alone. How could she ask that of him when cancer had already extracted such a heavy price?

It had to end now, while they could still both recover. She wanted more for him. He deserved a whole woman and a long, happy life. He deserved someone to make this a home for him again and a brood of children running around. And she was terrified that she couldn't give that to him.

“No,” she said, backing up and reaching for her shirt. In her haste to cover her body she put on her shirt and jammed her bra into a ball, clenching it in her white fingers.

“I'm sorry, Clay.” His face had paled and she knew she'd remember his hurt expression as long as she lived. “I'm so damned sorry. I can't love you.”

“Meg!” He stepped toward her, but she backed off. She couldn't let him touch her now. She was too fragile, she wanted what he was offering too much.

“I can't, Clay. You should just forget about me.”

“Never.”

Meg's eyes stung. Oh, why did he have to suddenly want to fight for them? Why couldn't he let her go as he always had before?

“Goodbye,” she whispered. “Please don't follow me.”

She left him standing in the kitchen.

M
EG
tamped the stack of flyers together and slid them into a large envelope. Saturday was the grand opening and she was going to pop in to town this morning and deliver flyers to local businesses. Everything was ready—the barn and riding ring were finished and the extra insurance had been approved. She already had three boarders lined up and she'd bought two mild-mannered quarter horse mares from Brody Hamilton and was considering two more. Four summer day camps were scheduled and Megan hoped that registrations would begin to flow in after the weekend.

But somehow it felt empty. She looked down at her desk, set up in a corner of the small office her parents used for ranch business. One of the invitations she'd printed for a small group of personal friends remained on the top. Clay's. She knew he needed to be here. Despite their problems, he'd given her such a precious gift. If it weren't for him, the school would still be a pipe dream.

But she hadn't seen him since the night in his kitchen. They'd both been busy, but in all the years they'd known each other, they'd always run into each other occasionally. To go this long without so much as a sign of him meant he was avoiding her. Just as she was avoiding him.

There was a knock on the office door and Meg looked
up. Jen Laramie stood in the breach, holding out a tray of iced cinnamon buns and flashing a crooked smile.

Meg forced a bright smile. “Your timing is perfect.”

“Isn't it always?”

Meg admired the fact that nothing ever managed to drag Jen down. She pushed her chair back and got up. “I could use a distraction.” She knew she'd been hiding away too long, letting this thing with her and Clay make her blue. She had so much to be thankful for, to be happy about and it was time she pulled herself out of her funk.

“Mom put some decaf on before she left. I'll get the cream if you get plates.”

In moments they were seated at the table with steaming mugs and sticky fingers. “Seen Clay lately?” Jen asked, a little too innocently. Meg knew everyone had seen them leave the wedding together, and that had only been a while ago. And Meg was sure that even though they'd never made their business agreement public, people were probably aware that Clay had bankrolled Meg's project. If there
hadn't
been some speculation, Meg would have been surprised.

“Not lately,” she answered, focusing on a dribble of icing running down the side of her roll.

“Hmm. No one's seen much of him. Hasn't been to wing night in weeks. Neither of you have.”

Did Jen think that she and Clay had been holed up together? Meg picked at a layer of pastry, wondering how to reply to the thinly veiled insinuation. So she wasn't the only one hiding out. It hurt her to know that she'd hurt him. That he'd never know how much she appreciated what he'd done for her. It wasn't just the loan. It was how she saw herself. His acceptance had changed so much.

And yet she still felt she'd done the right thing. This could all change in the blink of an eye. She wouldn't risk
hurting him further. “I've been busy here,” Meg said, taking a sip of coffee and keeping her face perfectly neutral. “And I'm sure Clay must be busy at his place, with haying starting and all.”

Jen broke off a piece of pastry and popped it in her mouth. “Shoot, everyone's busy. We kind of thought maybe Clay was here helping you get set up.”

“No,” Meg answered simply. But the truth was, his absence stung. She had been the one to end things. It didn't make it easier, but she owned it. This time there was no ambiguity. It was over. And one day she'd be over Clay and it would be fine.

Jen leaned forward and studied Meg's face. “Girl, what's going on? Have you been sleeping?”

Meg forced a light laugh. She knew there were shadows under her eyes and knew what had put them there. “Are you kidding? I've been putting in long days, that's all. I fall into bed at night and sleep like a house fell on me.”

She didn't say that she pushed so hard to try to forget Clay. That she welcomed the exhaustion so that she wouldn't lie awake in bed thinking about what she'd given up.

“Then you're unhappy.” Jen leaned back and rested her fingers on her rounded belly as she frowned. Meg tried not to watch the way Jen's palm smoothed her maternity shirt out of habit. Meg had been right to walk away from Clay, hadn't she? He was the kind of man who needed a family, a son or daughter to take over the legacy he was building. Meg's treatment had been aggressive. Even if they might have made it past the physical issues, Meg didn't even know if she could get pregnant. It was just one more thing on the list, and Clay didn't even realize.

A lump lodged in her throat. She'd never thought about
it much before but she did want children. Especially little black-haired boys with irresistible eyes. Another thing on the list, yes. Another thing that set off the wistful longing she couldn't seem to escape lately, too. She'd asked Clay not to follow her and he hadn't. She'd blown any chance with him now, his continued absence told her that.

“Meg?”

She lifted her head, suddenly aware that she'd been staring into her coffee cup for too long. “Sorry, Jen.”

“What happened between you?”

Meg shook her head. What had happened was between her and Clay.

“After the wedding, everyone thought…”

Meg got up from the table and collected their plates. “They thought wrong.”

Jen waited for a minute, but then got up and followed Meg to the sink. Meg felt her friend's hands on her shoulders. She should be happy at this moment—her dream of her own business was coming true. Instead all she was feeling was sadness.

“If there was something between us, Jen, there's not now. I wanted to preserve our friendship, but after the last time…”

“The last time what?”

Meg thought back to all the hurtful things she'd said. Even though they were true, saying them had torn her apart. “The last time I saw Clay. We haven't spoken since. I hurt him, Jen. It was the last thing I wanted to do, but I know I hurt him. And now I'm such a coward I can't even bring myself to invite him on Saturday.”

There. She'd admitted it. She was a complete chicken. She knew he deserved to be here but she wasn't at all confident about how she'd handle seeing him again, especially in a crowd.

Jen turned her around by the shoulders. “You should go apologize.”

“It's too late for that.”

Jen's mouth took on a determined shape and she looked Meg dead in the eye. “It's never too late to say you're sorry. For heaven's sake, Meg. We've all been there for each other for years. Clay loves you.”

“I know.”

Meg saw Jen's face light up. “Well then!”

“It's not that simple, Jen. Please…don't say anything. It's complicated.”

“It's always complicated,” Jen said wisely.

Wasn't that the truth. Meg knew Jen was right. Heavens, her road back to Andrew had been fraught with difficulty. Meg tried a smile. “Are married women always so wise?” she asked.

“Everyone has scars, Meg. It's not easy moving past them, especially when you don't want to get hurt again.”

Meg's lips dropped open. “How did you know? I mean, is it that obvious?”

Jen's gaze softened. “Oh, honey, you're dealing with both kinds of scars—literal and figurative. You don't give Clay enough credit. Your mastectomy won't turn him away. And you can always go for reconstruction later, you know?”

“It's not that, not anymore,” Meg replied. How things had changed since the day she went shopping for a dress in Lily's store. She was nowhere near as self-conscious as she had been. She went back to the table and sat, and Jen followed. Meg rested her forearms on the table. “I'm afraid, Jen. It's me, all me. You talk to all these survivors and it's like they have a new lease on life and they're so happy. And at times it's like that. Look at how I built this business. I'm
here
, and that's a victory in itself. But
underneath it's hard, because I know what it's like. And I know how it feels to think for just a moment that you might not make it. And that gets me every time.”

Jen didn't answer for a few minutes, but finally she looked up. “Then you have to decide which is more important. A life with Clay, or playing it safe.”

She made it sound so easy when it wasn't. “It doesn't matter now anyway. It's over.” She felt miserable as she met Jen's gaze. “Any other time he's come back. But not this time.”

“Then you have to give him a reason to. I can't tell you what to do, Meg, but letting it fester won't help. You can't spend the rest of your life avoiding someone who only lives a mile away. Who is best friends with your brother.”

“Then what do I do?”

Jen smiled. “You invite him to the grand opening. You smile. As far as the rest, you have to figure that out. But I want you to remember that I'm here, Meg. Anytime you need me. Lily, too. I know you might not be comfortable talking to Noah about your particular situation, but I know he'd understand. So many of us have always only wanted to help.”

“I know.” Meg's heart filled with gratitude and a bittersweet sort of love. “You all stuck by me even when I pushed you away.”

Jen patted her hand. “Then maybe you won't be so silly again, hmm?”

It was time she accepted help. Time she let people in, she realized. Maybe Clay had been right, too. Maybe the only person demanding perfection was her.

Meg thought back to the invitation on her desk. If Jen was so keen on helping, she'd surely run a tiny errand. “There is one thing you could do for me. Deliver
his invitation. He's responsible for this happening and he should be here. I'm not sure he'd even accept it from me. But he will from you.”

“You know I'll do anything I can.”

Meg went to the office and got the invitation along with a handful of flyers. “If you can pass these out at Snickerdoodles, that'd be great.” She smiled at Jen. Even as she got nearer to her due date, Jen had an energy about her that Meg admired. It was happiness, Meg realized with a spurt of envy. The feeling soon went away. She would never begrudge anyone a chance at happiness. It was her own dissatisfaction talking. Besides, talking to Jen had somehow lifted part of the weight that seemed to drag her down lately. Perhaps the old saying was right after all—a burden shared was a burden halved.

“You've done so much already. Offering to provide the food for the Open House means so much. I don't deserve it.”

“Don't be silly. That's what friends are for.”

Meg knew she was right. That everyone had been right all along. In this town—in this circle—people looked out for each other. Meg had felt so much love and acceptance since her return. But it had made her feel like she had very little to offer back. Maybe it was time she tried to change that.

“Either way, I want you to know I appreciate your support.”

“I'll drop this off in Clay's mailbox before I go back to town.”

Meg gave Jen an impulsive hug. “Thank you,” she murmured. “For everything. I feel so much better.”

Jen gave her a squeeze and stepped back. “Don't give up yet,” she said with a wink. “And I'll see you Saturday.”

When Jen was gone Meg wandered back to the of
fice. She picked up the striped rock that she used as a paperweight these days. It served as a reminder of her years of friendship with Clay and what he'd sacrificed to make this Saturday possible. She hoped that someday they could find their way back to that friendship, but she wasn't too optimistic. There would never be that open, easy way between them again. Once you loved someone, things changed. Wounds of the heart didn't heal with a few sutures and time.

The rock warmed in her hand and she closed her eyes. She wished so many things could be different. Most of all she wished she had what it took to make him happy. Maybe setting him free was the best way to do that. Which was fine—for Clay.

But Meg knew she wouldn't be free. And the alternative that stretched before her was a lifetime of being alone.

She put down the rock, dissatisfied. Somehow it didn't seem like much of an alternative at all.

 

The last thing Clay wanted to do on a Saturday evening was go to the Briggs ranch. He'd put if off as long as he could. The invitation Jen had delivered said four o'clock until nine. It was already past seven.

He put his foot up on the bench and gave his boots a final rub of the cloth. She hadn't even delivered the invitation herself and that spoke volumes. Was she so desperate to avoid his company? He had put himself out there, laid his heart on the line and she'd handed it back to him saying she couldn't love him. He'd stayed away not out of anger but because he knew she was hurting, and he had no desire to make it harder for her.

But he had to go. No matter what had happened between him and Meg, he knew how it would look if he
stayed away. Everyone knew he'd loaned her the money. And the Briggs family was too important to him. His absence would be noted, and he couldn't avoid Meg forever. So he'd go to her grand opening and smile and nod at the new stable extension and ring and then he'd come home. He had no desire to ruin her big day.

To kill more time, he walked the mile between their houses.

It was seven-thirty when he arrived and the yard was full of vehicles. Country music played from a sound system somewhere and voices were raised in laughter and conversation. Three long tables were set up with quickly diminishing platters of food and washtubs contained melting ice and canned drinks. In the center of the garden was a new sign: Mountain View Stables. Red geraniums and white petunias blossomed in the surrounding bed and the picnic tables Meg had built were full of neighbors and friends. Clay moved past them and into the barn out of the noise. He hadn't seen Meg anywhere, but he was sure she was basking in the glory of the moment. The place looked like a total success.