Читать онлайн книгу «How a Cowboy Stole Her Heart / The Rancher′s Dance: How a Cowboy Stole Her Heart / The Rancher′s Dance» автора Allison Leigh

How a Cowboy Stole Her Heart / The Rancher's Dance: How a Cowboy Stole Her Heart / The Rancher's Dance
Allison Leigh
DONNA ALWARD
How a Cowboy Stole Her HeartClay’s known Megan her whole life, and now she’s back home after a painful ordeal, he plans to remind Meg she’s still the girl who can beat him in a horse race! An invite to a family wedding seems the perfect way to get reacquainted. But as Meg arrives in her curve-hugging red dress, her skills on a horse are the furthest thing from his mind…The Rancher’s Dance Lucy Buchanan was getting romantic ideas about the sexy rancher next door. Not even Beck’s gruff manner could stop her from being neighbourly. Even before he swept her into his arms on the dance floor, Beck knew Lucy was some kind of special…and had danced her way straight into his heart?




How a Cowboy
Stole Her Heart
Donna Alward
The Rancher’s
Dance
Allison Leigh



www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Dear Reader,
Sometimes it takes a while for characters to get their story. When Clay Gregory strolled into One Dance with the Cowboy and warned Andrew to be good to Jen, I knew he was hero material. What I didn’t realize was how hard it would be to find him the right woman. You see, I couldn’t just come up with a heroine-to-order and make her fit. I tried. A few times, actually. But nothing was coming together right and I went on to write other books.
But Clay’s a bit stubborn. And all the while I was writing other stories, he was waiting, sometimes not so patiently, for his turn. Finally I realized the problem was that I had been looking for love in all the wrong places, as the song goes. Clay didn’t need a woman to breeze into Larch Valley and sweep him off his feet. He needed to see what was right in front of him all along.
I’m so pleased that you’re finally going to read Clay and Meg’s story. As always, I love hearing from readers so please drop by my website at www.donnaalward.com, or contact me through my publisher.
Best wishes and happy reading,
Donna

How a Cowboy Stole Her Heart

About the Author
A busy wife and mother of three (two daughters and the family dog), DONNA ALWARD believes hers is the best job in the world: a combination of stay-at-home mum and romance novelist. An avid reader since childhood, Donna always made up her own stories. She completed her arts degree in English literature in 1994, but it wasn’t until 2001 that she penned her first full-length novel and found herself hooked on writing romance. In 2006 she sold her first manuscript, and now writes warm, emotional stories for the Cherish line.
In her new home office in Nova Scotia, Donna loves being back on the east coast of Canada after nearly twelve years in Alberta, where her career began, writing about cowboys and the West. Donna’s debut novel, Hired by the Cowboy, was awarded the Booksellers Best Award in 2008 for Best Traditional Romance.
With the Atlantic Ocean only minutes from her doorstep, Donna has found a fresh take on life and promises even more great romances in the near future! Donna loves to hear from readers. You can contact her through her website at www.donnaalward.com, her My Space page at www.myspace.com/dalward or through her publisher.
To the beautiful, brave survivors everywhere.
You are amazing.

CHAPTER ONE
CLAY GREGORY stood in the middle of the barn corridor, his booted feet planted on the cold concrete and his hands shoved into the pockets of his sheepskin jacket. His breath formed frosty clouds in the air and his dark eyes glittered beneath the brown knitted hat he wore in lieu of his customary Stetson.
Meg looked away, determined to ignore him. Clay Gregory thought himself a cut above and she didn’t mind taking him down a peg or two this cold March morning. She refused to glance his way again, instead giving her shovel a satisfying scrape along the stall floor. She dumped the soiled straw into a waiting wheelbarrow. She made the same action twice more, each time her heart thumping a little harder as he remained silent. The increase in her heart rate wasn’t from the physical exertion, though the exercise was a welcome feeling after months of taking it easy.
Nope. The hammering pulse was one hundred percent caused by Clay. The last time he’d spoken to her it had been to accuse her of running away. She’d wanted to make him understand, but his mind had been closed. The spectre of cancer had killed most of her romantic illusions where Clay was concerned, and his harsh words had finished the job. She’d told herself she was over her schoolgirl crush, but his censure had bothered her more than she cared to admit. Because there wasn’t just a crush at stake. They’d been friends first, and the words he’d flung at her had hurt more than he knew.
“Megan.”
Finally. His deep voice seemed to fill the corridor and she took a measured breath. She stood the shovel on its blade and rested her hands on the handle as she looked up, meeting his gaze dead-on. “Hello, Clay.”
He took a step forward. Meg gripped the shovel handle and stepped back, resuming her task. She had to keep working. She didn’t want to talk to Clay, not this morning. Facing things one at a time was what she intended to do and Clay Gregory’s closed mind was not on the list for today.
“You’re back,” he said, and she realized he was only a few feet behind her.
“Yes, I’m back. Thanks for noticing.”
“I came looking for Dawson.”
Oh, so he wasn’t here to see her after all. She bit down on her lip to keep from blurting out the sharp reply that had formed in her head. There was no reason for her pride to be hurt. Clay had said some very painful things last spring. When he’d accused her of running away he was right. She had been, but her reasons had been solid. At least to her. She made the best decision she could and she didn’t regret it one bit. She was here now because she’d made the decision to fight with all she had. If Clay didn’t like it that was his problem.
“We had some problems with calves last night,” she said blandly. “Dawson went back to bed and I said I’d do the horses.”
She didn’t need to look at Clay to know he was scowling. He had a way of frowning that made a line form between his eyebrows. When she’d still been able to tease him she’d called it a penny slot, and many a time she’d wanted to smooth the crease away but she’d been too chicken to touch him in such an intimate manner.
She’d save herself that humiliation, thank you very much. The only thing worse than having a crush on her brother’s best friend while growing up had been the possibility of acting on it and being rejected. As she surely would have been. Clay had never shown the slightest interest in her that way. He’d always treated her like an annoying little sister.
“Give me the shovel,” he said, and his long arm reached around and closed over hers on the black handle.
Megan ignored the automatic zing that raced down her limbs at the contact and pulled the implement out of his grasp. “What are you doing?”
His response was to grip her shoulders and turn her around.
She looked up—a long way up, because Clay was over six feet tall and she came in at a measly five foot five. She couldn’t help the thrill that coursed through her at his nearness.
Coursed through every part of her body, save one. On the right side of her chest she felt nothing, because there was nothing there.
This was so not how it was supposed to go. Clay Gregory and the cancer were in the past. She wished she could just forget about them both. But both had left their indelible mark no matter how hard she tried to move past them.
“What was Dawson thinking, letting you do this?” he demanded, the line between his brows now a deep crater above his nose.
She pulled away and lifted her chin. Not like it would make her any taller, but it made her feel better. “Dawson doesn’t let me do anything. He’s not the boss of me.”
Great. That made her sound what, ten years old? She glared at him as best she could. She hadn’t come back to Larch Valley just so people could start bossing her around and treating her with kid gloves. “I’ve been mucking out stalls since I was a kid, Clay. If you want to see Dawson, he’s up at the house. Let me get back to work.”
Her snappish words seemed to take him back a bit as the line eased but the concern still rested heavy in his eyes. “Are you sure you should be doing heavy labor, Meg? You shouldn’t do too much and …”
“And what?” she finished for him. What did he think would happen? There were no more stitches to pop. She wasn’t going to collapse at his feet. “Shoveling … you-know-what is hardly heavy labor. I think I know what I can and can’t handle,” she replied, but she softened her tone a bit. There was no sense in arguing. “I’m fine, Clay. I’m all better now. Good as new.”
It was a lie, but it would be truth soon enough. Granted, there were still lingering issues since her treatment. Twinges that happened at the oddest times. Fatigue. Then there was the issue of her scars. They would never go away, but the rest would be cured by time and working to get stronger. “Farm work is exactly what I need.”
Megan Briggs had been just about as low as she ever cared to get, but that was over now. Breast cancer hadn’t beaten her—she’d beaten it. Now it was time to reclaim her life. She had ideas—good ones. And if she wanted her family’s support, she had to first prove to them that she wasn’t going to fall apart at any moment. They needed her. And while the past year couldn’t have been helped, she was determined to help keep the Briggs ranch on its feet.
If people kept tiptoeing around her like she was breakable, how on earth was she ever going to make it happen? But she wasn’t about to give up. And so she tightened her hands around the shovel, prepared to resume her work.
Clay’s response was to retrieve another shovel from beside the door. Megan looked up at him and wasn’t sure if she was flattered or insulted at his obvious caring. She decided insulted. It was easier that way.
“I can do this,” she repeated, feeling a silly urge to stamp her foot. She did not. She merely stared at him as he took the stall next to her and dug in. “Clay! I said I’ve got it.”
“Shut up, Meg,” he said mildly, igniting her temper even further.
It would serve him right if she walked out and let him do them all, she thought. But that wouldn’t help her cause one little bit. She needed everyone to see she was fine. Same old Meg. Reliable and ready to put in a hard day’s work. Not a burden. Not a girl who needed to be pampered. Definitely not made of glass, ready to break at any moment. That whole “poor Meg” bit was what had driven her to Calgary in the first place.
“Fine.” She wasn’t about to stand and argue about it. She finished the stall she was on and moved the barrow down the aisle, beginning on another. A raw breeze blew through the door at the end of the barn, and when Meg looked up, soft flakes were falling. The horses were huddled together in the corral, the light snow dusting their backs.
The hard edge of her mood melted away and she smiled to herself. The horses, this ranch, her family—they were what were important now. She had to remember that. She’d done what she had to do to get through her illness, but oh, it was wonderful to be home. This was where she belonged. And where she would stay.
Clay saw the hint of a smile touch Meg’s face and some of his frustration mellowed. It was good to have her back. Good to see her looking so well. A little thinner than he remembered, but with the same thickly lashed, saucy brown eyes and the same dusting of freckles over her nose. She wore a horribly ugly hat on her head that looked like it had been knitted by yarn odds and ends, the colors varied and mismatched.
It suited her to a T. Meg had always been a little unconventional and he’d liked that about her. When she’d snapped at him her delicate features had taken on a familiar stubborn set. Meg had never cared what other people thought. That was what made her disappearance to Calgary so troubling. Suddenly the spunky girl he’d always known had turned into a frightened waif running away. He’d been worried and had gone about telling her in all the wrong ways.
Now she was back and he wanted to believe she was okay. She certainly looked fine. She’d told him she’d be back strong and fit and he’d had his doubts. Doubts he’d refused to voice, because he’d been afraid. He’d admitted it to no one but himself. He’d been afraid Meg was going to die. The girl in dark, curly pigtails who had held his hand in hers and said she’d always be there for him had faced something that made promises irrelevant.
And instead of talking about it he’d lashed out. What he had said all those months ago had been so very wrong and he’d regretted those words ever since. Dawson had mentioned she was coming home and Clay had thought to catch his friend in the barns, do a little digging about her state of mind—and health—before facing her again. Instead of Dawson he’d found Meg, cleaning stalls like the last year had never happened. He owed her an apology for those words.
“You’re truly okay?” He kept shoveling, needing to keep moving, to pretend that this was like any other sort of conversation he’d had with Meg a thousand times.
Instead he found himself face-to-face with her and her sharp attitude. The sweet Megan he remembered was gone and replaced by a woman with a stubborn jut to her chin and eyes full of fire. Before he would have been able to soothe ruffled feathers with a smile and a bit of charm. But Meg seemed immune now. The words of apology he’d practiced in his head disappeared, swept away on the arctic air blowing through Larch Valley.
“I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t,” she replied, shaking fresh straw on to the stall floor.
He looked up briefly. She was watching him, her eyes enormous above her plaid wool jacket. Old work gloves covered her hands and she wore jeans and boots, same as him. At this moment, it was hard to imagine her body being ravaged by disease.
“If I said I was sorry for what I said to you last spring, would you believe me?” He stumbled over the words. They were nothing like he’d rehearsed, but he couldn’t take them back now. What was he supposed to say? That all the hateful things he’d said had eaten at him all these months? That at the time he’d been afraid they were the last words he might ever say to her? Her current strength and determination made the sentiments seem ridiculous.
“Sure.” She shook out more straw over the floor and he gritted his teeth. She was certainly as mule headed as ever.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
She looked up at him. “Not really. Let’s just let it drop.”
In Clay’s experience, a woman never “dropped” anything, but Megan wasn’t like most women. He had no idea what to say next. He’d apologized and he’d meant it. Maybe that was enough.
“Did your mom tell you about Aunt Stacy?”
With a sigh, Meg put her shovel aside. “No, she didn’t. What’s to know?”
“Gee, Meg, I’m sorry, is my conversation boring you?” He couldn’t keep the sarcasm out of his tone. She was completely exasperating. He’d come over here, wanting to say hello, wanting to say he was sorry, and he got a sharp tongue and put-upon air for his troubles.
A slight flush touched her cheekbones and she looked a little sheepish. “Of course not. I’m a little touchy, okay? Everyone is treating me like I’m going to break at any moment. It’s a bit suffocating.”
“That wasn’t my intention.”
She raised an eyebrow and he knew she was right. It had been, from the moment he had said she shouldn’t be mucking out stalls. He’d taken a heavy hand from the start. Well, sue him for being worried about her. “If people are concerned, it’s only because they care about you and don’t want you to do too much, too fast.”
“I know that.”
“You’ve just come home. I’m sure once everyone sees you’re back to your old self, they’ll move on to another topic.” He made his voice sound far more confident than he felt.
Clay knew very well how the gossip in the town worked. There was a flavor of the week and then something newer and juicier came along. Hell, at his age he could hardly go out on a date without the grapevine marrying him off by the next morning. Even his aunt Stacy had gotten in on the needling a bit lately, asking if there was any particular young lady he was interested in. The answer was always an unequivocal no. Not that he would have admitted otherwise if there was someone who caught his eye.
He shut the stall door and latched it. “You were gone the better part of a year,” he said. “You’re still a bit of a mystery to a lot of the people of Larch Valley. It’ll blow over.”
When he turned back, there were tears glimmering in Meg’s eyes. His stomach clenched. He didn’t know how to handle a woman’s tears. Not even a woman like Megan, who he’d known most of his life and who, for the most part, had been just one of the gang. He couldn’t recall ever seeing her cry in his life. “Did I say something wrong?”
She shook her head, and he noticed she bit down on her lip when it started to quiver. Was there something else going on? Worry slid coldly down his spine. He was so not good with this sort of thing. Tears, sickness … these were the kinds of things he normally wouldn’t touch with a ten-foot pole. Not even for Meg.
But just as soon as the emotion had bubbled to the surface, she locked it away. “I thought going away and coming back would be easier, but …” The word caught a bit and she took a breath, regaining control. The next sentence came out stronger. “But it’s been more stressful than I expected. I feel like I can’t do anything without being watched and examined, and that’s just by Mom, Dad and Dawson.”
“And now me.”
“I appreciate that you care, Clay …”
But he got the picture. He was in the way. She might have accepted his apology but he suspected what he’d said still stung. Maybe it always would—he hadn’t been kind. He should be relieved. After all, facing a friend with cancer hit a little too close to home for Clay’s comfort. It brought back way too many bad memories. And yet, her veiled dismissal left him with a hollow feeling of disappointment.
“Hint taken.” He pasted on what he figured was a polite enough smile and dusted off his hands, thumping his leather gloves together. “And your stalls are done.”
“Thanks for your help.”
He wasn’t entirely sure if she was sincere. But he knew one thing—she was struggling. She needed her friends to rally around her. “Look, tomorrow night is our regular wing night at the Spur. Why don’t you come out? Have you seen the girls yet?”
She shook her head. Something lit in her eyes that was gratifying to see, instantly followed by indecision. He pressed on. “You know Jen and Lily will be thrilled to see you. And Lucy’s bound to be there with Brody if they can get a sitter.” The circle of friends was tight, and he knew they’d show the support he was reluctant to give, paltry as it was. “Surely a few drinks and hot wings is a good way to start, isn’t it?”
“I don’t know …”
Clay’s worry increased. Meg had never been a party girl, but she wasn’t usually this withdrawn. She’d always sort of been there. Steady as a rock. Ready with a laugh and a smile. He set his shoulders. No disease should be allowed to take that effervescence away from her.
“You think about it,” he said, in a voice that really left no room for refusal. “And if you want a drive, call me. I’ll pick you up on the way by.”
“I’ll think about it,” she replied, but in a small voice that he didn’t like the sound of at all.
He nodded before spinning on his heel.
“Clay?”
He turned back at the sound of her voice. She was standing in the middle of the corridor, her gloved hands resting once again on the top of the shovel. The mishmash of work clothes should have made her unattractive, but she wasn’t. Her skin was glowing in the cold air and her eyes had always been particularly pretty, dark brown and glittering with mischief.
“What about your aunt Stacy?” she called, and Clay finally grinned. The good news about his aunt never failed to bring a smile to his face.
“She’s getting married,” he replied, and with a wave headed out of the barn, back to his truck. “Think about it, huh,” he muttered to himself as he started the engine. He was well aware that Meg’s social life wasn’t any of his business. She was a grown woman, certainly able to take care of herself.
But then he thought about how pale her skin looked and how she seemed to shrink at the idea of going out with friends. She needed a nudge, that was all. Tomorrow night he was stopping to get her whether she liked it or not. It was for her own good.
Yesterday had not been a good day for Clay. The calf had been delivered by cesarean and even then it had not been enough. Clay had held high hopes for this breeding pair and had paid good money for the privilege. Having the calf deliver stillborn put him in a rotten mood. By the time he’d handled things at the barn and showered, wing night was well under way when he’d arrived at the Spur and Saddle. Megan hadn’t shown, either, and by the end of the night he’d been downright grouchy. He’d returned home in an even worse mood and spent a restless night tossing and turning in his bed.
Clay turned into the Briggs farmyard early the next morning with a scowl still on his face. He hadn’t really expected her to come out but he’d hoped the idea of Jen and Lily being there would entice her. She couldn’t stay hidden away forever. She might be back in town but she was still running away from all the people who would support her. Not that it mattered to him personally, he told himself, but the behaviour got his back up. It was weak and selfish to his mind. It reminded him of his mother and that always left a bitter taste in his mouth.
Well, he wasn’t about to confront her today. He had too much weighing on his mind, including talking to Dawson about the upcoming meeting of local ranchers. He was relieved to see her car wasn’t in the driveway. After bungling his apology yesterday he wasn’t in any mood to cross swords. He had enough on his plate.
The barn was empty when he checked so he made his way to the house, his boots crunching on the brittle snow.
He knocked at the back porch, and when there was no answer, tried the knob. He and Dawson had been dashing in and out of each other’s houses since they were old enough to run between farms, and going in to leave a note was common practice. The door was unlocked as usual and he entered the mudroom, removing his boots before stepping inside the warmth of the kitchen. It smelled like cinnamon and vanilla and his stomach rumbled. With Aunt Stacy gone most of the time now, he’d had to rely on his own basic cooking and once she was married he’d be on his own altogether. Which was fine. He wouldn’t starve. But he was the first to admit he wasn’t so great on the baking sweets end of things.
The coffee cake sat on a cooling rack and he imagined cutting a slice while it was still warm. He smiled to himself. Linda Briggs would give him heck if he pulled such a stunt.
Linda always kept a notepad beside the phone, too. He went to the counter and grabbed a pen.
“Clay!”
He jumped at the sound of his name, nearly dropping the pen.
Megan stood at the junction between hall and kitchen wearing jeans and a sweater and a towel wrapped around her head. She looked anything but happy to see him. “Don’t you knock?”
He forced a calming breath. “Since when have we ever knocked?” He picked up the pen and began writing, trying to look far more composed than he felt. His heart was beating a mile a minute. As he scribbled the note he said, “And as a matter of fact, I did knock. No one answered.”
“I was upstairs.”
He looked up. She didn’t wear a speck of makeup and the dark blue towel contrasted with her flawless complexion. He could smell the flowery scent of her soap or shampoo from where he stood and it felt disturbingly intimate. “So I gathered. I’ll be out of your way in a minute. I’m just leaving a note for Dawson.”
He finished and ripped the paper off the tablet. “Where is he, by the way?”
Megan’s lips twisted and she looked away. “He didn’t come home last night. And he has my car.”
Clay remembered the goofy way his friend had looked at Tara Stillwell last night as she’d waited on them at the Spur. Dawson had been interested in her for weeks, but Clay hadn’t realized the attraction went both ways so completely. “Tara’s a nice girl. He could do worse.”
“Tara … you mean Tara from my graduating class?” She finally moved from the doorway and into the kitchen.
“You didn’t know?”
Megan shook her head, looking genuinely distressed. “Not a clue. He never said a word to me about it.”
“I guess you haven’t been here to see,” Clay replied, unable to resist the slight dig.
Fire flashed in Meg’s eyes as the towel slipped on her head. With a look of annoyance she took it off. “I’m well aware that I’ve been out of town,” she snapped. “I don’t know why you feel you must continue to bring it up. And my family did visit me, you know. If Dawson kept his personal life to himself, I’m not totally to blame for that, too.”
Clay heard the sharp words but they bounced off him at the shock of seeing her hair. It was short, sleek and lighter than he remembered, even though it was wet. A light reddish-brown color that reminded him of Tinkerbell. Short and saucy and cute.
But it was the cause of the change that felt like lead in his feet, heavy and immovable. All her gorgeous dark curls were gone. The woman in front of him seemed even more of a stranger.
Her wide, honeyed eyes looked into his. “The chemo,” she acknowledged quietly. There was no resentment in the words—just acceptance, and it damn near ripped his heart out.
“Meg.” The word came out like a croak; he hadn’t realized how his throat had closed over. Seeing her in boots and with a shovel in her hand had been one thing. She had been Dawson’s little sister, Clay’s old friend. It had been easier to pretend that there wouldn’t be physical changes after what she’d been through.
But this was evidence. Proof of what she’d suffered. Proof of things changing when Clay wanted them to be the same as they’d always been. Easy. Damn, it had always been easy with Meg, right up until the time she got sick and everything changed.
“It’s okay,” she replied, folding the towel neatly. “It’s coming back in now, it just takes some getting used to. I like it. It’s easy to care for.”
She smiled but he caught the wobble at the edges. For the first time ever he was glad she’d done her treatment in Calgary. Yes, she’d have had support in Larch Valley, but he wouldn’t have been the man to provide it as much as he’d like to pretend otherwise. Megan was a friend and he’d wanted to be there for her, but he couldn’t handle this sort of thing and he hated what that said about him.
He’d had no choice but to watch his father waste away. He’d been ten years old and there had been nowhere for him to go, no escape. He’d idolized his dad, even when the big man had been reduced to a shadow of his former self. Now Clay was torn between resenting Meg for running away and being grateful that he hadn’t had to witness the harsh realities of her treatment. It was over, but just the idea of Meg being completely bald seemed unreal and made his stomach do a slow, heavy twist.
“I’d better get going.” He put the note on the counter and headed back for the mudroom and his boots.
“Is it really that ugly?”
Her soft voice chased after him and he stopped, dropping his head. He couldn’t leave knowing she thought … Oh hell. How women thought was far beyond him most days but he was bright enough to realize that he’d hurt her feelings by reacting the way he had. She’d lost all her hair. Megan had never been what he considered high maintenance, but he understood that she had to be feeling insecure about her appearance. He wasn’t totally insensitive.
He turned back. “No,” he said, the kitchen so perfectly silent that his quiet response filled every corner. She was absolutely gorgeous if he were being honest with himself. The fact that he noticed was quite troubling. But he wouldn’t deny her the words. He wasn’t that cold. “It’s not bad at all. You’re as beautiful as you ever were.”
It was the last thing he expected that would make her cry.

CHAPTER TWO
“You’re as beautiful as you ever were.”
The burst of emotion was so sudden and unfamiliar that Megan choked on the sob that tore from her throat. She quickly covered her mouth with her hands, but Clay was staring at her like he’d never seen her before. Megan Briggs did not cry, especially not in front of anyone. But this time she seemed unable to control her reaction. It hit too close to her heart.
Clay Gregory had just said she was beautiful. She closed her eyes and two tears slid down her cheeks. The irony hit her like a fist—she wasn’t beautiful. Not anymore, not even close. For years she’d longed to hear those words from his lips, and now that she didn’t want them they were offered in the bitterest of circumstances. Because she was less than whole, she was vulnerable and worst of all—needy.
She’d solicited his remark, rather than simply accepting his tepid reaction to her pixie-short hair. And of course he would say that, out of duty. Out of sympathy.
Clay didn’t know the changes cancer had wrought on her body and the scars it had left behind. Losing her hair was nothing in the greater scheme of things. She was missing a breast. She’d had treatments that had changed so much of her body’s chemistry that things she’d barely given a passing thought to before—like one day being married and having a family—were suddenly important and very uncertain. And yet somehow she knew, deep inside, that even if Clay was only trying to make her feel better, somehow he meant the words. She gathered them close to her heart and cherished them.
“I’m sorry,” she said, trying to pull the pieces of herself together. Both times she’d seen Clay since her return, she’d teared up and she didn’t like that one bit. If she couldn’t deal with one annoying rancher, how could she face her friends—the whole town for that matter—with a smile on her face? The last thing she wanted was to break down in public. She had never been a crier, but her emotions seemed harder to control these days. She couldn’t just jump back into the social scene without trusting herself to hold it together first.
“I didn’t mean to make you cry,” he replied, shoving his hands in his pockets. He shifted his weight uncomfortably.
Great. First she’d practically forced him into paying her a compliment, and now he looked like he’d rather be anywhere than standing in her kitchen. “Don’t mind me.” She picked up the towel and folded it neatly to give her hands something to do. Embarrassment crept through her as she tried to explain. Honesty was probably the best approach—as honest as she was comfortable being, anyway.
“The truth is, Clay, I’m working through stuff. I know I’m not the same woman I was a year ago. I look different. I feel different.” She swiped her finger under her eyes, wiping away the rest of the moisture. “Physically … there are some adjustments. Emotionally, too. But I made you uncomfortable and I’m sorry for that.”
Of course she had made him uncomfortable. Talking to Clay about cancer was like chatting to a closed door—words bounced off and there was no response. He avoided the topic whenever he could. When she’d told their circle of friends of the biopsy results, Clay had turned ashen and left the room. Cancer had stolen his father and in a way his mother, too. And if Meg knew anything about Clay from their years of friendship, it was that he handled things in one of two ways—he charmed his way through or put his shoulder to the wheel.
Since he wasn’t employing his charms, Meg could only assume he was forging ahead, doing what he had to do to make the best of the situation but wearing blinders to everything negative about her illness that bothered him.
Clay’s dark eyes caught hers. “I’m fine.” He paused for a second and then asked, “Is that why you didn’t go to the pub last night? Because you’re working through stuff?”
She’d wanted to go. She’d actually figured out what she was going to wear and everything. But when the time came she’d been utterly exhausted. Even now that her treatment was done, fatigue continued to knock her flat without any notice. The idea of facing everyone for the first time feeling so run-down was too daunting, and besides, convincing them she was all right in such a state was laughable.
Not that she could explain it to Clay. He was already tiptoeing around her, holding himself back. She had to be one hundred percent or people would go around thinking she was sick again.
“I spent the night with Mom,” she answered. “After being gone so long …”
She let the thought hang. Let Clay reach his own conclusions—that she’d caught up on some quality time with her mother. It wasn’t totally untrue.
Today she was feeling much better. She’d done chores and had breakfast and showered. The cake she’d made was nearly cool enough to eat and she still had energy to burn. She might not be ready for a night at the pub, but she was going a little stir crazy being cooped up on the ranch. She needed to get out and do something. No one else would listen to her plans. But maybe Clay would. Clay had fought against the odds himself and was always looking at ways of improving his operation.
Besides, when he left today she wanted him to remember her strong and fit and ambitious. Not with the pity she knew was hiding behind his worried eyes.
“You busy? Do you have time for a ride?”
Clay’s hands came out of his pockets. “A ride?”
“I want to show you something. Besides, Clover and Calico can both use the exercise.”
“I don’t know. I should get back.”
Meg shrugged. “Never mind then. It’s not important.” She was disappointed at his response. Heck, she was disappointed in him if it came down to it. After his apology the other day she’d hoped they’d get back to an easy friendship, but that didn’t seem to be the case.
She expected him to leave but he didn’t move. Instead he watched her with a puzzled look on his face. “I can probably spare an hour or so.”
Meg forced a smile, determined to put her mini breakdown behind her. Despite his recent reticence, she knew Clay was open-minded and fair and would give her an honest opinion. “Great. I’ll put on my coat and meet you in the barn.”
When she joined him, he already had Clover saddled and he was laying a blanket over Calico’s withers. Meg went up to the mare and gave her nose an affectionate rub. “You didn’t waste any time.”
“I knew which saddle was yours.” He gave the saddle a swing and settled it on Calico’s back, reaching for the cinch straps.
Meg reached for a bridle, suddenly realizing how familiar they really were with each other. It was nothing for Clay to walk in here and know the stock and tack as well as his own. For all intents and purposes, he’d been like a part of the family since forever.
That had taken a serious hit when she broke the news about her illness. If he’d truly known her, he never would have judged her so harshly.
And yet she knew that of anyone, he would understand her plans for the future. He felt about his ranch the way she felt about the Briggs place. She put her boot in the stirrup and slid into the saddle—after years of being with Calico it was as familiar and comfortable as an easy chair. This was one thing that hadn’t changed, that wouldn’t change. This was who she was, she realized. And nothing—or no one—would take that away from her. Not ever again.
Full of renewed purpose, she gripped the reins in her gloved hand. “I want to show you something,” she said to Clay, and with a nudge of her heels led the way out of the barn.
The bitter cold from the arctic front was being nudged away by a Chinook arch that was forming to the west. She gave the mare a little kick and they crested the rise. Meg moved fluidly into a trot, loving the feel of being on horseback again. Feeling restless, Calico gave a little kick and Meg laughed out of simple joy.
Clay caught up and she looked over at him appraisingly. Sure, maybe the juvenile crush days were over, but she had to admit he still looked pretty amazing in his black Stetson and jeans. The denim clung to his strong legs and he sat a horse as prettily as she’d ever seen. And he had called her beautiful. Not just now, but before. As beautiful as you ever were, he’d said. He couldn’t possibly know how much of a hit her vanity had taken over the last few months. She never felt womanly or beautiful these days. It gave her badly bruised feminine pride a boost to think that even if he’d never cared for her in that way, he’d at least noticed her on some level.
“Snow’ll be gone by morning,” Clay said as they slowed. “We could use some milder weather.”
“Sure makes calving a lot easier.” She let herself be drawn back to practicalities.
“We lost one yesterday.”
Meg turned to look at him as Calico picked her way along the familiar trail. “Oh, no.”
“It happens. Pete and I did a C-section but it was too late.”
“Pete’s the best there is,” Meg answered, knowing how Clay valued his foreman. “But no one said it was easy. There are lots of operations struggling right now.” She let out a breath. It was the perfect way to lead into what she wanted to talk to him about.
“That’s what I wanted to talk to Dawson about before the next meeting,” he said.
“You mean us,” she said faintly, rocking in the saddle as Calico started up over a knoll.
“You?”
He sounded so surprised Meg clamped her mouth shut. As close as Clay was to her family, he didn’t seem to know about the troubles the Briggs’s were having. It wasn’t as bad as some, that’s for sure. But it was enough that Meg had trouble sleeping at night wondering how they were going to make it through. If they had a bad year, the results could be devastating to their place.
She reached up and tugged her hat further over her ears.
“So what did you want to show me?”
She reined in and looked down the hill at the ranch. “That,” she said, lifting her voice above the rising wind.
“It’s your place. So?”
The barns were spread out over the farmyard, machinery lined up precisely, fences in good repair. Nothing, she knew, was wasted or neglected. “Dawson has done a good job, hasn’t he?”
“He’s a good rancher.”
“It’s a two-man ranch, though, don’t you think?”
“Same as mine, I suppose. Though I’ve got Pete and some hired help in the summer.”
“We don’t.”
Meg turned her back to the view and looked earnestly at Clay. “For a while I was the second man, remember?”
“And in the summers you did the circuit.”
“That’s right,” she replied, remembering the long days of travel and the rush of competing in rodeos as a barrel racer. Clay was watching her closely. She wanted to share her idea with someone who could see the potential in it rather than just seeing reasons why not. “Calico and I competed. And the money I made paid my expenses and the rest went back into the ranch.”
“Are you saying you want to start racing again?”
Meg thought of the rows of trophies she’d earned over the years. It had been fun and challenging and she’d been good at it. But now she wanted more. To put down roots instead of the constant travel during the season. To make her mark in a different, long-lasting way. She wanted to build something, watch it flourish, and the thrill of winning did have an expiry date.
“Not exactly. I want to do something else, Clay. More than help with the chores and hope for the best, you know?”
She looked up at him, wanting him to understand. “I love this place. It’s mine, too, as much as it is Dawson’s. It’s in here.” She pressed her right hand to her heart. “But yeah, we’re struggling. And the whole damn family is treating me with kid gloves and won’t even listen to my ideas!”
The last part came out with a little more vitriol than she expected and she saw Clay’s lips twitch.
“Meg.” His tone was patronizing and it set her teeth on edge. “You’ve only just come home. Maybe you need to give it time. Wait until you’re better.”
That was what her mother had said. And her dad. And Dawson. She glared up at him. She had expected a better response from everyone, and they kept letting her down. Meg had always been the reliable one. Always the one who took on the burdens of the family and held things together. She knew that and accepted it. Everyone thought she’d run away to Calgary for treatment but she’d really gone because it was best for the family. All she was trying to do was make things better again, to make up for the time she’d been gone. She knew she’d left them in a bind and carried her own bit of guilt about it, even as she knew there was nothing she could have done to prevent it.
“I am better,” she insisted. “I thought talking to you might be different. I thought you’d understand, but I guess not.” She gave the reins a jerk and wheeled away, pushing Calico into a canter over the frozen prairie.
She heard his shout behind her but the wind was in her face now and it felt glorious. They could all go hang as far as she was concerned! Hooves pounded on the solid ground, sending up a familiar rhythm. Right now she felt as if she could ride for days. The air burned deliciously in her lungs. She’d needed this so badly.
Clay blew out a breath of frustration as Megan took off. Why did she take everything he said in the wrong way? He urged Clover to hurry the pace as they followed Meg and Calico up over the butte. He’d only wanted her to try looking at it from her family’s side. They were afraid for her.
Heck, he was afraid for her. She looked wonderful, said all the right assurances. But he still had his doubts that everything would be as okay as she insisted. And that niggling bit of doubt scared the hell out of him.
He drew up alongside of Calico and rather than try to stop her, he kept pace. Megan was the most stubborn woman he knew—next to his aunt Stacy—and he knew sometimes it was better to ride out a storm rather than trying to beat it back. Something warm and satisfying expanded inside him, knowing she was an arm’s length away, her body moving in unison with his. She looked over once and he met her gaze. Her chocolatey eyes glittered at him with devilment. She flashed a challenge of a smile and gave Calico a little nudge to ease her a nose ahead.
He let her take the lead. This time. Because she seemed to need it.
When the horses began to get winded, Meg slowed, bringing them back to a walk. He caught up with her and reined in, the horses’ strides matching each other. “Feel better?” he asked mildly.
“Much,” she said.
She was actually glowing from the physical exertion, her cheeks with pink roses and her eyes dancing beneath the ugly hat. She looked irresistible, all color and snap. Clay frowned. Irresistible? Megan? Uh-uh. She was his best friend’s little sister. And his friend, too. Meg had always seemed to be able to read him better than anyone. They had known each other so long that defining their relationship was difficult. One distinction was easy enough, though—platonic. Getting involved with Megan Briggs would be messy—Dawson would have his head. Add in the other baggage she brought to the table and he was ready to ride in the other direction—fast. He quickly dismissed the thought.
“I don’t think it was just the horses who needed to get out,” he observed. “You’re wound tighter than a spring. I used to be able to read you like a book. Not anymore. There’s too much going on in your head, isn’t there?”
“I suppose so. Sometimes I don’t know what I’m feeling or thinking. And I’m not good at sitting and waiting.”
“Never have been.” He chuckled. “Ever.”
“Which is probably why I’m feeling so frustrated. I need to do something, Clay.”
Something seemed to be pulling them together. She trusted him, he realized with surprise. She was confiding in him and he was shocked and a little bit honored considering how they’d left things all those months ago. She’d come to him to share her plans and he’d reacted like everyone else—he hadn’t even given her the courtesy of listening.
He could listen now—it wasn’t much to ask. He hadn’t exactly been supportive up till now. And he’d be honest with her. She would hate for him to be anything else.
“Then tell me your plans,” he said as his mare blew out a grand breath and shook her mane, making the bridle hardware jingle.
“You’ll think I’m crazy.”
“So what? I’ve thought that for years.”
She threw him a “ha-ha, very funny” look and gave Calico’s neck a rub. “Part of the reason I went away for my treatment was so that I wouldn’t be a burden to anyone. You know that, right? This place has always provided for us, but we’ve all had to work, even more so since Dad’s back went. It was bad enough losing me from the work force when we were already running short. But the added load of caring for me, driving me back and forth to Calgary for treatment, the worry … Mom has enough of that with Dad’s appointments. I couldn’t ask her to take that on. She’s already had to take a job to help with the household expenses, and she somehow juggles everything else, too.”
He hadn’t realized Linda’s job was to bring in much needed income. She’d laughed it away when she started working at Papa’s Pizza, insisting it was the perfect antidote to cabin fever now that the kids were grown. “Surely it was more expensive for you to live in Calgary than drive back and forth.”
“I stayed with a friend in Springbank. She gave me a job in exchange for room and board. When I was well enough, I worked. The weeks that were too hard, I took it easy.” Meg looked up at him, her expression surprisingly open. “Rodeo girls look after each other,” she said simply. “Anna and her family were a godsend. Because of their generosity, none of my treatment arrangements cost Mom and Dad a cent.”
Clay sat back in the saddle. She’d taken all that on, and her illness as well. “Meg.”
“No, don’t. I know what you’re going to say. Losing a ranch hand hit us hard enough, Clay. I couldn’t drain the family resources more than that. I just found another way.”
He felt doubly guilty for all the things he’d said to her that day, all the things he’d accused her of. “It’s that bad for you? But Dawson never let on.”
“We’re not going bankrupt, don’t look so alarmed,” she said, looking over the fields that seemed to stretch right to the foot of the Rockies miles away. “But we need something more to take us from scraping by to breathing easily.”
Clay nodded. “Lots of farmers facing the same choices. What do you have in mind? Alternative stock? Some ranchers I know are turning to sheep.”
Meg laughed. “Sheep are so not my thing. Cute and all but no. And no alpacas, either,” she added with a smile. “No, what I want is something all my own. Something I can build and nurture and enjoy.” She locked her gaze with his and he felt a weird sense of unity and rightness in her sharing her hopes with him. “I’m an equine girl at heart, you know that. I want to expand the stable so we can board horses, and I want to build an indoor ring so I can give lessons.”
Clay blew out a breath. Expanding didn’t come cheaply. Or quickly. He measured his words, not wanting to discourage but not wanting to give her false hopes, either. “That’s a big undertaking.”
“Life’s short, Clay. I love this farm and I want to see it succeed. Can’t I do that while fulfilling dreams of my own?”
The Chinook arch crept across the sky, coming closer, warming the air by degrees. They sat silently, watching the unique formation, feeling the change in the air for several minutes.
“Whatever you’re thinking, just say it, Clay.”
He didn’t look at her, just sat straight in the saddle and stared ahead. How could he explain what he was feeling in the wake of her words? He was a neighbor. Their families were friends. It didn’t seem right that his heart should clench so painfully when she said things like “Life’s short.”
“Does that mean you’re worried about …” He felt like an utter coward not saying the word. Damn it, he was getting too invested already. He should have stayed home this morning. Out of her business. He certainly had enough of his own to keep him occupied.
“Reoccurrence?”
She said the word so plainly it jarred him and he nodded, the brim of his black hat bobbing up and down, his lips set in a grim line.
“I’d be a liar if I said it doesn’t cross my mind. But it is not how I choose to live—waiting. Maybe that’s why this is so important to me. Life is happening now, and I don’t want to miss it.”
It had been difficult hearing the news the first time, but even worse now, having eyes wide-open to the possibility that she might go through this again and maybe she wouldn’t win the second time around. He’d watched his father battle lung cancer, watched him in daily pain until the end, and he was pretty sure he couldn’t go through something like that again with someone he cared about.
Then he thought about his mother, and how she’d walked out on both of them, leaving Aunt Stacy to pick up the slack. Mom had been afraid, too, but she’d run away rather than staying and fighting. For weeks, a young and trusting Clay had been certain that if he wished hard enough, believed long enough, it would all be okay. His mother would come home and his dad would be well again.
When Meg had broken the news of her illness he’d automatically been thrown back to that horrible time. It had brought back so many feelings he’d tried to forget. He had accused her of running rather than realizing the truth—that she was trying to protect those she loved.
But he didn’t need protecting, and there was no them. There was just a family friend looking at him right now, asking for advice, giving him a level of respect he wasn’t sure he deserved.
“Clay, you and Stacy kept the Gregory place going all these years. You played hard but you worked hard, too, and you’re the best rancher I know. You have always been brutally honest with me.”
He felt his cheeks heat. He didn’t miss the “brutally” part and he knew he’d been too hard on her at times.
“You’re the one person I can trust to give me an honest opinion. So what do you think? Can I pull it off?” She looked at him hopefully.
Clay shrugged, not wanting to burst her bubble but needing to impress upon her the challenges she’d face. “The work? You could handle that in your sleep,” he said confidently. “I have no doubts about that. But there’s more to it. Who will your clients be? Will there be enough to make the business self-sustaining? How will you pay for the expansion?” He paused before he dropped what he knew would feel like an anvil on Megan’s hopes. “What happens if you get sick again? Who’ll run it? Keep it paying for itself?”
He saw her swallow and she turned her head away. “I am crazy then.”
“Not crazy.” He reached over and grabbed her arm through her heavy coat. “I didn’t say it was a bad idea, or impossible. There’s a lot of sense in it. It’s just not an easy idea and there are things to think about before you move ahead.”
Meg’s shoulders slumped as she turned her horse toward home. He was an idiot. He should have at least expressed some excitement or said something positive before raining on her parade. “At least you listened,” she said darkly as they trudged along. “Mom and Dad wouldn’t hear any of it.”
“They’re just afraid. They’ve only just got you back.”
“They’re trying to put me in a bubble.”
“They love you and don’t want to lose you. So try again. I’ve never known you to quit anything you really wanted.”
“For what it’s worth, I was thinking that there’d be plenty of business from the new developments going in. Professional families whose kids want to take lessons. Ask daddy for a pony. You know how it is.”
He smiled to himself. Good, she wasn’t giving up. “You could be right.”
They went along for a few more minutes. The wind was really starting to blow now, stirring up flecks of snow and dirt. Meg turned up the collar of her coat.
“It’s the money,” she finally said into the awkward silence. “That’s why I haven’t pushed the issue. I haven’t got that kind of capital, obviously. I’ll have to go to the bank for it. And the debt is what keeps stopping me up. Mom and Dad can’t carry the load.” She sighed. “I told you it was foolish.”
“Keep thinking about it. You’ll come up with a way,” he encouraged. “Meg, for God’s sake, you beat your illness. You can do anything you set your mind to. Maybe you just need to think outside the box.”
The horses sensed the barn was near and picked up their pace a little.
“You were a big help,” she acknowledged. “Like I said, no one else would even listen.”
“That’s what friends do.” Friends, he reminded himself. That was the only reason he was feeling so protective of her. So anxious. In Larch Valley friends looked after each other.
Except they didn’t always, Clay thought. He certainly hadn’t listened to her last year when she’d needed him so very badly. He had closed his heart and his mind to their friendship and “would you believe me if I said I was sorry” didn’t quite cut it as far as apologies went.
As they entered the yard, they noticed that both Meg’s car and the farm truck were parked next to the house. “Mom and Dad are back from the doctor.” She smiled up at Clay. “He saw a specialist about an operation that will help his back and ease the constant pain. Dawson’s home, too. You might as well come in and have some cake and talk about whatever it is you really came to talk about.”
They turned out the horses in silence and walked up to the house together. Inside the warm kitchen, Linda cut slabs of coffee cake and there was conversation and laughter around the table, just like old times. Meg reached for a mug on a high shelf and Clay found his gaze locked on her breasts. All Dawson had told him was that she’d had surgery, but Clay didn’t know to what extent. The curve seemed natural enough, and as her heels touched the floor again he quickly turned his eyes toward the plate of cake in the middle of the table.
She poured the coffee and put cream and sugar next to his mug. He’d been close to the Briggs’s for so long she even knew what he took in his coffee. And yet through it all he realized he missed the old camaraderie that used to be between them in years past. The easy friendship was gone but something new, something bigger was taking its place.
Something that made his heart catch. Something he didn’t want to even think about. He never wanted to put himself in a position to be left like his father was. And with Meg, the odds were all against him.

CHAPTER THREE
MEGAN twisted her scarf skillfully around her neck and adjusted the cap on her head, a funky black knitted item with a tiny peak at the front. She’d made herself come into town today, but she’d held back from going hatless. After seeing Clay’s reaction to her short hair she wasn’t quite ready to face a town full of curious neighbors. The way Mark Squires, the local bank manager, had looked at her when she’d taken off her cap had told her she’d made the right call. He’d been completely polite, but she didn’t miss how his gaze had fixed on her hair before traveling down to her face. His eyes had been understanding and kind, but she knew their meeting began with an automatic subtext, and it had all gone downhill from there.
There would be no loan for the expansion. Meg put her hand in her coat pocket and ran her fingers over the rock inside. It had been a silly notion, thinking to rely on her old good luck charm. And yet she couldn’t bring herself to toss it away. It was just a rock, a piece of brown stone with an unusual golden streak running down the middle. But Clay had given it to her when they were just kids.
He’d been angry in those days not long after his father had died and Stacy had come to live with him. Megan remembered it all quite clearly. “That’s very pretty,” she’d commented as he’d turned the rock over in his hands.
Without a smile he’d handed it over. “Then it’s yours, Squirt,” he’d said, and she’d ignored the horrible nickname simply because Clay had given her something—even if it was just an ordinary rock.
Today she’d dug it out of the box on her dresser and tucked it in her jacket. It seemed fitting that she have a talisman from the one person to be supportive of her dream. He’d been honest but he’d also encouraged her to keep at it and she’d clung to those words. Because of them she’d set up the meeting. It had been for naught but at least she’d tried. Now all she really wanted was a strong coffee and something sinfully chocolatey.
The smells coming from Snickerdoodles bakery were too good to resist. She paused for a moment, wondering if she were up to coming face-to-face with Jen Laramie today. Clay was right about one thing—she’d been avoiding her friends since her return. It didn’t matter how many times she practiced lines in her head, she was never quite sure what she would say. She knew she was being a coward and she took a breath and dropped her shoulders. Perhaps with a glass counter between them it would be easier, less personal, a way to break the ice.
She set her lips and put her hand on the doorknob. The bell above the door gave a happy jangle as she stepped inside the shop and its gorgeous blend of scents—brewing coffee, rich chocolate and spicy cinnamon.
A young woman she didn’t recognize was behind the counter, and Meg found that despite her resolve she was relieved she wouldn’t have to face Jen. She would have to face her friends eventually—she couldn’t avoid them forever. Nevertheless, she was still thankful that today wasn’t the day, especially when she was so very disappointed at the morning’s outcome.
She ordered a gooey, thickly frosted hazelnut brownie and a large dark roast coffee to go. Meg took her waxed paper packet and coffee cup and made her way outside again into the March sun. She sat on a nearby wooden bench and slid the brownie partly out of the wrapper. The first bite was heaven. The second, fortifying. She took a sip of the strong coffee and sighed. As comfort food went, it didn’t quite match up to her mother’s beef stew and fresh bread, but for right now it worked. Mark Squires had delivered the bad news and it was either buck up with a jolt of caffeine and cocoa, or wallow in self-pity about yet another thing that cancer had stolen from her. She’d rather work off the calories in the barn than waste precious time feeling sorry for herself.
“Well, well. A public appearance.”
Her head snapped up and she nearly bobbled her brownie as Clay’s deep voice slid over her nerve endings. Her tongue seemed to tangle in her mouth as she swallowed. She had put her crush behind her, so why in the world did she still find him so gorgeous? It was ridiculous that a rush of heat flew into her cheeks and her hands grew slippery at the mere sound of his voice.
Today he wore a black Stetson and a brown ranch jacket above jeans and boots. His mouth turned up in one corner while his eyes twinkled at her, taking the sting out of the words, leaving her completely at his mercy. She remembered the way his gaze had followed her the last time he’d been at her house. She’d avoided eye contact, but she’d been completely aware of the way his eyes had zeroed in on her rather than focusing on his cake.
She sighed and cut herself some slack. She was a woman after all. And Clay Gregory had that effect on just about every female in Larch Valley, including those with bifocals and old enough to be his grandmother. She reminded herself that he also knew exactly how charming he could be. It went a long way toward cooling her jets.
She took a deliberate sip of coffee. “I’m not a total hermit, you know.”
He chuckled. “I’m glad to hear it. And sitting on a bench in the sunshine no less. What’s the occasion?”
She considered for a moment and then wondered what she had to lose by being truthful. “Drowning my sorrows.”
The half smile evaporated. “Are you feeling okay?”
Meg fought back irritation. This is how it would always be. Something would go wrong and everyone would automatically assume it was her health.
“I’m fine.”
When she didn’t elaborate Clay shifted his weight and looked pointedly at the seat beside her. “May I?”
The fact that he asked rather than simply took it upon himself to sit down made something warm curl inside Meg’s stomach. For all her feminine reactions, they were friends. Or at least they used to be. She slid the brownie back inside the wrapper and nodded. “Of course.”
His large form seemed to dwarf the wood and iron bench and Meg swallowed. When she met his gaze, his chocolate eyes held concern. Maybe things weren’t as over for her as she’d thought. Being next to Clay, having his undivided attention, brought all sorts of old feelings to the surface. Feelings that would be better if they remained buried, all things considered.
“Anything I can do?”
Of all the things she expected him to say, the simple offer had been furthest from her mind. “Not really,” she answered. This was her problem, and it was up to her to find a solution—if there was one. “Looks like my big plan is a bust after all.”
His brow pulled together in the way she knew it would. “What do you mean, it’s a bust?”
“I met with the bank today. I can’t get a loan, and no loan, no expansion. Simple.”
Only three days ago she had been on horseback, looking down over the ranch and sharing her plans with Clay. She’d been able to see it all in her head—the new building with the riding ring, the horses grazing in the pasture, the corral where she taught youngsters how to ride and put their mounts through their paces.
Now it was all gone in a puff of smoke, and she felt foolish for telling him anything. She hated failure, but in particular she hated failing in Clay’s eyes. Clay had always done every single thing he’d put his mind to. Nothing had ever stood in his way, no matter how much adversity he’d faced, and he’d had his share.
“I’m sorry, Meg. Maybe there’s a way you can get the bank to reconsider.”
She shook her head and tossed her coffee cup in the garbage can next to her bench. The flavor had suddenly gone stale and flat. “I don’t see how. I have no collateral to back me up. The only way is to get Mom and Dad to cosign and I refuse to let them take on the burden of this project. I won’t put the ranch at risk. They’ve just paid off the mortgage and they’re still just scraping by.”
Clay remained silent, which only served to cement the facts in Meg’s mind. “Even if I did get financing, I would have a hard time insuring the loan,” she continued, the final nail in the coffin. “With my medical history …”
Clay put his hand on her knee, a gesture she was sure was meant to be reassuring, but his touch seemed to burn through her trousers right through to her skin. She bit down on her lip.
“Don’t give up yet, Meg. When life puts up a roadblock, you have three choices.”
“I do?” She lifted her head and met his gaze. The half smile was back and he patted her knee before removing his hand.
“You can give up, you can bust through it, or you can go around it.”
“I don’t want to give up.”
“Then don’t. It might take some time, but a way will come. You’ll see.”
But she didn’t want to take her time. Time was too precious these days and she was hungry for everything. How could she explain that to him? She couldn’t, not without going into details about the last year. Details she wasn’t comfortable sharing and ones that she knew Clay wouldn’t be comfortable hearing. There was nothing like staring death in the eye to prompt a sense of urgency to live in the present.
“I hope you’re right.”
“Of course I am. You’re not a quitter, Meg.” He nudged her arm. “So you stopped for a chocolate fix?”
“I shouldn’t have. Lord knows it doesn’t solve anything.” She brushed off his question but couldn’t help the tiny ray of hope that still glimmered. Clay didn’t have a solution, but he wasn’t simply nodding his head and saying sorry she’d failed. He believed in her, and he had no idea how much that meant at this moment.
He laughed. “I’ve lived with a woman long enough to know that chocolate brownies can cure a lot of ills.”
Meg smiled. His aunt Stacy. The woman had stepped in when Clay had been a boy and raised him as her own. Now she was getting a second chance at love and Meg thought it was lovely. “Well, maybe.” She nudged his elbow back. “But eventually the brownie’s gone and reality is still there, staring you in the face.”
“Reality is, you only fail if you quit. So don’t quit.”
She turned her head to study his face. It was utterly relaxed, showing a confidence in her that she didn’t necessarily feel in herself. She might have confusing feelings where Clay was concerned, but today she was glad he’d stopped. She’d needed the dose of no-nonsense optimism.
“Thanks,” she said quietly. “For the pep talk.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Lots of people will get behind you, you’ll see. Speaking of, did you see Jen inside?”
“No. She wasn’t in.”
“She’s not in the bakery as often these days, I hear.” He nodded at a neighbor passing by, then rested his elbows on his knees. “Andrew says he wishes she’d take it easier now that there’s a baby on the way. She has catering jobs booked right up until her due date he says. Stacy’s wedding is one of them.”
“When’s Stacy’s big day?”
Clay crossed an ankle over his knee. Lord, where did he get the energy? He couldn’t seem to sit still and it made Meg smile.
“Three weeks. The second Saturday in April. She’s practically moved everything to Pincher Creek already.”
Meg knew Stacy Gregory had reconnected with her high-school sweetheart and they were finally making a go of it. “It seems odd thinking of your place without her,” she said. For years it had been the two of them running the Gregory ranch. The thought of Clay alone in the rambling house left an empty feeling in Meg’s heart.
“I won’t deny I’m going to miss her,” he admitted. “She’s all the family I’ve got. But I’m a big boy,” he replied with a low laugh. “I can take care of myself.”
“Of course you can!” Meg felt flustered beneath the warmth of his steady gaze. “I never meant to imply otherwise.”
“As long as you don’t start acting like Stacy. She’s been hovering and cooking and freezing things for weeks, like I’m going to starve if she’s not there.” He rolled his eyes. “I don’t know why she has to flutter so much. We’ve shared the cooking before. I can manage to not poison myself.”
At his disgruntled expression Megan felt her remaining jitters melt away. “It might not have anything to do with you. Maybe she’s nervous, Clay, and needs something to keep her hands busy.”
He pondered for a moment. “No, I think it’s more than that. She’s been pushing me to bring a date to the wedding. I’m telling you, Meg, weddings make women stir-crazy. All of a sudden they think everyone in the universe should be paired up.”
The air had warmed since the recent cold snap and Meg loved the feel of the early spring sun on her face. It was good to chat about a different topic, putting the focus on someone else and such a happy occasion. “Weddings are a big deal,” she answered, and at Clay’s raised brow, she amended, “So I’ve heard.”
“I don’t know why she thinks I need a date.”
“Someone to pin on your boutonniere?”
“My what?”
Meg really laughed this time. Putting Clay on the back foot was much more fun than thinking about everything that had gone wrong this morning. As distractions went, he was fairly helpful, and for the first time since coming home she felt a return to the easy friendship they’d enjoyed years past. She let her eyes sparkle at him. “See? That’s why. Your flower, silly, on your lapel. I’m assuming you’re in the wedding party.”
“I’m giving her away. Then it’s just a dinner, right?”
“And a dance, so Mom said.”
“Well, whatever. Just because she’s getting married she thinks she can match me up. She suggested Tara Stillwell as if she didn’t already know Dawson’s staked his claim there.”
Meg’s head whipped around. How had things become that serious so quickly? There were times she still felt so out of the loop while Clay seemed to know everything. “Staked his claim? She’s not a parcel of land, Clay.”
“You know what I mean. There are rules and I’m no poacher. Besides, I’m not interested in Tara, for all she’s a nice girl.”
“Are you interested in anyone?” she asked—and then held her breath waiting for an answer.
What had made her ask? Why did it matter if he had his eye on a girl? Why shouldn’t he? It shouldn’t bother her in the least. But it did. She didn’t want him for herself anymore but the thought of him being with someone … it felt wrong.
“No. When I said that she said I should ask Lisa Hamm or Emily Dodds—you know, Agnes’s granddaughter? It was all I could do to put her off. There’s a dance, she said.” He took off his hat and ran his hand over his thick, dark hair, clearly agitated. “If I’m not with someone it’ll be open season, she said. Which is ridiculous.”
It wasn’t ridiculous at all. If Clay went unattached, there’d be a dozen pair of hungry eyes waiting to be asked to dance—or doing the asking themselves. It was nice to know Clay’s ego wasn’t so inflated that he realized it.
That wouldn’t be a concern for Meg. If she went—and she hadn’t decided if she would or not—she’d be holding up a wall somewhere. Who would ask her to dance? She grimaced. She’d be a curiosity. Lots of people looking but keeping her at arm’s length. On one hand, it was what she wanted, because physical contact still made her nervous. But on the other it was damned awkward in a social situation. Which was exactly why she’d avoided those thus far.
“You’re a pretty eligible guy, Clay.” Meg turned on the bench so she faced him better. “You’re not exactly hard to look at. You’re in your prime with a lovely ranch all to yourself. Where Larch Valley’s concerned, you’re prime marriage material.”
Clay looked so horrified Meg nearly choked on the laughter that bubbled up. “Shut up!” he said, putting his hat more firmly on his head. “That’s not true.”
“Oh, it so is,” she answered, having fun now. Clay had done his share of teasing over the years and it was gratifying to put the shoe on the other foot. “Add in the fact that you’ll be all spic-and-span in a suit and they won’t be able to resist. They’ll be falling all over you, wanting to dance. To catch your eye. Maybe something else.” She waggled her eyebrows for effect. “And then there’s the throwing of the bouquet and the tossing of the garter …”
“Megan!” He said it loudly enough that a passerby turned to stare before carrying on down Main Avenue. He lowered his voice. “I know you’re teasing but that’s not funny. I’m not interested. Not in anyone. Definitely not in marriage.”
Once more that odd little hole of emptiness threatened to widen. The bitterness she’d always sensed in him where marriage was concerned hadn’t mellowed over the years. Not that she could blame him. How did one get over being abandoned by their one remaining parent? Times had been rough for the Gregory family, but Clay’s mom hadn’t toughed it out. For better or worse, sickness and health … that hadn’t mattered. They’d never really talked about it, but Megan could understand at least that much. Clay hadn’t had the strong example of a good marriage that she’d had growing up.
“All I’m saying is that Stacy is on to something. If you went with a date, you’d save yourself a lot of trouble. You just have to find someone with no romantic aspirations.”
“Who are you going with?”
Her gaze flitted away. “I’ve been included in the family invitation,” she said quietly. She hadn’t even decided yet if she was going. She didn’t know what to wear, knew nothing in her closet suited the changes to her figure. She had barely even shown her face around town, let alone show up at the first big social event of the spring. And it would be a big event. Weddings in the valley always were. At least when she’d first thought about it, she’d pictured being able to share news of how she was picking up and carrying on with her own business. Proof that she was fine and standing on her own two feet. Now she had none of that to bolster her. Poor, pathetic Megan, back on the family ranch, showing up with her parents. Ugh!
“Go with me.”
Her heart took a leap before settling back down. “I don’t need a pity invitation,” she whispered, swallowing around the thick lump that had suddenly appeared in her throat. How had the balance of the conversation shifted so quickly and completely? She’d enjoyed having the upper hand and now here she was, feeling at a disadvantage again.
“Pity? It’s me that needs the pity.” His gaze was utterly earnest. “You’re the perfect date. Anyone else would get ideas, like you said. There’s never been any of that between you and me.”
Clearly he had no clue of her earlier crush and it was just as well it stayed that way. Meg blinked. Could Clay really be so blind that he’d never sensed how she’d felt? She nearly blushed just thinking about it. She’d never been the kind of girl to try to stand out, but she’d always hoped he’d notice.
But that was before. She’d grown up a lot over the last few years—first when her father had been injured and couldn’t work the ranch anymore, and then with her illness. There were no such things as fairy tales and wishes. There was hard work and determination and practicalities. Reality had a way of hitting and keeping one’s head out of the clouds. And right now Clay was suggesting she go to a wedding as his date—not because he wanted a date but because she was a safe bet. She was protection.
She was a practical girl, but the complete absence of any sort of romance cut her. Was she so undesirable then? She’d always liked being “one of the boys” when it came to the ranch work. But that had been before, when she’d been confident, and, well, whole. She hadn’t cared as much then. “I’m sorry, Clay, I haven’t even decided if I’m going or not.”
“Not go? But Aunt Stacy will be so disappointed. Your mom is standing up with her, you know. Your whole family is going. Of course you’ll be there.”
“Like I said, I haven’t decided.”
He pressed his back into the bench slats and stretched out his legs, crossing them at the ankle. “How will it look if you don’t go?”
“I’m sure Stacy will understand.”
“I don’t mean Stacy. What do you think everyone else will think? You’re home from the hospital but you’re hardly seen out of the house. Everyone will wonder if you’re really fine. Rumors will get started.”
Her temper started to simmer. “I didn’t realize you had your ear so close to the grapevine,” she said tightly. “Your concern is very touching.”
Clay’s eyes sparked. “You were the one who said you wanted everyone to think you were strong and fit. Isn’t that why you went away in the first place? So no one would see you at the worst? What does it say now that you’re home and you’re hiding away?”
She hated that he was right. She hated that he was insightful enough to anticipate that her absence would cause more speculation than her presence and yet could be so blind to other things. And she hated that he knew her well enough to use it.
“Maybe that I want some privacy.”
Clay let out a derisive snort. “Privacy? In Larch Valley? Come on, Meg. You know better than that. People are always going to talk.”
She grabbed on to the straw he offered. “That’s right. And if I go with you, what do you think they’ll say?”
She had him there, and he paused for a moment. “So what? We’ll know the truth. And if we go together it means neither of us will have to go through the day alone. You’ll have my back and I’ll have yours. Just like it’s always been.”
The retort that sat on Meg’s lips died. It was true—the idea of going through the day alone was a major issue. Her mom and dad would be together. Dawson would be with Tara. Megan would be on her own, the odd woman out. Conspicuous. Fair game for curious minds and any number of well-intentioned but sympathetic questions. Wasn’t that the real reason she’d stayed close to home since her return? Even now, sitting on the bench, she was aware of curious gazes in her direction. It was only Clay’s presence that kept them at a distance. She didn’t want to hide behind him, but she couldn’t deny that the idea of facing the day together was much better than walking into a room alone.
“I don’t need your protection,” she replied, but she was weakening. He was right. Again. It annoyed her but it couldn’t be disputed. With Clay on her arm perhaps the partygoers would have something else to talk about.
“And I don’t need yours, either. Both of us could make it through the evening on our own. Hell, I planned to and told Stacy as much. You have to admit, though, it makes sense. Come on, Meg.” He smiled and her heart gave a little lurch. “You won’t subject me to the likes of Lisa Hamm, will you?”
“Lisa’s a nice girl.”
She certainly was, but she and Clay would never suit. Lisa was high maintenance, high-strung and a bit needy. Meg could never see her as a rancher’s wife. Clay needed someone easier. Someone low-key, easygoing. Someone to work beside him, a partner and not a pet.
“She’s not my type and you know it, Megan Briggs.”
Her lips twitched at the thought of Clay choking on a tie while Lisa and her five-inch heels flitted about him.
“I haven’t been a very good friend lately, and I know it. I really am sorry for what I said last spring. Can’t we go back to how it used to be?”
In a way how it used to be sounded great, but she also realized it wasn’t enough anymore. Not for her. But he was offering an olive branch and it would be petty not to accept it. In the end she couldn’t refuse, not when he looked at her in the warm, conspiratorial way he was looking at her right now.
“All right. We’ll go together.”
“Awesome.” He sat up and clapped his hands on his knees. “There’s one problem solved. That’s the trick, Meg. Finding solutions that benefit both parties. You help me, I help you. Everyone goes home happy.”
He had no idea.
“I’ll see you around, Squirt.” He got up from the bench and shook out his pant legs while Meg sat, feeling like she’d been hit broadside and left completely off balance. How had this all happened in the space of an hour?
She looked down at her wax paper bag. The hazelnut brownie was a mangled, gooey mess inside.
“Yeah, see you,” she mumbled, avoiding his gaze and reaching for her purse and keys.
“Megan.”
She looked up at him, not wanting him to know how flustered she suddenly felt, and how childish and small he’d made her feel by employing her old nickname.
“About your project … don’t give up. You’ll find a way. You always do.”
To her surprise he lifted a finger to the brim of his hat before walking away. For all his faults and little annoyances, she’d just been reminded that Clay Gregory was a gentleman. And that she, as a woman, wasn’t impervious to his charms.
They had a date. To a wedding. A wedding where she’d have to wear heels and a dress and fix her hair …
She put her fingers to her lips as the panic set in. What on earth had she just gotten herself into?

CHAPTER FOUR
IT HAD taken Meg a week to gather up the courage to visit Lily’s boutique, and she’d played with the idea of going to Calgary and being another anonymous customer in some chain store. But she knew Clay was right about some things—one being that she couldn’t avoid people forever. Between Lily’s own unique designs and her carefully selected stock, she’d surely have something to suit Meg’s needs. It was time Meg stopped being afraid. And the wedding date was growing closer. In a way, she was grateful for the push the shopping trip provided.
It didn’t stop the nerves from jumping around in her tummy, though. When she entered the store, Lily was helping another customer and didn’t see her come in. Meg browsed while waiting, but every single dress that didn’t belong on her mother—or grandmother—was either sleeveless or had a much too revealing neckline.
Meg dropped her hand from the dress rack and sighed. She had nerves of steel while waiting for the start of a race but the simple task of choosing a dress for Stacy’s wedding had her in a tizzy. It wasn’t just the need to be girly. It was the added challenge of finding something she was comfortable in, considering the fact that she was still wearing supportive bras with a breast form tucked inside. She held out a misty-blue strapless concoction. How could she possibly conceal the extent of her surgery in something like this?
Maybe she should just tell Clay she couldn’t go.
But that would be chickening out, and as nervous as she was, she didn’t want to be called a coward. She moved to the next rack. There had to be something here in Lily’s shop that would suit. And if she had to ask for help, she would. She kept hearing Clay’s rich voice calling her Squirt. She wasn’t that girl any longer. She was a woman. She’d been through trials and come out stronger and by God, she’d show him that.
Which sounded fine and grand, except for the quivering in her stomach that said she was still unsure about how to explain her particular problem to Lily.
“Megan?”
The bubble of nervousness popped as Meg heard her name. She looked up to see Lily coming toward her wearing a wide smile. Meg was instantly aware of the difference in their appearances. She wore neat jeans and a cotton shirt, while Lily was dressed in classic stovepipe trousers and a ruffled blouse that suited her perfectly. It didn’t happen often, but at times she was envious of the innate style Lily possessed. When Lily had quit her job as a home economics teacher and opened her shop, no one had been surprised. She had a certain knack for designing and Meg knew Lily’s business was gaining notice in larger cities.
“Lily.” Meg started to smile back but before she could compose herself Lily had folded her into a tight hug and Meg felt the beginnings of panic.
Thankfully Lily’s embrace was brief and she stepped back. Meg collected herself as best she could, folding her arms in front of her and pasting on a smile. This was her dear friend, the woman who’d come to Larch Valley and fit in as though she’d lived here all her life. When a baby was born there was a hand-quilted crib set from Lily. If someone was sick, a casserole showed up, accompanied by a helping hand around the house. Lily was the most generous, kind woman Meg had ever known. The hug was a matter of course. But Meg was still so very self-conscious.
“We’ve been wondering when you were going to turn up,” Lily smiled. “Drew said he saw you outside the bakery with Clay the other day. Oh, I’m so glad you’ve come in. We missed you.”
The welcome was warm but Meg heard Clay’s voice in her head. Larch Valley was small and people were going to talk, no matter what. It was the blessing and curse of a small town. There was always a core of caring and concern, but everyone knew your business, too. Even an innocent conversation over a brownie was of note and spread through circles of friends.
“I’m looking for a dress,” Meg blurted, hugely uncomfortable now and unsure how to proceed. Perhaps she wouldn’t have felt so very awkward if she had made an effort to reconnect as soon as she’d come back to town. She looked up at Lily for help. “I’m going to Stacy’s wedding and I don’t have anything to wear.”
Lily’s face blanked with confusion at Meg’s less than personal greeting and Meg cringed inside. She hadn’t meant to sound so brusque. Lily was a close friend, not some clerk.
Lily’s face cleared and she carried on smoothly. “This would be lovely with your coloring.” She held up the ice-blue dress that Meg had held in her hands just moments before. “Your hair’s come in lighter than before, with those gorgeous coppery highlights. With your creamy complexion it’d be perfect.”
Lily’s matter-of-fact remark startled Meg and she touched the tips of her hair self-consciously. “It’s not very feminine,” she said quietly. “Don’t you think that dress is a bit … frilly next to my hairstyle?”
Lily shook her head. “Nonsense, Meg. It’s come in soft and gorgeous. If anything you look exotic and stylish.”
Meg felt gratitude fill her heart. Lily wasn’t just generous, she was genuine. She’d overlooked Meg’s stilted responses and Meg loved her for it. “Thank you, Lil,” she replied, relaxing a little. “It takes some getting used to.”
“I think you should leave it that way. Now, what about the dress?” She shook the hanger in her hands, making the fabric shimmer.
“It’s lovely, but I’m not sure strapless is my thing. I was hoping for something a little more … subdued.”
Lily’s eyebrows puckered in the middle. “Hmm. We might need some help,” she mused. “Hold this.” She shoved a dress into Meg’s hands and headed straight to the door.
“Where are you going?” Meg called after her.
“Reinforcements!” Lily called back. Thirty seconds later she was back with Jen in tow.
“Never fear! The fashion police are here!”
Jen rushed down the aisle to greet Meg while Lily locked up the store behind her. Meg felt her heart contract. Jen wasn’t showing much, but her tummy was slightly bubbled out in pregnancy and her skin glowed. Meg loved her friends but felt at an immediate disadvantage. They were so beautiful, secure in their marriages, planning families. Meg had none of those things. She felt like a complete ugly duckling.
Worse, she felt the stirrings of jealousy. She knew it was completely unfair of her. There had been no question of doing chemo and radiation. They’d been necessary to keep her alive. But looking at Jen, expecting a baby and so utterly happy … Meg was fully aware of all the side effects of cancer treatment, immediate and down the road. Even if she could conceive, it could be very, very difficult. Another river for her to cross.
Jen gave Meg a quick hug and Meg pushed her melancholy thoughts aside. She would not begrudge Jen an iota of happiness. It wasn’t her fault. It wasn’t anyone’s fault. It was just the way things were.
“What are you two up to?” Meg looked from Jen to Lily and back again.
“I’m closing up so we can find you the perfect dress.”
“But … but …”
Jen looked at Lily. “She’s lost some weight. My dresses won’t fit her, even if I’m not using them at the moment.” She put her hand on her swelling tummy. “Yours might.”
Lily shook her head. “No, I’m too hippy. Besides, Meg deserves something new, don’t you think?”
Meg felt completely bulldozed and slightly invisible. This hadn’t been part of the plan! While it was wonderful to see her friends and to know that they hadn’t changed over the past months, she knew they had a tendency to get carried away and Meg didn’t want to get carried right with them. “Hello, I’m right here.”
“Of course you are, isn’t this fun?”
Shopping for dresses was not what Meg normally classified as fun. She had never had much for hips and now her curves above the waist were … well, under renovation was probably the politest way she could explain it. “I appreciate it, you two, but really. A simple dress for Stacy’s wedding is all I need,” she insisted. “Nothing over the top.”
“Honey.” Jen and Lily each took one of her hands. Jen’s eyes suddenly welled up with unshed tears. “You wouldn’t let us do anything for you when you got sick. As stubborn, independent women ourselves, we understood it and accepted it. But please, Meg. Let us help you now. We’re so glad you’re home. It’s so good to have the three of us together again. If only Lucy were here, it would be like old times.”
The tears threatened to spill over. “After what you’ve been through, don’t you think you deserve this?” Jen asked.
Meg was incredibly touched and her earlier thoughts evaporated. She was so blessed to have friends like Jen and Lily, and yet she was scared to open herself up too much. She wasn’t used to voluntarily making herself vulnerable, but they had to understand that this couldn’t be just any dress. Not for her figure. She swallowed, knowing inside that she could trust them both. She had never had sisters, but Jen and Lily were about as close as she’d ever come. “It’s not just the dress,” she whispered, pulling her hands away. “It’s the style I’m worried about. You see I …”
She couldn’t form the next words.
It was Lily who clued in first. “Oh, Meg. It’s the mastectomy, isn’t it?”
She nodded as relief flooded her—it was good to finally get it out in the open. Lily’s husband, Noah, had lost an arm in Afghanistan. By the time they’d married he’d gotten his prosthetic, but Meg remembered clearly how difficult Noah had found the adjustment. It was natural that Lily was the one to put the pieces together.
“I haven’t done reconstruction. Right now I’m wearing a form on that side, and my bras are … well, they’re not exactly the frilly, pretty sort.”
“Shoot, we can get you a new bra.” Jen smiled.
“It’s not just that,” Meg protested, handing Lily the garment in her hands. “It’s a comfort thing. I’m … it’s …” Meg looked up helplessly. She hadn’t told a living soul how she felt about how she looked now. Not even in the support group she’d attended in Calgary.
“What is it?” Jen put her arm around Meg’s shoulders. “You’re safe here, Meg. We consider you family and we love you.”
Meg’s lip began to wobble as her face crumpled. All her defenses disintegrated at the heartfelt words. “Oh,” she wailed, “you weren’t supposed to say that!”
She couldn’t stop the tears that came. Lily went to the back and brought out a chair and she sank into it, covering her face with her hands. What was wrong with her? It wasn’t dress shopping that was stressing her out. It was looking at her scars, day in and day out. Seeing one “normal” side and the other ravaged by the surgeon’s knife. Now she was supposed to go to this wedding—with Clay!—and the last thing she felt was pretty and feminine.
She finally caught her breath and blew her nose into the tissue Jen offered. She had needed to do that for a long time. Tears were something she hadn’t indulged in during her treatment and it seemed now that the worst was over those emotions were coming out bit by bit. She’d felt fragile for weeks, but now she felt better, less tangled up, more ready to tackle the job ahead. “I’m sorry, you guys. I’ve felt so self-conscious, so afraid, that I’ve avoided everyone. I should have come to you before.”
“You came when you were ready,” Jen answered simply, squatting down next to Meg’s chair and putting a hand on her knee. “It’s okay. You’ve been through a lot. Just remember we’ve always got your back.”
Those were the exact words Clay had used and Meg’s pulse gave a little kick. “I feel ugly,” she admitted. “My hair is like a boy’s and so is …” She swallowed. “Let’s just say my bikini days are long gone.”
“You are so not ugly. The shorter hair makes your eyes pop and highlights your cheekbones. And honestly—no one can tell about the other.”
“I used to be comfortable in my own skin.”
Lily nodded thoughtfully. “Yes, that’s a problem. It’s hard to be sexy when you don’t feel sexy.”
Meg’s lashes snapped up. “Sexy? I never said anything about wanting to be sexy!”
“Every woman wants to feel confident and pretty, Meg. Besides, you’re going to want a dance partner aren’t you? You can’t dance with your daddy all night.”
Meg’s insides curled with embarrassment. “I’ll dance with Drew and Noah and Dawson, too.”
Jen sighed. “Meg.”
Meg stood up. She didn’t want to be pitied or patronized. “Are you saying no one will want to dance with me?”
Jen shrugged and looked away.
Meg lifted her chin. “I’ll dance with Clay, after all we’re going together.”
Her mouth clamped shut as soon as the words were out. Lily and Jen looked at each other and grinned and Meg realized she’d been played—and she’d fallen straight into their trap. They’d wanted to prompt her into a reaction and it had worked. She wished she could take the words back. Now they’d be inventing a romance where there was none.
“So, you’re going with Clay,” Lily said speculatively.
“Just as friends,” Meg tried to explain. “He didn’t have a date and neither did I and Stacy put the fear of God in him about being a target for singles.”
“Which he definitely is. He’s gorgeous.” Jen grinned. “Hey, I still have eyes,” she defended when Lily gave her arm a nudge.
Meg remembered a time when Clay and Dawson had rescued Drew and Jen during a snowstorm. Drew had been pretty clear about marking his territory, and he and Jen had been stuck together like glue ever since. Drew didn’t have a thing to worry about and they all knew it.
“It’s not a date date,” she insisted. “For heaven’s sake, he still calls me Squirt.”
“Would you like it to be? A date date?”
Jen’s quiet question threw Meg for a loop. She’d never said a word about her feelings for Clay to anyone. And she’d given up on him ages ago. The flutters she’d gotten lately meant nothing. And yet the idea of knocking his socks off held a certain appeal. What would it be like to feel like a real woman again? Was that even possible?
“Clay doesn’t think of me that way,” she reiterated.
“That’s because he only sees you in jeans and boots,” Lily said, casting an appraising glance over Meg’s clothing. “Functional for ranch work, but not so great for snaring a man.”
“I am not looking to snare anyone!”
“Here she goes, protesting again.”
She wasn’t taking the bait this time. She knew her work wear was functional, but it also did a fine job of concealing shapes she wanted to conceal. “All teasing aside, you two, I just want a nice, pretty dress that covers what I need to have covered to feel comfortable. As far as Clay Gregory goes, I’m to be his dinner partner and a friend to rescue him from the clutches of Lisa Hamm, apparently.”
Jen and Lily both smiled. “I think we’ve given her a hard enough time, don’t you?” Lily asked Jen, nudging her with her elbow. She smiled at Meg. “That’ll teach you for giving us the brush-off.”
“I never meant …”
“Hush,” Lily said kindly. “We’re going to find you a beautiful dress, Meg. And if we don’t, I’ll make you one. I can accomplish a lot in three weeks.”
Jen put her arm around Meg’s shoulders. “Consider us your fairy godmothers,” she added. “Your debut back into Larch Valley society will be a smash hit. I’m thinking red, Lil, how ‘bout you?”
For the first time in months, Meg felt the tiniest bit pretty. As her best friends led her to the next rack, she thought about Clay, his saucy smirk, and how gratifying it would be to wipe it off his face. She could do this. She would. It was time she set the tone for the rest of her life and it was time that tone was one of success. Maybe a dress and a wedding didn’t sound like much of a start, but she had to begin somewhere.
“I like red,” Meg said clearly. She grinned as she imagined the look on Clay’s face when she showed up at Stacy’s wedding in a knockout dress and heels. He wouldn’t be able to accuse her of hiding away then. “What the heck, you guys. In for a penny, in for a pound, eh?”
For the tenth time in as many minutes, Clay fiddled with his bow tie. He’d hoped Stacy would have gone in for a more casual Western wedding, where he could have worn his good boots and a bolo. At least then he might have felt slightly at home in this monkey suit. But no, she’d gone for the whole hog. Black tuxedo, strangling bow tie, shoes so shiny he could see his reflection. The white rose boutonniere was pinned to his lapel courtesy of Meg’s mother, who’d been at the house helping the bride get ready. The pianist was playing something soft and classical for the arriving guests. Clay smiled tightly and nodded at a neighbor who had just arrived—in white shirt and bolo tie. “Isn’t he lucky,” Clay grumbled under his breath.
He was nervous. Mike Schuyler, the groom, seemed more relaxed than Clay was, shaking hands with the minister and preparing to make his way to the front of the church. Clay checked his watch and adjusted the cuffs of his jacket. Stacy was due any second with Linda beside her. He’d caught a glimpse of the bride before he’d headed to the church. Stacy’s simple white dress suited her perfectly. It was hard to believe that the woman who’d raised him was getting married. He was thrilled for her. And he liked Mike.
But giving her away was going to be difficult. She was, in all but one sense of the word, his mother. And placing his mother into another man’s keeping was a difficult thing to do.
A hand clapped on to his shoulder. “God, you look like you could use a nip of something,” Dawson greeted him with a wide smile. “Relax. It’s not like you’re the one getting hitched.”
Clay forced a smile. No, it wasn’t him. Thank God. This was torture enough. Standing up at the front of the church? It wasn’t likely that would ever happen. “Dawson. And Tara. You look great.”
Tara smiled shyly at him and put her arm through Dawson’s. “Thanks, Clay.”
If Dawson was here then Meg must be, too. Clay hadn’t seen her since last week when he’d popped over to the Briggs ranch to talk to Dawson about renting out a block of land for grazing. Meg’s words about the Briggs’s struggles had stayed with him and the arrangement would benefit both operations. Meg had been talking to the vet, her back to him and that awful ugly hat on her head. Before he left he’d quickly asked, “Are we still on for the wedding?” She’d answered that she’d meet him at the church.
What had he expected? It’s not like it was a real date. She was a friend. She was his wingman, right? She was going to help him get through the evening and he’d be by her side as she faced the town again. And at the barn she’d acted like it was nothing to her at all. He frowned a little.
“Did Meg come with you?”
Dawson’s grin widened. “She sure did.”
“I think she went to the powder room,” Tara suggested.
Dawson’s grin faded a touch. “I’ll admit I was surprised when she said you were going together.”
Clay met Dawson’s steady gaze. “As friends without other dates. That’s all.”
Dawson’s gaze was unerring. “Good. She needs support, you know? But not complications. Not after what she’s been through.”
“And you consider me a complication?” Clay was tall but Dawson was a bit taller and right now it annoyed Clay a lot to have to look up at his best friend, especially when Dawson spoke with that hint of warning deepening his voice.
“I’m just saying we all know your history, Clay. Be careful.”
“It’s just Meg. Nothing to worry about, so you don’t need to act all big brother with me.”
Dawson frowned. “Well, you haven’t seen her yet.” He nodded toward the foyer.
Clay turned his head to scan the vestibule.
She was there. Smiling and holding Agnes Dodds’s hand between her own and then turning away as they parted.
Holy Mother Mary. The air seemed to leave Clay’s lungs as he stared at her. Where was the plain old Meg he remembered? The woman walking this way was stunning. More than stunning. She was …
His brain seemed to tie in knots as she suddenly saw him and stopped. For the space of a heartbeat, their gazes clashed and her lips dropped open the tiniest bit. Full, sexy lips the exact same deep red hue as her dress. She gave a slow smile and his body tightened in response. When had she learned to do that? Why was he reacting this way? Sure, he’d noticed she was attractive but she wasn’t his type. She was his best friend’s little sister. Only she wasn’t, not today. Today he couldn’t take his eyes off her. She was soft, sweet and sexy as hell.
She began walking again and Clay had the strangest urge to run, only he wasn’t sure if he wanted to run to her or away from her. His gaze swept down to her hips, lightly swaying as she made her way past the gathering congregation to his side. He shouldn’t be having these thoughts about Megan. All he wanted right this moment was to put his hands on her slim hips and draw her close.
Dawson’s hand gave a final tap on his shoulder but Clay barely registered the touch. She was only a few feet away now and he had to somehow untangle his tongue and be cool.
Meg’s whole body felt on fire beneath the heat of Clay’s gaze.
At first there’d been a jolt as their eyes met and recognition flared. Then had come the sweetest part—the utter surprise and approval she glimpsed in his face. She felt the glow of triumph as she smiled slowly and his dark eyes glittered at her in response. He stood up straighter. She saw Dawson say something by Clay’s shoulder, but Clay’s eyes never left hers.
Today she felt as beautiful as she’d ever been, which under the circumstances felt tantamount to a miracle.
Her confidence faltered slightly as she reached him and struggled to find the right thing to say. She’d seen his reaction to her appearance and she didn’t want to blow the moment by sounding stupid. In the end she managed a simple but inadequate sounding “Hi” as she looked up at him, grateful for once to have on heels. At least in her shoes her eyes were at a level with his strong, freshly shaved jaw.
“You look … wow,” he finished, at a loss for words, and Meg felt her confidence come rushing back.
“Thanks. Lily made the dress.”
“It suits you.”
Goose bumps erupted on her bare arms. She’d made noises about not going sleeveless but Lily had worked her magic with a soft wrap-style bodice and a demure V-neck that gathered into wide shoulder straps. The red velvet was soft and rich, and the fabric and construction were very pretty while managing to make Meg feel covered and comfortable. Jen had loaned her gold dangly earrings and a simple gold necklace. Megan couldn’t have felt more like a princess had she been the bride.
Clay was staring at her oddly, the silence somewhat awkward but in a new, exciting sort of way. He put a hand lightly on her waist. “I need to go for now, Stacy’s arrived.”
The spot where his fingers touched seemed to light on fire through the fabric, and she wasn’t sure but she thought she detected a bit of regret in his words. “And I need to find my seat.” The words came out sort of breathlessly and Meg bit down on her lip. There was knocking his socks off and there was making a fool of herself and the way she was feeling with his hand on her waist was treading on fool territory. It felt proprietary—and she liked it. Too much. She could get used to that feeling a bit too easily, and she reminded herself that this was a special day. This was not real life. Tomorrow she’d be back in faded jeans, out in the barns again.
But, for today, she was determined to put her cares aside and enjoy every blessed moment.
“I’ll see you after?”
His warm eyes looked at her hopefully and she couldn’t stop the smile from forming. “I’m sure you’ll have other duties, like family pictures, that sort of thing. Why don’t I just meet up with you at the reception?”
He looked like he wanted to say something more but she had to move, had to escape his touch before she did something silly. She’d achieved what she wanted. She was making a success of the afternoon, wasn’t she? There was no more to it than that.
With a parting smile she drew away from his hand and walked toward the sanctuary doors. She swore she could feel his gaze on her back and she forced herself to take regular breaths. She wouldn’t look back at him. There was obvious, and then there was obvious.
She took her seat beside her father and crossed her legs, smoothing her skirt. But for a moment she fiddled with the hem. It had gone far better than she’d dreamed. There was only one flaw in her plan. Later she was going to have to dance with Clay. Her skin still tingled where his hand had rested. If she reacted like this over a simple touch, what would happen when he held her in his arms?

CHAPTER FIVE
CLAY couldn’t keep his eyes off Megan.
After the ceremony he stopped and offered her his arm to exit the church. They parted ways after that—he to do the official wedding stuff he despised and Meg left for the reception hall with her dad. But the moment he entered the Cottonwood Inn for the reception he honed in on her again, standing with Noah and Lily Laramie, a stem glass of pink punch in her hand. Tom Walker approached the group and Clay heard Meg’s light laugh as he said something to her. Lord almighty, she was beautiful. How had he not noticed before? He wasn’t a fan of short hair; but her simple, sparse style seemed to make her face come alive. Maybe it was makeup—she was wearing the stuff after all, highlighting the sensuous curve of her lips, turning her eyes smoky and mysterious.
Tom moved on, but not before he put his hand along the curve of Meg’s back and leaned forward to say something in her ear. Clay frowned as she laughed in response, feeling a spurt of jealousy and pushing it away. He was in trouble. Big, big trouble. His mind was wandering into all sorts of territories just watching her smile and mingle. It was that much worse because it was Meg. Lord knew he hadn’t been an angel over the last few years. He’d dated, but he’d stayed away from relationships and always made it clear he wasn’t looking for anything permanent.
Even today was torture. He certainly didn’t dislike Mike, and he was thrilled his aunt was happy, but the idea of ‘til death do us part always made Clay uneasy. He’d seen how quickly his dad had gone downhill after his mother had abandoned them both. What the cancer hadn’t destroyed, her desertion had finished. No one would ever have that much power over Clay. His dad had always been the strong one, but not when it came to her. No, Clay was better off relying on himself.
And now here was Megan, looking irresistible and awakening all of the protective urges he tried to keep locked down. If it were anyone else, he’d consider taking advantage of the situation, enjoying the night with no strings. But there were lines a man didn’t cross. Megan Briggs represented more than one of those lines. She was Dawson’s sister, she was his friend, and as much as it pained him to admit it, the fact that she’d had cancer scared the daylights out of him. Meg wasn’t a one-night-no-strings kind of girl, and it was more than enough to make him take a step back and keep his distance.
They were supposed to be looking out for each other, but Meg didn’t exactly look like she needed his help. Instead she looked like a beautiful, exotic flower amidst a bouquet of weeds—and she seemed to be drawing the men’s attention like bees to honey.
He should never have asked her here today.
But he had asked her, in a misguided attempt to be there for her like she’d been there for him when times had been tough. He couldn’t just back away now and pretend he hadn’t. Whatever he was feeling, whatever she’d awakened in him—and it was feeling disturbingly like desire—he would simply lock it away. He’d asked her here as a friend and that was exactly how it was going to be.
He made his way over to her and put on a smile. “I see you made it here just fine.”
“I came with Dad.” She smiled up at him and that same weird tightening happened again. “He’s gone off to talk stock.”
“Normally you’d be there with him.” Meg wasn’t the kind of girl who left the business to the men; she knew what she was about. It was one of the things he truly admired about her.
“Today’s not an ordinary day,” she replied, taking a sip of punch. His gaze caught on her lips as they touched the glass.
“It certainly isn’t,” he agreed, but his voice came out low and … dear Lord. Intimate. God. He was no better than Tom Walker with that silly, besotted look on his face. Clay cleared his throat but not before Meg’s eyes gleamed with mischief. Great. Bad enough he was reacting to her this way. But to have her notice made him feel ten times the fool.
Lily and Noah moved off to chat with other guests, leaving Meg and Clay alone. Clay made himself forget the way the dress fit her gentle curves and focused on the task at hand. “You seem to be managing okay. No awkward questions, I take it?”
“A few.” The flirtatious gleam he’d seen in her eye tempered. “I just keep reminding myself that people mean well. For the most part,” she amended, looking at a pair of gray-haired women who were standing by the punch bowl, heads together.
Clay felt a flare of irritation on her behalf, glad to be talking about old ladies rather than besotted young men. “Some people aren’t happy unless they’re criticizing or spreading doom and gloom.”
Meg lowered her head and he heard an indelicate snort. “Oh, you poor dear. I do hope you stay looking so well,” she said in a stage whisper.
“They actually said that?” He was appalled.
“Of course. They feed on the possibility of catastrophe,” she remarked lightly.
It was no laughing matter to Clay. More than anything he worried about her cancer coming back, not that he’d say so to her face. He wouldn’t take away from the happiness of her recovery by admitting such a thing. She was one of the strongest women he knew, and he reached out to take her hand. “Don’t you listen to them,” he ordered. “You’re healthy as a horse and you look beautiful.”
“Thank you, Clay.” A pretty blush touched her cheeks and his chest swelled.
“I’ve got your back, remember?”
“I remember,” she replied softly, and his heart did a little shiver against his ribs. This wasn’t keeping it simple or purely friendly.
“If anyone bothers you, let me know.”
“Anyone like who, in particular?” She’d cocked her head to the left, as if trying to figure him out. He clenched his jaw.
“Oh, like Tom Walker. Or Jason Callow. Or … who-ever.”
“Interesting,” she said speculatively, her eyes narrowing as she examined him. He couldn’t escape the feeling she was laughing at him on the inside. “Are you jealous, Clay?”
He dropped her hand. “Just wanted you to remember our agreement, that’s all.” He had to come up with another distraction. “Here’s Jen and Andrew,” he suggested, tilting his head toward the couple who had just come in. “Good safe people for both of us, right?”
He didn’t want to touch her too much so he merely put his hand beneath her elbow as they started across the parlor. Jen and Andrew greeted them with hugs and handshakes and it wasn’t long before they were joined by Lily and Noah and Dawson and Tara—the old wing night crowd that Megan had avoided for so long. Now she was a shining star in the midst of them. He couldn’t take his eyes off her animated face. How difficult had it been for her to come here tonight? he wondered. However challenging, she’d made more than one conquest already. She looked like a woman who could accomplish anything. He ran a finger over his bottom lip. Offering her his arm tonight was a small favor when all was said and done. He wished there was some way he could help her with her expansion plans. He’d have to give it some thought, see if he could come up with a solution. There was always more than one way to skin a cat.
“You did a wonderful job on the dress,” Jen commented to Lily. “You look like a movie star, Meg. I had my doubts about velvet, but you and Lily were right.”
“And you were right about the accessories, Jen,” Lily said generously. “But Meg, the shoes. The shoes are to die for. Who helped you pick them out?”
Meg grinned. “I picked them out myself.” She turned her ankle, showing off the impossibly high slingback heel. Clay’s gaze caught on her very fine, toned calf. “I know I’m a bit of a tomboy, but I’m not totally oblivious.”
Was she sure about that? Because she seemed to be completely oblivious to what she was doing to Clay with her soft laughs and knockout body. Nothing was working as a distraction. He looked up as Stacy and Mike came through the door, laughing and smiling. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Tom talking to his dad, but with one eye watching Meg constantly. Clay didn’t want to leave her side, but he did have official duties to perform. He let his hand rest proprietarily on the small of Meg’s back, the heat of her skin warming the velvet against his palm. “They’re here,” he announced, sounding a little sharper than he intended.
“I need to head back to the kitchen and check up on things,” Jen said, handing her empty glass to Drew.
“I suppose we should begin to be seated.” Clay put his glass down on a nearby tray. “Meg, you’re at the head table with me.” There’d be no chance for Tom to move in now.
He saw Tara and Lily exchange significant looks and set his jaw. He hoped they didn’t have any ideas of matchmaking. Meg had been right after all. People were seeing a romance where there was none—even if Clay did feel like he’d been hit by lightning. Even if he did feel an absurd need to put his mark on her tonight.
He was in a heck of a jam—being Meg’s date, being hugely attracted. He was feeling proprietary and he had no right. It shouldn’t matter that Tom had his eye on Meg. Tom was a good guy. But it did bother Clay and that put him on edge, because while he could be friends with Meg it could never be anything more.
It was enough to give him a headache.
Throughout the meal Clay was painfully aware of Meg at his side.
“Could you pass the butter, please?” Meg leaned toward him slightly.
“Oh. Sure.” He picked up the dish of perfectly formed butterballs and handed it to her. Their fingers brushed as she took it from him and something strange and electric shot from his fingers to his elbow. Meg’s gaze snapped up to his and he took his hand away. The air around them changed as she lowered her eyes and her lips pursed as she carefully put a ball of butter on the side of her plate.
This was not going how he’d planned. He couldn’t look at her. He couldn’t touch her and yet he didn’t want anyone else to, either. How on earth was he going to get through the rest of this evening?
Meg broke a piece off her roll and concentrated on spreading a bit of butter on it so she wouldn’t have to look at Clay. What was wrong with him? Granted, she’d wanted to blow him away today and by all accounts she could tell she’d succeeded. Not just with Clay. So many people had been friendly. Heck, Tom Walker had overtly flirted and asked her for a dance later.
But the old teasing Clay was gone and in his place there was an awkward stranger. He couldn’t even hand her the butter dish, for heaven’s sake! And he’d barely said two words through dinner. She thought back over everything they’d talked about today. There was nothing she could think of that might have made him angry or standoffish. But ever since they’d met up with the rest of the gang he’d closed up tighter than a clam.
“Could you pour me some more wine, please, Clay?” she asked sweetly, lifting her glass. It was still half full but she wanted to try something. As he reached for the bottle, she moved her glass closer until her arm brushed the fine fabric of his white shirt.
He immediately pulled away.
No touching then. Meg pasted on a smile for the table’s benefit, said a polite thank-you and took an obligatory sip of the wine even though the liquid had no appeal to her now.
Maybe he’d been momentarily dazzled by her appearance today but the shine had obviously worn off. And maybe she’d let herself believe in the old crush once more—maybe it was the sentimentality of the wedding or something equally foolish—but that wasn’t real. She would not make an idiot of herself. And if Clay ended up giving Lisa Hamm a turn on the dance floor tonight, well bully for him. It was no more than he deserved.
When guests rose to get pictures of the couple cutting the cake, she picked up her purse and slid out the side door. It was early April and the wind held a chill; she chafed her arms with her hands and savored the brisk crispness of it. She’d had to escape the perfection. It was all around her today—the romantic setting of the Victorian-style inn, the pretty dresses, the happiness in Lily’s eyes and the contentedness she saw in Jen’s as Andrew rested a hand on her rounded tummy where their baby grew. It was too much when Meg’s life held so much uncertainty. Maybe someday she’d be ready for love, but it wouldn’t be easy as a survivor. It stung that everywhere around her were reminders.
It was like starting the game at a deficit, and most of the time she did okay with it. But today the proof lurked in every corner. She rested a hip against the porch railing and looked out over the fields, still dotted here and there with clumps of stubborn snow. This was what was real. The ranch land, the herds, the never-changing mountains. This was her life—not the muted laughter and music she heard coming from inside. It had been fun to pretend for a few hours, but the girl in the red dress and high heels and makeup—that wasn’t Meg Briggs. That was Meg Briggs trying to prove something. Now that she had, it felt empty.
“Penny for your thoughts.”
Clay’s voice came from behind her—a surprise. She didn’t turn around. “I thought you were avoiding me.”
“How could I avoid you when you were sitting right next to me?” He chuckled but she heard the tightness in the sound. She stared at a circling hawk and shrugged.
“It sure seemed like you were trying.”
There was a long silence, and then the sound of his boots on the wood floor. “I didn’t want people to get the wrong idea.”
She got the feeling he wasn’t telling the whole truth, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to hear it anyway. “And what idea is that?”
“That we’re … you know. Together.”
Would that really be so bad? She bit back the words. Maybe she’d been wrong about everything today. Maybe the look on his face at the church had just been surprise and not … She thought for a minute. Not what? Attraction? Desire? Boy, she’d really gotten swept up in it, hadn’t she? Sure he’d told her she looked beautiful, but wasn’t he sort of obligated to say that? His behavior at dinner told the true story. Even if there was something—she’d felt it when their hands brushed—Clay would never admit it. Never act on it. A sound of frustration escaped her throat.
“Are you okay?”
She ground her teeth. “If I had a nickel for every time someone asked me that lately, construction on my riding ring would start within the week.”
Clay put his hand on the railing beside her. “For Pete’s sake,” he said irritably, “it’s a simple question and there are lots of ways to be okay. It’s not always about … it can just be because you ducked out. You know. Overwhelmed. An emotional thing.”
“You can’t even say the word, can you?”
She finally turned around and looked up at him. Ah, there it was. The closed expression and the wrinkle above his nose that looked like she could slide a coin into it. He was so afraid of the word cancer.
“What do you want from me, Megan?”
The answer rushed into her brain so quickly she had no chance to prepare. I want you to hold me. For the first time she truly understood what today was about. It wasn’t about showing him. It was about reaching him, something she’d never quite been able to do. He was right here beside her but he’d never been so far away, either.
“Nothing. I don’t want anything from you.” She went to skirt around him but he reached out and grabbed her wrist.
She looked up at him, feeling her temper rise. “Let go, Clay.”
He immediately let go of her wrist, but she didn’t run away. “Why are we arguing?”
“I don’t know.”
“I think you do.”
She deliberated telling him exactly what she thought and immediately dismissed the idea. Even if he were ready to hear it—even if she were ready to say it—now was not the time or the place. Not with people around. Not on his aunt’s so very special wedding day. She let out a long breath, forced herself to relax. “Let’s just enjoy the rest of the wedding, okay? The dancing will be starting up soon.”
Which brought out another problem—how could they possibly dance together now, when their emotions were flashing back and forth like a pair of stop and go lights?
“Meg …”
“Not now, Clay.” She looked up at him. “Please. Put on a smile and let’s go inside. The last thing I need is more people asking if I’m all right. We’re supposed to have each other’s backs tonight, remember?”
She just wanted to get the evening over with now. When they returned to the banquet room, the tables had been moved aside to make more room on the dance floor. A local DJ was getting ready to start things up and the lights had dimmed.
“Ladies and gentlemen, the bride and groom!”
Meg watched as Stacy and Mike took the floor. Stacy’s white dress swirled around her ankles but the true beauty was in her smile. After so many years alone, she’d finally found love and happiness. Meg got a lump in her throat watching them smile and turn through a waltz. Maybe Stacy and Mike were nearing fifty, but they’d seen their chance and they’d taken it. Meg curled her arm around her middle and felt her incision pull just a bit. She doubted that magic would ever happen to her now, doubted she’d ever be ready for it. There were too many uncertainties to contemplate taking such a leap.
After the first dance, Clay danced with Stacy so Meg latched on to Andrew, knowing Jen was finishing up duties in the kitchen. Tom Walker came to claim his dance, and then she circled the floor with Dawson, who pointblank asked her what was going on with Clay.
“Nothing.”
“My eye,” he responded, swinging her under his arm and bringing her back around.
“You’re wrong.”
“You knocked his eyeballs out earlier,” Dawson said.
“Well, they’re back in place now,” she replied dryly. “Things are predictably back to normal.”
Dawson shook his head. “Clay will never admit it, but he’s watching out for you. More than usual. It’s like he’s everywhere.”
She raised an eyebrow. “It’s not a real date. Not that anyone is buying that, but it’s true.” She was still chafing at the idea that Clay felt the need to look out for her.
“I saw his face when he saw you, sis. I’ll put money on this being a real date.”
“And you obviously have a problem with that.”
“Heck, yeah. Clay’s my best friend, but that means I know him better than anyone. So do you,” he pointed out. “Clay’s not the romance kind, Meg. He’s a diehard bachelor and we both know why. I can’t trust my sister’s welfare to a guy who’ll end up hurting her, no matter how much I like him.”
Trust his sister’s welfare? The annoyance of earlier flared back to life. “Oh, you guys,” she said sharply, scowling. Dawson slid her under his arm again and she knew it was a deliberate ploy to put her off. When they came face-to-face again she stepped on his foot.
“Ow!”
“Newsflash, Dawson Briggs. I can look after myself. No one needs to watch over me or worry about my welfare. Stop interfering. Got it?”
Dawson muttered something about an ill-tempered snake and she nearly laughed. Nearly.
The song ended and the beat changed to something slow and romantic. Her shoes were new and her feet were beginning to ache but as she turned to leave the dance floor Clay was there, ready to take her into his arms.
“Dance, Squirt?”
She looked him up and down. The bow tie was gone, revealing the delicious V of his neck. His color was up from dancing and he’d rolled up the cuffs of his dress shirt, revealing strong, tapered wrists. As much as she didn’t want them to, Dawson’s words were too fresh to ignore. Because he was right. Clay had always said he never planned to get married. Even if something did spark between them, she’d be the last woman he’d consider taking on.
“I think I’ll sit this one out.”
He leaned in and whispered in her ear. “It’s a slow dance, Meg. And Lisa Hamm has her radar on full alert.”
“So?”
“So we had a deal, remember?” His slow, sexy voice sent ripples over her skin. “Come on, Meg. I promise it won’t hurt.”
Of course it wouldn’t. Clay was as smooth as a twelve-year-old scotch. Meg sighed. It would be far more telling if she refused him than to simply go through with it. “Fine.”
He took her hand and led her on to the floor. As he took her in his arms, Meg had the disturbing realization that in all the dances over the years, they’d never slow danced together. As her belly brushed against his cummerbund, she suddenly realized why.
He was holding her close and every inch of her skin was aware of him. Her left breast brushed his shirt and tingled at the contact. There was a certain sadness knowing the same sensation would never happen on the other side—not even if she had reconstruction. As their feet started moving she mourned the changes in her body just a little bit.
This slow dance might be all she ever had with Clay. She didn’t want to be protected and babied as he was so determined to do. And the idea of revealing her scars to Clay was preposterous. The woman in the dress was a lie, a fantasy for one day. The scarred, imperfect body was the truth. She was Cinderella at the ball right now, but before long the clock would strike and the dress, the shoes, the makeup would all disappear and she’d still be Meg. Dawson was worrying for nothing.
So she gripped the light fabric of Clay’s shirt in her fingers and held on to his hand and closed her eyes. Two things had become so very clear to her today. One, she still cared for Clay way more than she’d thought. And two, she realized that they’d never suit. There was too much between them that was wrong. He wanted to wrap her in bubble wrap; she wanted to fly. He couldn’t say the word cancer; it was a part of her everyday vocabulary. She was realizing she wanted a husband and a family and Clay would never settle down. There would never be a way for them to meet in the middle.
Even if she wanted them to.
Clay’s body was warm and somehow they seemed to meld together. Her head rested on his shoulder and she felt his warm breath against her ear. Neither of them said a word. Neither of them had to. There was something in the dance that spoke for them. An acknowledgment, perhaps, of what was happening between them and what couldn’t come of it. A depth of feeling tempered by impossibility.
Meg felt a sting behind her eyes.
The song ended and she pulled away, looking up at Clay. He was looking at her the same way he’d looked today when she’d said hello in the church vestibule. Shocked and aware.
“I think I’d like to go home,” she said quietly.
“It’ll look …”
“I don’t care how it looks.” Meg was suddenly so tired of it all. “I just want to go, Clay. Don’t worry. You stay. My dad will take me.”
Clay took her hand. “No, I will. I asked you to come and I’ll drive you home.”
Five minutes later they were in his truck heading for the Briggs ranch, and five minutes after that they were at her house. The porch light was on in the spring twilight. Meg opened her door to get out but before she could hop to the ground Clay was there, shutting the door behind her.
“You don’t have to walk me to the door.”
“Shut up, Meg.”
He said it so softly she didn’t argue, just listened to their footsteps on the gravel as they walked to the porch door.
“You really were beautiful today,” he said, as they lingered just that few extra seconds.
“Don’t, okay?” She tried not to choke on the words. She didn’t want the crumbs of compliments he was offering. “Thanks for the drive home and good night.”
She unlocked the door, but before she could turn the knob his hand covered hers. She turned and froze.
“Clay,” she warned, but it was too late.
His arm came around her, lifted her feet clear off the floor as he kissed her: hot, demanding, and all-encompassing.

CHAPTER SIX
HIS mouth was soft, hot and devastating. Megan let the shock ripple deliciously through her as she clutched his shoulders. There was a small thunk as the house key dropped to the step. Even through the layers of his tuxedo and her coat Meg felt the hardness of his body against her.
It was the most wonderful thing she’d felt in her whole life. His lips did terribly skilled things to hers as he moved ahead a step, then another half so that she was pressed against the door with nowhere to go. But the stability meant that she could have her hands free, and once liberated she slid them beneath his lapels and pushed the jacket off his shoulders. His mouth left hers just for a moment and they stood, chests heaving, in the circle of the porch light. Clay’s eyes glinted darkly at her as he caught the jacket blindly and draped it in a haphazard clump over the railing.
“Open the door,” he commanded, and something seemed to zing from Meg’s toes straight to the top of her head. She felt her eyes widen as she understood his intentions; when she said nothing he simply reached around her and turned the knob. She gave a little squeak as his hands spanned her waist and he lifted her over the threshold, kicking the door shut behind him.
“Clay …”
“Be quiet,” he commanded, and she swallowed but obeyed. He was looking at her as they stood in the shadows, the only light in the entryway coming from porch light shining through the windows. In the semidark he appeared even more dangerous, more forbidden. Mysterious, which to Meg sounded ludicrous considering she’d known him her whole life.
But not this Clay. Not the man who just now was reaching out, cupping her head in his wide, capable hand. She wanted this. She’d wanted it for so long, had given up any and all chances of it happening. Maybe another chance would never come. Maybe … she bit down on her lip as she looked at Clay. Cancer had taught her to live each day to the fullest. She was tired of being afraid. His thumb rubbed against her cheek gently. Why shouldn’t she take just this much when it was offered?
So she released her lip and tipped her head up, silently inviting him to kiss her again.
He cradled her face in both his hands now and Meg fought for breath as his mouth descended, not with the crash and fury of the first kiss but slowly, deliberately. He took his time now, teasing, tempting, settling into the contact with a sense of inevitability that rocked her world and made her yearn for far more than a good-night kiss or a single night to remember.
“I’ve wanted to do this all day,” he confessed, and Meg’s body came alive hearing the soft but urgent words. His mouth was on hers again, making her weak in the knees. She pushed away the warning that sounded in her head when Clay lowered his hands and unbuttoned her coat. It was just a coat. It was fine. She let it fall to the floor and curled a hand around his neck, pulling him closer, tasting. He tasted like the chocolate mousse from the dessert, flavored with a hint of tart raspberry coulis.
Clay slid one hand over her left shoulder and down, his fingertips sliding over her breast. At first Meg shuddered, feeling utterly feminine and sexual for the first time in months. But as Clay made an impassioned sound in his throat Meg came to her senses. He didn’t know, couldn’t know what surgery had cost her. It was too risky, too frightening. What if he’d used the other hand? He would have slid his fingers over something that wasn’t real. Clay mattered. For the sake of their friendship, it had to stop here.
She pushed against him, making enough room that she could slide past his body and into the warmth of the kitchen. She hugged her arms around herself. How could she have forgotten so easily? Meg felt the color drain from her face as her body chilled. It was an embarrassment she had no desire to endure.
“Meg.” Clay followed her into the kitchen. Just the way he said her name, soft but with a bit of wariness, put her on edge.
“I can’t do this,” she said quietly, knowing he had no idea how much saying it was tearing her apart. The peace she’d made—with herself, with her disease—evaporated, leaving her angry and full of self-loathing. Now, when she finally had what she’d always wanted in her grasp, who she wanted, she had to push him away. “You don’t want this,” she said, stronger now. “You don’t want me. You should go.”
He reached over and turned on the kitchen light, flooding them in brightness. Meg hated the glare. Hated the idea of being so visible, inside and out.
“What the hell just happened?” He frowned at her, his expression a mix of frustration and confusion.
Meg knew what he meant and deliberately misunderstood. “Why don’t you tell me? You were the one who insisted on walking me to the door. Who wouldn’t let me open …”
“That’s not what I mean.”
She looked away. There was irritation in his eyes but there was something more. Clay looked hurt. How could that be? “Why did you kiss me?” she asked, lifting her chin. Anything to keep him from searching for the real answer to his question. Anything but the humiliation of having to explain.
“Because I wanted to,” he replied.
They were both stubborn but Meg was no fool. “Now who’s deliberately dodging? You know what I’m asking. Why did you want to?”
He took a step closer and Meg backed away, skirting around the table and putting it between the two of them. Clay’s face looked suddenly tired. “Good Lord, Meg. I’m not going to hurt you.”
But he would. He would if she let herself believe in this fantasy. She knew his reasons and it was all her fault. He had to know them, too. Had to say them so he could see how foolish it all was. “Why did you want to kiss me, Clay?” She repeated the question, her hands braced on the back of the chair before her.
“Look at you,” he admitted roughly. “You walked through the church today and every eye was on you. You have to know that.”
“So it’s just physical?”
“Of course not!” His shoulders straightened.
She was relieved and not relieved at the same time. If it wasn’t just physical, then there was more. Friends with benefits? She knew Clay too well for that. He had to see how wrong this was. Even as her lips still hummed from his kiss, she knew in her heart that in the end someone was going to get hurt. Or both of them. “So you have feelings for me,” she dared.
Clay paused. “It’s not that simple.”
She knew it wasn’t, and that was the point. “Because if you’re going with physical attraction—” she braced herself for the next words, knowing they had to be said “—you’re going to be sorely disappointed.”
“What are you talking about?” His gaze darkened. “Don’t tell me you don’t feel it, too. I felt you in my arms. You practically melted.” He put his hands on his hips. “I might have started it, but you were right there with me. And then you pushed me away like I did something wrong. Unforgivable.”
He really didn’t know. She let that bit sink in for a few moments, trying to figure out where to go from here. It explained a lot. She’d guarded the details of her treatment well, and so had her family. The knowledge warmed her just a bit. They’d stood behind her even when what she’d asked hadn’t been easy.
Clay truly didn’t know the extent of her surgery. She had to think about how to say it just right.
“This …” She swept her hand down at her dress. “This is not the real me, Clay. It was a mistake for me to pretend. You asked me to go with you and I had some silly idea to go all out and prove a point. But the makeup and dress and high heels … it’s an act. If you’d left me at the door I’d be in flannel sleep pants and a T-shirt by now.”
“And that’d be sexy as hell,” he answered. “Good God, Meg, give me some credit. I’ve known you for years. I know this isn’t normal for you. Maybe that’s why it hit me so hard.” He smiled, a sexy little upturn of his lips. “Discovering you’re a girl was more than I bargained for.”
“I don’t want …”
The smile faded. “Don’t want me? You did a damn good job making it seem like you did.”
Frustration began to bubble. “Stop finishing my sentences. You’ve got it all wrong, don’t you see? It’s not just the dress that’s not me, it’s … it’s …”
Her lip wobbled. He truly hadn’t seen her as a woman until today. And it had taken her pretending to be someone else to make it happen. She felt old dreams shatter, the pieces dropping around her feet. Clay would never love her, and she had to stop this insanity now. If she couldn’t have all of him, she at least wanted to keep his friendship.
“Dawson said this would be a mistake.”
Clay’s eyes glittered dangerously. “Leave your brother out of this.”
Meg ran her tongue over her lips. “But I can’t, Clay, because he was right.” It pained her to admit it but it was true. She swallowed, blinked, breathed. “We don’t want the same things, and I’m not prepared to take any gambles right now. The Meg who went away … not all of her came back. There are parts of me that’ll never come back. Some more obvious than others.”
She pressed a hand to her right breast and saw the moment Clay understood. Any teasing, any sexual frustration he had been feeling fled and he looked both fascinated and horrified.
“You mean … all of it?”
“Yes. No lumpectomy. Full mastectomy, and a few lymph nodes for good measure.”
His ruddy cheeks blanched. “So you … I mean …”
He was so uncomfortable that she felt pity for him. But she’d been right to push away. What if he’d touched her without realizing? It would have been too humiliating. No matter what anyone said, a breast form was far from the same thing. Not for him and not for her. And judging by his reaction now, the only thing she would share were the words. He could barely handle those. He wouldn’t be able to handle the scars, or the sight of her as less of a woman. The idea of letting herself be that vulnerable and watching him turn away nearly stole her breath. She couldn’t do it.
“I wear a prosthetic—a form inside my bra.”
Clay uttered a curse word, pulled out a chair and sat down.
Meg let out her breath. She’d said it. She pulled out the chair beneath her hands and sat across from him. “When we were outside tonight, at the inn, I said you couldn’t say the word. If you can’t say it, Clay, you can’t handle this. And so I stopped you before it could blow up in our faces. You got caught up in it today, just like me, that’s all. You’ll thank me later.”
She wanted to believe that was true, but all she wanted was to feel his arms around her again. He wasn’t the only one who got more than he bargained for today.
“I can say it,” Clay protested, his lips a thin, grim line. “I just didn’t think you wanted to hear it. You hate it when people bring up your illness. You want to pretend it didn’t happen.”
It was only a partial truth. She did hate it, but she was right. He hated cancer. He was afraid of it. It was merciless and didn’t discriminate. Tonight he’d wanted to forget about it. Meg was so gorgeous, so alive in his arms. When she’d rested her head on his shoulder as they’d danced she’d started something that he’d finished on her porch step. He was attracted to Megan Briggs and he’d conveniently forgotten all the reasons why he should stay away. He hadn’t been able to help himself from taking her in his arms, kissing her. It was the damnedest thing. What shook him right to the bottom of his shoes was that it felt so right.
It had felt like everything was clicking into place until the moment she’d frozen in his arms. In a way he was glad she’d put on the brakes. The last thing Clay wanted was to play games with Meg, and what else could it possibly be? He wasn’t interested in anything serious, and it was impossible to be anything else with Meg. He knew her too well. They’d shared too many secrets as friends. That type of connection wasn’t something he could be careless with.
As he looked at her now, he knew it was more than just their friendship on the line, too. Meg was scared. For all her protests to the contrary, Meg was still scared to death and pushing her into something based on hormones and attraction would only hurt them both. He had to tread very, very carefully so that nothing was broken irreparably.
“I could never pretend it didn’t happen.” She folded her hands on the table. “The experience is a part of who I am now. The trouble starts when people think that’s all I am.”
“You had cancer, Meg. You could have died.” She hadn’t, but the spectre was always there. “People worry about you. I worry about you, okay? I don’t want to lose another person I …”
Her head came up and her gaze pierced his. “You what?”
“I care about,” he finished. He wanted to think that what she’d revealed tonight didn’t matter. That he didn’t care about scars, that he was a bigger man. But in his head he kept seeing the surgeon’s knife and it made him feel light in the stomach. She was right. It was better that they stop things right where they were. She might think it was about her scars but for Clay it was so much more. He had his own scars to deal with, the kind that didn’t leave physical proof. And now those scars were somehow tied to the one person he was coming to realize he’d always counted on. Her.
Tonight he’d nearly ruined everything by getting carried away. If it meant letting her believe he was repulsed by her appearance, he’d take the hit to his character. It was difficult enough being her friend, but it was nothing compared to being her lover. Friends … lovers … two very, very different things carrying vastly different risks. Love changed things. Love was like taking your heart out of your body and putting it in someone else’s keeping. It required a faith he didn’t possess.
“I understand,” he said quietly. “If you’re okay, I should go.”
“Of course I’m fine.”
Of course she was. Meg would never admit any differently, would she? He pushed away from the table and the chair legs grated against the floor, unusually loud in the awkward silence. He went to the door and she followed him, picking up her coat and hanging it on a hook while he paused with a hand on the doorknob.
“I’m sorry, Meg.” He was sorry for a lot of things and he hoped she’d let it go at that and not ask him to elaborate. He made himself meet her eyes. She was watching him with such soft understanding he felt about two inches tall. A coward.
“It’s okay,” she answered. “It’s a lot to handle. I knew it and I let things get out of hand.”
She was blaming herself? He stepped forward. “Not your fault. Not even a little bit, understand?”
Her cheeks blossomed prettily and Clay’s gaze dropped to her lips. But her breath had quickened and he saw the rise and fall of her chest. No, they had to leave things as they were. They had to stay friends for everyone’s sake. “Let’s just forget about it,” he murmured, opening the door.
“Good idea,” she answered.
He leaned forward and gave her a light peck on the cheek. “Good night, Meg.”
But she didn’t answer as she shut the door behind him and he collected his tux jacket from the railing. Night had fallen completely and April stars were gleaming in a cold sky.
Maybe he should have stayed. He wasn’t proud of himself and he couldn’t help but think of his mother as he started the truck. She hadn’t been able to handle his father’s illness and had left them both. He’d always considered her weak and unfeeling. He’d always been so very determined not to be like her.
Now Meg undoubtedly thought he was, and he was surprised to find that it hurt. Her opinion mattered to him. For the first time in his life he realized that the real motivations behind his parents’ split were possibly different than he’d always thought. After holding Meg in his arms, he found it possible to believe that his mother had loved his father but hadn’t had the strength to handle watching him die.
It was no excuse, but Clay understood it. And he hated himself for it.
Meg rubbed Calico’s neck as she let the mare walk to cool down. A year of inconsistent exercise had both of them out of shape, and she was toying with the idea of doing one more season before hanging up her rodeo hat for good. She had to have something other than the day-to-day running of the ranch. Maybe she just needed to do this one step at a time. Save what she could and build piece by piece.
She sat tall in the saddle, looking at the barrels. Trouble was, as good as she was at racing, she’d never felt like the rodeo royalty type and another year of the circuit sounded exhausting. Somewhere along the way she’d lost her competitive edge. Or perhaps she’d spent so much energy fighting her cancer that she simply didn’t want to compete anymore. The last few days she’d been listless, unsettled. She told herself it had nothing to do with Clay but it did.
He’d disappointed her.
She had wanted him to proclaim that it didn’t matter. That her scars meant nothing. Not that it would have changed anything, but she’d wanted to hear him say it anyway. He hadn’t. She had been so right about stopping things before they truly got started. Now she just wished they could go back to the way things were before.

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