Skin Deep

by Pamela Clare

  “Now let’s try loping him.” Nate made a little kissing sound, shifted one foot, and the horse went faster.

  Emily squealed.

  Megan couldn’t help but laugh, too, the sight of Emily’s happiness smoothing the rough edges off her nerves. She needed to quit worrying. Donny had no idea where she was, and even if he did, he wouldn’t be able to come after her. If she couldn’t make it to Denver, he wouldn’t be able to make it out to the Cimarron.

  This was a chance for her to relax. Donny’s accomplices—or at least some of them—were behind bars. Marc was safe. She and Emily were safe. She had a three-day weekend and was staying in one of the most beautiful homes in the state, warm and toasty high in the Rockies, with great food and hosts who were going out of their way to make her and Emily feel safe and welcome.

  It was like a surprise vacation—with the added element of a heartbreakingly brave and handsome combat veteran who seemed to be attracted to her and who knew how to make her daughter laugh.

  The door behind her opened with a blast of frigid air, and Jack walked up beside her. He watched for a moment, chuckling. “It wasn’t too long ago that Nathaniel was that age. We started him riding as soon as he could walk. By the time he was Emily’s age, he was riding by himself.”

  Megan stared at Jack, amazed. “Weren’t you afraid he’d fall or get bucked off?”

  Jack smiled. “Theresa and I stayed close by, and we only put him on horses we trusted. What was that old gelding’s name? Cider. That’s right. Old Cider. Beautiful horse.”

  As Nate and Emily drew near, Nate brought Buckwheat to a walk. “Say, ‘Whoa,’ and draw back gently on the reins.”

  “Whoa!” said Emily, her hands guided by Nate’s.

  Buckwheat drew to a halt with a snort.

  “Alright, little Miss Emily, old Jack will help you down.” Jack reached up.

  Nate handed Emily to his father, dismounted, turned to Megan. “Your turn.”

  Megan took a step back. “That’s fine. I don’t need to ride again.”

  Nate raised an eyebrow. “You enjoyed it last time.”

  She had. She’d felt a sense of exhilaration sitting on the horse—after she’d gotten over being terrified. But now the idea made her nervous again. Just because it had gone well once didn’t mean she wouldn’t get bucked off this time.

  But, not to be outdone by a preschooler, she gave in. “Okay, but you stay right here.”

  Nate grinned. “Hey, I’m not going anywhere.”

  Megan grasped the saddle, put her foot in the stirrup and with a boost from Nate, pulled herself astride the enormous animal. She waited while Nate took off his gloves and adjusted the stirrups, Buckwheat standing patient and still beneath her. She reached up, patted his neck, the dark hair of his mane coarse against her fingers.

  “Here you go.” Nate handed her the reins.

  She stared at them, horrified to find them in her own hands. She handed them back to him. “Oh, no! You should keep them.”

  He frowned, caught her fingers with his, his hands so much bigger than hers—and much warmer. “Your hands are freezing. Wear these.”

  He retrieved the leather gloves he’d tucked under one arm and held the reins while she slid the gloves on. They were too big for her, but inside they were soft and warm from his body heat. “Thanks.”

  “Now, you’re going to take the reins, and I’m going to teach you how to walk and trot the horse.” He handed the reins back to her.

  She took them, feeling suddenly very high off the ground. “Wh-what if he bucks me off or takes off running?”

  Nate stroked the gelding’s neck, looking up at her from beneath the brim of his cowboy hat. “There are good horses that would never harm their riders, and there are bad-tempered horses that bite and kick and won’t settle down. Buckwheat’s one of the good ones. Trust him, Megan.”

  Megan drew a deep breath, her heart hammering. “Okay. What do I do?”

  “First, relax. A horse can tell when a rider is afraid. You’ve got nothing in the world to be afraid of. I’m here. My dad is here. That’s almost a century of riding experience right here in this barn.”

  Megan drew another deep breath and another, willing herself to relax.

  Nate tugged on the stirrup. “Sit up straight in the saddle so that your shoulder, hip and foot are aligned. Hold the reins loosely so you’re not pulling on them.”

  She did what Nate said, barely able to breathe, unable to believe she was about to ride a horse by herself.

  “Perfect.” He smiled up at her. “Now, to make him walk, cluck and give a light squeeze with your heels.”

  Megan hesitated. “How will you catch me if I fall?”

  “You won’t fall.”

  Megan gave a cluck, squeezed the horse’s sides with her heels—and Buckwheat began to walk. Perhaps because the riding arena was small and he was used to being ridden here, Buckwheat didn’t seem to need her to tell him where to go, his big, hard body graceful beneath her as he moved, his delicate ears twitching, turning from Megan toward the sound of Emily’s happy chatter and then back again.

  Soon, she reached the spot where Nate, Emily, and Jack stood watching her.

  “Do you see your pretty mommy, Emily?” Nate asked, smiling up at Megan. “What’s she doing?”

  Megan felt her cheeks go warm.

  “She’s riding Buckwheat.” Emily answered.

  “That’s right—and she’s doing just fine.”

  Twice more Megan walked the horse around the arena.

  “Now you’re going to make him trot. Ready?”

  Megan nodded, feeling braver.

  “Just give a steady squeeze with your legs.”

  She squeezed Buckwheat’s broad sides—and he shifted his gait, moving into a trot.

  “Perfect,” Nate called to her. “Let your hips and bottom absorb the motion.”

  She tried doing what Nate asked, searching for a way to settle into the horse’s motions, and felt some of the jarring ease away. And it struck Megan that Buckwheat wasn’t just some big, scary, dangerous animal. He was truly listening, paying attention to their voices, to the subtlest movements of her body, wanting to please her.

  She patted him as Emily had done, spoke softly to him. “What a beautiful horse you are, Buckwheat.”

  Buckwheat’s ears turned toward her as she spoke, and he gave a snort.

  She found herself laughing, her fear gone, that sense of wild exhilaration returning. She rode around the barn four times, following Nate’s instructions to slow Buckwheat to a walk and then draw him to a halt.

  Nate took the reins. “How was that?”

  Megan couldn’t stop smiling. “Can I do it again?”

  Jack shook his head. “Like mother, like daughter.”

  CHAPTER 8

  Nate was in over his head where Megan was concerned—and he didn’t give a damn. Watching joy replace the fear on her face had filled him with a kind of happiness he hadn’t known in ages. She had trusted Buckwheat, which meant she had trusted him.

  If she could learn to trust again in small ways…

  Where are you headed with this, West?

  He had no idea.

  Did he want to sleep with her? Hell, yeah, he did. One kiss had set him on fire. But there was more to what he felt for her than sexual desire. She made him feel alive again, and he was pretty certain he was good for her, too. For now, that was enough.

  But taking time out for Emily and Megan’s riding “lessons” had put Nate behind. He ate a quick lunch—the old man made grilled cheese sandwiches and cream of tomato soup—and spent the afternoon mucking out the stables and making sure the horses had fresh hay and clean water waiting for them. Then he saddled and rode Chinook, who got ornery if he didn’t get enough exercise. By the time he’d groomed the stallion and settled him and the other horses in their stalls for the night, snow was falling again, thick and fast. Nate climbed into his truck and plowed the road down to the gate once more, turni
ng toward home just as darkness began to fall, his mind on a hot shower, a warm meal—and Megan.

  He parked the truck in the garage, stopping in the mud room to take off his winter gear before heading indoors. He found his dad in the kitchen peeling potatoes, the house filled with the scents of roasting chicken, onion, sage, and…

  “Chocolate cake?” Nate’s mouth watered, and he clapped his dad on the shoulder. “You’re going all out.”

  His dad sliced a peeled potato, dropped it in a pot of boiling water. “I know from experience that females need a certain amount of chocolate. We have two of them in the house. I don’t want them growing restless.”

  Nate grinned. “Emily asked you to bake it, didn’t she?”

  His dad frowned, but there was a glint of humor in his eyes. “What are you implying?”

  “I know who runs this household, and she’s four.”

  “I’m not the only man in this house who’s whipped.” His dad glanced over at him through narrowed eyes. “I know what you were doing today, trying to help Megan trust you.”

  Had it been that obvious? “So what if I was?”

  “It’s going to take more than a few minutes in the saddle to heal the kind of hurt that girl carries inside her.”

  “I know that.”

  “Good—and good idea, by the way.” His dad looked over at him, a moment of understanding in his eyes before he frowned. “Go take a shower. You smell like horse shit.”

  Chuckling, Nate walked out of the kitchen but was stopped by a squeal coming from the backyard. He walked over to the glass doors and spotted Megan and Emily sledding down the little hill behind the house. Their cheeks were red with the cold, bright smiles on their faces as they trudged to the top of the hill again, dragging Nate’s old sled behind them. Megan settled onto the sled, drew Emily onto her lap—and they were off again, zooming down the hill, Emily laughing all the way.

  The old man is right. You’re whipped, West. You’re both whipped.

  Oddly, the thought put a smile on Nate’s face.

  # # #

  Megan listened while Nate read Emily a bedtime story, her daughter’s eyelids heavy, Emily’s freshly washed hair smelling sweetly of baby shampoo. It had been a thrilling day for her—horses in the morning and sledding in the afternoon. Between the excitement and the cold mountain air, she was completely frazzled. Before Nate finished the story, she had fallen sound asleep.

  Megan drew up the covers, pressed a kiss against her daughter’s forehead. She turned to Nate, spoke in a whisper. “Thank you.”

  Nate whispered back, a half-grin on his face. “My pleasure.”

  He motioned with a jerk of his head toward the door, and Megan followed, thinking they were going to join Jack around the fire. But when they got downstairs, Jack wasn’t there. And her pulse picked up, remembering what had happened last night when Jack had left them alone.

  Nate walked over to the fireplace, added a few pieces of wood to the blaze, then poured himself a drink. “Can I make you some hot cocoa?”

  Megan sat on the sofa, tucking her feet beneath her, trying not to feel nervous—or excited. “Oh, no, thank you. If I have any more chocolate, I’ll be awake all night.”

  He came and sat down beside her. “It looked like you and Emily had fun with my old sled today.”

  Nate had watched them? The idea warmed her.

  “It was Emily’s first time sledding.” And the first time Megan had gone sledding in…

  She couldn’t remember how long.

  “Really?” Nate’s eyebrows went up. “I’m glad my dad kept that old thing.”

  “That was your sled?” Megan found herself smiling, an image of Nate as a little boy sliding down that same hill in her mind.

  “Oh, yeah.”

  She listened while Nate told her how he’d once tied the sled to his horse’s saddle so that the horse could pull him through the snow.

  “I gave him a little cluck, and he started off. The rope wasn’t very long, and one of his hooves hit the sled. That spooked him. Old Cider bucked and ran, dragging me behind him.” Nate grinned, a faraway kind of smile. “It probably lasted less than a minute, but it seemed like an eternity to eight-year-old me. My old man heard the commotion and came running out. He managed to get hold of Cider’s bridle. I scrambled off the sled, untied the rope, and helped my dad get Cider back in his stall.”

  “Did you get into trouble?”

  “Oh, hell, yeah.” Nate chuckled. “My dad asked me to help him groom Cider. While I helped brush him down, my dad showed me exactly how afraid Cider had been, pointing out how the horse was still shivering, and skittish. ‘Think of all the things Cider has done for you,’ my dad said. ‘He trusts you, and today you betrayed that trust.’ I felt lower than dirt.”

  Megan couldn’t help but smile. “It must have been so wonderful to grow up with Jack as your father. He’s so kind to Emily. She just adores him.”

  “He adores her, too. She’s a special little girl.”

  “Sometimes I wonder how I ended up with her, why she came to me.” Megan had only ever admitted this to Marc and Sophie. She was surprised to find herself telling Nate and wished for a moment that she could take the words back. They cut far too close to the truth about her.

  Nate’s gaze met Megan’s, his left hand sliding over hers, his fingers warm as they twined with hers. “I guess the head stork felt she needed a special mother to raise her.”

  Megan forced a smile onto her face, looked away, a clammy sense of guilt sliding through her even as some part of her welcomed his touch. She needed to tell him the truth. He deserved to know.

  Oh, but she didn’t want to tell him! She liked this version of herself better, the version she saw reflected in his eyes—a good mother, a woman he respected, a woman without a criminal record, without blood on her hands. The moment she told him the truth, that woman would cease to exist. His attraction to her would vanish. He would draw his hand away, quit touching her. And although she didn’t know him well, he was a good man. She cared what he thought of her. To lose his respect…

  “What is it?” There was concern in his voice, his fingers tightening reassuringly around hers. “What’s wrong?”

  It was on the tip of her tongue to make some excuse, but the words wouldn’t come. If she let this go any further, he would feel misled.

  This is the price you pay. It’s the price you’ll always pay.

  There really was no such thing as starting over.

  She drew her hand away, her mouth suddenly dry. “Nate, I … I’m not the woman you think I am.”

  Oh, God! How was she going to do this?

  She willed herself to meet his gaze. “When I was younger, I did things I shouldn’t have done. I’ve served time in prison for using drugs, and I … I killed a man.”

  Nate reached out, stroked her cheek with his thumb. “I know, Megan. I know.”

  Megan stared at him, his words and his actions making no sense to her. “What…?”

  “I know you spent time in juvenile detention for shoplifting, and I know what happened to you there. I know about the man you shot and killed, and I know why you did it. I know your brother took the fall and spent six years of a life sentence in prison, while you struggled with heroin addiction on the streets. I know you were sent to prison on drug charges when you were two months pregnant with Emily, and I know what happened that set matters straight—why you disappeared with Emily, how your brother escaped and came after you, how the courts finally gave you both your freedom.

  “I know it all, Megan, and I think no less of you for it.”

  Megan saw Nate’s mouth moving, but couldn’t hear him, her heart pounding so hard that it drowned out everything else. “Reverend Marshall told you.”

  “No, Megan. I read about it in the articles that ran in the Denver Independent. There was that series—”

  She found herself on her feet, her face burning with rage and humiliation. “You googled me! You pried—”


  “No, I didn’t.” He stood, took a step toward her.

  “Oh, God!” She turned her back on him, stared down unseeing at the fire. “You went behind my back and—”

  “That’s not what happened.” Nate was standing behind her now, his big hands coming to rest on her shoulders. “My dad is a news geek. He kept a folder from when your brother escaped from prison. He clipped all the articles—the ones about Marc, the ones about you. He recognized Marc’s name and showed me the folder a few hours before you called yesterday.”

  “Jack knows, too?” Something inside her seemed to wither at this news, and she pulled away from Nate, tears pricking her eyes, her stomach in knots.

  “He wrote letters to the governor asking him to grant you a pardon.”

  These last words broke through the adrenaline haze in Megan’s mind. She turned to face Nate. “He … he did?”

  “Yeah.” Nate wiped a tear off her cheek with his thumb. “Megan, we’ve both known the whole story since before you came up here.”

  “You didn’t say anything.” They hadn’t treated her strangely, either, showing her only courtesy and kindness, as if her past didn’t matter to them, as if they didn’t hold it against her.

  “Why should I? Asking you about it would only dredge up painful memories. You don’t owe me any explanations. Who you were then is not who you are now, and I’m interested in the woman you are today.”

  Stunned by Nate’s response, Megan could do nothing but stare up at him.

  # # #

  Nate sat, empty tumbler in hand, listening while Megan spoke. He hadn’t asked her to explain anything, but she seemed to need to talk about it now that her past was out in the open. What she had to say wasn’t easy to hear.

  “I was a virgin the first time. It hurt so bad. They came almost every night after that. There were four of them, and they took turns, using their radios to keep track of the other guards, covering for one another. One of them would come in, force me onto my back and rip down my pants. He would … rape me, and then the next one would come in and do the same. They gave us candy bars, as if chocolate could somehow make up for what they’d done. They always wore condoms. No evidence, no babies, they said.”