by Donna Alward
“I want you, Meg. I l—”
“No.” She cut off the word before he could form it. She couldn’t bear to hear him say the words and then lose him later, as she surely would. He wasn’t thinking clearly. Never mind her scars. There’d be a spot on an X-ray or a change in her blood work and it would be too much for him to handle. Then where would she be? “We need to end this, now. It is not what you think, Clay. And you can’t ride in on your steed and rescue me and pretend it’s all better forever.”
“That’s not my intention.”
“You don’t want me. You want the idea of me. But you can’t buy guarantees, Clay. You can’t control the future. You want to save me like you couldn’t save your dad.”
He stepped back as she flung the words at him.
“You’re right. I couldn’t save my dad, no matter how I tried. But you’re wrong that I want to save you instead. You want to know why this has been such a mess? Because I know that no matter what I do I can’t save you, Meg. I’m helpless. It was easier to keep my distance, tell myself that if we were just friends I could still handle it. But I was wrong about that, too.”
She hopped down from the counter; she felt way too exposed up there. “I’m sorry, Clay. I didn’t come here to fight. I came to put our friendship back together. But it doesn’t seem to be working. We always argue.”
“Why do you think that is?” he asked. He put his hands in his pockets and the movement made his shoulders raise and lower. She was constantly aware of his physicality. He was so perfect. And she was not. She never would be.
What would it take to make him understand? The answer came to her instantly and she recoiled. No. She couldn’t show him, couldn’t make herself that vulnerable.
But logic nagged at her. If he wanted more, eventually they would come to this crossroad. She could talk until she was blue in the face but until he truly saw the evidence, he had his mind made up. It was time to get off the merry-go-round. She could do this. She had gone through worse times and come through. And maybe then they could stop this dance they were doing and find some level ground where they could salvage their friendship. At the rate they were going there would be nothing left but the ashes, and it was impossible to think of her world with no Clay in it.
She reached for the top button of her blouse.
“Meg, you don’t have to…”
“Yes,” she replied gently, “I do. This is what keeps this horrible push and pull thing going on. Let’s just get it over with, Clay.”
Clay’s gaze never left hers as one by one she undid the buttons. When the last one was gone, she shrugged out of the shirt and let it drop to the floor. She took a shaky breath. This should have been a moment filled with anticipation and desire and the difference nearly broke her heart. All she felt was dread and self-loathing.
With shaking fingers, she reached behind her back, undid her bra and let it slide down her arms until it joined her blouse on the kitchen floor.
Clay swallowed against the lump that lodged in his throat. The backs of his eyes burned but he would not cry. Not when Megan was in front of him, being so very strong. Not when she trusted him this much. He loved her. She wouldn’t let him say the words but it was true. He could see through her plan. She was trying to shock him into leaving so they wouldn’t have to deal with what was between them. She was scared, too.
His gaze left hers and dropped, as they both knew it would. A hole seemed to open up in his core at the sight of her. One breast, pert and rosy-tipped, as natural as a warm spring rain. And her right side—flat, with a scar running from where her breast had been toward her armpit. The redness had healed long ago, but not so long as to make the scar invisible. It stood out clearly against the paleness of her skin.
He looked up into her face and saw the tears streaking down her cheeks, even though she’d never moved during his visual examination. Her eyes clashed with his, flared with defiance. By God, she was something. He’d called her obstinate, pigheaded, and even blind, but he’d missed out on something. Brave. Right now, faced with what he knew was horribly transparent and painful, she refused to cower.
She bent to reach for her bra and Clay stepped forward, putting his hand on her arm. Her head snapped up in alarm.
“Don’t,” he said roughly. It sounded too loud in the quiet kitchen. “Don’t hide, please.”
She straightened, but this time he noticed her shoulders hunched a little, like she was trying to shelter herself. He reminded himself to be gentle. She was expecting him to turn away. He moved his thumb and wiped away the tears that hung on her lashes. “Don’t cry,” he murmured. “My beautiful girl, don’t cry.”
Her lower lip quivered and he watched, intrigued, as she bit down on it.
Clay hadn’t known what to expect. He’d checked Google for pictures to try to understand, to prepare himself, but it was different because it was Meg. She was not a cold, clinical photograph. She was flesh and blood, before him now, and the changes wrought on her body didn’t make him want her any less.
As gently as he possibly could, he let his fingers trail down her neck. He felt her tremble beneath his fingertips and forced himself to go painfully slow. He curled his fingers, letting them ride with a featherlight touch over the full curve of her breast. He met her gaze, making sure everything was all right, and was startled to see her pupils widen and her cheeks flush. Silently he asked permission. She held herself as rigid as a statue, her breath barely moving her chest as he took those same fingers and traced the line of her scar. Not quite as soft as the rest. Strong and tough. A warrior’s mark. His heart pounding, he pressed his palm against the skin where her breast should have been.
Meg wasn’t sure how much longer she could hold on to the thin thread of control. It had been torture standing before him, watching his gaze sweep down to stare at her mark. She’d nearly covered her healthy breast out of embarrassment, but she’d clenched her hands at her sides, determined he see it all. If they were suddenly talking about sex and love there was no room for false modesty. So she’d steeled herself for his revulsion, prayed for a quick end to the examination and a swift return to common sense.
Only it never came, and the longer he looked the more it tore her apart.
Now he was touching her and she was really fighting to keep from losing it. His fingers grazed her breast and she felt her body betray her, terrifying her with the intensity of her reaction. This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen. It was supposed to be less, not more. Not this much more.
His fingers traced along the curved scar and then he pressed his palm against the spot where her breast had been. She felt the pressure of his hand, but the skin was numb. The soft, feathery sensations from the other side were absent here, and Meg wondered if she’d stopped feeling the same way the nerves in her chest wall had.
“I can’t feel it,” she whispered, closing her eyes. “I want to. I can imagine it. But I can’t feel it, Clay.”
“It doesn’t matter. You’re so beautiful, Meg. So brave.”
But she wasn’t. She wasn’t beautiful, and as far as bravery, well it was all an act that she’d been keeping up for months. She shook her head, but he stopped her with the husky timbre of his voice. “I love you, Meg.”
He folded her into his arms and Meg felt the rough fabric of his shirt against her skin, the warmth of his hands splayed across her naked back. Clay had just said he loved her. The world seemed to shrink into a microcosm of this moment where it was just the two of them and everything else was shut outside. His breath was warm against her hair, his lips soft as he kissed just above her ear. Not a kiss of passion, but more. A forever kind of kiss and Meg felt her heart turn over.
She couldn’t say the words back; not because she didn’t want to, but because it was too much to process in a short amount of time. She was still absorbing the sound of his declaration when he began kissing her again. Meg tried to give herself over to the sweetness of the sensation. Clay was a good man. The man, and he’d just s
aid he loved her. She had expected a very different reaction from him just now and she should be happy. What on earth was her problem? She ignored the uneasy feeling, closed her eyes and sank into the kiss, reached for his shirt buttons and began unbuttoning them. With his lips still fused to hers he pulled his arms out of the sleeves and pulled her close, skin to skin. Meg’s heart pounded as panic started to set in. She tried to ignore it, but when he scooped her up in his arms she lost her tenuous grip on her fears.
“Put me down.” He started to walk toward the hall that led to the bedrooms at the back of the house. “Clay! Stop. Please.” Her breath caught on a sob. He released his arm and she slid slowly down until her feet hit the floor. Her bra and shirt were several feet away now and she felt horribly exposed. She crossed an arm over her chest.
“I can’t do this. I thought I could, but I can’t.”
“I rushed you,” he said, his gaze tender and understanding. “It’s okay, Meg, we can take it slow…”
Oh, God, he was making it even worse than it already was. He had to stop being so patient, so understanding. Because she was beginning to see a glimmer of the real truth and she had to get out of here before he pushed too far.
“No,” she answered. She had to stop trembling. “I didn’t come here for this. I came here to salvage our friendship. I can’t, Clay.”
“There’s more than friendship between us. How can you deny it?”
He raised his hand to cup her face and she backed away. It seemed a short time ago that he’d thrown love in her face and she’d been so hurt. Now their positions were reversed and she had to add regret to all the emotions churning within her. “I don’t want this,” she said, momentarily impressed at how clearly it came out. She had thought that revealing her scars was her biggest fear, but she’d been horribly wrong. She’d thought that Clay’s past would get in their way and she’d been mistaken about that, too.
No, he’d been the one who was right all along. She was the one standing in their way. He might love her now but she’d loved him longest. And if they did this—made love, began a real relationship…
For all her brave and optimistic talk, she knew the deep down, ugly truth. She was petrified of her cancer coming back. And if she willingly entered into a romance with Clay, that might mean having him and then losing him, breaking her heart. She wanted to believe he’d stand by her, but it was a lot to expect. She knew the statistics. Knew what reoccurrence could mean. Even if he did stay…
It wasn’t a big stretch to envision the eventual outcome. And then where would Clay be? Alone. How could she ask that of him when cancer had already extracted such a heavy price?
It had to end now, while they could still both recover. She wanted more for him. He deserved a whole woman and a long, happy life. He deserved someone to make this a home for him again and a brood of children running around. And she was terrified that she couldn’t give that to him.
“No,” she said, backing up and reaching for her shirt. In her haste to cover her body she put on her shirt and jammed her bra into a ball, clenching it in her white fingers.
“I’m sorry, Clay.” His face had paled and she knew she’d remember his hurt expression as long as she lived. “I’m so damned sorry. I can’t love you.”
“Meg!” He stepped toward her, but she backed off. She couldn’t let him touch her now. She was too fragile, she wanted what he was offering too much.
“I can’t, Clay. You should just forget about me.”
“Never.”
Meg’s eyes stung. Oh, why did he have to suddenly want to fight for them? Why couldn’t he let her go as he always had before?
“Goodbye,” she whispered. “Please don’t follow me.”
She left him standing in the kitchen.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
MEG tamped the stack of flyers together and slid them into a large envelope. Saturday was the grand opening and she was going to pop in to town this morning and deliver flyers to local businesses. Everything was ready—the barn and riding ring were finished and the extra insurance had been approved. She already had three boarders lined up and she’d bought two mild-mannered quarter horse mares from Brody Hamilton and was considering two more. Four summer day camps were scheduled and Megan hoped that registrations would begin to flow in after the weekend.
But somehow it felt empty. She looked down at her desk, set up in a corner of the small office her parents used for ranch business. One of the invitations she’d printed for a small group of personal friends remained on the top. Clay’s. She knew he needed to be here. Despite their problems, he’d given her such a precious gift. If it weren’t for him, the school would still be a pipe dream.
But she hadn’t seen him since the night in his kitchen. They’d both been busy, but in all the years they’d known each other, they’d always run into each other occasionally. To go this long without so much as a sign of him meant he was avoiding her. Just as she was avoiding him.
There was a knock on the office door and Meg looked up. Jen Laramie stood in the breach, holding out a tray of iced cinnamon buns and flashing a crooked smile.
Meg forced a bright smile. “Your timing is perfect.”
“Isn’t it always?”
Meg admired the fact that nothing ever managed to drag Jen down. She pushed her chair back and got up. “I could use a distraction.” She knew she’d been hiding away too long, letting this thing with her and Clay make her blue. She had so much to be thankful for, to be happy about and it was time she pulled herself out of her funk.
“Mom put some decaf on before she left. I’ll get the cream if you get plates.”
In moments they were seated at the table with steaming mugs and sticky fingers. “Seen Clay lately?” Jen asked, a little too innocently. Meg knew everyone had seen them leave the wedding together, and that had only been a while ago. And Meg was sure that even though they’d never made their business agreement public, people were probably aware that Clay had bankrolled Meg’s project. If there hadn’t been some speculation, Meg would have been surprised.
“Not lately,” she answered, focusing on a dribble of icing running down the side of her roll.
“Hmm. No one’s seen much of him. Hasn’t been to wing night in weeks. Neither of you have.”
Did Jen think that she and Clay had been holed up together? Meg picked at a layer of pastry, wondering how to reply to the thinly veiled insinuation. So she wasn’t the only one hiding out. It hurt her to know that she’d hurt him. That he’d never know how much she appreciated what he’d done for her. It wasn’t just the loan. It was how she saw herself. His acceptance had changed so much.
And yet she still felt she’d done the right thing. This could all change in the blink of an eye. She wouldn’t risk hurting him further. “I’ve been busy here,” Meg said, taking a sip of coffee and keeping her face perfectly neutral. “And I’m sure Clay must be busy at his place, with haying starting and all.”
Jen broke off a piece of pastry and popped it in her mouth. “Shoot, everyone’s busy. We kind of thought maybe Clay was here helping you get set up.”
“No,” Meg answered simply. But the truth was, his absence stung. She had been the one to end things. It didn’t make it easier, but she owned it. This time there was no ambiguity. It was over. And one day she’d be over Clay and it would be fine.
Jen leaned forward and studied Meg’s face. “Girl, what’s going on? Have you been sleeping?”
Meg forced a light laugh. She knew there were shadows under her eyes and knew what had put them there. “Are you kidding? I’ve been putting in long days, that’s all. I fall into bed at night and sleep like a house fell on me.”
She didn’t say that she pushed so hard to try to forget Clay. That she welcomed the exhaustion so that she wouldn’t lie awake in bed thinking about what she’d given up.
“Then you’re unhappy.” Jen leaned back and rested her fingers on her rounded belly as she frowned. Meg tried not to watch the way Jen’s palm smo
othed her maternity shirt out of habit. Meg had been right to walk away from Clay, hadn’t she? He was the kind of man who needed a family, a son or daughter to take over the legacy he was building. Meg’s treatment had been aggressive. Even if they might have made it past the physical issues, Meg didn’t even know if she could get pregnant. It was just one more thing on the list, and Clay didn’t even realize.
A lump lodged in her throat. She’d never thought about it much before but she did want children. Especially little black-haired boys with irresistible eyes. Another thing on the list, yes. Another thing that set off the wistful longing she couldn’t seem to escape lately, too. She’d asked Clay not to follow her and he hadn’t. She’d blown any chance with him now, his continued absence told her that.
“Meg?”
She lifted her head, suddenly aware that she’d been staring into her coffee cup for too long. “Sorry, Jen.”
“What happened between you?”
Meg shook her head. What had happened was between her and Clay.
“After the wedding, everyone thought…”
Meg got up from the table and collected their plates. “They thought wrong.”
Jen waited for a minute, but then got up and followed Meg to the sink. Meg felt her friend’s hands on her shoulders. She should be happy at this moment—her dream of her own business was coming true. Instead all she was feeling was sadness.
“If there was something between us, Jen, there’s not now. I wanted to preserve our friendship, but after the last time…”
“The last time what?”
Meg thought back to all the hurtful things she’d said. Even though they were true, saying them had torn her apart. “The last time I saw Clay. We haven’t spoken since. I hurt him, Jen. It was the last thing I wanted to do, but I know I hurt him. And now I’m such a coward I can’t even bring myself to invite him on Saturday.”