by Donna Alward
“That’s great. I thought a change of scenery might help.”
Her palms rested on his chest. Could she feel how her mere touch made his heart beat out of control? He hoped not. The last thing either of them needed was to let this physical attraction get out of hand.
“It’s not the scenery,” she said, her voice growing soft with a sexy lilt. “It’s you.”
Before he could make sense of what was happening she leaned closer. He couldn’t let this happen—no matter how much he wanted it. He turned his head and her lips pressed against his cheek.
Meg jumped back. Her face flamed red. His gut knotted with unease. He knew that he was responsible for her embarrassment and was unsure where this would leave them.
“I thought you...um...don’t you like me?” she stammered.
He lowered his head, realizing he’d been too obvious with his interest in her. “You’re wonderful. It’s not you, it’s me.”
“Seriously? You’re going to throw that tired old cliché at me?” She stepped forward and raised her chin so they were making direct eye contact. “You like me. You’re just afraid to admit it.”
“Drop it.” He tried to walk away but she grabbed his arm.
“Admit it. Admit that you can’t forget about that kiss we shared back at the house. Admit that you want to do it again.”
She was right. He did like her. And he thought about that stirring kiss far too often for his own sanity. Heck, he’d offer up his prize stallion to taste her lips once more—but he couldn’t—they couldn’t.
“Meg, stop it! This—you and me—it can’t happen.”
He pulled away from her touch. He had to convince her that he wasn’t good enough for her. She could do so much better.
He strode over to the picnic area.
A blue-and-white quilt was spread over the ground with the food in the center. He stopped next to the blanket, unable to tear his gaze from the familiar hand-sewn material. His throat tightened and the air became trapped in his lungs.
“Why can’t we happen?” Meg persisted.
He knelt down on the edge of the quilt. His outstretched fingers traced over the interlocking blocks of material. This was a physical reminder of why he had to stop this romance with Meg before it got started.
“You don’t know me,” he said.
Her intense stare drilled into him. “Then tell me. I’m listening.”
He didn’t want to have this talk—not with her—not with anyone. But he’d already said too much, and now he might as well fill her in. Maybe then she’d understand why they could never share more than a few kisses—no matter how much he longed for more.
“This quilt is older than me. My great-grandmother made it for my mother. It kept me warm in the winter, but most of all it kept me safe from the war between my parents. When I was hidden beneath it I pretended no one could see me.”
He paused, wondering how many people described their parents’ relationship as a war. He sure hoped not many. No child should ever live through what he’d endured. No one should ever feel the need to become invisible to stay safe.
Meg opened her mouth, obviously to offer some unwanted sympathy, but when he turned a hard gaze to her she pressed her lips back together and knelt down beside him. He’d never get it all out if she showered him with compassion. He needed to say this once and for all. Revealing his past was necessary. It’d set both of them free from this magnetic attraction.
His muscles tensed and his stomach churned as he reached into the far recesses of his mind, pulling forth the memories he’d tried for years to forget. “My mother wasn’t a bad person. But she was young when she became pregnant. She wasn’t ready for a husband and a child. And my father...well, he was a piece of work.”
“Your mother must have been a brave woman. I’m scared to death about bringing a child into this world.”
“You don’t need to be afraid. You’ll make a wonderful mother.”
Her eyes lit up with hope. “You really think so?”
He nodded. He envisioned Meg with a baby in her arms—a baby with red hair and green eyes just like her. Sadness welled up in his chest when he realized he’d never witness mother and child together. Once she left the Tumbling Weed there’d be no looking back for either of them—it had to be that way.
“Tell me some more about your mother,” she said, with genuine interest in her voice.
“She was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen. I remember her singing me to sleep. She sang like an angel.”
Meg’s hand moved to her stomach. “I hope my son or daughter will have such wonderful memories of me.”
Cash shook his head. “It wasn’t all good. She tried to be a good mother, but she couldn’t stand up to my father. He blamed her for his washed-up rodeo career. Heck, he blamed her for everything that went wrong. I’ll never understand why she didn’t just leave him. When the money ran out she sold our possessions—anything that would buy us food for just one more day.”
“I can’t imagine not knowing where your next meal was going to come from,” Meg said softly. “So this is why you treat the people in your life like the horses you sell. By holding them at arm’s length they can’t hurt you.”
“You don’t understand.” His hands clenched. “There’s more to it. Some people shouldn’t be allowed to reproduce, and my father was one of them.”
Cash threw his hat down on the blanket and stabbed his fingers through his hair. Memories bombarded him. He chanced a glance at Meg. Her features had softened and her eyes were warm with...was that love?
His heart skipped a beat. No, it couldn’t be. It had to be compassion. If it was love, they were in far more trouble than he’d ever imagined. He had no choice now but to get the rest of his past out in the open.
“When there was nothing left for my mother to sell or barter, my father’s answer wasn’t to get a job. Not him. Instead he loaded the family up in the car and we headed into town. We pulled up to a liquor store and he made me get out...”
Cash drew in an unsteady breath, refusing to meet Meg’s unwavering stare. What was she thinking? It didn’t matter. Nothing she’d imagined could come close to the horror of his dreadful tale.
“I didn’t want to go. I was a frightened nine-year-old who wanted to stay in the car with my mother. My father grabbed me by my collar and yanked me out of the backseat.” Cash rubbed his hand over the back of his neck, still able to recall the burn where his shirt had been pulled taut across his skin. “He dragged me to the liquor store door, pulled it open and pushed me inside. I knew by the fierce look on his face that it was going to be bad. I had no idea how bad. I was shaking when he shoved a handgun at me.”
Meg expelled a horrified gasp. “What on earth was he thinking?”
“Probably about how to get his next drink.” Cash spat out the bitter words. “When I didn’t take it, he forced it into my hands. I think he said if anyone tried to come in the door I was to shoot them. I’m not real sure. I’d started crying by then.”
Meg reached out to him, but he jerked back before her fingers touched his.
He gave her a hard stare, which stopped her hand in midair. “You wanted to know why I’m damaged goods, so I’m telling you.”
“I don’t care what you say. You’re a good person.”
He ignored her protest while he dredged up the courage to finish telling her this nightmare. “I stood in the liquor store, crying and shaking. The gun dangled from my fingertips. My father yelled at the salesclerk and the next thing I heard was a gunshot. I ran out of the store and kept running until my mother pulled me into the car.”
Meg placed a hand on his jean-clad thigh and this time he didn’t move it. He needed her strength to get through the next part—the part that had haunted his dreams for years.
“I can’t im
agine how scared you must have been.” Meg’s soft voice was like balm on his raw scars.
“My father had left the car running, so when he ran out of the store and jumped in he punched the gas pedal. He ranted about what a wimp I was and I believed him. If I had been stronger I would have stayed by his side. I climbed into the backseat to get away from him. I knew all too well what the back of his hand felt like. In no time there were sirens behind us but my parents continued to fight. I hunched down on the floor to keep out of his reach. He started chugging stolen whiskey. That stuff always made him meaner. When he couldn’t grab me, he smacked my mother. The car jerked and my mother screamed. The next thing I knew the car was wrapped around a tree and both of my parents were dead.”
“That’s the saddest story I’ve ever heard.” Pity echoed in her voice, making him feel worse. “Nobody should ever have to put up with a bully like him.”
“It wasn’t until I was a teenager, after being around my grandfather, that I realized the apple hadn’t fallen far from the tree. Both of them were tough men to get along with under the best of circumstances, but put some liquor in front of them and they became mean.”
“So that explains it,” Meg said.
“Explains what?”
“The reason there’s no liquor in your house or Martha’s. And why you reacted so negatively to my suggestion of picking up some wine in town.”
“When he had the money Dad always started his evenings with a cheap bottle of wine at dinner. From there he’d move to the stronger stuff.”
“I’m sorry. I should have figured there was a reason both houses are completely dry. I just wasn’t thinking.”
This time it was Cash who reached out and squeezed her hand. “There was no way for you to know. But now that you do you have to understand, with a father like mine, why I’m better off keeping to myself.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
WATER SPLASHED ONTO the back of Meghan’s hand. Had it begun to rain? She glanced up at the clear blue sky. There wasn’t a cloud in sight. Then she lifted a hand to her cheek, finding it damp.
She didn’t know when during that sad story she’d begun to cry, but it didn’t matter. All that mattered now was Cash.
She sat there in the meadow, wanting nothing more than to ease his pain. She stared across at him, noticing how the color had drained from his complexion.
What did you say to someone who’d lived through such an abusive childhood? I’m sorry seemed too generic—too empty. She wanted him to know how much she cared about what had happened to him. Still, words of comfort remained elusive.
She got to her knees and leaned forward. Unwilling to let the firm set of his jaw or his mask of indifference deter her, she wrapped her arms around him. With a squeeze, she wished she could absorb his pain.
“Cash, you can’t beat yourself up for something that happened when you were a kid. You were a victim...not an accomplice.”
He unwound her arms from his neck. “You don’t understand. The bad stuff—it’s in my genes.”
“I don’t believe it. You’re nothing like your father or grandfather. But if you let the past rule your future it won’t matter. You’ll miss out on all of the good bits—”
“I’ve got to check on the horses.” Cash jumped to his feet.
“Wait. Don’t go.” Her heart ached for him. She once more held out her hand, hoping this time he’d grab on. He had to know he wasn’t alone. “I’m here for you.”
Inner turmoil filtered across his tanned face. He glanced at her hand. She willed him to take it. Instead he turned and, like a wooden soldier, marched away without so much as a backward glance.
She lowered her hand to her lap. This trip down memory lane hadn’t brought them closer together. In fact she’d wager their talk had only succeeded in confirming Cash’s belief that he should remain a lone cowboy. The thought left a sad void inside her.
His story was so much worse than she could have ever imagined. The fact he’d lived through such horrific events and still turned out to be a caring, generous soul amazed her. But it explained why he distanced himself from everyone in his life. He was afraid of being hurt again.
Her heart clenched. She knew all too well what that felt like.
* * *
Giant chocolate chip cookies.
That was Meghan’s answer to Cash’s stony indifference. Since he’d revealed that intimate part of his life yesterday he’d locked her out. Other than a nod here or a glib answer there, they hadn’t really interacted.
At dinnertime the back door clattered shut a few minutes before six. Meghan tossed a clean kitchen towel over the large platter of still warm cookies. Then she placed a homemade Mexican pizza smothered in Monterey Jack and cheddar in the oven.
With the timer set, she dusted off her hands and turned. “Dinner’s just about ready.”
His gaze didn’t meet hers. “There’s no rush.”
“I made something special for dessert.” She held her breath, hoping it’d pique his interest.
“That’s nice.” He headed out of the room, most likely on his way to get cleaned up.
The air rushed out of her lungs. Not a smile, not a glimmer of interest in his eyes or even some basic curiosity. So much for getting to a man’s heart through his stomach. Obviously the person who’d made up the saying had never encountered anyone as stubborn as Cash.
She pressed her fingers to her lips, holding back a litany of frustration. She’d had it with him. If only she hadn’t made such a fool of herself back at the picnic by throwing herself at him they’d still be friends. Life would still be peaceful.
With the salad made, she had twenty minutes to herself. Time to see if her résumé had hooked any interested employers. It was high time she got out of Cash’s way—permanently.
She rushed to the computer. Her fingers flew over the keyboard. Though the thought of never seeing Cash again bothered her, she refused to dwell on it. Maybe by the end of the week she’d have an interview lined up—no, make that two or three.
Out of habit, she started to type the address for the Jiffy Cook website. She stopped herself just before hitting “enter.” That was her past. Her future was waiting for her in her inbox.
With the correct address entered, her fingers drummed on the oak desktop. At last the screen popped up. She had a number of new emails. She held her breath in anticipation as she opened the first one:
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
RE: Employment
Thank you so much for considering the Turquoise Cantina in your employment pursuit. However, at this time we don’t have any openings. We wish you the best with your continued endeavors.
Disappointment slammed into Meghan. She hadn’t realized until that moment how much she’d been counting on an eager reception to her inquiries.
She swallowed hard. There were still other responses. She opened each of them. One after the other. All were polite. But each held the same message: thanks, but no thanks.
Meghan’s eyes stung as she stared at the monitor.
“Ready?”
The sound of Cash’s voice jarred her from her thoughts. After a couple of rapid blinks she shut down the computer. She’d figure out what to do tomorrow. It’d always seemed to work for Scarlett O’Hara.
“I’ll get your dinner,” she muttered through clenched teeth. With her shoulders rigid, she strutted past him to retrieve a plate from the cabinet.
“Aren’t you eating too?”
She could feel his curious stare drilling into the back of her head, but a girl could only take so much rejection without it getting to her. Cash hadn’t just rejected her kiss, he’d then proceeded to treat her like she had the plague. She slammed the plate on the table.
“Would you
talk to me?” Cash’s voice rumbled with agitation. “Tell me what’s bothering you.”
With only seconds to go on the timer, Meghan turned off the oven and pulled the pizza out. She placed it on the stovetop and threw down the hot mitts.
Her patience stretched to the limit, she swung around to face him. “That’s rich, coming from you. You’ve done nothing but give me the cold shoulder since I mistakenly tried to kiss you.”
Cash crossed his arms, his face creased into a deep frown. “I thought I explained why starting anything between us would be a mistake. I should never have suggested the picnic. I’m sorry. Now, will you join me for dinner?”
“I’m not hungry.”
He stepped closer. His voice lowered. “Listen, I know I’ve been a bear lately—”
“A bear with a thorn in his paw.”
His lips pressed into a firm line. “I guess I deserve that. But if I promise to be on my best behavior will you eat dinner with me? After all, you have the baby to think of.”
She shook her head. “I’ve got more than that on my mind.”
“Such as?”
Her gaze met his. Genuine concern was reflected in his eyes. At last Cash was being his usual caring self. She breathed easier, knowing that the grouchy version of him was gone. Still, she wasn’t so sure she was up for sharing her latest failure.
“Meg, I’m not going anywhere until you spit it out.”
His unbending tone let her know that he was serious.
“Fine. If you must know I just got a slew of responses to my job search. Seems no one needs an out-of-work Jiffy Cook.”
Cash stepped forward. His hands rose as if to embrace her. She glared at him. She didn’t want his pity. Not now. She needed to hold it together. His arms lowered.
“Maybe I gave up on my television show too soon. I should ask—no, beg—for my job back.”
“Don’t do that. You already told me it didn’t make you happy.”