Beneath the Scars

by Melanie Moreland

  “All night,” he repeated in wonder, his grin becoming wider. “Well, other than the ‘waking up’ as you call it.”

  I felt my face flood with color. “I, ah, liked that, too.”

  He pushed closer, lifting my arms over my head and smoothing his hands over the skin. “You approved of the sleep interruptions, did you?”

  “Um, yes.”

  Brushing his mouth over mine, he chuckled—a dark, low sound. “I like it when you’re flustered.”

  “Stop it.”

  His hands tightened on my arms, his eyes darkening. “What are you going to do about it?”

  “Zachary.” His name sounded more like a plea than a reprimand.

  “Megan,” he whispered huskily, his lips tracing over my collarbones.

  God, how was it possible I wanted this man again?

  “Please.”

  His mouth covered mine, and once more, I was lost.

  “Are you sure you want to go in to town with me?”

  Looking up from my purse, I frowned at his tense expression. “Would you rather I went in by myself, Zachary?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  Trying not to feel hurt over his apparent aversion to my company in public, I strove to keep my voice neutral. “You didn’t have to. Obviously, the idea of me coming with you is bothering you, since it’s the third time you’ve asked me. I’ll go later and take my own car.” Grabbing my purse, I called for Dixie. “We’ll see you later”—I paused—“if that’s what you want.”

  His arm shot out, stopping me from walking past him. “Stop it,” he growled.

  “I’m not doing anything. Dixie and I are going home so you can go and take care of your errands. Alone.”

  “I don’t want to go alone.”

  My eyes found his, searching for answers. “Then why?”

  “It’s Friday,” he said quietly, as if that would explain everything.

  “And?”

  “It will be busier in town, even in the off-season.” He hesitated. “I don’t usually go in this close to the weekend. I, ah, don’t like crowds.”

  My disappointment vanished when I realized what he was saying; I shook my head at my own blindness. It wasn’t me going in with him. It was him going into town at all. More people meant more eyes from which he had to hide, and as I was thinking earlier, that made him nervous. I stifled a sigh, tugging on my ear, wishing I could understand his fear. He clearly thought himself hideous, which wasn’t true whatsoever, but I had no idea how to make him see that fact. Something, someone, from his past had that thought so firmly ingrained in his head it was like cement. I covered his hand that was gripping my arm, with my own in quiet support.

  “I could help you, Zachary. Pick up your groceries while I get mine and you can go to the gallery. If we work together we can be done and home in no time.”

  His shoulders lost some of their tension as he thought about it. “You could drop me at the gallery, I suppose.”

  I nodded. “I’ll get your order and pick up what I need and meet you back at gallery. You said you had to speak to Jonathon when you dropped off your canvases. That will give you the time you need, right?”

  He hesitated, then a small smile played on his lips, a mischievous expression lighting up his face. It happened so quickly I blinked at him, returning his smile. “What?”

  “That means you’ll have to drive my SUV, Megan. Are you even tall enough to see over the dashboard?”

  I huffed at him. “I’ve driven large vehicles before. I think you can trust me with your truck.”

  “SUV.”

  “Whatever. It’s a truck to me.”

  “An SUV means it’s fully enclosed,” he explained, his voice patient as he educated me in the correct vehicle lingo.

  I rolled my eyes. “Truck, SUV…I can drive it.”

  He chuckled. “Maybe before I agree to this, we need to make sure I can move the seat up that far. You have short legs—shorter than a normal person, I believe.”

  Then he winked at me, all saucy and teasing. I had to laugh with him, relieved he was feeling less stressed.

  He drew in a deep breath. “Please come with me.”

  Keeping my eyes locked with his so he knew what I was about to do, I stood up on my tiptoes, thrilled when he ducked his head down to meet me, and I ghosted my lips lightly to his rough cheek. “Thank you for asking.”

  His mouth touched a warm kiss to my cheek. His quiet sigh said all he couldn’t with words.

  Mrs. Cooper regarded me with a confused look on her face. “Sorry dear, I thought you said you were picking up Zachary’s order for him.”

  “I am,” I assured her with a smile. “He’s at the gallery meeting with Jonathon, so I’m getting it for him. Could Mr. Cooper put it in his truck…I mean, SUV? I have it parked out back by the door.”

  “You’re driving his truck?”

  I wanted to laugh at the incredulous expression on her face and evident in her voice. Instead, I chuckled and nodded. “It wasn’t without reservations, I assure you. I think he almost had a heart attack a couple times on the way into town. He thinks it’s too big for me to handle. And, apparently, I drive too fast.”

  She stared at me in silence for a moment. “I would have thought he’d be too big for you to handle—too big for anyone to handle.” Then she smiled—a warm, open grin. “The fact I’m wrong pleases me a great deal. I’ll have his order put in the back while you finish your shopping.”

  “Thanks.”

  I walked up and down the aisles, picking up the few things I needed. It wasn’t much—some fruit, cream for my coffee, and some snacks. I still had food left, since I hadn’t been eating much. Part of me was hoping I wouldn’t be eating alone for the next few days either. Zachary’s list had been long and detailed, so I knew his house would be well stocked. After I paid for my groceries, and Mrs. Cooper said she would add them to the boxes on the back seat of Zachary’s SUV, I went to the café to order some of their soup. It had been delicious when I had it the other day, and I thought maybe Zachary would enjoy some for lunch later. I also planned on running into the bakery for some fresh bread and cookies. Aside from banana bread, I wasn’t much of a baker, but I did have a sweet tooth I liked to indulge. The cookies and pie I had left for Zachary had been eaten, so I assumed he would indulge with me. I also picked up another bag of peppermints he seemed to constantly consume. He had a bowl of them in almost every room, it seemed, a few in his pockets, and even in his SUV.

  Zachary had been right. The streets and shops were far busier than when I’d been to town last time. The café was full and sidewalks more crowded, bustling with people talking and laughing. I felt a small uneasy feeling stirring as I wondered if the gallery was this busy and if Zachary was all right. I finished my purchases as fast as I could and hurried back to the truck, glad to see all the groceries in the back.

  I drove to the rear of the gallery and waited for a minute. When Zachary didn’t appear in the doorway right away, I shut off the engine and went in to find him. Several people were milling inside, but I didn’t see Zachary anywhere. The door to Jonathon’s office was shut, so I assumed Zachary was still inside talking to him.

  A pretty color caught my eye, and I went over to a display of beautiful silk scarves. I picked up a brilliant red one, the design shot with gold and orange, thinking how much Karen would like it when a gentle voice spoke up. “Ah, one of my favorites. I only brought it in today.”

  I met the eyes of a lovely woman, who came up beside me in a wheelchair. Her soft brown hair was a mass of curls, tied back with a scarf and hanging down her back. Dressed in a long flowing outfit, she reminded me of a bygone era with her bohemian look. Kind, smiling, blue eyes met mine as her hand smoothed over the silk of the scarf. “It reminds me of the exquisite sunsets we have here.”

  “It’s beautiful. I was thinking how nice it would look on my friend. She would love it.”

  “Karen?”

  “Yes,” I answered
, surprised. “How did you know?”

  She extended her hand. “I’m Ashley. Jonathon’s wife and co-owner of this gallery.” I shook her hand as she continued. “You must be Megan.”

  “I met your husband the other day.”

  She laughed, a light trilling sound in the air. “It wasn’t my husband’s portrayal that made me recognize you.” She winked at me. “Zachary was far more…descriptive.”

  I felt the blush creeping over my face. “Oh.”

  “The artist in him, you know. Somehow the words, ‘the beauty with the melting copper-colored hair’ would never cross Jonathon’s lips. He is far too pragmatic. Zachary mentioned you would be here shortly.”

  The room got a little warmer. That was how Zachary described me? Beautiful?

  Unable to resist the chance, I edged a little closer. She seemed so familiar with him, at ease with mentioning his name. “You know him well—Zachary, I mean?”

  She regarded me, a shrewd gleam in her eyes. “As well as he allows anyone to know him.”

  “He speaks highly of you. He told me you were the reason he allows his paintings to sell here.”

  A look of sadness crossed her face. “I understand Zachary.” Her hand reached up to brush a wayward curl away from her face, the loose sleeve of her dress falling away from her arm. My eyes widened as I took in the puckered, scarred flesh on her skin. She met my eyes calmly, nodding. “I know his pain.” Her arm lowered and she moved her wheelchair closer to the counter, untying the scarf I was looking at moments prior. “Those of us, who have known physical pain, tend to band together, so to speak. Besides”—she shrugged—“he’s too talented not to show his work. It took me a while to convince him to allow us to display it, but I refused to take no for an answer.”

  My eyes drifted to the back where I could see Tempest hanging. “He’s amazing,” I murmured.

  She gazed over at the painting. “I remember the day I met him. He was sitting on a bench in the park, the entire place deserted. It was overcast and gray, far too miserable for anyone to be out, yet there we were, him sketching and me out driving myself around in my electric wheelchair, like I do when I’m restless.” She smiled up at me. “As you can imagine, he wasn’t very happy to see me, nor was he very friendly.”

  I nodded, not speaking. I didn’t want to interrupt her and have her stop talking. I wanted to know as much about Zachary as I could.

  “At first, aside from an abrupt hello, he refused to talk to me, or even let me see what he was doing.” She laughed softly as she shared her memory. “But then I leaned over and grabbed his sketchbook out of his hand.” Her voice became quiet. “He saw my scars…and for the first time, met my eyes.”

  “And?” I breathed.

  “What do you see when you look in his eyes?”

  “Pain, anger,” I whispered. “Fear.”

  “That is what I saw as well, but I didn’t give up. I kept talking to him until he started talking back.” She smiled as she recalled pushing him. “I think he was torn. He was so used to being angry and alone—”

  “But so lonely,” I added. I felt his loneliness. I felt the fear he hid beneath his anger.

  “Yes. Our, ah, scars were something we had in common. He felt safe with me, knowing I wasn’t judging him and was able to open up a little. We became friends, or at least what I would call friends—I’m not sure Zachary thinks himself worthy of being called a friend to anyone. Eventually he showed me his paintings and I convinced him to let us sell them.”

  “Keeping his identity private.”

  “Always.” Her eyes narrowed; her voice firm. “He surprised me today when he told me you were with him.”

  “I’m still rather surprised, too. We didn’t exactly start off on the best foot.”

  Her laughter rang out again. “One seldom does with Zachary.” She paused, a knowing look on her face. “Today there was something different when he mentioned your name, though, something new in his eyes, something besides pain. His smile actually reached his eyes.”

  I beamed at her words. I wanted to replace some of his pain. I wanted to be the reason he smiled. Somehow, he also helped to ease mine.

  The door opened and Jonathon walked out, Zachary following him. He glanced around, swallowing hard as he lifted up the collar of his coat in an unconscious effort of hiding himself. His eyes found mine and he frowned a little, seeing Ashley and I together. I smiled reassuringly at him, and he seemed to relax. He shook Jonathon’s hand and came over to where I was standing. “Scaring her away?” he murmured to Ashley, being sure to keep his back to the few people still milling around the gallery.

  She laughed up at him. “If you haven’t done that by now, I doubt anything I say can, my dear.”

  Our eyes met, his filled with trepidation. Without thinking, I reached for his hand. His grip was tight as he clasped mine. I shook my head a little at his words. “No,” I offered quietly. “Not happening.”

  He squeezed my hand, his expression now one of warmth.

  “Tempest is leaving us, Zachary?” Ashley asked with a frown.

  Surprised, I watched Jonathon removing my beloved painting from the wall. I glanced at Zachary, but he only shrugged and nodded.

  “Yes. I want it at home now. I left some new ones to sell and another display one for you.”

  “Have I seen it?”

  “No.”

  “Is it good?”

  He snickered dryly. “I’ll let you decide that, Ashley.”

  I smiled, watching him interact with her. She didn’t try to be anything but herself with him, and that was exactly what he needed. He glanced at me, lifting my hand and kissing it. “Ready to go?”

  Ashley smirked at his gesture and wheeled away, chuckling.

  I nodded, wondering how he would feel if I told him I was ready to go anywhere with him.

  All he had to do was ask.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Zachary surprised me with his humor as he readjusted the driver’s seat and mirrors, muttering about short legs and midgets driving his “SUV.” His sidelong glance and ill-suppressed smile made me giggle at his unexpected actions. When he voluntarily covered my hand with his, on the drive back, my heart fluttered in my chest and I resisted the urge to cover his scarred flesh with my other hand. The unconscious gesture on his part meant too much for me to push things.

  We were quiet on the drive, the silence not uncomfortable, as I watched the scenery speed by the window. The flashes of ocean and open spaces were mesmerizing, and I lost myself to the images. As we approached the long private road that led to the houses, though, Zachary lifted his hand, wrapping it around the steering wheel. Tension emitted from his body, and a quick glance showed me the frown that was now marring his face. Unsure why he seemed upset, I remained silent.

  I became even more confused when he pulled up behind my car and cut the engine, his posture stiff.

  What now? Was he dropping me off and leaving? Should I ask him?

  I swallowed, my throat feeling tight. I didn’t understand this need to stay with him, but I knew I didn’t want to walk away from him. The idea alone was painful.

  Zachary cleared his throat, his voice low. “I can wait,” he mumbled.

  “What?”

  “While you get some things… If you want to come back with me,” he stated gruffly. “Or I’ll bring Dixie back to you later when I take Elliott for his walk.” He paused, his hands twisting and gripping the steering wheel. "Whatever you are, um, comfortable with. Whatever you want.” His eyes remained locked straight ahead, and I realized he was waiting for me to make the decision.

  He thought I would walk away.

  I unclipped the seat belt and edged closer to him, slowly settling my hand over top of his on the steering wheel, making sure my touch was gentle. “I want to stay with you,” I whispered.

  Some of the tension left his shoulders as he glanced at me, relief and surprise in his eyes. I smiled at him, wishing I could make him understand how much I
wanted to be with him. “I want to come back to your home with you.”

  “Okay then.” He nodded, a deep breath leaving his chest. “I’ll wait here.”

  “I can get a few things and walk over.”

  “With your track record of the stairs leading up to my house, I think I’ll wait,” he deadpanned, then turned his head and winked at me.

  Winked.

  Zachary winked at me again, while teasing me. That was twice today.

  I liked that side of Zachary—very much.

  Pushing up on the console separating us, I grazed my lips across his cheek. I was thrilled when he didn’t pull away or tense up but, instead, leaned into my caress.

  “Thank you,” I breathed into his skin.

  He turned his head, slipping his hand around the nape of my neck, holding me close as he kissed me. His lips were gentle and warm on mine, and he tasted of the peppermints he loved. He slowly deepened the kiss, cradling my head, his fingers caressing my skin as he held me close. I felt his smile against my mouth as I shivered from his warm touch. His eyes were dark when he pulled back, breathing heavy.

  I liked this side of Zachary, too.

  “Thank you.” He smirked, tapping the end of my nose. “Now go get your stuff.”

  We were greeted with great enthusiasm when we returned, happy barks and excited chuffs coming from both pets. I picked up Dixie, nuzzling her little head as I stroked Elliott’s much larger one. Zachary carried in some bags, and once I put Dixie down, I helped him unload the groceries including what I bought. Zachary’s good mood seemed to have returned. He teased me about the cream for my coffee; said I was spoiling the flavor by adding anything to the brew that he drank black. He grimaced in mock disgust when I confessed to also adding sugar. He joked about the food I had purchased, since most of it consisted of snacks like popcorn and ice cream. He shook his head at the large bottle of corn syrup, but didn’t ask as he shoved it into the cupboard. When he went out to get the supplies he picked up at the gallery and bring in the painting, I heated up some soup and then we ate in relative silence, both dogs watching our every move.