How a Cowboy Stole Her Heart (4 page)

“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 hold
ing 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?

I
T 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?