How a Cowboy Stole Her Heart (8 page)

“Does it matter where it came from?”

Meg's dark eyes cooled. “It matters to me, Clay. It really matters. You know I can't take any money that will compromise your ranch. It wouldn't be right.”

She wouldn't let it go. He'd have to tell her, but he'd keep to the unemotional facts. “It was my mother's,” he replied. He folded his hands and leaned forward. “She left it to me.”

“That still doesn't explain…”

“I don't want my mother's money touching this place,”
he said sharply. Too sharply perhaps, because Meg's shoulders stiffened. But he and Stacy had gone through this time and again and it was something he felt strongly about. His mother had never wanted this farm. She'd never wanted him when all was said and done. Maybe she had loved his father, maybe she hadn't, but the painful truth was either way she'd left her kid behind. He hadn't given a damn about her money. At one time he'd have given it all for a simple acknowledgment.

“But it's okay to give to me. For it to ‘touch' the Briggs ranch.” She shook her head. “I don't understand, Clay.”

How did he explain that it felt tainted to him without insulting her at the same time? “Money is money, Meg. It's not that there's anything wrong with it. She left it to me when she died a few years back. That was all I got, you realize. Legal correspondence. Not once in the years since she walked away did she contact me. Anything this ranch has become is in spite of her and not because of her. Stacy thought I was crazy, but I couldn't bring myself to use it. In the end I invested it.”

She reached over and took his hand. The contact rippled through his fingers and along the length of his arm, settling hard in the center of his body. But he didn't pull his hand away. He didn't want her to know what the simple touch did to him. For a few moments he was eleven years old again, back in the meadow, wiping his eyes on the back of his sleeve as Meg put her hand in his and said, “Don't worry, Clay. I won't ever leave you. Promise.”

Neither of them ever spoke of that afternoon again, but it had been in the front of his mind when she'd said the words
breast cancer.
From that moment he had failed to live up to the tacit promise he'd made when he'd squeezed her hand in return. Helping her now was the best way he could think of to make up his past failings.

“I'm not as angry as I was,” he said, and realized it was true. “It just didn't feel right when she never loved this place, you know? It should do some good somewhere. I don't know why I didn't think of it in the first place. This could fix everything. I want you to have this chance, Meg. I believe in you.”

 

Meg gripped his fingers firmly as tears gathered in the corners of her eyes. “You never talk about your mother. Never,” she whispered.

“You pushed.”

Yes, she had, and she felt bad about it and yet somewhat relieved. She wouldn't have accepted her family going into debt for her and she wouldn't have accepted those terms from Clay, either. But what a thing for him. What a slap in the face. For all her family's faults, for all their stifling, worried glances, she had never once felt unloved or unwanted.

In all the years growing up it had been an unspoken rule: you don't talk about Clay's parents. But Meg knew the story and she could understand his resentment.

“I understand you want to have something positive come from the money.” He was handing her the opportunity she craved, like a sweet in front of a child and she was afraid to reach out and take it. The fact that he believed in her made her heart sing. Now, faced with the prospect of making it a reality, she wasn't quite sure she believed in herself.

She slipped her fingers from his and curled them around her pop can. It was hard to believe there wasn't a little bit of guilt at play in his sudden offer. She remembered the look on his face when he'd realized she was missing a breast. She'd told herself that it was a perfectly normal reaction but the truth was she'd wanted
more—expected more—from Clay. But maybe that was the problem. Maybe they expected too much from each other. After all, what had happened between them was nothing disastrous. Nothing worth ruining a whole friendship over. And while she had reservations—borrowing money from friends could really be a recipe for disaster—the carrot he was dangling before her was too bright and shiny to resist.

She sat back in her chair. “If I borrow the money, I have complete autonomy over the operation. The construction, the operation, everything. You have no say.”

His gaze was keen on her. “Did I imply otherwise?”

She could see it in her mind. The warm summer breeze carrying the voices and laughter of children. The stable full of healthy horses, a riding ring set up with barrels or being circled by new riders.

Her own business. Her own contribution. And business partners with Clay. Her balloon popped. Because no matter what he said, he could never be the silent kind of partner.

That idea made her throat close over. She could just hear her father's voice saying that business partners made for bad bedfellows. If he only knew how close she and Clay had come to the latter he'd give her one of those disapproving looks she despised. They couldn't be partners.

And he was agreeing to it all too easily. She bit down on her lip, wondering what the pill in the jam would be. “I know you, Clay. You'll put in your two cents. You're not capable of keeping your opinion to yourself.”

“So you are going to close your mind to helpful advice? Are you sure that's wise?”

“There's a difference between helpful advice and taking over. You'll make noises about protecting your investment and all that nonsense.” He would, too. This would
bind them together for a long time. It would be years before she could pay off the entire loan. She would be tied to Clay for ages—except for the one way she wanted to be tied to him. Exchanging one dream for another. She supposed it wasn't a bad sort of thing, so why wasn't she happier?

Clay got up from the table and walked to the window looking out over the backyard. Meg's insides twisted. His shoulders were tense and he'd shut her out by turning his back on her. She'd made him angry again. With a sigh she put her forehead on her hand. She seemed to insult him without trying. She'd walked through the door determined to get out of her own way and here she was right back at it again, throwing up excuses rather than finding solutions. No wonder Clay got frustrated with her.

Finally Clay turned back around. “Meg, you need to decide what it is you want. I'm offering you an answer to all your worries, and still you're finding reasons why not. What are you so afraid of? No one is throwing up roadblocks but you. My offer stands, but you're under no obligation. You have to be the one to decide. I am not going to tell you what to do.”

She looked around the kitchen, hating that he saw things so clearly. She couldn't fake her way through with Clay. And yet admitting the truth seemed so impossible.

He came over to her and knelt by the table. “What is it?”

“I'm scared.”

“Scared of what?” He put his wide, warm palm on her thigh, a friendly gesture but one that scored her heart just the same because she wished it came from a different sort of sentiment.

“Of everything. Of living, of dying, of failing. Just because I know you were right today doesn't mean I can
snap my fingers and just fix how I feel. You told me weeks ago that I could either quit, go through it or around it. I've been trying to go around it all, Clay, and it's not working. I don't want to quit. And going through it is
hard
.”

“But you're forgetting something,” he said firmly, giving her knee a squeeze. “You don't have to go through it alone.”

In her heart of hearts, Meg wished he meant something different than what he did. But she wasn't stupid. She didn't read anything into the words that wasn't there.

“Talk to your mom and dad. Dawson. Your friends. Like I said, no one expects you to be perfect. You're human. You went away to protect everyone but you don't need to. Let them in.”

“Like you do?”

He bounced on his toes a few times and treated her to a wry smile. “Men don't talk about feelings the same way.”

“You're telling me.”

Clay patted her knee and stood up. “This is a community, Meg. Yes, there are gossips and busybodies, but there's also a helping hand and understanding when you need it. People will want you to succeed. That's what we do when one of our own is in need.”

“Damn you,” she said, but then she laughed, disbelieving but somehow very, very relieved now that the words were out and not pressing on her lungs. She pressed her hands to her warm cheeks. “I should say no. Money and friends rarely turns out well…”

“I can draw up terms if you'd like. Have Brianna Johnson look after it.”

“I'll want the payment schedule in writing,” she insisted, but the fizz of excitement built again. She was so close to getting what she wanted.

“Done.”

He held out his right hand, waiting for her to shake. One eyebrow arched up as he paused. “Gentlemen's agreement until it's put to paper.” he nudged her.

Gentlemen's agreement. A handshake of equals. Meg's chest swelled with the gesture. “Agreed,” she said, before she could change her mind. She put her hand in his, feeling his fingers close around hers. He held it a little too long as their gazes caught. The kitchen was completely, utterly silent. He had to do something soon before she was tempted to make a fool of herself.

But where would it lead? Nothing had changed. She was still the same. Still scarred. Still afraid. And so was Clay. She pulled her hand out of his.

“About the other night,” she said quietly.

“It won't happen again,” he replied firmly. “We just got carried away. Maybe Aunt Stacy was right about weddings after all.”

It was the assurance she wanted but it left her feeling strangely empty.

But now her idea was on the cusp of becoming a reality and she couldn't stop the anticipation that began to take hold. “This is really going to happen.”

“You bet your boots,” Clay announced, and clapped his hands together, seemingly unaffected. “Now, call Linda and tell her you won't be home for dinner. I'll take out another steak and you can tell me your plans.”

B
RIANNA
J
OHNSON'S
office was a study of organization and precision. She had the papers in order, pens at the ready, and before Meg could catch her breath it was all done. All that was left was transferring the money to Meg's new business account.

Meg looked up at Clay, feeling slightly sick. There was no taking it back now. The enormity of the job ahead sank in as well as the knowledge that for years to come, she was linked to Clay Gregory.

He smiled down at her, his dark eyes crinkling at the corners. “Let's go celebrate.”

Celebrate? Meg thought maybe she should just sit down for a moment since her feet seemed to be feeling slightly numb. Maybe it was an extremities thing because she felt a little light-headed, too. She hadn't eaten breakfast, she realized, having been too keyed up about this morning's meeting. Now it was nearly lunch.

“Okay,” she answered, gripping the strap of her purse. “Where to?”

“You choose.”

“How about the Inn?” They were both dressed up for the appointment—or at least, out of ranch gear, and their clothing would be totally appropriate for the Inn's dining room. Meg had worn dark trousers and a
drop-sleeve cashmere sweater in gray that she'd received last Christmas, and Clay had left his denims in the closet, going business casual. Her mouth watered at more than the thought of lunch. Why shouldn't they make an occasion of it? Today was the start of something very exciting.

At Clay's surprised expression Meg felt heat rush down her body. Of course. The Inn was quiet, but it was also the most intimate of all the locations in town with lots of private corners and alcoves. Meg hurried to explain. “There's not an abundance of options,” she remarked. “It's quieter there and I want to get your opinion about a few things.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “I thought the deal was that I was strictly hands-off. No butting my nose in.”

“It's not butting your nose in if I ask for your input,” she replied loftily. “Of course if you'd rather not…”

“I didn't say that.” He shifted his weight on to one hip. “I just want to clarify things before I go breaking any of your rules.”

Rules. He was standing there in black cotton pants and a light blue shirt that showed off a tan he'd already started building from working outside. She could think of a few rules she wouldn't mind him breaking.
Not a good idea
, she reminded herself. She would be completely over her head. But it didn't take away the fact that the breaking of them would be very, very fun.

“The rules are safe for today.” Meg straightened her shoulders. “So are we on?”

“The Inn it is,” Clay agreed, holding out a hand to let her go first. Meg held on to the banister going down the stairs. She was still feeling a bit woozy but lifted her head, determined Clay not see anything amiss. She'd just signed the papers, the last thing she needed was him
clucking around like some mother hen. She was hungry, that was all.

They walked the block and a half to the Inn and found themselves the sole occupants of the dining room as the lunch rush—such as it could be called in Larch Valley—hadn't yet begun. They were seated in a back corner, more private than Meg was comfortable with, but she straightened her shoulders. She could do this. She'd put aside her feelings for Clay for a long time and they'd remained friends. It didn't have to be different now. She valued his opinion, and now that things were settled she was anxious to move forward. She just needed to keep things businesslike.

She grabbed her bag and reached for her folder of plans when Clay's hand stopped her. “Take a few minutes to celebrate,” he said softly. “Don't you want to look at your menu?”

“I don't need to,” she answered with a tight smile. “The cream of vegetable soup is fantastic.”

She put the folder on the table. “I wanted you to see the plans and tell me what you think.”

“Plans?” He wrinkled his brow. “You have plans drawn up? Already?”

“Of course.”

Clay's brow puckered. “How long have you had them?”

“I had them drawn up last fall.” Meg held out the papers. She'd convinced Dawson to hook her up with a builder, and she knew he'd thought she'd forget any schemes once she was well again. He'd been wrong.

“But you were still in Calgary.”

“I was doing chemo, Clay. I'd lost my hair and spent a lot of the time with my head in the toilet. I needed something to look forward to. A reason to keep going. I think the family thought I'd let it go once I was well. But the
more time passed, the more I was certain.” Today Meg was feeling like life was finally spread out in front of her and that it just might be okay to open up a little about what her treatment had been like. “I've been feeling so much better lately, and my last checkup was perfect. Now I already have a head start.”

He held out his hand for the plans just as the waitress came to take their order. After she was gone, Clay moved a seat over and spread them out on the tabletop.

Meg looked at the drawings sideways and felt excitement and nerves fizz through her veins. In addition to their current stable, an extension was planned to the east side to accommodate another ten stalls. The current corral was shifted to a more central position, with access to it from both the stable and through a sliding door along the new indoor ring. To the west side of the ring was a planned outdoor ring and across the extended driveway was a garden, complete with a large perennial bed and X's he saw were meant to be picnic tables.

“You're sure ten stalls is enough?”

“We've got ten already, and we're only using four. The plan is to purchase a half dozen good horses to use for general lessons or trail rides and leave the last ten for boarders.”

“You really have thought it through.”

“I had a lot of time to think. But you're surprised.”

He shook his head. “Not at all. I wouldn't have loaned you the money if I didn't think you had your i's dotted and your t's crossed.”

“When did you start having so much faith in me?” she asked, watching him fold up the papers. It was a charged question but one she really wanted the answer to.

“I always have,” he replied, handing the sheets back to her. For a second they each held a corner until he let
go. “Maybe that's why it bothered me so much when you went away for treatment. I had never seen you run from anything. I'd never seen you turn your back on…people you cared about. But I don't think I understood how scared you were.”

Their food came and Meg watched as Clay dipped a sweet potato fry in aioli sauce and bit into it, then licked the remnants from his lip. She swallowed. Felt a familiar tingling of awareness on one side of her body. Clay turned her on. There was no two ways around it. And no way around the fact that she was still too afraid to act on it, especially since he made it clear that the night in her foyer had been a one-time occurrence. She wasn't into playing games or sending mixed signals, so she grabbed her spoon and dipped into the fragrant soup.

“Meg?”

“Hmm?”

He wiped his hands on a napkin. “Will you let me help? Not because I'm protecting an investment. But because I want to? I think you're going to do something special and exciting and I'd like to be involved.”

“You mean I'd get to be your boss?”

A grin flirted with his cheek. “You're in command.”

Meg didn't know what to say. She put down her spoon and drew in a breath. Being in command of Clay Gregory was heady business. Certainly throngs of women would love to hear those words from his lips and she wasn't immune, either. But he didn't mean it that way and she knew it. And she didn't want his interference. Being near him was becoming more difficult with every passing day.

“I look at the plans and I look at you and it clicks, Meg.” He pushed his case. “I can see it in my head.”

She could, too. She wished she and Clay weren't on
the same wavelength quite so often. It made keeping him at arm's length very difficult.

She had to keep things strictly business. “I was thinking of the Lund Brothers for construction, what do you think?”

“They'd do a good job for you. Good honest work and they won't spend a dime they don't have to. Plus they have good subcontractors.”

Meg pushed her empty bowl away. “That's what I was thinking, too.”

She knew she hadn't answered his question. She hoped he'd forget about it and not push the matter. She wasn't quite sure how she felt about it. It would be sweet torture having him around all the time.

But it wouldn't be all the time, she reasoned as she stood and reached for her wallet. Clay had a ranch to run. He'd made the offer but she doubted he'd have the time to truly make good on it. Maybe his intentions were good, but how much would he really be around?

“I've got this.” He put his hand over hers. Her fingers clutched the wallet, half in and half out of her bag. He was standing beside her, too close, the remnants of his sandwich left on his plate. His fingers tightened around her wrist and Meg's heart kicked into overdrive. If she stood up all the way she'd nearly be pressed into his body. But she couldn't stay stooped over forever.

He gave a tug on her wrist and she stood. The corner concealed them from the smattering of diners who had wandered in over the last few minutes and the air caught in her lungs, making her breaths painfully short.

His gaze plumbed hers for several seconds and she couldn't make herself pull away.

He was waiting. Encouraging, certainly, and not backing off. But he was also leaving the choice in her hands.
She leaned forward the tiniest bit. His lips were right there, full, luscious, waiting to be kissed. His body grazed hers, making the cashmere of her sweater slide across her skin. Oh, heavens…

Meg leaned forward another half inch, and Clay's tongue slipped out to wet his lips.

She dropped her wallet.

It hit on the edge of the table on the way down, upending a bundle of cutlery and sending it clattering to the floor. Meg stumbled a step backward as the half dozen people in the dining room raised their heads at the sound.

She couldn't look at him. Instead she knelt to the floor to pick up the flatware, cheeks blazing.

“Oh, miss, don't worry about it.” The waitress hurried over and reassured her with a smile. “I've got this.”

Meg's only option was to stand up and face Clay. Face them all. She rose slowly, picking up her wallet and tucking it into her purse. Finally, torturously, she met Clay's gaze. He'd taken out his wallet and placed enough cash on the table to cover their bill and a sizable tip.

The waitress left them alone and Meg searched for something to say.

“Not quite as over as we thought, then,” Clay murmured, his deep voice riding over her already raw nerve endings.

“Clay…” Her body shivered at the implication. It had to be over. They couldn't keep going on this way.

“You're in charge,” he reminded her, but she no longer knew if he meant about them or about the ranch or if there was really any difference. And she didn't want to be in charge of their relationship. It was different than the black and white of business. Being in charge meant being responsible for screwing up. It was easier blaming someone else.

“I'm in charge,” she echoed quietly.

He smiled then, his whole face lighting up while his eyes seemed to tempt and tease. “Come on, Squirt. I'll walk you to your car.”

It should have bothered her. She should say something. But instead all she felt was a warmth spreading through her at the affection she heard in the nickname.

She shouldn't get used to relying on Clay. But as they left the Inn and he walked her back to her car, she knew it was too late. She relied on him for so many things she needed, and she couldn't help feeling like at some point it was all going to end in a huge thud.

 

Meg slid the drill back into her tool belt and straightened, stretching out her back. Lord, but she was tired today. She didn't know what was wrong with her. She'd slept like the dead last night; there was no reason for her to be dragging her butt around today. She coughed and rolled her shoulders.

While the Lund Brothers took a coffee break, she finished screwing one of the two-by-fours to a fence post in the new outdoor ring. Once the fence was done, she'd set to work building the picnic tables for the garden area. The supplies waited in a neat pile under a tarp. As Clay's truck turned up the driveway in a cloud of dust, Meg reached for another board, measured, measured again to be sure, and went to the sawhorse. The circular saw trimmed the end off in no time and by the time he was hopping out of the cab she had the board carefully lined up and had put in the first long screw. She pressed her hand to her forehead. The headache from this morning wasn't going away. But there was work to be done, and no headache or sexy rancher was going to keep her from getting it completed.

“It's really coming along.” Clay's voice sounded behind her and she felt the rush of heat that always followed when he spoke in that warm, approving tone.

“Now that the framing is done, things will start moving fairly quickly,” Meg replied, sinking the last screw in the board and turning. She spun rather too quickly and it felt like the earth shifted beneath her feet for just a moment. It righted again soon after and she forced a smile.

“What's wrong?”

“Nothing,” she replied quickly. “What are you doing here?”

“I'm on my way into town, and wanted to know if you needed anything. And to see how things are progressing.” He smiled at her. “But it looks like you have everything under control.”

Meg went to the box containing the screws and refilled her pouch. “The fence design was a good idea. I like it a lot.”

“If you wait until after supper, I can help you. The days are longer and we'll have the light.”