How a Cowboy Stole Her Heart (9 page)

The idea of working side by side with Clay was tempting, but that was the problem. He was far too tempting and she could still hear his husky voice in the restaurant saying they were not as over as they'd thought. No matter how she turned it over in her head the facts spoke for themselves. She always came up against the same thing. She couldn't ever imagine revealing herself—all of herself—to Clay. And Clay wasn't the committing kind, especially not with her. To her recollection she'd never seen him date a girl longer than a month at the outside. It would be too great a chance, playing the odds.

“That's okay,” she answered, taking a moment to lean against the sawhorse and catch her breath. “I'll have this
section done tonight and that only leaves one more. I'll be able to start on the tables after that.”

“You're sure?”

“Positive. You must have stuff to do.”

He looked down at her waist and let his gaze do a slow travel up her body, raising her temperature a few notches. When it settled on her face his lips held a sexy, teasing twist and his eyes glittered at her. “Nothing that looks as good as you in that tool belt.”

“Clay.” She had to stop that sort of talk right now. Not because it was inappropriate but because it gave her ideas.

“I'm just teasing,” he replied, but he hooked his thumbs in his pockets. “Sorta. I admire a capable woman who knows her way around power tools.”

“What I'm doing is sending you on your way,” she countered. She put her hand on her face. Goodness, was that heat from her blush in her cheeks? The May morning wasn't quite
that
hot. She gave a shiver. Actually it wasn't very hot at all.

“Meg, are you all right?”

“Of course, why shouldn't I be?”

“You looked funny again.”

Meg picked up a one-by-six and pulled out her measuring tape. She wasn't feeling one hundred percent, but she was just tired. Since breaking ground she'd been pulling a lot of late nights. “Buzz off, Clay,” she said lightly. “Just what a girl wants to hear. That she looks funny.”

She measured and marked the board and took it to the sawhorse. Laid it across and reached for the circular saw. But then, very carefully, she put the saw down. Something wasn't right. And using a power saw was probably not a good choice at this moment.

“I nearly forgot, I told Mom I'd send her with an er
rand list before she went to work.” She threw the words out quickly to cover her pause and straightened.

 

Clay looked into Meg's face. She was not all right, no matter what she said. Her eyes were glassy and her face was as white as a sheet.

“Megan.”

She began to weave and Clay felt his heart drop to his toes. She stared at him blindly. “Megan,” he insisted, stepping forward.

She started the slow slide and he moved in to catch her. Meg was a slight girl but the force of her dead weight caught him by surprise. Every worry he'd held on to for the past year seemed to center in his gut as he slid his arm beneath her legs and picked her up, tools and all.

As he crossed the farmyard, only one question seemed burned on his brain: Was her cancer back?

It sounded dramatic but it wasn't such a leap, considering what she'd been through. He hadn't been there to see her illness the first time around and the idea of it nearly frightened him out of his boots. Nothing could happen to Meg. He wouldn't let it. If she thought she could push everyone away this time she could think again.

Halfway to the house she stirred in his arms. Thank God. Her eyelids were fluttering and he could feel the heat of her against his sleeves. She was too hot.

“Put me down,” she insisted weakly, but Clay ignored her.

“Put me down,” she repeated, and this time Clay spared her a glance.

“Not a chance,” he ground out, his strides long and purposeful. Linda saw them coming and was on the front step, holding the door open.

“What happened?”

Linda's face was ashen as she shut the door behind
them and followed on Clay's footsteps. Clay carried Meg straight through to the living room, still in his boots, and laid her on the sofa. For a breath of a moment his face changed, softened, and his hand grazed her cheek. Then her mother bustled in and the moment was lost.

 

Meg bit down on her lip. Clay had placed her so gently on the sofa she wanted to cry. Why couldn't he be like this all the time? Why did it take such worry and fear to bring out this tender side of him? She blinked slowly and looked up into their faces. “Stop it,” she said loudly, so loudly it was startling in the quiet room. “Stop looking at me that way. I'm not dying.”

They both had the grace to look guilty at least. Meg moved to push herself up and Clay stepped in. She'd never seen his face so determined. So…her heart sank. Worried. Afraid. Not that he wanted her to see it. But she'd known him long enough to know when he was freaking out on the inside and the wild look in his eyes and stubborn set to his jaw told the tale. “Oh, no, you don't,” he commanded. “I'm not catching you again.”

He'd caught her? Meg wanted to drop through the floor. Swooning like some…well, she didn't know what. She had no experience with fainting. She felt like such a goose.

Linda put her hand to Meg's forehead. “Lord, you're burning up. I'm going for the thermometer.”

She hurried out of the room leaving Meg alone with Clay. “You can go now.” Meg mustered up her most dismissive voice. Clay only laughed. Harshly.

“You're in no position to dismiss me,” he answered, and sat beside her on the sofa. He, too, pressed his hand to her face. His palm felt cool and lovely and she was re
minded of how he'd cupped her jaw in his fingers before kissing her.

“Like an angel,” she murmured, leaning into his palm.

“You're feverish,” he said, withdrawing his hand. “What do you think you were doing?”

“I'm not feverish,” she defended. Except she knew that she was. Angels? Did she really say that? She had to be delirious. “It's nothing. I'm just a little tired. I've been staying up late.”

“People don't faint from a few late nights,” Clay retorted. Linda returned with an old thermometer and popped it in Meg's mouth.

“I don't need…” The words came out muffled around the thermometer.

“Be quiet and keep that under your tongue,” her mother ordered.

They were treating her like a child. Meg's eyes burned with humiliation. She'd rather be passed out in a lump in the farmyard than treated this way. She pulled the thermometer out of her mouth and waved it in the air. “I forgot to eat this morning, okay?”

Clay neatly snagged the thermometer and shoved it back in her mouth. She glared at him.

“Skipping breakfast. Late nights. Working impossibly long days. You're doing a great job looking after yourself, aren't you?”

He had a point, not that she'd let him know it. She moved to protest and he held up a finger. “Leave that in your mouth. Or I'll make you, and you know I can do it.”

If the fever hadn't flushed her cheeks, the embarrassment from that did. She pretended she was shooting daggers at him with her eyes. If he'd just leave, she'd make a cup of tea and have some toast and maybe sleep for an hour to two and be right as rain again.

Linda took the thermometer and read it while Meg pouted. “I'll take a nap and have something to eat, okay? There's no need for this fuss.”

“One hundred and two,” Linda reported. Meg heard the quiver in her voice and closed her eyes. This was why she'd gone to Calgary. Every fever, every light-headed, nauseous moment would have had Linda in a flutter. She didn't want to worry any of them. “I'm fine,” she insisted.

“I'm taking you to the doctor,” Clay announced. “Right now.”

“I'll get her purse. You'll want her medical card.”

“You're both overreacting.”

“Indulge me.” Clay watched Linda leave the room and leaned forward. “Indulge your mother,” he murmured. “She's worried. Put her mind at ease.”

“It's just a bit of a fever.”

Clay raised one eyebrow.

Meg didn't have the energy to fight. With each passing moment she was feeling more wretched. They wouldn't believe her if she said a simple bug would cause her no lasting harm.

“Fine,” she acquiesced with a burdensome sigh. “Could I have some water before we go? I'm thirsty.”

“I'll be right back.”

Clay went to the kitchen. Meg heard the tap running and heard her mother's voice, followed by Clay's lower one. Her joints were starting to ache as she pushed herself to a sitting position and unhooked the tool belt. When she went to pull it out from behind her back, a twinge ran from her armpit down her arm. Instinctively her hand went to the flat wall of her chest where her breast used to be.

She bit down on her lip, yanked on the belt and left it in a heap on the sofa.

She would not borrow trouble. Would not let her life be governed by fear like Clay, like her mother.

She would not.

M
EG
huddled under the hospital blanket and shivered. What she wanted was a cup of hot tea and to go home to bed.

There was nothing to worry about. And yet she was worried. She'd learned long ago that keeping information from doctors never solved anything, so during her examination she mentioned the twinges she'd been feeling. She'd been thoroughly examined and blood drawn. Now she was stuck here waiting for the results.

“I brought you some tea.” Clay pushed the curtain aside and came to the bed. She pushed herself to sitting and reached for the cup. The acetaminophen she'd been given was helping, though she didn't trust herself to get up. She took a sip of the hot tea and it tasted wonderful.

“I can't believe they let you in here.” The emergency room wasn't exactly private and she kept her voice low. Curtains separated one bed from the next. Clay looked at the bed, but seemed to reconsider and sat on the chair where Meg's purse and coat were draped.

“It was taking a long time and I was pacing. I might have…stretched the truth a little.”

She lifted her brows in a silent question.

“I mentioned your medical history and I might have said that I was your boyfriend.”

Meg took another sip of tea so he couldn't see her face. Boyfriend? Clay? He'd acted like one today, but things were certainly not to that level nor would they ever be. She wanted to believe he was here for support but she knew there was a whole lot of fear at play.

“And Mom?”

“She went to work. I told her I'd call her the moment we heard anything.”

Once more Clay was stepping in to help. Why did he always seem to be in the right place at the right time? She wanted to resent him for it but couldn't. He was here, which meant nothing at home was disrupted.

“Clay…thank you. For bringing me in and waiting. I know you have things to do.”

“Don't worry about that. They'll keep. How are you feeling? You look awful.”

She heard the worry in his voice. She could never tell him about the odd twinges that came and went or the tightness she'd felt in her arm lately. “I'm sure it's just the flu,” she said, leaning back on the pillows. “The pain relievers are helping the fever, I think, and I'm a bit achy.”

“What did the doctor say?”

“He did an exam and they drew some blood. That's what we're waiting for. But, Clay, I just had my latest checkup two weeks ago and everything was clear. There's no need to worry.”

“I'll wait to hear it from the doctor,” Clay replied, sitting back in the chair.

Meg drank a bit more tea and then handed it back, knowing it was pointless to argue with him. “You do that. I'm tired.”

She must have been exhausted because she fell asleep instantly and only woke again when the doctor came through the curtain. She rubbed her eyes and sighed.
Her body felt like it had been hit by a truck. Whatever was going on in there, it had knocked her flat.

“Well, Megan, you were right. It does look like a simple but nasty flu bug. Doesn't hurt to be cautious in your case, though. Stay in bed, take acetaminophen for the fever and in a couple of days you'll feel fine.”

“Thanks, Doc.” She looked at Clay. The strained look around his eyes had eased. “I told you it was nothing,” she said as smugly as she could muster.

The doctor laughed. “Can't blame a man for worrying about you,” he said kindly. “But you can put your mind at ease.” He smiled at Clay and then shifted his gaze back to Meg.

“The twinges you've been feeling aren't uncommon, by the way, and you mentioned they only happen when you're doing physical labor, so I'm going to suggest a massage therapist who specializes in this sort of thing. Releasing some of the tension and tightness should help. But what I did notice was the swelling in your right arm. Did your doctor in Calgary talk to you about edema?”

She wished Clay wasn't sitting beside her, listening to every word. She hadn't told anyone other than her doctors about the occasional tightening she felt. Now edema?

She was used to the talk of side effects and all the strange things that happened to the body during and after cancer treatment. But Clay wasn't, and the effect was obvious on his face. He'd blow it all out of proportion. “A bit,” she replied, adding honestly, “but a long time ago. After my surgery.”

“It can take a while to show up post-op. And it's common as well, especially after removal of lymph nodes or radiation. I'm going to refer you to a clinic. In the meantime, I want you to wear gloves while you're working to protect from scratches and cuts. We don't want you get
ting an infection. Keeping the arm moving and elevating it can help, too.”

“Thanks, Doc.”

“You're doing fantastic, Megan.” He patted her knee. “Sometimes it takes a while for things to resolve, that's all. Take the next few days to rest and get some well-earned sleep.”

“She will. I'll make sure of it,” Clay said, and Meg gritted her teeth. Oh, this was just the ammo he needed, wasn't it? If he'd stayed in the waiting room she could have walked out, announced it was the flu and that would have been the end of it. But he had to come in with tea and it had been so nice to have him with her rather than sitting all alone like she was used to. She'd relaxed and fallen asleep and there hadn't been time—and she hadn't had the presence of mind—to ask him to leave during the talk with the doctor.

The doctor swept out of the curtained area and Clay reached for her coat. “Come on, let's get you home and into bed.”

It had a hollow ring to it and Meg took a few breaths to gather herself. She would say thank-you because despite his heavy-handedness he was trying to help. She would not pick a fight. She had to pick her battles and today she didn't have the energy to win. “I'll call Mom from the truck,” she said, and then looked pointedly at Clay. “You can wait outside, Clay. I need to change.”

For the first time he seemed to notice her jeans and shirt folded neatly on the side table. He blushed. Meg was sick but she took pleasure in the fact that she'd managed to shake his implacable control.

“Do you want me to get a nurse? What if you faint again?”

He was going to suffocate her if she didn't get some
space soon. “I'm feeling a little better since the medicine. Truly. Give me five minutes.”

He slid out of the curtained area and Meg leaned back against the pillows. His worry was pressing down on her, but there was also a little spot inside that felt empty now that he was gone. Anytime that little hole of loneliness had shown up in Calgary, she'd pulled up her socks and reminded herself that she was sparing her family concern and worry.

But she could only maintain that for so long, and she'd been home long enough now that she'd let down her guard. She was tired of being alone. She wanted to share things with someone. She knew Clay wanted to be there for her but the problem was he couldn't be there all the way. She wished they were close enough that he could have gently helped her with her clothes. That he might have held her hand while the doctor was talking. Or that they'd talk about it afterward, not from fear, but from sharing.

But Clay didn't want to share. He wanted to do. He looked at it as a step-by-step road map to getting better with no deviations, no exceptions. And it wasn't that simple. It would never be that simple. There were too many uncertainties.

Meg carefully slid off the bed and slowly dressed, leaving the hospital gown on the mussed sheets. She ripped the tape and cotton ball from her arm; she could still see the needle hole from her blood work. Truth was, she felt wretched and trying to sort this out today was an exercise in futility.

Clay was waiting by the sliding doors when she went through. Without asking, he put his arm around her waist. She tolerated it because she knew protesting was useless.
In no time at all they were back on the road, heading to Larch Valley and the Briggs ranch.

They were nearly at the turnoff when Clay finally spoke.

“You're finished working on the expansion.”

Meg had the flu, she was feverish and felt like she'd been dragged through a knothole, but Clay's don't-give-me-any-arguments tone put her back up. She straightened in her seat. “I beg your pardon?”

“It's too much, too hard on you. You're wearing yourself out.”

The laugh that came from Meg's throat sounded like it belonged to someone else. “I must be delirious, because it sounded like you just forbade me to do something.”

Clay pulled over to the side of the road and shoved the truck into Park so fiercely that Meg paused. She'd never seen him like this before, so hard and uncompromising, unable to be cajoled out of his grumpiness. This was different and she waited for the outburst that was surely coming.

He let the truck idle but turned in his seat. “What is it going to take, Meg? When are you going to stop this ridiculous idea that you have to be and do everything yourself?” He pointed a finger at her. “The doctor said rest, and by God that's what you're going to do.”

“I have the flu!” she yelled back at him. “Just. The. Flu. I am not dying. The cancer is not back. So back off, Clay. Back right off.”

“You never told me about the twinges. About any swelling.”

Meg made a dismissive sound in her throat. “Because I knew this would happen. You should have waited in the waiting room. I could have handled this just fine.”

“Right. Because you're a pro at handling things, aren't you? You never let anyone in.”

“Look, I have enough to do dealing with my own feelings and thoughts, never mind your neuroses.” She gave a harsh laugh. “Me not let anyone in? That's rich coming from
you
.”

“Neuroses?” There was a pause of shocked silence before he continued, his voice low with warning. “You're done. No more heavy lifting or fence building or any of that stuff, you hear?”

“I most certainly do not.” Good heavens, yes, she was tired but nothing that would warrant this dramatic reaction. She looked at Clay and fought to be rational rather than reactive. “I know what you heard today scared you, Clay. But, really, it's no big deal. It is all part of the recovery and stuff I knew I might have to deal with. So let's just leave it. I want to go home and get to bed. Because contrary to popular belief, I do have some sense in my head. And when I'm feeling better, I will be back to work and there's not a damn thing you can do about it.”

“I can recall the loan.”

Meg paled even more than she already was. He wouldn't. He…couldn't. She scrambled to put thoughts together. “We signed an agreement. You can't just pull funding because you want to.” Never was she so glad that she'd insisted on an official arrangement.

“I'll find a way around it. It's for your own good.”

“What happened to believing in me? Trusting me?”

Clay gripped the steering wheel with both hands. “This has nothing to do with that.”

But Meg disagreed. “It has
everything
to do with that. Do you think I'm stupid? That I don't know my own limitations? That I don't worry? What should I do, Clay? Stop living for the next forty years? I don't work that way. Love
isn't wrapping someone up in bubble wrap and getting them to the end unscathed!”

“Love? Who said anything about love?”

The words rang through the cab of the truck. She could have blamed it on the flu or the need for more meds, but she would be a liar. The bottomless feeling she was experiencing right now had nothing to do with being sick. Of course Clay didn't love her. He never had, not the way she wanted. He wanted someone he could control and order about. He wanted promises and guarantees. She could offer him none of those things.

“Take me home,” she said into the charged silence. Clay opened his mouth but she held up a hand. “No. Please, don't say anything more. I don't have the energy to argue with you anymore today, Clay. Take me home and leave me alone.”

Wordlessly he put the truck in gear and pulled back out on to the road. A few minutes later they were home. Meg got out of the truck and didn't even look up at him. She just shut the door and walked to the house. After she was inside she heard the roar of his truck as he spun out the driveway.

She went straight to her room and under the covers, shivering with fever and fighting tears. After several minutes her swollen lids grew heavy and just before dropping off to sleep she realized she hadn't called her mother.

She sat up to reach for the phone and snuffled. She couldn't call like this. Instead she picked up her cell and sent a quick text message. Then she turned off the ringer.

If anyone wanted more than that from her today, they were simply going to have to deal with the disappointment.

 

Clay slammed the door of his truck and stomped to the house. He took perverse pleasure in slamming the front
door as well and then stood in the middle of the hall, wondering what the heck he was supposed to do next.

He let out a great breath and dropped his head.

He was an idiot. A real jerk. Meg was sick and all he'd done was throw ultimatums around and yell at her because he'd been absolutely terrified.

Because despite his best intentions, he'd gone and fallen in love with her. He'd known it the moment she'd collapsed in his arms and his heart had frozen with fear. Damn it. What a mess.

“Serves her right,” he muttered. “Scaring me like that.”

“Serves who right?”

Clay nearly jumped out of his skin. Stacy came around the corner of the kitchen, leaned against the doorway and gave him her trademark visual examination, just as she had when he'd been a boy and she'd ruled the ranch.

“What are you doing here?”

“That's a fine way to welcome your auntie,” she chided, pushing away from the doorjamb and grinning. “Slamming doors and muttering to yourself. My, you are in a state. What's Megan done now?”