by Donna Alward
“And now me.”
“I appreciate that you care, Clay…”
But he got the picture. He was in the way. She might have accepted his apology but he suspected what he’d said still stung. Maybe it always would—he hadn’t been kind. He should be relieved. After all, facing a friend with cancer hit a little too close to home for Clay’s comfort. It brought back way too many bad memories. And yet, her veiled dismissal left him with a hollow feeling of disappointment.
“Hint taken.” He pasted on what he figured was a polite enough smile and dusted off his hands, thumping his leather gloves together. “And your stalls are done.”
“Thanks for your help.”
He wasn’t entirely sure if she was sincere. But he knew one thing—she was struggling. She needed her friends to rally around her. “Look, tomorrow night is our regular wing night at the Spur. Why don’t you come out? Have you seen the girls yet?”
She shook her head. Something lit in her eyes that was gratifying to see, instantly followed by indecision. He pressed on. “You know Jen and Lily will be thrilled to see you. And Lucy’s bound to be there with Brody if they can get a sitter.” The circle of friends was tight, and he knew they’d show the support he was reluctant to give, paltry as it was. “Surely a few drinks and hot wings is a good way to start, isn’t it?”
“I don’t know…”
Clay’s worry increased. Meg had never been a party girl, but she wasn’t usually this withdrawn. She’d always sort of been there. Steady as a rock. Ready with a laugh and a smile. He set his shoulders. No disease should be allowed to take that effervescence away from her.
“You think about it,” he said, in a voice that really left no room for refusal. “And if you want a drive, call me. I’ll pick you up on the way by.”
“I’ll think about it,” she replied, but in a small voice that he didn’t like the sound of at all.
He nodded before spinning on his heel.
“Clay?”
He turned back at the sound of her voice. She was standing in the middle of the corridor, her gloved hands resting once again on the top of the shovel. The mishmash of work clothes should have made her unattractive, but she wasn’t. Her skin was glowing in the cold air and her eyes had always been particularly pretty, dark brown and glittering with mischief.
“What about your aunt Stacy?” she called, and Clay finally grinned. The good news about his aunt never failed to bring a smile to his face.
“She’s getting married,” he replied, and with a wave headed out of the barn, back to his truck. “Think about it, huh,” he muttered to himself as he started the engine. He was well aware that Meg’s social life wasn’t any of his business. She was a grown woman, certainly able to take care of herself.
But then he thought about how pale her skin looked and how she seemed to shrink at the idea of going out with friends. She needed a nudge, that was all. Tomorrow night he was stopping to get her whether she liked it or not. It was for her own good.
Yesterday had not been a good day for Clay. The calf had been delivered by cesarean and even then it had not been enough. Clay had held high hopes for this breeding pair and had paid good money for the privilege. Having the calf deliver stillborn put him in a rotten mood. By the time he’d handled things at the barn and showered, wing night was well under way when he’d arrived at the Spur and Saddle. Megan hadn’t shown, either, and by the end of the night he’d been downright grouchy. He’d returned home in an even worse mood and spent a restless night tossing and turning in his bed.
Clay turned into the Briggs farmyard early the next morning with a scowl still on his face. He hadn’t really expected her to come out but he’d hoped the idea of Jen and Lily being there would entice her. She couldn’t stay hidden away forever. She might be back in town but she was still running away from all the people who would support her. Not that it mattered to him personally, he told himself, but the behaviour got his back up. It was weak and selfish to his mind. It reminded him of his mother and that always left a bitter taste in his mouth.
Well, he wasn’t about to confront her today. He had too much weighing on his mind, including talking to Dawson about the upcoming meeting of local ranchers. He was relieved to see her car wasn’t in the driveway. After bungling his apology yesterday he wasn’t in any mood to cross swords. He had enough on his plate.
The barn was empty when he checked so he made his way to the house, his boots crunching on the brittle snow.
He knocked at the back porch, and when there was no answer, tried the knob. He and Dawson had been dashing in and out of each other’s houses since they were old enough to run between farms, and going in to leave a note was common practice. The door was unlocked as usual and he entered the mudroom, removing his boots before stepping inside the warmth of the kitchen. It smelled like cinnamon and vanilla and his stomach rumbled. With Aunt Stacy gone most of the time now, he’d had to rely on his own basic cooking and once she was married he’d be on his own altogether. Which was fine. He wouldn’t starve. But he was the first to admit he wasn’t so great on the baking sweets end of things.
The coffee cake sat on a cooling rack and he imagined cutting a slice while it was still warm. He smiled to himself. Linda Briggs would give him heck if he pulled such a stunt.
Linda always kept a notepad beside the phone, too. He went to the counter and grabbed a pen.
“Clay!”
He jumped at the sound of his name, nearly dropping the pen.
Megan stood at the junction between hall and kitchen wearing jeans and a sweater and a towel wrapped around her head. She looked anything but happy to see him. “Don’t you knock?”
He forced a calming breath. “Since when have we ever knocked?” He picked up the pen and began writing, trying to look far more composed than he felt. His heart was beating a mile a minute. As he scribbled the note he said, “And as a matter of fact, I did knock. No one answered.”
“I was upstairs.”
He looked up. She didn’t wear a speck of makeup and the dark blue towel contrasted with her flawless complexion. He could smell the flowery scent of her soap or shampoo from where he stood and it felt disturbingly intimate. “So I gathered. I’ll be out of your way in a minute. I’m just leaving a note for Dawson.”
He finished and ripped the paper off the tablet. “Where is he, by the way?”
Megan’s lips twisted and she looked away. “He didn’t come home last night. And he has my car.”
Clay remembered the goofy way his friend had looked at Tara Stillwell last night as she’d waited on them at the Spur. Dawson had been interested in her for weeks, but Clay hadn’t realized the attraction went both ways so completely. “Tara’s a nice girl. He could do worse.”
“Tara…you mean Tara from my graduating class?” She finally moved from the doorway and into the kitchen.
“You didn’t know?”
Megan shook her head, looking genuinely distressed. “Not a clue. He never said a word to me about it.”
“I guess you haven’t been here to see,” Clay replied, unable to resist the slight dig.
Fire flashed in Meg’s eyes as the towel slipped on her head. With a look of annoyance she took it off. “I’m well aware that I’ve been out of town,” she snapped. “I don’t know why you feel you must continue to bring it up. And my family did visit me, you know. If Dawson kept his personal life to himself, I’m not totally to blame for that, too.”
Clay heard the sharp words but they bounced off him at the shock of seeing her hair. It was short, sleek and lighter than he remembered, even though it was wet. A light reddish-brown color that reminded him of Tinkerbell. Short and saucy and cute.
But it was the cause of the change that felt like lead in his feet, heavy and immovable. All her gorgeous dark curls were gone. The woman in front of him seemed even more of a stranger.
Her wide, honeyed eyes looked into his. “The chemo,” she acknowledged quietly. There was no resentment in the words�
�just acceptance, and it damn near ripped his heart out.
“Meg.” The word came out like a croak; he hadn’t realized how his throat had closed over. Seeing her in boots and with a shovel in her hand had been one thing. She had been Dawson’s little sister, Clay’s old friend. It had been easier to pretend that there wouldn’t be physical changes after what she’d been through.
But this was evidence. Proof of what she’d suffered. Proof of things changing when Clay wanted them to be the same as they’d always been. Easy. Damn, it had always been easy with Meg, right up until the time she got sick and everything changed.
“It’s okay,” she replied, folding the towel neatly. “It’s coming back in now, it just takes some getting used to. I like it. It’s easy to care for.”
She smiled but he caught the wobble at the edges. For the first time ever he was glad she’d done her treatment in Calgary. Yes, she’d have had support in Larch Valley, but he wouldn’t have been the man to provide it as much as he’d like to pretend otherwise. Megan was a friend and he’d wanted to be there for her, but he couldn’t handle this sort of thing and he hated what that said about him.
He’d had no choice but to watch his father waste away. He’d been ten years old and there had been nowhere for him to go, no escape. He’d idolized his dad, even when the big man had been reduced to a shadow of his former self. Now Clay was torn between resenting Meg for running away and being grateful that he hadn’t had to witness the harsh realities of her treatment. It was over, but just the idea of Meg being completely bald seemed unreal and made his stomach do a slow, heavy twist.
“I’d better get going.” He put the note on the counter and headed back for the mudroom and his boots.
“Is it really that ugly?”
Her soft voice chased after him and he stopped, dropping his head. He couldn’t leave knowing she thought… Oh hell. How women thought was far beyond him most days but he was bright enough to realize that he’d hurt her feelings by reacting the way he had. She’d lost all her hair. Megan had never been what he considered high maintenance, but he understood that she had to be feeling insecure about her appearance. He wasn’t totally insensitive.
He turned back. “No,” he said, the kitchen so perfectly silent that his quiet response filled every corner. She was absolutely gorgeous if he were being honest with himself. The fact that he noticed was quite troubling. But he wouldn’t deny her the words. He wasn’t that cold. “It’s not bad at all. You’re as beautiful as you ever were.”
It was the last thing he expected that would make her cry.
CHAPTER TWO
“You’re as beautiful as you ever were.”
The burst of emotion was so sudden and unfamiliar that Megan choked on the sob that tore from her throat. She quickly covered her mouth with her hands, but Clay was staring at her like he’d never seen her before. Megan Briggs did not cry, especially not in front of anyone. But this time she seemed unable to control her reaction. It hit too close to her heart.
Clay Gregory had just said she was beautiful. She closed her eyes and two tears slid down her cheeks. The irony hit her like a fist—she wasn’t beautiful. Not anymore, not even close. For years she’d longed to hear those words from his lips, and now that she didn’t want them they were offered in the bitterest of circumstances. Because she was less than whole, she was vulnerable and worst of all—needy.
She’d solicited his remark, rather than simply accepting his tepid reaction to her pixie-short hair. And of course he would say that, out of duty. Out of sympathy.
Clay didn’t know the changes cancer had wrought on her body and the scars it had left behind. Losing her hair was nothing in the greater scheme of things. She was missing a breast. She’d had treatments that had changed so much of her body’s chemistry that things she’d barely given a passing thought to before—like one day being married and having a family—were suddenly important and very uncertain. And yet somehow she knew, deep inside, that even if Clay was only trying to make her feel better, somehow he meant the words. She gathered them close to her heart and cherished them.
“I’m sorry,” she said, trying to pull the pieces of herself together. Both times she’d seen Clay since her return, she’d teared up and she didn’t like that one bit. If she couldn’t deal with one annoying rancher, how could she face her friends—the whole town for that matter—with a smile on her face? The last thing she wanted was to break down in public. She had never been a crier, but her emotions seemed harder to control these days. She couldn’t just jump back into the social scene without trusting herself to hold it together first.
“I didn’t mean to make you cry,” he replied, shoving his hands in his pockets. He shifted his weight uncomfortably.
Great. First she’d practically forced him into paying her a compliment, and now he looked like he’d rather be anywhere than standing in her kitchen. “Don’t mind me.” She picked up the towel and folded it neatly to give her hands something to do. Embarrassment crept through her as she tried to explain. Honesty was probably the best approach—as honest as she was comfortable being, anyway.
“The truth is, Clay, I’m working through stuff. I know I’m not the same woman I was a year ago. I look different. I feel different.” She swiped her finger under her eyes, wiping away the rest of the moisture. “Physically…there are some adjustments. Emotionally, too. But I made you uncomfortable and I’m sorry for that.”
Of course she had made him uncomfortable. Talking to Clay about cancer was like chatting to a closed door—words bounced off and there was no response. He avoided the topic whenever he could. When she’d told their circle of friends of the biopsy results, Clay had turned ashen and left the room. Cancer had stolen his father and in a way his mother, too. And if Meg knew anything about Clay from their years of friendship, it was that he handled things in one of two ways—he charmed his way through or put his shoulder to the wheel.
Since he wasn’t employing his charms, Meg could only assume he was forging ahead, doing what he had to do to make the best of the situation but wearing blinders to everything negative about her illness that bothered him.
Clay’s dark eyes caught hers. “I’m fine.” He paused for a second and then asked, “Is that why you didn’t go to the pub last night? Because you’re working through stuff?”
She’d wanted to go. She’d actually figured out what she was going to wear and everything. But when the time came she’d been utterly exhausted. Even now that her treatment was done, fatigue continued to knock her flat without any notice. The idea of facing everyone for the first time feeling so run-down was too daunting, and besides, convincing them she was all right in such a state was laughable.
Not that she could explain it to Clay. He was already tiptoeing around her, holding himself back. She had to be one hundred percent or people would go around thinking she was sick again.
“I spent the night with Mom,” she answered. “After being gone so long…”
She let the thought hang. Let Clay reach his own conclusions—that she’d caught up on some quality time with her mother. It wasn’t totally untrue.
Today she was feeling much better. She’d done chores and had breakfast and showered. The cake she’d made was nearly cool enough to eat and she still had energy to burn. She might not be ready for a night at the pub, but she was going a little stir crazy being cooped up on the ranch. She needed to get out and do something. No one else would listen to her plans. But maybe Clay would. Clay had fought against the odds himself and was always looking at ways of improving his operation.
Besides, when he left today she wanted him to remember her strong and fit and ambitious. Not with the pity she knew was hiding behind his worried eyes.
“You busy? Do you have time for a ride?”
Clay’s hands came out of his pockets. “A ride?”
“I want to show you something. Besides, Clover and Calico can both use the exercise.”
“I don’t know. I should get back.”
Meg shrugged. “Never mind then. It’s not important.” She was disappointed at his response. Heck, she was disappointed in him if it came down to it. After his apology the other day she’d hoped they’d get back to an easy friendship, but that didn’t seem to be the case.
She expected him to leave but he didn’t move. Instead he watched her with a puzzled look on his face. “I can probably spare an hour or so.”
Meg forced a smile, determined to put her mini breakdown behind her. Despite his recent reticence, she knew Clay was open-minded and fair and would give her an honest opinion. “Great. I’ll put on my coat and meet you in the barn.”
When she joined him, he already had Clover saddled and he was laying a blanket over Calico’s withers. Meg went up to the mare and gave her nose an affectionate rub. “You didn’t waste any time.”
“I knew which saddle was yours.” He gave the saddle a swing and settled it on Calico’s back, reaching for the cinch straps.
Meg reached for a bridle, suddenly realizing how familiar they really were with each other. It was nothing for Clay to walk in here and know the stock and tack as well as his own. For all intents and purposes, he’d been like a part of the family since forever.
That had taken a serious hit when she broke the news about her illness. If he’d truly known her, he never would have judged her so harshly.
And yet she knew that of anyone, he would understand her plans for the future. He felt about his ranch the way she felt about the Briggs place. She put her boot in the stirrup and slid into the saddle—after years of being with Calico it was as familiar and comfortable as an easy chair. This was one thing that hadn’t changed, that wouldn’t change. This was who she was, she realized. And nothing—or no one—would take that away from her. Not ever again.
