“Meg …”
“Not now, Clay.” She looked up at him. “Please. Put on a smile and let’s go inside. The last thing I need is more people asking if I’m all right. We’re supposed to have each other’s backs tonight, remember?”
She just wanted to get the evening over with now. When they returned to the banquet room, the tables had been moved aside to make more room on the dance floor. A local DJ was getting ready to start things up and the lights had dimmed.
“Ladies and gentlemen, the bride and groom!”
Meg watched as Stacy and Mike took the floor. Stacy’s white dress swirled around her ankles but the true beauty was in her smile. After so many years alone, she’d finally found love and happiness. Meg got a lump in her throat watching them smile and turn through a waltz. Maybe Stacy and Mike were nearing fifty, but they’d seen their chance and they’d taken it. Meg curled her arm around her middle and felt her incision pull just a bit. She doubted that magic would ever happen to her now, doubted she’d ever be ready for it. There were too many uncertainties to contemplate taking such a leap.
After the first dance, Clay danced with Stacy so Meg latched on to Andrew, knowing Jen was finishing up duties in the kitchen. Tom Walker came to claim his dance, and then she circled the floor with Dawson, who pointblank asked her what was going on with Clay.
“Nothing.”
“My eye,” he responded, swinging her under his arm and bringing her back around.
“You’re wrong.”
“You knocked his eyeballs out earlier,” Dawson said.
“Well, they’re back in place now,” she replied dryly. “Things are predictably back to normal.”
Dawson shook his head. “Clay will never admit it, but he’s watching out for you. More than usual. It’s like he’s everywhere.”
She raised an eyebrow. “It’s not a real date. Not that anyone is buying that, but it’s true.” She was still chafing at the idea that Clay felt the need to look out for her.
“I saw his face when he saw you, sis. I’ll put money on this being a real date.”
“And you obviously have a problem with that.”
“Heck, yeah. Clay’s my best friend, but that means I know him better than anyone. So do you,” he pointed out. “Clay’s not the romance kind, Meg. He’s a diehard bachelor and we both know why. I can’t trust my sister’s welfare to a guy who’ll end up hurting her, no matter how much I like him.”
Trust his sister’s welfare? The annoyance of earlier flared back to life. “Oh, you guys,” she said sharply, scowling. Dawson slid her under his arm again and she knew it was a deliberate ploy to put her off. When they came face-to-face again she stepped on his foot.
“Ow!”
“Newsflash, Dawson Briggs. I can look after myself. No one needs to watch over me or worry about my welfare. Stop interfering. Got it?”
Dawson muttered something about an ill-tempered snake and she nearly laughed. Nearly.
The song ended and the beat changed to something slow and romantic. Her shoes were new and her feet were beginning to ache but as she turned to leave the dance floor Clay was there, ready to take her into his arms.
“Dance, Squirt?”
She looked him up and down. The bow tie was gone, revealing the delicious V of his neck. His color was up from dancing and he’d rolled up the cuffs of his dress shirt, revealing strong, tapered wrists. As much as she didn’t want them to, Dawson’s words were too fresh to ignore. Because he was right. Clay had always said he never planned to get married. Even if something did spark between them, she’d be the last woman he’d consider taking on.
“I think I’ll sit this one out.”
He leaned in and whispered in her ear. “It’s a slow dance, Meg. And Lisa Hamm has her radar on full alert.”
“So?”
“So we had a deal, remember?” His slow, sexy voice sent ripples over her skin. “Come on, Meg. I promise it won’t hurt.”
Of course it wouldn’t. Clay was as smooth as a twelve-year-old scotch. Meg sighed. It would be far more telling if she refused him than to simply go through with it. “Fine.”
He took her hand and led her on to the floor. As he took her in his arms, Meg had the disturbing realization that in all the dances over the years, they’d never slow danced together. As her belly brushed against his cummerbund, she suddenly realized why.
He was holding her close and every inch of her skin was aware of him. Her left breast brushed his shirt and tingled at the contact. There was a certain sadness knowing the same sensation would never happen on the other side—not even if she had reconstruction. As their feet started moving she mourned the changes in her body just a little bit.
This slow dance might be all she ever had with Clay. She didn’t want to be protected and babied as he was so determined to do. And the idea of revealing her scars to Clay was preposterous. The woman in the dress was a lie, a fantasy for one day. The scarred, imperfect body was the truth. She was Cinderella at the ball right now, but before long the clock would strike and the dress, the shoes, the makeup would all disappear and she’d still be Meg. Dawson was worrying for nothing.
So she gripped the light fabric of Clay’s shirt in her fingers and held on to his hand and closed her eyes. Two things had become so very clear to her today. One, she still cared for Clay way more than she’d thought. And two, she realized that they’d never suit. There was too much between them that was wrong. He wanted to wrap her in bubble wrap; she wanted to fly. He couldn’t say the word cancer; it was a part of her everyday vocabulary. She was realizing she wanted a husband and a family and Clay would never settle down. There would never be a way for them to meet in the middle.
Even if she wanted them to.
Clay’s body was warm and somehow they seemed to meld together. Her head rested on his shoulder and she felt his warm breath against her ear. Neither of them said a word. Neither of them had to. There was something in the dance that spoke for them. An acknowledgment, perhaps, of what was happening between them and what couldn’t come of it. A depth of feeling tempered by impossibility.
Meg felt a sting behind her eyes.
The song ended and she pulled away, looking up at Clay. He was looking at her the same way he’d looked today when she’d said hello in the church vestibule. Shocked and aware.
“I think I’d like to go home,” she said quietly.
“It’ll look …”
“I don’t care how it looks.” Meg was suddenly so tired of it all. “I just want to go, Clay. Don’t worry. You stay. My dad will take me.”
Clay took her hand. “No, I will. I asked you to come and I’ll drive you home.”
Five minutes later they were in his truck heading for the Briggs ranch, and five minutes after that they were at her house. The porch light was on in the spring twilight. Meg opened her door to get out but before she could hop to the ground Clay was there, shutting the door behind her.
“You don’t have to walk me to the door.”
“Shut up, Meg.”
He said it so softly she didn’t argue, just listened to their footsteps on the gravel as they walked to the porch door.
“You really were beautiful today,” he said, as they lingered just that few extra seconds.
“Don’t, okay?” She tried not to choke on the words. She didn’t want the crumbs of compliments he was offering. “Thanks for the drive home and good night.”