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How a Cowboy
Stole Her Heart
Donna Alward
The Rancher’s
Dance
Allison Leigh

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Dear Reader,

Sometimes it takes a while for characters to get their story. When Clay Gregory strolled into One Dance with the Cowboy and warned Andrew to be good to Jen, I knew he was hero material. What I didn’t realize was how hard it would be to find him the right woman. You see, I couldn’t just come up with a heroine-to-order and make her fit. I tried. A few times, actually. But nothing was coming together right and I went on to write other books.

But Clay’s a bit stubborn. And all the while I was writing other stories, he was waiting, sometimes not so patiently, for his turn. Finally I realized the problem was that I had been looking for love in all the wrong places, as the song goes. Clay didn’t need a woman to breeze into Larch Valley and sweep him off his feet. He needed to see what was right in front of him all along.

I’m so pleased that you’re finally going to read Clay and Meg’s story. As always, I love hearing from readers so please drop by my website at www.donnaalward.com, or contact me through my publisher.

Best wishes and happy reading,

Donna

How a Cowboy Stole Her Heart

About the Author

A busy wife and mother of three (two daughters and the family dog), DONNA ALWARD believes hers is the best job in the world: a combination of stay-at-home mum and romance novelist. An avid reader since childhood, Donna always made up her own stories. She completed her arts degree in English literature in 1994, but it wasn’t until 2001 that she penned her first full-length novel and found herself hooked on writing romance. In 2006 she sold her first manuscript, and now writes warm, emotional stories for the Cherish line.

In her new home office in Nova Scotia, Donna loves being back on the east coast of Canada after nearly twelve years in Alberta, where her career began, writing about cowboys and the West. Donna’s debut novel, Hired by the Cowboy, was awarded the Booksellers Best Award in 2008 for Best Traditional Romance.

With the Atlantic Ocean only minutes from her doorstep, Donna has found a fresh take on life and promises even more great romances in the near future! Donna loves to hear from readers. You can contact her through her website at www.donnaalward.com, her My Space page at www.myspace.com/dalward or through her publisher.

To the beautiful, brave survivors everywhere.

You are amazing.

CHAPTER ONE

CLAY GREGORY stood in the middle of the barn corridor, his booted feet planted on the cold concrete and his hands shoved into the pockets of his sheepskin jacket. His breath formed frosty clouds in the air and his dark eyes glittered beneath the brown knitted hat he wore in lieu of his customary Stetson.

Meg looked away, determined to ignore him. Clay Gregory thought himself a cut above and she didn’t mind taking him down a peg or two this cold March morning. She refused to glance his way again, instead giving her shovel a satisfying scrape along the stall floor. She dumped the soiled straw into a waiting wheelbarrow. She made the same action twice more, each time her heart thumping a little harder as he remained silent. The increase in her heart rate wasn’t from the physical exertion, though the exercise was a welcome feeling after months of taking it easy.

Nope. The hammering pulse was one hundred percent caused by Clay. The last time he’d spoken to her it had been to accuse her of running away. She’d wanted to make him understand, but his mind had been closed. The spectre of cancer had killed most of her romantic illusions where Clay was concerned, and his harsh words had finished the job. She’d told herself she was over her schoolgirl crush, but his censure had bothered her more than she cared to admit. Because there wasn’t just a crush at stake. They’d been friends first, and the words he’d flung at her had hurt more than he knew.

“Megan.”

Finally. His deep voice seemed to fill the corridor and she took a measured breath. She stood the shovel on its blade and rested her hands on the handle as she looked up, meeting his gaze dead-on. “Hello, Clay.”

He took a step forward. Meg gripped the shovel handle and stepped back, resuming her task. She had to keep working. She didn’t want to talk to Clay, not this morning. Facing things one at a time was what she intended to do and Clay Gregory’s closed mind was not on the list for today.

“You’re back,” he said, and she realized he was only a few feet behind her.

“Yes, I’m back. Thanks for noticing.”

“I came looking for Dawson.”

Oh, so he wasn’t here to see her after all. She bit down on her lip to keep from blurting out the sharp reply that had formed in her head. There was no reason for her pride to be hurt. Clay had said some very painful things last spring. When he’d accused her of running away he was right. She had been, but her reasons had been solid. At least to her. She made the best decision she could and she didn’t regret it one bit. She was here now because she’d made the decision to fight with all she had. If Clay didn’t like it that was his problem.

“We had some problems with calves last night,” she said blandly. “Dawson went back to bed and I said I’d do the horses.”

She didn’t need to look at Clay to know he was scowling. He had a way of frowning that made a line form between his eyebrows. When she’d still been able to tease him she’d called it a penny slot, and many a time she’d wanted to smooth the crease away but she’d been too chicken to touch him in such an intimate manner.

She’d save herself that humiliation, thank you very much. The only thing worse than having a crush on her brother’s best friend while growing up had been the possibility of acting on it and being rejected. As she surely would have been. Clay had never shown the slightest interest in her that way. He’d always treated her like an annoying little sister.

“Give me the shovel,” he said, and his long arm reached around and closed over hers on the black handle.

Megan ignored the automatic zing that raced down her limbs at the contact and pulled the implement out of his grasp. “What are you doing?”

His response was to grip her shoulders and turn her around.

She looked up—a long way up, because Clay was over six feet tall and she came in at a measly five foot five. She couldn’t help the thrill that coursed through her at his nearness.

Coursed through every part of her body, save one. On the right side of her chest she felt nothing, because there was nothing there.

This was so not how it was supposed to go. Clay Gregory and the cancer were in the past. She wished she could just forget about them both. But both had left their indelible mark no matter how hard she tried to move past them.

“What was Dawson thinking, letting you do this?” he demanded, the line between his brows now a deep crater above his nose.

She pulled away and lifted her chin. Not like it would make her any taller, but it made her feel better. “Dawson doesn’t let me do anything. He’s not the boss of me.”

Great. That made her sound what, ten years old? She glared at him as best she could. She hadn’t come back to Larch Valley just so people could start bossing her around and treating her with kid gloves. “I’ve been mucking out stalls since I was a kid, Clay. If you want to see Dawson, he’s up at the house. Let me get back to work.”

Her snappish words seemed to take him back a bit as the line eased but the concern still rested heavy in his eyes. “Are you sure you should be doing heavy labor, Meg? You shouldn’t do too much and …”

“And what?” she finished for him. What did he think would happen? There were no more stitches to pop. She wasn’t going to collapse at his feet. “Shoveling … you-know-what is hardly heavy labor. I think I know what I can and can’t handle,” she replied, but she softened her tone a bit. There was no sense in arguing. “I’m fine, Clay. I’m all better now. Good as new.”

It was a lie, but it would be truth soon enough. Granted, there were still lingering issues since her treatment. Twinges that happened at the oddest times. Fatigue. Then there was the issue of her scars. They would never go away, but the rest would be cured by time and working to get stronger. “Farm work is exactly what I need.”

Megan Briggs had been just about as low as she ever cared to get, but that was over now. Breast cancer hadn’t beaten her—she’d beaten it. Now it was time to reclaim her life. She had ideas—good ones. And if she wanted her family’s support, she had to first prove to them that she wasn’t going to fall apart at any moment. They needed her. And while the past year couldn’t have been helped, she was determined to help keep the Briggs ranch on its feet.

If people kept tiptoeing around her like she was breakable, how on earth was she ever going to make it happen? But she wasn’t about to give up. And so she tightened her hands around the shovel, prepared to resume her work.

Clay’s response was to retrieve another shovel from beside the door. Megan looked up at him and wasn’t sure if she was flattered or insulted at his obvious caring. She decided insulted. It was easier that way.

“I can do this,” she repeated, feeling a silly urge to stamp her foot. She did not. She merely stared at him as he took the stall next to her and dug in. “Clay! I said I’ve got it.”

“Shut up, Meg,” he said mildly, igniting her temper even further.

It would serve him right if she walked out and let him do them all, she thought. But that wouldn’t help her cause one little bit. She needed everyone to see she was fine. Same old Meg. Reliable and ready to put in a hard day’s work. Not a burden. Not a girl who needed to be pampered. Definitely not made of glass, ready to break at any moment. That whole “poor Meg” bit was what had driven her to Calgary in the first place.

“Fine.” She wasn’t about to stand and argue about it. She finished the stall she was on and moved the barrow down the aisle, beginning on another. A raw breeze blew through the door at the end of the barn, and when Meg looked up, soft flakes were falling. The horses were huddled together in the corral, the light snow dusting their backs.

The hard edge of her mood melted away and she smiled to herself. The horses, this ranch, her family—they were what were important now. She had to remember that. She’d done what she had to do to get through her illness, but oh, it was wonderful to be home. This was where she belonged. And where she would stay.

Clay saw the hint of a smile touch Meg’s face and some of his frustration mellowed. It was good to have her back. Good to see her looking so well. A little thinner than he remembered, but with the same thickly lashed, saucy brown eyes and the same dusting of freckles over her nose. She wore a horribly ugly hat on her head that looked like it had been knitted by yarn odds and ends, the colors varied and mismatched.

It suited her to a T. Meg had always been a little unconventional and he’d liked that about her. When she’d snapped at him her delicate features had taken on a familiar stubborn set. Meg had never cared what other people thought. That was what made her disappearance to Calgary so troubling. Suddenly the spunky girl he’d always known had turned into a frightened waif running away. He’d been worried and had gone about telling her in all the wrong ways.

Now she was back and he wanted to believe she was okay. She certainly looked fine. She’d told him she’d be back strong and fit and he’d had his doubts. Doubts he’d refused to voice, because he’d been afraid. He’d admitted it to no one but himself. He’d been afraid Meg was going to die. The girl in dark, curly pigtails who had held his hand in hers and said she’d always be there for him had faced something that made promises irrelevant.

And instead of talking about it he’d lashed out. What he had said all those months ago had been so very wrong and he’d regretted those words ever since. Dawson had mentioned she was coming home and Clay had thought to catch his friend in the barns, do a little digging about her state of mind—and health—before facing her again. Instead of Dawson he’d found Meg, cleaning stalls like the last year had never happened. He owed her an apology for those words.

“You’re truly okay?” He kept shoveling, needing to keep moving, to pretend that this was like any other sort of conversation he’d had with Meg a thousand times.

Instead he found himself face-to-face with her and her sharp attitude. The sweet Megan he remembered was gone and replaced by a woman with a stubborn jut to her chin and eyes full of fire. Before he would have been able to soothe ruffled feathers with a smile and a bit of charm. But Meg seemed immune now. The words of apology he’d practiced in his head disappeared, swept away on the arctic air blowing through Larch Valley.

“I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t,” she replied, shaking fresh straw on to the stall floor.

He looked up briefly. She was watching him, her eyes enormous above her plaid wool jacket. Old work gloves covered her hands and she wore jeans and boots, same as him. At this moment, it was hard to imagine her body being ravaged by disease.

“If I said I was sorry for what I said to you last spring, would you believe me?” He stumbled over the words. They were nothing like he’d rehearsed, but he couldn’t take them back now. What was he supposed to say? That all the hateful things he’d said had eaten at him all these months? That at the time he’d been afraid they were the last words he might ever say to her? Her current strength and determination made the sentiments seem ridiculous.

“Sure.” She shook out more straw over the floor and he gritted his teeth. She was certainly as mule headed as ever.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

She looked up at him. “Not really. Let’s just let it drop.”

In Clay’s experience, a woman never “dropped” anything, but Megan wasn’t like most women. He had no idea what to say next. He’d apologized and he’d meant it. Maybe that was enough.

“Did your mom tell you about Aunt Stacy?”

With a sigh, Meg put her shovel aside. “No, she didn’t. What’s to know?”

“Gee, Meg, I’m sorry, is my conversation boring you?” He couldn’t keep the sarcasm out of his tone. She was completely exasperating. He’d come over here, wanting to say hello, wanting to say he was sorry, and he got a sharp tongue and put-upon air for his troubles.

A slight flush touched her cheekbones and she looked a little sheepish. “Of course not. I’m a little touchy, okay? Everyone is treating me like I’m going to break at any moment. It’s a bit suffocating.”

“That wasn’t my intention.”

She raised an eyebrow and he knew she was right. It had been, from the moment he had said she shouldn’t be mucking out stalls. He’d taken a heavy hand from the start. Well, sue him for being worried about her. “If people are concerned, it’s only because they care about you and don’t want you to do too much, too fast.”

“I know that.”

“You’ve just come home. I’m sure once everyone sees you’re back to your old self, they’ll move on to another topic.” He made his voice sound far more confident than he felt.

Clay knew very well how the gossip in the town worked. There was a flavor of the week and then something newer and juicier came along. Hell, at his age he could hardly go out on a date without the grapevine marrying him off by the next morning. Even his aunt Stacy had gotten in on the needling a bit lately, asking if there was any particular young lady he was interested in. The answer was always an unequivocal no. Not that he would have admitted otherwise if there was someone who caught his eye.

He shut the stall door and latched it. “You were gone the better part of a year,” he said. “You’re still a bit of a mystery to a lot of the people of Larch Valley. It’ll blow over.”

When he turned back, there were tears glimmering in Meg’s eyes. His stomach clenched. He didn’t know how to handle a woman’s tears. Not even a woman like Megan, who he’d known most of his life and who, for the most part, had been just one of the gang. He couldn’t recall ever seeing her cry in his life. “Did I say something wrong?”

She shook her head, and he noticed she bit down on her lip when it started to quiver. Was there something else going on? Worry slid coldly down his spine. He was so not good with this sort of thing. Tears, sickness … these were the kinds of things he normally wouldn’t touch with a ten-foot pole. Not even for Meg.

But just as soon as the emotion had bubbled to the surface, she locked it away. “I thought going away and coming back would be easier, but …” The word caught a bit and she took a breath, regaining control. The next sentence came out stronger. “But it’s been more stressful than I expected. I feel like I can’t do anything without being watched and examined, and that’s just by Mom, Dad and Dawson.”

“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.

Full of renewed purpose, she gripped the reins in her gloved hand. “I want to show you something,” she said to Clay, and with a nudge of her heels led the way out of the barn.

The bitter cold from the arctic front was being nudged away by a Chinook arch that was forming to the west. She gave the mare a little kick and they crested the rise. Meg moved fluidly into a trot, loving the feel of being on horseback again. Feeling restless, Calico gave a little kick and Meg laughed out of simple joy.

Clay caught up and she looked over at him appraisingly. Sure, maybe the juvenile crush days were over, but she had to admit he still looked pretty amazing in his black Stetson and jeans. The denim clung to his strong legs and he sat a horse as prettily as she’d ever seen. And he had called her beautiful. Not just now, but before. As beautiful as you ever were, he’d said. He couldn’t possibly know how much of a hit her vanity had taken over the last few months. She never felt womanly or beautiful these days. It gave her badly bruised feminine pride a boost to think that even if he’d never cared for her in that way, he’d at least noticed her on some level.

“Snow’ll be gone by morning,” Clay said as they slowed. “We could use some milder weather.”

“Sure makes calving a lot easier.” She let herself be drawn back to practicalities.

“We lost one yesterday.”

Meg turned to look at him as Calico picked her way along the familiar trail. “Oh, no.”

“It happens. Pete and I did a C-section but it was too late.”

“Pete’s the best there is,” Meg answered, knowing how Clay valued his foreman. “But no one said it was easy. There are lots of operations struggling right now.” She let out a breath. It was the perfect way to lead into what she wanted to talk to him about.

“That’s what I wanted to talk to Dawson about before the next meeting,” he said.

“You mean us,” she said faintly, rocking in the saddle as Calico started up over a knoll.

“You?”

He sounded so surprised Meg clamped her mouth shut. As close as Clay was to her family, he didn’t seem to know about the troubles the Briggs’s were having. It wasn’t as bad as some, that’s for sure. But it was enough that Meg had trouble sleeping at night wondering how they were going to make it through. If they had a bad year, the results could be devastating to their place.

She reached up and tugged her hat further over her ears.

“So what did you want to show me?”

She reined in and looked down the hill at the ranch. “That,” she said, lifting her voice above the rising wind.

“It’s your place. So?”

The barns were spread out over the farmyard, machinery lined up precisely, fences in good repair. Nothing, she knew, was wasted or neglected. “Dawson has done a good job, hasn’t he?”

“He’s a good rancher.”

“It’s a two-man ranch, though, don’t you think?”

“Same as mine, I suppose. Though I’ve got Pete and some hired help in the summer.”

“We don’t.”

Meg turned her back to the view and looked earnestly at Clay. “For a while I was the second man, remember?”

“And in the summers you did the circuit.”

“That’s right,” she replied, remembering the long days of travel and the rush of competing in rodeos as a barrel racer. Clay was watching her closely. She wanted to share her idea with someone who could see the potential in it rather than just seeing reasons why not. “Calico and I competed. And the money I made paid my expenses and the rest went back into the ranch.”

“Are you saying you want to start racing again?”

Meg thought of the rows of trophies she’d earned over the years. It had been fun and challenging and she’d been good at it. But now she wanted more. To put down roots instead of the constant travel during the season. To make her mark in a different, long-lasting way. She wanted to build something, watch it flourish, and the thrill of winning did have an expiry date.

“Not exactly. I want to do something else, Clay. More than help with the chores and hope for the best, you know?”

She looked up at him, wanting him to understand. “I love this place. It’s mine, too, as much as it is Dawson’s. It’s in here.” She pressed her right hand to her heart. “But yeah, we’re struggling. And the whole damn family is treating me with kid gloves and won’t even listen to my ideas!”

The last part came out with a little more vitriol than she expected and she saw Clay’s lips twitch.

“Meg.” His tone was patronizing and it set her teeth on edge. “You’ve only just come home. Maybe you need to give it time. Wait until you’re better.”

That was what her mother had said. And her dad. And Dawson. She glared up at him. She had expected a better response from everyone, and they kept letting her down. Meg had always been the reliable one. Always the one who took on the burdens of the family and held things together. She knew that and accepted it. Everyone thought she’d run away to Calgary for treatment but she’d really gone because it was best for the family. All she was trying to do was make things better again, to make up for the time she’d been gone. She knew she’d left them in a bind and carried her own bit of guilt about it, even as she knew there was nothing she could have done to prevent it.

“I am better,” she insisted. “I thought talking to you might be different. I thought you’d understand, but I guess not.” She gave the reins a jerk and wheeled away, pushing Calico into a canter over the frozen prairie.

She heard his shout behind her but the wind was in her face now and it felt glorious. They could all go hang as far as she was concerned! Hooves pounded on the solid ground, sending up a familiar rhythm. Right now she felt as if she could ride for days. The air burned deliciously in her lungs. She’d needed this so badly.

Clay blew out a breath of frustration as Megan took off. Why did she take everything he said in the wrong way? He urged Clover to hurry the pace as they followed Meg and Calico up over the butte. He’d only wanted her to try looking at it from her family’s side. They were afraid for her.

Heck, he was afraid for her. She looked wonderful, said all the right assurances. But he still had his doubts that everything would be as okay as she insisted. And that niggling bit of doubt scared the hell out of him.

He drew up alongside of Calico and rather than try to stop her, he kept pace. Megan was the most stubborn woman he knew—next to his aunt Stacy—and he knew sometimes it was better to ride out a storm rather than trying to beat it back. Something warm and satisfying expanded inside him, knowing she was an arm’s length away, her body moving in unison with his. She looked over once and he met her gaze. Her chocolatey eyes glittered at him with devilment. She flashed a challenge of a smile and gave Calico a little nudge to ease her a nose ahead.

He let her take the lead. This time. Because she seemed to need it.

When the horses began to get winded, Meg slowed, bringing them back to a walk. He caught up with her and reined in, the horses’ strides matching each other. “Feel better?” he asked mildly.

“Much,” she said.

She was actually glowing from the physical exertion, her cheeks with pink roses and her eyes dancing beneath the ugly hat. She looked irresistible, all color and snap. Clay frowned. Irresistible? Megan? Uh-uh. She was his best friend’s little sister. And his friend, too. Meg had always seemed to be able to read him better than anyone. They had known each other so long that defining their relationship was difficult. One distinction was easy enough, though—platonic. Getting involved with Megan Briggs would be messy—Dawson would have his head. Add in the other baggage she brought to the table and he was ready to ride in the other direction—fast. He quickly dismissed the thought.

“I don’t think it was just the horses who needed to get out,” he observed. “You’re wound tighter than a spring. I used to be able to read you like a book. Not anymore. There’s too much going on in your head, isn’t there?”

“I suppose so. Sometimes I don’t know what I’m feeling or thinking. And I’m not good at sitting and waiting.”

“Never have been.” He chuckled. “Ever.”

“Which is probably why I’m feeling so frustrated. I need to do something, Clay.”

Something seemed to be pulling them together. She trusted him, he realized with surprise. She was confiding in him and he was shocked and a little bit honored considering how they’d left things all those months ago. She’d come to him to share her plans and he’d reacted like everyone else—he hadn’t even given her the courtesy of listening.

He could listen now—it wasn’t much to ask. He hadn’t exactly been supportive up till now. And he’d be honest with her. She would hate for him to be anything else.

“Then tell me your plans,” he said as his mare blew out a grand breath and shook her mane, making the bridle hardware jingle.

“You’ll think I’m crazy.”

“So what? I’ve thought that for years.”

She threw him a “ha-ha, very funny” look and gave Calico’s neck a rub. “Part of the reason I went away for my treatment was so that I wouldn’t be a burden to anyone. You know that, right? This place has always provided for us, but we’ve all had to work, even more so since Dad’s back went. It was bad enough losing me from the work force when we were already running short. But the added load of caring for me, driving me back and forth to Calgary for treatment, the worry … Mom has enough of that with Dad’s appointments. I couldn’t ask her to take that on. She’s already had to take a job to help with the household expenses, and she somehow juggles everything else, too.”

He hadn’t realized Linda’s job was to bring in much needed income. She’d laughed it away when she started working at Papa’s Pizza, insisting it was the perfect antidote to cabin fever now that the kids were grown. “Surely it was more expensive for you to live in Calgary than drive back and forth.”

“I stayed with a friend in Springbank. She gave me a job in exchange for room and board. When I was well enough, I worked. The weeks that were too hard, I took it easy.” Meg looked up at him, her expression surprisingly open. “Rodeo girls look after each other,” she said simply. “Anna and her family were a godsend. Because of their generosity, none of my treatment arrangements cost Mom and Dad a cent.”

Clay sat back in the saddle. She’d taken all that on, and her illness as well. “Meg.”

“No, don’t. I know what you’re going to say. Losing a ranch hand hit us hard enough, Clay. I couldn’t drain the family resources more than that. I just found another way.”

He felt doubly guilty for all the things he’d said to her that day, all the things he’d accused her of. “It’s that bad for you? But Dawson never let on.”

“We’re not going bankrupt, don’t look so alarmed,” she said, looking over the fields that seemed to stretch right to the foot of the Rockies miles away. “But we need something more to take us from scraping by to breathing easily.”

Clay nodded. “Lots of farmers facing the same choices. What do you have in mind? Alternative stock? Some ranchers I know are turning to sheep.”

Meg laughed. “Sheep are so not my thing. Cute and all but no. And no alpacas, either,” she added with a smile. “No, what I want is something all my own. Something I can build and nurture and enjoy.” She locked her gaze with his and he felt a weird sense of unity and rightness in her sharing her hopes with him. “I’m an equine girl at heart, you know that. I want to expand the stable so we can board horses, and I want to build an indoor ring so I can give lessons.”

Clay blew out a breath. Expanding didn’t come cheaply. Or quickly. He measured his words, not wanting to discourage but not wanting to give her false hopes, either. “That’s a big undertaking.”

“Life’s short, Clay. I love this farm and I want to see it succeed. Can’t I do that while fulfilling dreams of my own?”

The Chinook arch crept across the sky, coming closer, warming the air by degrees. They sat silently, watching the unique formation, feeling the change in the air for several minutes.

“Whatever you’re thinking, just say it, Clay.”

He didn’t look at her, just sat straight in the saddle and stared ahead. How could he explain what he was feeling in the wake of her words? He was a neighbor. Their families were friends. It didn’t seem right that his heart should clench so painfully when she said things like “Life’s short.”

“Does that mean you’re worried about …” He felt like an utter coward not saying the word. Damn it, he was getting too invested already. He should have stayed home this morning. Out of her business. He certainly had enough of his own to keep him occupied.

“Reoccurrence?”

She said the word so plainly it jarred him and he nodded, the brim of his black hat bobbing up and down, his lips set in a grim line.

“I’d be a liar if I said it doesn’t cross my mind. But it is not how I choose to live—waiting. Maybe that’s why this is so important to me. Life is happening now, and I don’t want to miss it.”

It had been difficult hearing the news the first time, but even worse now, having eyes wide-open to the possibility that she might go through this again and maybe she wouldn’t win the second time around. He’d watched his father battle lung cancer, watched him in daily pain until the end, and he was pretty sure he couldn’t go through something like that again with someone he cared about.

Then he thought about his mother, and how she’d walked out on both of them, leaving Aunt Stacy to pick up the slack. Mom had been afraid, too, but she’d run away rather than staying and fighting. For weeks, a young and trusting Clay had been certain that if he wished hard enough, believed long enough, it would all be okay. His mother would come home and his dad would be well again.

When Meg had broken the news of her illness he’d automatically been thrown back to that horrible time. It had brought back so many feelings he’d tried to forget. He had accused her of running rather than realizing the truth—that she was trying to protect those she loved.

But he didn’t need protecting, and there was no them. There was just a family friend looking at him right now, asking for advice, giving him a level of respect he wasn’t sure he deserved.

“Clay, you and Stacy kept the Gregory place going all these years. You played hard but you worked hard, too, and you’re the best rancher I know. You have always been brutally honest with me.”

He felt his cheeks heat. He didn’t miss the “brutally” part and he knew he’d been too hard on her at times.

“You’re the one person I can trust to give me an honest opinion. So what do you think? Can I pull it off?” She looked at him hopefully.

Clay shrugged, not wanting to burst her bubble but needing to impress upon her the challenges she’d face. “The work? You could handle that in your sleep,” he said confidently. “I have no doubts about that. But there’s more to it. Who will your clients be? Will there be enough to make the business self-sustaining? How will you pay for the expansion?” He paused before he dropped what he knew would feel like an anvil on Megan’s hopes. “What happens if you get sick again? Who’ll run it? Keep it paying for itself?”

He saw her swallow and she turned her head away. “I am crazy then.”

“Not crazy.” He reached over and grabbed her arm through her heavy coat. “I didn’t say it was a bad idea, or impossible. There’s a lot of sense in it. It’s just not an easy idea and there are things to think about before you move ahead.”

Meg’s shoulders slumped as she turned her horse toward home. He was an idiot. He should have at least expressed some excitement or said something positive before raining on her parade. “At least you listened,” she said darkly as they trudged along. “Mom and Dad wouldn’t hear any of it.”

“They’re just afraid. They’ve only just got you back.”

“They’re trying to put me in a bubble.”

“They love you and don’t want to lose you. So try again. I’ve never known you to quit anything you really wanted.”

“For what it’s worth, I was thinking that there’d be plenty of business from the new developments going in. Professional families whose kids want to take lessons. Ask daddy for a pony. You know how it is.”

He smiled to himself. Good, she wasn’t giving up. “You could be right.”

They went along for a few more minutes. The wind was really starting to blow now, stirring up flecks of snow and dirt. Meg turned up the collar of her coat.

“It’s the money,” she finally said into the awkward silence. “That’s why I haven’t pushed the issue. I haven’t got that kind of capital, obviously. I’ll have to go to the bank for it. And the debt is what keeps stopping me up. Mom and Dad can’t carry the load.” She sighed. “I told you it was foolish.”

“Keep thinking about it. You’ll come up with a way,” he encouraged. “Meg, for God’s sake, you beat your illness. You can do anything you set your mind to. Maybe you just need to think outside the box.”

The horses sensed the barn was near and picked up their pace a little.

“You were a big help,” she acknowledged. “Like I said, no one else would even listen.”

“That’s what friends do.” Friends, he reminded himself. That was the only reason he was feeling so protective of her. So anxious. In Larch Valley friends looked after each other.

Except they didn’t always, Clay thought. He certainly hadn’t listened to her last year when she’d needed him so very badly. He had closed his heart and his mind to their friendship and “would you believe me if I said I was sorry” didn’t quite cut it as far as apologies went.

As they entered the yard, they noticed that both Meg’s car and the farm truck were parked next to the house. “Mom and Dad are back from the doctor.” She smiled up at Clay. “He saw a specialist about an operation that will help his back and ease the constant pain. Dawson’s home, too. You might as well come in and have some cake and talk about whatever it is you really came to talk about.”

They turned out the horses in silence and walked up to the house together. Inside the warm kitchen, Linda cut slabs of coffee cake and there was conversation and laughter around the table, just like old times. Meg reached for a mug on a high shelf and Clay found his gaze locked on her breasts. All Dawson had told him was that she’d had surgery, but Clay didn’t know to what extent. The curve seemed natural enough, and as her heels touched the floor again he quickly turned his eyes toward the plate of cake in the middle of the table.

She poured the coffee and put cream and sugar next to his mug. He’d been close to the Briggs’s for so long she even knew what he took in his coffee. And yet through it all he realized he missed the old camaraderie that used to be between them in years past. The easy friendship was gone but something new, something bigger was taking its place.

Something that made his heart catch. Something he didn’t want to even think about. He never wanted to put himself in a position to be left like his father was. And with Meg, the odds were all against him.