LITMIR.BIZ

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she’d ever come. “It’s not just the dress,” she whispered, pulling her hands away. “It’s the style I’m worried about. You see I …”

      She couldn’t form the next words.

      It was Lily who clued in first. “Oh, Meg. It’s the mastectomy, isn’t it?”

      She nodded as relief flooded her—it was good to finally get it out in the open. Lily’s husband, Noah, had lost an arm in Afghanistan. By the time they’d married he’d gotten his prosthetic, but Meg remembered clearly how difficult Noah had found the adjustment. It was natural that Lily was the one to put the pieces together.

      “I haven’t done reconstruction. Right now I’m wearing a form on that side, and my bras are … well, they’re not exactly the frilly, pretty sort.”

      “Shoot, we can get you a new bra.” Jen smiled.

      “It’s not just that,” Meg protested, handing Lily the garment in her hands. “It’s a comfort thing. I’m … it’s …” Meg looked up helplessly. She hadn’t told a living soul how she felt about how she looked now. Not even in the support group she’d attended in Calgary.

      “What is it?” Jen put her arm around Meg’s shoulders. “You’re safe here, Meg. We consider you family and we love you.”

      Meg’s lip began to wobble as her face crumpled. All her defenses disintegrated at the heartfelt words. “Oh,” she wailed, “you weren’t supposed to say that!”

      She couldn’t stop the tears that came. Lily went to the back and brought out a chair and she sank into it, covering her face with her hands. What was wrong with her? It wasn’t dress shopping that was stressing her out. It was looking at her scars, day in and day out. Seeing one “normal” side and the other ravaged by the surgeon’s knife. Now she was supposed to go to this wedding—with Clay!—and the last thing she felt was pretty and feminine.

      She finally caught her breath and blew her nose into the tissue Jen offered. She had needed to do that for a long time. Tears were something she hadn’t indulged in during her treatment and it seemed now that the worst was over those emotions were coming out bit by bit. She’d felt fragile for weeks, but now she felt better, less tangled up, more ready to tackle the job ahead. “I’m sorry, you guys. I’ve felt so self-conscious, so afraid, that I’ve avoided everyone. I should have come to you before.”

      “You came when you were ready,” Jen answered simply, squatting down next to Meg’s chair and putting a hand on her knee. “It’s okay. You’ve been through a lot. Just remember we’ve always got your back.”

      Those were the exact words Clay had used and Meg’s pulse gave a little kick. “I feel ugly,” she admitted. “My hair is like a boy’s and so is …” She swallowed. “Let’s just say my bikini days are long gone.”

      “You are so not ugly. The shorter hair makes your eyes pop and highlights your cheekbones. And honestly—no one can tell about the other.”

      “I used to be comfortable in my own skin.”

      Lily nodded thoughtfully. “Yes, that’s a problem. It’s hard to be sexy when you don’t feel sexy.”

      Meg’s lashes snapped up. “Sexy? I never said anything about wanting to be sexy!”

      “Every woman wants to feel confident and pretty, Meg. Besides, you’re going to want a dance partner aren’t you? You can’t dance with your daddy all night.”

      Meg’s insides curled with embarrassment. “I’ll dance with Drew and Noah and Dawson, too.”

      Jen sighed. “Meg.”

      Meg stood up. She didn’t want to be pitied or patronized. “Are you saying no one will want to dance with me?”

      Jen shrugged and looked away.

      Meg lifted her chin. “I’ll dance with Clay, after all we’re going together.”

      Her mouth clamped shut as soon as the words were out. Lily and Jen looked at each other and grinned and Meg realized she’d been played—and she’d fallen straight into their trap. They’d wanted to prompt her into a reaction and it had worked. She wished she could take the words back. Now they’d be inventing a romance where there was none.

      “So, you’re going with Clay,” Lily said speculatively.

      “Just as friends,” Meg tried to explain. “He didn’t have a date and neither did I and Stacy put the fear of God in him about being a target for singles.”

      “Which he definitely is. He’s gorgeous.” Jen grinned. “Hey, I still have eyes,” she defended when Lily gave her arm a nudge.

      Meg remembered a time when Clay and Dawson had rescued Drew and Jen during a snowstorm. Drew had been pretty clear about marking his territory, and he and Jen had been stuck together like glue ever since. Drew didn’t have a thing to worry about and they all knew it.

      “It’s not a date date,” she insisted. “For heaven’s sake, he still calls me Squirt.”

      “Would you like it to be? A date date?”

      Jen’s quiet question threw Meg for a loop. She’d never said a word about her feelings for Clay to anyone. And she’d given up on him ages ago. The flutters she’d gotten lately meant nothing. And yet the idea of knocking his socks off held a certain appeal. What would it be like to feel like a real woman again? Was that even possible?

      “Clay doesn’t think of me that way,” she reiterated.

      “That’s because he only sees you in jeans and boots,” Lily said, casting an appraising glance over Meg’s clothing. “Functional for ranch work, but not so great for snaring a man.”

      “I am not looking to snare anyone!”

      “Here she goes, protesting again.”

      She wasn’t taking the bait this time. She knew her work wear was functional, but it also did a fine job of concealing shapes she wanted to conceal. “All teasing aside, you two, I just want a nice, pretty dress that covers what I need to have covered to feel comfortable. As far as Clay Gregory goes, I’m to be his dinner partner and a friend to rescue him from the clutches of Lisa Hamm, apparently.”

      Jen and Lily both smiled. “I think we’ve given her a hard enough time, don’t you?” Lily asked Jen, nudging her with her elbow. She smiled at Meg. “That’ll teach you for giving us the brush-off.”

      “I never meant …”

      “Hush,” Lily said kindly. “We’re going to find you a beautiful dress, Meg. And if we don’t, I’ll make you one. I can accomplish a lot in three weeks.”

      Jen put her arm around Meg’s shoulders. “Consider us your fairy godmothers,” she added. “Your debut back into Larch Valley society will be a smash hit. I’m thinking red, Lil, how ‘bout you?”

      For the first time in months, Meg felt the tiniest bit pretty. As her best friends led her to the next rack, she thought about Clay, his saucy smirk, and how gratifying it would be to wipe it off his face. She could do this. She would. It was time she set the tone for the rest of her life and it was time that tone was one of success. Maybe a dress and a wedding didn’t sound like much of a start, but she had to begin somewhere.

      “I like red,” Meg said clearly. She grinned as she imagined the look on Clay’s face when she showed up at Stacy’s wedding in a knockout dress and heels. He wouldn’t be able to accuse her of hiding away then. “What the heck, you guys. In for a penny, in for a pound, eh?”

      For the tenth time in as many minutes, Clay fiddled with his bow tie. He’d hoped Stacy would have gone in for a more casual Western wedding, where he could have worn his good boots and a bolo. At least then he might have felt slightly at home in this monkey suit. But no, she’d gone for the whole hog. Black tuxedo, strangling bow tie, shoes so shiny he could see his reflection. The

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