LITMIR.BIZ

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leave her side, but he did have official duties to perform. He let his hand rest proprietarily on the small of Meg’s back, the heat of her skin warming the velvet against his palm. “They’re here,” he announced, sounding a little sharper than he intended.

      “I need to head back to the kitchen and check up on things,” Jen said, handing her empty glass to Drew.

      “I suppose we should begin to be seated.” Clay put his glass down on a nearby tray. “Meg, you’re at the head table with me.” There’d be no chance for Tom to move in now.

      He saw Tara and Lily exchange significant looks and set his jaw. He hoped they didn’t have any ideas of matchmaking. Meg had been right after all. People were seeing a romance where there was none—even if Clay did feel like he’d been hit by lightning. Even if he did feel an absurd need to put his mark on her tonight.

      He was in a heck of a jam—being Meg’s date, being hugely attracted. He was feeling proprietary and he had no right. It shouldn’t matter that Tom had his eye on Meg. Tom was a good guy. But it did bother Clay and that put him on edge, because while he could be friends with Meg it could never be anything more.

      It was enough to give him a headache.

      Throughout the meal Clay was painfully aware of Meg at his side.

      “Could you pass the butter, please?” Meg leaned toward him slightly.

      “Oh. Sure.” He picked up the dish of perfectly formed butterballs and handed it to her. Their fingers brushed as she took it from him and something strange and electric shot from his fingers to his elbow. Meg’s gaze snapped up to his and he took his hand away. The air around them changed as she lowered her eyes and her lips pursed as she carefully put a ball of butter on the side of her plate.

      This was not going how he’d planned. He couldn’t look at her. He couldn’t touch her and yet he didn’t want anyone else to, either. How on earth was he going to get through the rest of this evening?

      Meg broke a piece off her roll and concentrated on spreading a bit of butter on it so she wouldn’t have to look at Clay. What was wrong with him? Granted, she’d wanted to blow him away today and by all accounts she could tell she’d succeeded. Not just with Clay. So many people had been friendly. Heck, Tom Walker had overtly flirted and asked her for a dance later.

      But the old teasing Clay was gone and in his place there was an awkward stranger. He couldn’t even hand her the butter dish, for heaven’s sake! And he’d barely said two words through dinner. She thought back over everything they’d talked about today. There was nothing she could think of that might have made him angry or standoffish. But ever since they’d met up with the rest of the gang he’d closed up tighter than a clam.

      “Could you pour me some more wine, please, Clay?” she asked sweetly, lifting her glass. It was still half full but she wanted to try something. As he reached for the bottle, she moved her glass closer until her arm brushed the fine fabric of his white shirt.

      He immediately pulled away.

      No touching then. Meg pasted on a smile for the table’s benefit, said a polite thank-you and took an obligatory sip of the wine even though the liquid had no appeal to her now.

      Maybe he’d been momentarily dazzled by her appearance today but the shine had obviously worn off. And maybe she’d let herself believe in the old crush once more—maybe it was the sentimentality of the wedding or something equally foolish—but that wasn’t real. She would not make an idiot of herself. And if Clay ended up giving Lisa Hamm a turn on the dance floor tonight, well bully for him. It was no more than he deserved.

      When guests rose to get pictures of the couple cutting the cake, she picked up her purse and slid out the side door. It was early April and the wind held a chill; she chafed her arms with her hands and savored the brisk crispness of it. She’d had to escape the perfection. It was all around her today—the romantic setting of the Victorian-style inn, the pretty dresses, the happiness in Lily’s eyes and the contentedness she saw in Jen’s as Andrew rested a hand on her rounded tummy where their baby grew. It was too much when Meg’s life held so much uncertainty. Maybe someday she’d be ready for love, but it wouldn’t be easy as a survivor. It stung that everywhere around her were reminders.

      It was like starting the game at a deficit, and most of the time she did okay with it. But today the proof lurked in every corner. She rested a hip against the porch railing and looked out over the fields, still dotted here and there with clumps of stubborn snow. This was what was real. The ranch land, the herds, the never-changing mountains. This was her life—not the muted laughter and music she heard coming from inside. It had been fun to pretend for a few hours, but the girl in the red dress and high heels and makeup—that wasn’t Meg Briggs. That was Meg Briggs trying to prove something. Now that she had, it felt empty.

      “Penny for your thoughts.”

      Clay’s voice came from behind her—a surprise. She didn’t turn around. “I thought you were avoiding me.”

      “How could I avoid you when you were sitting right next to me?” He chuckled but she heard the tightness in the sound. She stared at a circling hawk and shrugged.

      “It sure seemed like you were trying.”

      There was a long silence, and then the sound of his boots on the wood floor. “I didn’t want people to get the wrong idea.”

      She got the feeling he wasn’t telling the whole truth, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to hear it anyway. “And what idea is that?”

      “That we’re … you know. Together.”

      Would that really be so bad? She bit back the words. Maybe she’d been wrong about everything today. Maybe the look on his face at the church had just been surprise and not … She thought for a minute. Not what? Attraction? Desire? Boy, she’d really gotten swept up in it, hadn’t she? Sure he’d told her she looked beautiful, but wasn’t he sort of obligated to say that? His behavior at dinner told the true story. Even if there was something—she’d felt it when their hands brushed—Clay would never admit it. Never act on it. A sound of frustration escaped her throat.

      “Are you okay?”

      She ground her teeth. “If I had a nickel for every time someone asked me that lately, construction on my riding ring would start within the week.”

      Clay put his hand on the railing beside her. “For Pete’s sake,” he said irritably, “it’s a simple question and there are lots of ways to be okay. It’s not always about … it can just be because you ducked out. You know. Overwhelmed. An emotional thing.”

      “You can’t even say the word, can you?”

      She finally turned around and looked up at him. Ah, there it was. The closed expression and the wrinkle above his nose that looked like she could slide a coin into it. He was so afraid of the word cancer.

      “What do you want from me, Megan?”

      The answer rushed into her brain so quickly she had no chance to prepare. I want you to hold me. For the first time she truly understood what today was about. It wasn’t about showing him. It was about reaching him, something she’d never quite been able to do. He was right here beside her but he’d never been so far away, either.

      “Nothing. I don’t want anything from you.” She went to skirt around him but he reached out and grabbed her wrist.

      She looked up at him, feeling her temper rise. “Let go, Clay.”

      He immediately let go of her wrist, but she didn’t run away. “Why are we arguing?”

      “I don’t know.”

      “I think you do.”

      She deliberated telling him exactly what she thought and immediately dismissed the idea. Even if he were ready to hear it—even if she were ready to say it—now was not the time or the place. Not with people around. Not on his aunt’s so very special wedding day. She let

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