making a fool of herself and the way she was feeling with his hand on her waist was treading on fool territory. It felt proprietary—and she liked it. Too much. She could get used to that feeling a bit too easily, and she reminded herself that this was a special day. This was not real life. Tomorrow she’d be back in faded jeans, out in the barns again.
But, for today, she was determined to put her cares aside and enjoy every blessed moment.
“I’ll see you after?”
His warm eyes looked at her hopefully and she couldn’t stop the smile from forming. “I’m sure you’ll have other duties, like family pictures, that sort of thing. Why don’t I just meet up with you at the reception?”
He looked like he wanted to say something more but she had to move, had to escape his touch before she did something silly. She’d achieved what she wanted. She was making a success of the afternoon, wasn’t she? There was no more to it than that.
With a parting smile she drew away from his hand and walked toward the sanctuary doors. She swore she could feel his gaze on her back and she forced herself to take regular breaths. She wouldn’t look back at him. There was obvious, and then there was obvious.
She took her seat beside her father and crossed her legs, smoothing her skirt. But for a moment she fiddled with the hem. It had gone far better than she’d dreamed. There was only one flaw in her plan. Later she was going to have to dance with Clay. Her skin still tingled where his hand had rested. If she reacted like this over a simple touch, what would happen when he held her in his arms?
CHAPTER FIVE
CLAY couldn’t keep his eyes off Megan.
After the ceremony he stopped and offered her his arm to exit the church. They parted ways after that—he to do the official wedding stuff he despised and Meg left for the reception hall with her dad. But the moment he entered the Cottonwood Inn for the reception he honed in on her again, standing with Noah and Lily Laramie, a stem glass of pink punch in her hand. Tom Walker approached the group and Clay heard Meg’s light laugh as he said something to her. Lord almighty, she was beautiful. How had he not noticed before? He wasn’t a fan of short hair; but her simple, sparse style seemed to make her face come alive. Maybe it was makeup—she was wearing the stuff after all, highlighting the sensuous curve of her lips, turning her eyes smoky and mysterious.
Tom moved on, but not before he put his hand along the curve of Meg’s back and leaned forward to say something in her ear. Clay frowned as she laughed in response, feeling a spurt of jealousy and pushing it away. He was in trouble. Big, big trouble. His mind was wandering into all sorts of territories just watching her smile and mingle. It was that much worse because it was Meg. Lord knew he hadn’t been an angel over the last few years. He’d dated, but he’d stayed away from relationships and always made it clear he wasn’t looking for anything permanent.
Even today was torture. He certainly didn’t dislike Mike, and he was thrilled his aunt was happy, but the idea of ‘til death do us part always made Clay uneasy. He’d seen how quickly his dad had gone downhill after his mother had abandoned them both. What the cancer hadn’t destroyed, her desertion had finished. No one would ever have that much power over Clay. His dad had always been the strong one, but not when it came to her. No, Clay was better off relying on himself.
And now here was Megan, looking irresistible and awakening all of the protective urges he tried to keep locked down. If it were anyone else, he’d consider taking advantage of the situation, enjoying the night with no strings. But there were lines a man didn’t cross. Megan Briggs represented more than one of those lines. She was Dawson’s sister, she was his friend, and as much as it pained him to admit it, the fact that she’d had cancer scared the daylights out of him. Meg wasn’t a one-night-no-strings kind of girl, and it was more than enough to make him take a step back and keep his distance.
They were supposed to be looking out for each other, but Meg didn’t exactly look like she needed his help. Instead she looked like a beautiful, exotic flower amidst a bouquet of weeds—and she seemed to be drawing the men’s attention like bees to honey.
He should never have asked her here today.
But he had asked her, in a misguided attempt to be there for her like she’d been there for him when times had been tough. He couldn’t just back away now and pretend he hadn’t. Whatever he was feeling, whatever she’d awakened in him—and it was feeling disturbingly like desire—he would simply lock it away. He’d asked her here as a friend and that was exactly how it was going to be.
He made his way over to her and put on a smile. “I see you made it here just fine.”
“I came with Dad.” She smiled up at him and that same weird tightening happened again. “He’s gone off to talk stock.”
“Normally you’d be there with him.” Meg wasn’t the kind of girl who left the business to the men; she knew what she was about. It was one of the things he truly admired about her.
“Today’s not an ordinary day,” she replied, taking a sip of punch. His gaze caught on her lips as they touched the glass.
“It certainly isn’t,” he agreed, but his voice came out low and … dear Lord. Intimate. God. He was no better than Tom Walker with that silly, besotted look on his face. Clay cleared his throat but not before Meg’s eyes gleamed with mischief. Great. Bad enough he was reacting to her this way. But to have her notice made him feel ten times the fool.
Lily and Noah moved off to chat with other guests, leaving Meg and Clay alone. Clay made himself forget the way the dress fit her gentle curves and focused on the task at hand. “You seem to be managing okay. No awkward questions, I take it?”
“A few.” The flirtatious gleam he’d seen in her eye tempered. “I just keep reminding myself that people mean well. For the most part,” she amended, looking at a pair of gray-haired women who were standing by the punch bowl, heads together.
Clay felt a flare of irritation on her behalf, glad to be talking about old ladies rather than besotted young men. “Some people aren’t happy unless they’re criticizing or spreading doom and gloom.”
Meg lowered her head and he heard an indelicate snort. “Oh, you poor dear. I do hope you stay looking so well,” she said in a stage whisper.
“They actually said that?” He was appalled.
“Of course. They feed on the possibility of catastrophe,” she remarked lightly.
It was no laughing matter to Clay. More than anything he worried about her cancer coming back, not that he’d say so to her face. He wouldn’t take away from the happiness of her recovery by admitting such a thing. She was one of the strongest women he knew, and he reached out to take her hand. “Don’t you listen to them,” he ordered. “You’re healthy as a horse and you look beautiful.”
“Thank you, Clay.” A pretty blush touched her cheeks and his chest swelled.
“I’ve got your back, remember?”
“I remember,” she replied softly, and his heart did a little shiver against his ribs. This wasn’t keeping it simple or purely friendly.
“If anyone bothers you, let me know.”
“Anyone like who, in particular?” She’d cocked her head to the left, as if trying
