Skin Deep (8 page)

Megan didn’t look thrilled by the idea. She clearly trusted very few people with her little girl. Nate couldn’t blame her for that. “It’s pretty far, isn’t it?”

“I promise I won’t drop her.”

Megan stood, shifting Emily into Nate’s arms.

Emily’s eyes opened, and she looked up at him from beneath heavy eyelids. She reached with one tiny hand, touched the scarred side of his face. Little blond brows furrowed, Emily’s sleepy eyes filling with a child’s sympathy. “Owie.”

Her eyes drifted shut again, her hand curling beneath her chin as she snuggled against Nate’s shoulder.

Blindsided by the child’s simple gesture, her innocent compassion, Nate’s throat went tight, a hitch behind his breastbone where his heart was supposed to be.

Get a grip, Marine.

He carried her down the hall, up the stairs, and into the guestroom, where his dad had a warm fire already burning. He waited while Megan pulled back the covers, then laid Emily gently on the bed, watching as Megan drew the blankets and quilt up to her daughter’s chin, the moment satisfying something deep inside him.

He spoke quietly. “My dad and I usually end the day talking around the fire. You’re more than welcome to join us.”

Megan bent down to plant a kiss on Emily’s forehead then stood and smiled at him in a way that made his pulse kick up a notch. “I’d like that.”

She followed him downstairs, where they found his dad, tumbler of scotch in one hand, cell phone in the other. He was sending a text message, probably discussing his plans for tomorrow with Chuck, the foreman who’d been with the ranch as long as Nate could remember. They would need to drive hay out to the cattle every day now until the snow melted enough for the cows to forage again.

His dad looked up. “Is that adorable baby girl of yours tucked in?”

“Yes, she is.” Megan sat across from him.

Nate reached for the bottle of Aberfeldy and a tumbler, poured himself a drink, truly needing it. “Want some scotch or a glass of wine?”

“I don’t drink.” She smiled almost apologetically. “But I wouldn’t mind some of your hot chocolate.”

“You got it.” Nate set his drink aside and stood, but his old man stopped him.

“Sit down. I’ll get it.” His dad tossed back the rest of his scotch, tucked his cell phone in his pocket. “I make it from scratch, you know—milk, cocoa, sugar, touch of vanilla. None of that powdered shit.”

“Thank you.” Megan’s lips twitched as she watched the old man walk away, a glint of laughter in her eyes. She met Nate’s gaze. “Your father is a real character.”

“He fought with the Army Rangers in Vietnam. I’ve always had a world of respect for him.” Nate took a drink. “The past few years have been hard on him. He misses my mom. She died five years ago.”

Megan’s gaze shifted up to the family photo on the mantel. “He told me. I’m sorry for your loss.”

Nate was surprised the old man had mentioned his mother to Megan. He didn’t often speak of his grief. “I was downrange when it happened.”

She got a puzzled look on her face.

Quit speaking in military jargon, jarhead.

“I was deployed in Afghanistan. I was deployed a lot.”

“Is that why you’re not married?” Megan’s eyes went wide, and she began to babble. “Oh, God! I’m … I’m sorry. That’s a personal question. I would think a handsome man like you… I mean… It’s really none of my business.”

“No, that’s okay.” Nate was both amused by her obvious embarrassment and moved by what she’d said. It had been a long damned time since anyone had called him handsome. “I was
almost
married once. I met Rachel in college. We reconnected when I was home on leave. I thought that was it. I proposed a couple years later. When I was wounded, it was just too much for her. She came to visit me about a week after I arrived at the Brooke Army Medical Center in San Antonio. I was drugged out of my mind. I thought she’d come to be with me, but she’d come to end it. She just couldn’t handle it.”

Nate watched the play of emotions in Megan’s eyes—shock, sympathy, anger.

“What kind of woman breaks up with her fiancé when he’s lying in a hospital bed? You were wounded serving your country. I’m sorry she hurt you, but if that’s the kind of woman she is, I think she did you a favor.”

“Maybe so.” Her indignation touched Nate, made him smile.

“She should have been there the entire time, helping you in any way she could.” The anger faded from Megan’s face, her gaze filling with empathy. “It must have been very hard getting through that. There’s nothing more painful than being abandoned by the people who are supposed to love you.”

Even if Nate hadn’t read the articles about Megan, he would’ve known she had personal experience with that kind of betrayal. It was there in her eyes.

Poor, sweet Megan.

And then Nate was no longer thinking about those dark days in the burn center. He was no longer thinking at all. He leaned in, trailed his thumb over the curve of Megan’s cheek—and kissed her.

At the first brush of his lips against hers, she gasped. He wanted more, the shock of physical contact singing through him. He leaned closer, cupped her cheek, increased the pressure, teasing her lower lip with his tongue.

Oh, God, she tasted sweet!

She didn’t pull away, but leaned closer, her lips going pliant.

“Hope you like marshmallows.” The sound of the old man’s voice interrupted them as he reappeared with a mug of cocoa, which he put on the coffee table. “Be careful. It’s hot.”

Nice timing, old man.

Megan jumped away from Nate as if scorched. Her cheeks bright pink, she turned her attention to the cocoa. “Thank you.”

And for a moment, Nate’s dad stood there, trying to pretend he hadn’t seen the kiss. “Well, I’m going to hit the hay. You youngsters enjoy the fire. Tomorrow’s going to be a busy day. Goodnight, Megan.”

Megan looked up at him, mug of cocoa in hand. “Goodnight, Jack. And thanks for everything. Your chili really is fantastic.”

“Damn straight it is—and you’re welcome.”

He turned and left the two of them alone.

# # #

Megan’s heart was still racing as Jack disappeared up the stairs. Unable to look at Nate, she stared into the fire, gripping her mug of cocoa tightly between her palms, the ceramic hot against her skin.

Oh, God!

Nate had kissed her. He had
kissed
her. And she hadn’t hated it. She hadn’t felt repulsed. She hadn’t pushed him away.

Had she enjoyed it?

The answer made her heart pound harder.

It had to be an accident. He’d surprised her, and they’d been interrupted. There hadn’t been time for her revulsion to kick in.

Or maybe she really
had
enjoyed it.

“Megan.” Nate took the mug from her hands and set it on the table. “Look at me, Megan.”

Her pulse almost frantic, she did what he asked, the gentle understanding in his eyes taking away some of her panic. “Y-you kissed me.”

“You noticed.” He gave her a lopsided grin. “If we hadn’t been interrupted, I would have kept kissing you.”

And she felt it again—that strange flutter deep in her belly.

Almost unable to breathe, she watched as he slowly drew her hand to his lips and kissed it, his mouth lingering against her skin, heat shivering through her, his gaze never leaving hers. And then…

He seemed to be waiting for something, his gaze searching hers.

The moment passed.

He released her hand with a squeeze, gave her a smile. “You should drink your cocoa before it gets cold.”

She exhaled in a long shudder, reached for her cocoa with trembling hands, and sipped, oblivious to the creamy, chocolate taste, thoughts and emotions so tangled inside her that she couldn’t sort through them.

“Emily seems to have my dad wrapped around her pinky finger.” Nate watched her, scotch tumbler in hand.

“Yeah.” Megan struggled for words, a maelstrom raging inside her. Part of her wanted Nate to kiss her so she could see whether it had been real or just a fluke. Part of her wanted him to kiss her again just to
feel
it—the taste of his lips against hers, the heat of his tongue, the skipping of her own pulse. It had been … 
intoxicating
. “You’ve both been so kind to her.”

“She’s a sweet little girl.”

Megan couldn’t help but smile, a sense of pride swelling inside her. Emily was the only part of her life unmarred by her past. “I think so, but then I’m pretty biased.”

“Emily is lucky to have you for her mother.”

Some part of Megan wanted to tell him the truth—that she’d been in prison during the first year of Emily’s life, leaving her daughter in the care of a Mennonite foster family, that she’d had to fight like hell to straighten herself out so she could win custody of her daughter back again, that some part of her still wondered whether she was even fit to be a mother.

But she liked seeing herself the way Nate saw her.

And so she said nothing—and immediately felt a stab of guilt.

After all he’d done for her, didn’t Nate deserve the truth?

Nate grinned. “She looks so much like you—your eyes, your nose, your smile. Were you blond as a little girl?”

Megan nodded. “Strawberry blond.”

Nate’s eyes narrowed. “So why aren’t
you
married? I would think that a woman as pretty as you…”

The question took Megan by surprise, though it shouldn’t have. Hadn’t she asked him the same thing not ten minutes ago? He’d even parroted her words. “I … I’m not really into the whole dating thing.”

She was giving Nate half truths again. It wasn’t that she was uninterested in dating; she was terrified of it. Dating went together with sex, and she didn’t like sex. She’d never enjoyed it, never liked having a man’s hands on her. Maybe if her life had been different…

Except that tonight Nate had kissed her, and she
had
liked it.

“Maybe you just need to meet the right man.” Something about the way Nate said it, something in his deep voice, made Megan’s pulse spike again.

And she found herself wishing she could forget what had been done to her, what
she
had done, and just pretend that she was whole and unbroken.

The conversation drifted after that, Nate telling her about their herd and what they would have to do to keep the cattle fed and safe in deep snow—plowing the road so their trucks could get through, carrying hay out every day, watching for sick animals.

“That’s a lot of work for two people.”

He chuckled. “That’s why we have a crew—a foreman and five hands. They stay in the bunkhouse and handle a lot of the heavy work now that my father is getting older. He manages the financial and logistical sides of the operation.”

“What do you do?”

“Sometimes I help with the herd, but mostly I work with the horses—training them, overseeing the breeding program, helping the mares foal if they have trouble.”

It was such a different life than the one Megan knew. “You’re a real cowboy.”

Nate grinned and tipped an imaginary cowboy hat. “Why, yes, ma’am, I reckon I am.”

Megan laughed at his exaggerated western twang.

“Tell me about your job.”

There wasn’t much to tell—except that Megan was very lucky to
have
a job. Very few employers were willing to take a risk on someone with a prison record. “I’m a graphic artist with the city’s recreation department.”

“Is that what you’ve always wanted to do?”

She shook her head. “It’s a job.”

She didn’t tell him she’d gotten her start working in the print shop in prison. She’d gotten an associate degree while she was on parole. Her salary wasn’t great, but she’d paid off her house and car with part of her court settlement.

“Is there anything you really wanted to do?”

“I always dreamed of going to law school.” For a time, it had been her life’s dream to help young women like herself, to make sure that someone always listened to them so that what had happened to her wouldn’t happen to anyone else. But with past felonies, she would almost certainly be denied admittance to the bar, even if she passed the bar exam with flying colors.

On the mantel, a clock chimed, drawing Megan’s gaze.

Ten.

The money drop.

Worries she’d tried to set aside through the evening rushed back at her.

Please stay safe, Marc! Keep everyone safe.

Nate took her hand, gave it a squeeze. “Your brother knows what he’s doing. He’ll be all right. I just hope they get the bastards.”

“So do I.”

“How long has this Donny asshole been stalking you? Why did he choose you? Who is he anyway?”

“He’s been stalking me for almost three years now.” Megan would have given almost anything in that moment
not
to answer the second part of Nate’s question, but she couldn’t ignore him or lie. “He’s… He’s Emily’s father.”

D
onny Lee Thomas was Emily’s father.

Working in the pre-dawn dark, Nate lowered the snowplow on the front of his Ford F-150, put the truck into gear and drove forward, punching through more than three feet of snow, the forcefulness of it only partly satisfying his need for aggression.

What kind of man terrorized and attacked the mother of his child, tried to rob her, threatened to harm his own daughter?

No, not a man. A monster.

A
man
would have done all he could to make certain both mother and child were safe. A
man
would have provided his share of financial support. A
man
would have been a father to his child, even if he and the child’s mother weren’t together and hated each other’s guts.

Nate could not wrap his mind around the fact that a bastard as revolting and fucked up as Donny could be Emily’s father. Nate had gotten a good look at him—rotten teeth, sallow, unhealthy skin, dark, greasy brown hair. There was no trace of him on that sweet little girl’s face.

Haven’t you always said it’s more the dam than the sire that makes the foal?

And that was the other thing.

Nate couldn’t stand the thought that this son of a bitch had gotten his hands on Megan. It wasn’t jealousy he was feeling. Hell, he knew Megan wasn’t a virgin—and it wasn’t just the fact that she had a child that gave that away. Like everyone who’d read those articles in the Denver Independent, Nate knew
how
she’d lost her virginity. Nothing he’d ever read in a newspaper had sickened him more.