Allison Leigh - How a Cowboy Stole Her Heart / The Rancher's Dance - How a Cowboy Stole Her Heart / The Rancher's Dance

“Where are you going?” Meg called after her.

“Reinforcements!” Lily called back. Thirty seconds later she was back with Jen in tow.

“Never fear! The fashion police are here!”

Jen rushed down the aisle to greet Meg while Lily locked up the store behind her. Meg felt her heart contract. Jen wasn’t showing much, but her tummy was slightly bubbled out in pregnancy and her skin glowed. Meg loved her friends but felt at an immediate disadvantage. They were so beautiful, secure in their marriages, planning families. Meg had none of those things. She felt like a complete ugly duckling.

Worse, she felt the stirrings of jealousy. She knew it was completely unfair of her. There had been no question of doing chemo and radiation. They’d been necessary to keep her alive. But looking at Jen, expecting a baby and so utterly happy … Meg was fully aware of all the side effects of cancer treatment, immediate and down the road. Even if she could conceive, it could be very, very difficult. Another river for her to cross.

Jen gave Meg a quick hug and Meg pushed her melancholy thoughts aside. She would not begrudge Jen an iota of happiness. It wasn’t her fault. It wasn’t anyone’s fault. It was just the way things were.

“What are you two up to?” Meg looked from Jen to Lily and back again.

“I’m closing up so we can find you the perfect dress.”

“But … but …”

Jen looked at Lily. “She’s lost some weight. My dresses won’t fit her, even if I’m not using them at the moment.” She put her hand on her swelling tummy. “Yours might.”

Lily shook her head. “No, I’m too hippy. Besides, Meg deserves something new, don’t you think?”

Meg felt completely bulldozed and slightly invisible. This hadn’t been part of the plan! While it was wonderful to see her friends and to know that they hadn’t changed over the past months, she knew they had a tendency to get carried away and Meg didn’t want to get carried right with them. “Hello, I’m right here.”

“Of course you are, isn’t this fun?”

Shopping for dresses was not what Meg normally classified as fun. She had never had much for hips and now her curves above the waist were … well, under renovation was probably the politest way she could explain it. “I appreciate it, you two, but really. A simple dress for Stacy’s wedding is all I need,” she insisted. “Nothing over the top.”

“Honey.” Jen and Lily each took one of her hands. Jen’s eyes suddenly welled up with unshed tears. “You wouldn’t let us do anything for you when you got sick. As stubborn, independent women ourselves, we understood it and accepted it. But please, Meg. Let us help you now. We’re so glad you’re home. It’s so good to have the three of us together again. If only Lucy were here, it would be like old times.”

The tears threatened to spill over. “After what you’ve been through, don’t you think you deserve this?” Jen asked.

Meg was incredibly touched and her earlier thoughts evaporated. She was so blessed to have friends like Jen and Lily, and yet she was scared to open herself up too much. She wasn’t used to voluntarily making herself vulnerable, but they had to understand that this couldn’t be just any dress. Not for her figure. She swallowed, knowing inside that she could trust them both. She had never had sisters, but Jen and Lily were about as close as 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.