Free Skin Deep by Pamela Clare Page B

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