Beneath the Scars (9 page)

I cringed, thinking about the distraught look on her face as she stared at me before I had stormed off. I’d needed to escape from her; from the intense, overwhelming feelings she elicited in me. Another sigh escaped my lips as I realized, after how I’d acted, she’d probably never come near me again.

I wouldn’t have to explain anything.

That was for the best—for both of us.

I gave a weary glance toward Elliott as he stood up, a low whine in the back of his throat. I heard his nails tapping as he ran to the door and a deep thump while he sat in front of it. I listened, tensing when I heard the sound of footsteps, followed by a quiet knock. I remained frozen, sitting at the table, my eyes glued to the mug of coffee I was holding. A few minutes passed, and the knock sounded again. My hands tightened on the mug in reaction, because I knew who it was standing on my doorstep. Somehow, after hours of tossing and turning, before giving up and accepting I would find no rest today, I had been expecting it.

Still, I didn’t move.

The sound of her quiet footsteps and fading voice calling Dixie’s name, finally allowed me to ease out of my chair. Filled with apprehension, I looked out the window, watching Megan’s retreating figure as she walked across the beach. I frowned when I saw how badly she was limping.

Was she looking after her foot? Why did she walk all this way when she was obviously still in pain? I clenched my hands in annoyance. Why had she come back here?

Beside me Elliott butted my leg, pawing at the door. Looking out, like the coward I was, I made sure Megan was far enough away she wouldn’t hear. I then eased open the door, surprised to see a large bag sitting on the doorstep. I picked it up and carried it to the kitchen, Elliott following at my heels. Inside were the blankets and pillow I had used in which to wrap Megan, all freshly laundered. I shook my head when I realized I hadn’t even noticed they were gone. Looking at the sofa, I noticed it was spotless; the leather gleaming dully in the light—it was obvious she had cleaned it, too. I wondered how long she had stayed after I stormed away. Had she been waiting for me to return?

I placed the blankets and pillow back on the sofa, then picked up the bag. Two more items fell out and Elliott was quick to grab at one of them. A large rawhide bone with a ribbon wrapped around it, made me smile; he loved those. The small tag read:
For Elliott, our hero. Love, M&D
.
I grinned as I undid the ribbon and let Elliott run away with his treasure. He plunked himself down in his basket and immediately began gnawing away at the treat.

Curious, I picked up the other item. It was a black beanie, thick and soft. I recognized it as one Ashley sold in the gallery shop. They were made of cashmere and were warm to wear, not to mention indulgent. I turned it over and lifted the small card attached to it.

Zachary—I found yours on the beach. I know you were wearing it when you found me. Unlike some things, it was damaged beyond repair, even though I tried to mend it for you. Please accept this new one with my gratitude. I won’t give up mending the other. ~M

I stared at the message. How had she noticed I was wearing my hat? I hadn’t even thought about the fact I wasn’t wearing it when we arrived home. I was too concerned with her well-being and making sure she was okay. My hat, or lack thereof, never once entered my mind.

I shook my head, confused. I knew exactly what she was saying, yet I didn’t understand why. Why did she want to try and get to know me? Or try and mend me?

I was damaged goods. I had nothing to offer the sweet woman who somehow stirred emotions in me, which I didn’t understand.

My hand fisted the rich cashmere of the beanie as I thought of our passionate kiss and the feel of her mouth beneath mine. I shut my eyes remembering how perfect it felt to hold her in my arms. How I lost myself with her for a brief, wonderful moment.

Then how utterly horrified I was when reality had hit me, yet again.

I looked down at her small gift, feeling torn.

I had to stay away from Megan.

Except, the thought of doing so made me…miserable.

For a week it continued. Megan would walk over and leave something on the doorstep. I never knew what time of day she would come or even if she’d indeed appear that day, but I found myself sitting, watching for her arrival. The days she didn’t come felt endless, and I was filled with a sense of longing I couldn’t explain. It felt as if I missed her. Although, when I would see her small figure come into view, I would assess how she was walking, then I would step into the kitchen, hiding from her once again.

She always knocked twice.

I always ignored her.

Still, she always returned.

Elliott would sit in front of the door, his tail thumping out a quiet rhythm as he whined low in his throat. If I was feeling somewhat brave, I would allow him access to the back of the house, where his dog door was; he would push his way through to greet Megan and Dixie on the deck. Megan would sit on the top step and watch them run around the beach or stroke their heads as they sat beside her. She looked so small with her back to the door. I wondered if she knew I watched her; absorbing the enticing sight of her there, her brilliant hair swirling in the wind that kicked up from the ocean. I knew how soft that hair was and I longed to bury my fingers into her thick tresses again. My body ached to draw her close and feel her flush against me. I wanted to inhale her lovely scent deep into my lungs and taste her mouth with mine. I craved her, yet even as I yearned, as soon as she shifted, I disappeared from sight, for fear she might see me. She always commanded Elliott
home
and waited until he was back inside, before she and Dixie slowly made their way back across the beach, out of my vision. They were the best and worst moments of my day—I longed for them.

Once she was gone, I would open the door and see what little treasure she had left behind.

A small plate of cookies for me and dog biscuits for Elliott.

A pair of warm socks for after my next “wade” into the water.

A slice of pie to share with Elliott.

Even a bag of my favorite peppermints, although how she knew they were my favorite, I wasn’t sure.

They were small, thoughtful gestures, accompanied by a tiny card with sweet words of friendship and thanks or a short humorous message; always signed
M
.

As if some other passing angel was leaving gifts and she wanted to be sure I knew which ones were hers.

Today, I opened the door and looked down, fighting a smile. I picked up the small canvas, studying it. It was a very badly done watercolor of the beach with Dixie and Elliott on it—or more like stick figures of them. She even painted the bluff and what I guessed was my house at the top. Turning it over, I let out a chuckle.

Maybe you’d consider a trade? I’d be willing to give this up for Tempest…

One time offer.~M

I smiled even as I shook my head sadly.

All of this had to stop.

The next day I was waiting. When Elliott’s ears perked up, I opened the back door and let him out, following him, remaining silent. I listened as Megan greeted him, then the gentle raps sounding on my door. I stepped out and watched her as she stood waiting, ever hopeful I would open the door. Only this time she didn’t repeat her knocks and there was nothing in her hands. Instead, I watched her head bow. I could feel the resigned sadness rolling off her, as she turned and sat down at the top of the steps, her shoulders slumped. Taking in a deep breath, I quietly walked over, and lowered myself down beside her, grateful my scarred half was facing away from her side view. Her startled gasp was filled with surprise at my appearance, but she didn’t say anything. I inhaled deep lungfuls of her soft scent, letting it wash over me, enjoying how it soothed and calmed me.

I waited for a minute before I spoke. “You’re still limping.”

“It’s getting better.”

“Not much,” I huffed. “You’re overdoing it, walking here all the time.”

She turned, and I felt the heat of her gaze. “Come to me, then.”

“You have to stop this, Megan.”

“Stop what? Being a friendly neighbor? Thanking you for finding me, bringing me out of the storm, and looking after me?”

I sighed and looked at her. Her brown eyes were too expressive. Normally, dark eyes were flat, but hers were bursting with life and fire, and her fire was directed at me. “My cruelty sent you into that storm.”

She shrugged. “Your words were heartless, but I would’ve gone looking for her regardless.” She paused. “You said them to drive me away, Zachary. I know that.”

She turned away and looked back toward the ocean. “And I’m not stopping. You might as well give in.”

“Why, Megan?”

For a minute she said nothing. I startled when I felt her hand slip into mine, which was resting on my leg. Her fingers curled between mine; our palms meshed together. I looked down at them, noticing the differences: her hand so small and smooth, her fingers tiny as they entwined my longer, calloused ones. The urge to lift our hands to my lips, to caress those tiny fingers, was overwhelming and my eyes flew to hers.

“Why?” I repeated. “I’m not a nice man. I have nothing to give you.”

“I disagree. I think you have a lot to give. You’re just too scared to give it.”

“You’re wrong.”

“No,” she insisted. “I’m not.”

“What makes you so sure?”

She squeezed my hand. “This does.”

“My hand?” I shook my head at her. “You’re not making any sense.”

“Not your hand, Zachary,” her patient voice whispered. “It’s how I feel when I hold your hand, when I touch you.” She drew in a deep breath. “How it felt when you kissed me.”

“That was a mistake.”

“Why?”

I yanked my hand away and stood up. “You don’t want to kiss me. You don’t want to know me, and you certainly don’t want to pursue a relationship with me. I’m toxic. I’m scarred outside and in. Stay away from me.” I turned and began to walk away, but I heard her follow me. Pivoting quickly, I found her right behind me, my abrupt stop causing her to begin to stumble. On their own accord, my arms reached out to stop her from falling. As soon as my hands touched her, everything changed. Once again, I felt the heat between us—the unexplained feeling of comfort and desire combining and swirling around us. My fingers tightened on her shoulders, but I fought the urge to drag her closer.