Beneath the Scars by Melanie Moreland Read Free Book Online

pulled her unconscious form closer to my chest, cradling her tight. She was out cold, her body limp and dangling in my arms. Calling Elliott to heel, I hurried back to the house. I was grateful we weren’t too far away and I knew the way well. How she had left the path in the woods and ended up here, was a mystery to me. She must have been wandering in circles, getting more lost each time. Another ten feet and she would have walked right off the bluff and fell the long distance to the hard, unforgiving sand below. The thought of that happening had me tightening my grip on her.
    It had taken mere seconds for the guilt to hit me after I slammed the door on Megan, her face gaping at me in shock over my callous behavior. My earlier encounters with her had left me reeling, and finding her on my doorstep was unexpected. Her very proximity caused feelings and desires I could never act upon, and it left a bitter taste in my mouth. The longing to reach out and pull her into my arms, to soothe her, was so strong I had to curl my hands into tight fists at my side to stop myself from doing exactly that. I wanted to draw her into my house, sit her in front of the warm fire, and assure her I would find her little dog she was so terrified she’d lost—but I didn’t; I couldn’t. Instead, her tear-filled eyes and desperate pleas for help had only panicked me further, causing me to treat her cruelly. I shook my head in disgust as I recalled my comment about the coyotes; it was definitely a low point—even for me.
    I had stood on the stairs, uncertain, when I heard Elliott’s low whines, turning to see him sitting by the door, his tail thumping on the floor in a slow, rhythmic cycle. His look of disdain said everything; I walked back to the door, peered through the glass, my heart clenching at the sight of Megan sitting on my steps, obviously sobbing, her shoulders shaking. Before I could react, she had stood up, her posture determined, then she began hurrying back toward the house where she was staying. She’d run across the beach, tripping and stumbling; at one point she stopped, bent over, then continued on, and disappeared from view.
    Groaning, I knew without a doubt, she would go looking for her dog in the woods. I also knew she would get lost. I had sighed, a heavy exhale of air, my head falling onto the thick wood of my door, as I realized there was no choice; I had to go after her. I knew the woods well, since Elliott and I tramped through the dense forest daily. I was certain if Dixie had wandered into the woods she was probably following Elliott’s scent, and there was every chance she would end up on my doorstep—as long as she was safe. It was getting dark, though, the storm was closing in, and I hadn’t lied: there were coyotes in the woods. I had to try and find her. I had to try and find both of them.
    I had grabbed my coat and called Elliott, guilt eating at me for my appalling behavior. I didn’t need to put a lead on him, so side by side we headed into the darkening forest, following the worn trail we had made from so many similar walks. It was only about fifteen minutes later that Elliott’s bark alerted me. I found Dixie, trembling and wet, her collar caught on a low lying tree branch, but otherwise unharmed. I exhaled a sigh of relief, tucking her shaking body into my coat as I took her back to the house. Her grateful licks to my face made me feel even worse about the way I had spoken to Megan. With rapid movements, I toweled her off then sat her in front of the fire to warm up, and much to Elliott’s displeasure, called him to come with me, hurrying back in search of Megan.
    I looked back down at the woman in my arms; she was so pale, with streaks of dirt on her cheeks, concealing most of her freckles. Her coat and jeans were mud-covered and wet; her hair soaked to her head, almost black in its appearance. She was disheveled and dirty, yet I could still discern her delicate beauty, feel the same overwhelming