Then, like ice water through her veins:
I slept with him.
Dear God, I slept with him.
Panic smote her so hard Malcolm stirred. “Margo? What’s wrong?”
She couldn’t answer. Couldn’t put into words the myriad terrors ripping her apart. Dad was right. I’m nothing but a two-bit whore, I’ll never be anything, never amount to anything, I can’t even say no when I know it’s the wrong thing to do, l could be pregnant … .
Oh, God. She could be.
She’d destroyed everything she’d worked for, would never be able to face down that bastard who’d murdered her mother, could never tell him he’d been wrong
And Kit Carson …
If she couldn’t even be trusted not to fall into bed with the first man who took her down time …
She began to cry. When the dam burst, she couldn’t control the flood. Malcolm touched her shoulder.
”Margo? Please, what is it?”
She jerked away, so miserable she wanted to die.
Malcolm’s tender concern only made the enormity of her folly worse. Clearly, he’d anticipated a jolly romp in the grass with a woman capable of enjoying the moment. A woman he’d thought had just turned nineteen. All she’d managed to give him was a ten minute quickie with a scared kid. Worse, a scared kid with a past. The fact that it had been the most profoundly shattering experience of her young life …
She hid her face in the sweet grass and cried until she thought her heart would burst.
Malcolm listened for a long time, damning himself for several dozen kinds of fool. He finally dared a question.
”Margo, I have to ask. Who was he?”