by Janet Dailey
With his gloves on again, he dragged the sign across the road and laid it flat in the truck bed. Mission accomplished.
Conner exhaled in relief as he climbed into the truck, started the engine, and turned the heater up all the way. Now all he had to do was turn around, go back to the house, and park the truck under the shed.
The lane was too narrow for a U-turn. He would have to drive onto the highway and make the turn there. Switching off the spotlight and turning the headlights on bright, he pulled the truck out far enough to check both ways for oncoming traffic. The road was clear—no surprise. Only a fool like him would be out on a night like this.
The road’s asphalt surface was already slick with snow, but the big vehicle had good tires. Conner pulled all the way out, swung the wheel hard left, and came around with no problem. He was about to head back down the lane when something caught his attention. About fifty yards up the highway, seen through the blur of snow and distance, was what looked like a blinking red hazard light.
He took a quick moment to phone Travis. “I’ve got the sign, but I may have spotted somebody in trouble,” he said. “I’m going to check it out, so if I don’t come right back . . .”
“Unless I hear, I’ll assume you’re okay. Call if you need help, and stay safe, especially since you’re driving my truck.” Travis ended the call with a chuckle.
Conner turned and headed back in the direction of town. The safety reminder had been typical of Travis. A former highway patrolman, Travis had lost his job and served prison time after a tragic accident had left a young man dead. Conner owed Travis more than he could repay for offering him a home and a partnership in Christmas Tree Ranch.
Now, as he drove up the highway, he could see a small car off the road, its front end angled into the bar ditch. A single red taillight blinked through the snow-swirled darkness. The other taillight appeared to be broken.
He pulled onto the shoulder of the road, a few yards behind the car. Leaving his headlights on, he climbed out. The car’s rear windshield was covered with snow; as he came closer, he caught a movement through the side window. The driver would be a woman, he surmised. An able-bodied man would have tried to push the car back onto the road, maybe tried to flag down help, or even walked back to town. If there was a woman in the car, she would likely be cold and scared—even scared of him, Conner reminded himself. He would need to let her know he was here to help.
The car was idling, a curl of exhaust rising from the tailpipe. Approaching with caution, he tapped on the window. He could see movement through the glass. Then the window came down, barely an inch.
“I’ve got pepper spray pointed right at your face.” The young, feminine voice shook slightly, but Conner sensed that the lady meant business.
“Whoa there.” He took a couple of steps backward, showing her his empty hands. “I live down the road back there. I saw your light and came to help you. Are you all right?”
The window opened another inch. He saw frightened eyes in a pale face, framed by tendrils of dark hair peeking from beneath a knitted cap. And, yes, she really did have pepper spray. “I’m fine, just cold,” she said. “But the car seems to be stuck, and my phone is dead. Maybe you could call somebody for me.”
“Anybody special?” Conner took out his phone.
“My family lives in Branding Iron. I was coming to visit them, but then the storm hit, and before I knew it, I’d driven right past the town. When I tried to turn around, I slid off the road into this blasted ditch.”
“I’ll tell you what.” Conner passed his phone through the window to her. “If you’ll put that pepper spray down, you can call your family on this. Tell them Conner Branch is here, offering to help you. They’re bound to know me. Most people around here do.”
Conner was taking a risk, saying that. A few rodeo fans remembered him from the PBR, and he’d driven the sleigh in the last two Christmas parades. But there was always a chance that the woman’s family had never heard of him.
If that was the case, what would he do? She had his phone now, and she still had that canister of pepper spray. Maybe she would call 911. At least the sheriff knew him.
While she was on the phone, Conner took a look at the car. The bank of the bar ditch was so steep here that the compact Toyota was almost resting on its chassis. There was no way to push it from behind without causing serious damage. It would need to be towed with a chain, which he didn’t have with him in the truck.
She had turned away to make the call. Now she turned back, lowered the window a few more inches, and handed him the phone.
“So, did you find out I’m not a serial killer?” He leaned against the car, trying to shield himself from the biting wind.
“Just barely. My parents didn’t recognize your name. But my brother, Daniel, knew who you were. So I guess you’re all right.”
Daniel. The name rang a bell, but he couldn’t connect it with a face. “I’ve looked at the car,” he said. “It’ll need to be towed out, probably in the morning. Is anyone coming to get you?”
She sighed. “My dad has poor night vision. He’d never make it here in the storm. Daniel and my mom don’t drive. So I guess I’m stuck, unless—”
“Unless I give you a ride home.” Conner finished the sentence for her.
“I’m sorry, I know it’s an imposition—”
“No, it’s fine. This truck can go anywhere. Do you need to get anything out of the car?”
“Two suitcases. They’re in the trunk. My name is Megan, by the way. Megan Carson.” She reached down and pulled the trunk release. Conner lifted out the two bags and put them in the backseat of the cab. He was fine with driving her home. From what he’d seen of her, it was hard to tell what she looked like. But he couldn’t help being intrigued.
He was holding out for his dream woman to show up at the ball, he reminded himself. But if there was an attractive new female in town, why not get to know her?
After all, what did he have to lose?
* * *
Megan closed the window and turned off the ignition. Unlocking the door, she tried to shove it open. She managed to push it about halfway before a wind gust slammed it shut against her shoulder, the sound of it like a thunderclap in the darkness.
“Here, come on.” Her rescuer appeared in a swirl of snow, opening the door and holding it against the wind. Megan took the gloved hand he offered, clasping it as he guided her through the blinding storm to his truck and held the door while she climbed inside. The hood of his parka kept his face in shadow. So far, all she knew about him was that he was strong, had a masculine voice, and cared enough to help a stranded woman on a stormy night.
He took her keys and disappeared in the direction of her car, probably to make sure it was locked. Moments later, he reappeared on the driver’s side of the truck, brushing the snow off the windshield and side window before he opened the door and handed her the keys. In the brief flicker of the dome light that came on, she glimpsed blue eyes below the hood of the parka—the bluest eyes she had ever seen.
He closed the door, pulled off his gloves, and pushed back his hood. The knitted cap he wore underneath hid his hair. Megan stole a glance as he fastened his seat belt. In profile, his face was handsome in a clean-cut, chiseled way. But what was she thinking? She wasn’t looking for a boyfriend, or even a date. And a man as good-looking as Conner Branch was bound to have a wife, or at least a steady girl.
“Where to?” He started the truck.
She gave him her parents’ address. “It’s just a couple of blocks off Main Street. You shouldn’t have any trouble finding it. Not in a little boondocks town like this one.”
“Boondocks?” He chuckled, his laughter deep and warm. “You sound like a city girl.” He steered carefully onto the highway. “Am I right?”
“Close enough. I teach school in Nashville. I arranged to take Christmas leave early to give my family some extra help.”
“A teacher, hmm? I might’ve guessed that. What gra
de?”
“Kindergarten.”
“Like it?”
“I do. For now.” Megan stopped herself. She’d learned the hard way not to talk about her other career, the one she really wanted. People who learned her secret tended to forget about Megan Carson. Lacy Leatherwood was so much more fascinating—even though Lacy wasn’t real.
Chapter 2
As the truck left the highway and turned onto Main Street, Megan gazed up at the old-fashioned Christmas lights. Through the blur left by the thumping windshield wipers, the colors that reflected off the flying snow were strangely beautiful, like a Christmas scene done in glowing watercolor.
“What was that address again?” Conner asked.
Megan told him. “Thanks again for the ride. If you hadn’t come along, I’d still be stranded in my car.”
“Then I’m glad I came along. I still can’t believe your parents didn’t know who I was.”
So, who are you? Megan bit back the barbed question. The man clearly had an ego. Maybe he was some kind of local celebrity. But ego or not, he had just saved her from a cold, miserable night. The least she could do was be civil.
“Is your family new in town?” he asked.
“They moved to Branding Iron a couple of years ago, but they don’t get out much. My dad teaches at the high school. My mom is in a wheelchair, so he spends most of his free time at home with her.”
“What about your brother? He’s the one who said he knew me, but I can’t place him.”
“Daniel knows everybody in town. And people remember him—not just because he’s friendly, but because he has Down syndrome.”
The description clicked. “Oh, sure, I know who he is. He works at Shop Mart. Great kid. So he’s your brother?”
“He is, and I agree, he’s a great young man. He holds down a job and helps Mom a lot, too. He and I are the only children in our family.”
As she spoke, Megan felt a familiar twinge of guilt. Her family could use her help, too. That was why she’d arranged for a substitute teacher and given up two weeks’ salary to come home early this year. She did contribute money to her mother’s care. Still, it wasn’t the same as being here full time. She could always move to Branding Iron—her father had mentioned that teachers were in high demand. But leaving Nashville would mean giving up her dream, just when good things were beginning to happen.
“My street’s just ahead,” she said. “Is there someone I can call to get my car towed back onto the road?”
“You’re looking at him,” Conner said. “There’s a garage in town, but in this weather, the owner is liable to be busy. You’d most likely have to wait. But I can come first thing tomorrow, with a tow chain. If that plan works for you, I can pick you up at your house. We’ll pull your car out of the ditch, and you can drive it home.”
“You’d do that for me?”
“Sure. That’s what small towns are all about, neighbor helping neighbor.” He turned the truck onto her street. “The highway should be plowed by nine. Is that too early for you?”
“I’m a teacher. It’s fine. And that’s our house on your right—the blue one with the porch light on.”
Conner pulled into the driveway and stopped. Howling wind swirled snow around the truck. Snowflakes peppered Megan’s face like buckshot as she climbed to the ground, closed the door behind her, and staggered, head down, toward the porch. Conner followed with her two suitcases.
Megan’s father, Ed, tall and spare, with thinning hair and glasses, had come out onto the porch. He gave her a brief welcoming hug. “Thank God you’re safe,” he said, then turned to take the luggage from Conner. “And thank you for bringing her home. Won’t you come in? There’s hot cocoa on the stove.”
“Thanks,” Conner said, “I was glad to help. But I’d better head home before the roads get worse. See you tomorrow, Megan.” He strode back to the truck, snow flying around him.
As the truck backed down the driveway, Ed ushered her inside and closed the door. The house was warm and cheerful, with a small Christmas tree with twinkling lights in a corner of the living room. Megan’s mother, Dorcas, painfully thin but still a pretty woman, held out her arms for a hug. Daniel, all smiles, offered Megan a mug of steaming cocoa with a marshmallow melting on its chocolatey surface.
Her parents were getting older, Megan reflected as she took a seat at the table. They both appeared more careworn. But Daniel had never looked happier. Two years ago, he had walked into his first job as a bagger at Shop Mart and met sweet little Katy Parker working behind the bakery counter. Katy, who also had Down syndrome, had become the love of his life. The two were even talking marriage—happy news, but bringing new concerns for both their families.
“What about your car?” her father asked. “Do we need to call a tow truck in the morning?”
“No, Conner’s offered to come back with a chain and help me. He’ll be here at nine.” Megan sipped the chocolate. It was too sweet for her taste, but it warmed her body going down.
“I know the man who helped you,” Daniel said. “That’s Conner Branch. He was a champion bull rider. I even saw him ride on TV. But he had to quit because he got hurt. And now he lives right here in Branding Iron. He even gives me high fives when he comes to Shop Mart.”
As her brother chatted on about Conner, Megan finished her chocolate, licking the sticky marshmallow off her upper lip. So her rescuer really was a local celebrity. Interesting, but not her concern. As she’d reminded herself earlier, a man that attractive was sure to have some woman’s brand on him. Besides, there was Derek, back in Nashville. They’d met when he was hired as principal of the school where she taught. They’d been dating about six months, and things were getting serious. The last thing she needed was another complication in her life.
“You must be exhausted after that long drive,” her mother said. “We should give you a break and let you go to your room.”
“Thanks. I really am tired.” Megan stood, yawning.
“I’ll take your suitcases.” Daniel grabbed both bags and carried them down the hall to the room that was kept ready for Megan. She needed to visit more often, she told herself as she kissed her parents good night, picked up her purse, and followed him. Branding Iron was a long day’s drive from Nashville, but there were holiday and seasonal breaks from school when she’d have time to make the trip. Unfortunately, those were the times when Lacy had the best chance of getting gigs.
Daniel had left her bags on the bed. All Megan really wanted to do was put them on the floor, then crawl under the covers and sleep. But first she would force herself to unpack both suitcases. In the morning, it would be nice to wake up and have the job already done.
First she unpacked her regular things, putting the folded shirts, jeans, and underclothes into the empty dresser drawers; then she hung up her quilted down coat, her woolen sweater, and the one dress she’d brought. Her snow boots and low-heeled pumps went into the closet, along with the sneakers she’d worn for the drive.
That done, she opened what she’d come to think of as Lacy’s suitcase. The fringed, beaded leather jacket went onto a padded hanger in the back of the closet, along with the low-cut black silk blouse and the distressed stretch-denim jeans. The knee-high, stiletto-heeled boots went into one corner, the long brunette wig, with its inflatable stand, on the top shelf of the closet. Next to it, she placed her weathered felt Stetson and the box that held her stage makeup, complete with false eyelashes, lush red lipstick, and the collection of cheap silver rings that Lacy wore on her fingers.
At last, the unpacking was finished. Lacy would be ready to perform when her friends, the Badger Hollow Boys, showed up for the Cowboy Christmas Ball. Until then, Megan could relax and enjoy the season with her family. With luck, she might also find some time to get out her old guitar and work on the original song she was writing.
With a tired yawn, she stowed the empty suitcases under the bed, brushed her teeth, changed into flannel pajamas, and climbed into bed. Tomorrow, i
f she could trust his word, Conner Branch would be back to help her with her car. In spite of her misgivings, she looked forward to seeing him again. She wasn’t interested in romance, but she was intrigued. The fact that Daniel seemed to almost worship the man only sharpened her curiosity.
Warm under downy quilts, Megan was already beginning to drift. As she sank into sleep, lulled by the wind, images swirled and faded, leaving only one that lingered—a shadow-cast face with clean-cut features and impossibly blue eyes.
* * *
Inching through whiteout conditions, Conner took almost forty-five minutes to make the short drive back to the ranch. By the time he drove in through the gate and parked the truck under the open shed, the fallen snow was up to the rims of the oversized tires. It was as fluffy as eiderdown, blowing in drifts around Conner’s feet, covering his tracks as he crossed the yard to the front porch.
He was stomping the snow off his boots when Travis opened the door. “What? You didn’t bring pizza?” he asked.
“You’re kidding, right?” Conner closed the door firmly behind him and bolted it. “It was all I could do to find the road. We can have pizza tomorrow night.”
“We can have pizza tomorrow night. But the next night Maggie’s invited us to her house for dinner, along with Rush and Tracy.”
“Great!” Conner shrugged out of his coat, fending off Bucket’s overly enthusiastic welcome with one hand. “Sometimes I wish I’d been sharp enough to take that woman away from you and marry her myself.”
“You tried, as I remember. In fact, you told me that if I didn’t propose to her, you were going to step in and take over.” Travis walked to the counter, filled Conner’s coffee mug, and handed it to him. “Did you rescue our sign?”
“It’s in the bed of the truck. You can help me bolt it back up tomorrow. It’ll take two of us to do the job. But there’s another thing.” Conner took a seat at the table, sipping the hot black coffee.
“Let me guess,” Travis said. “You didn’t just rescue the sign, did you?”
