by Janet Dailey
“Tomorrow, after we put up the sign, I’ll need to borrow your truck and that tow chain in the shed to pull a car out of a ditch.”
“All right. But you owe me the whole story.” Travis gave him a knowing wink. “A blonde, brunette, or redhead?”
Conner groaned. “Damn it, you think you’re smart, don’t you?”
“Hey, I’ve known you since high school, and you haven’t changed. So tell me, what does she look like, and how far did you get with her?”
“Hey, I just took her home. And she was a nice girl, a teacher. She was so bundled up that all I could see was her face, but she did look kind of cute. Brunette, I think. I offered to pick her up in the morning and pull her car out, so she could drive it home. Maybe something will work out, maybe not.”
Travis reached down, scratched Bucket’s ears, and gave him a bite-sized piece of leftover doughnut. “I thought you were holding out for your dream woman to show up at the ball.”
“That’s the plan. In the meantime, there’s no harm in having a little fun, is there?”
Travis shook his head. “Something tells me you’re having too much fun. When are you going to grow up and settle down?”
Conner grinned. “Maybe when I find a woman who can hold a candle to your Maggie. Don’t worry. When the time’s right, and when I find the right lady, I’ll know.”
“Well, for what it’s worth, Maggie told me you were welcome to bring a date to dinner tomorrow night. If things click with your new friend, why not invite her?”
“We’ll see. If it’s a yes, I’ll let Maggie know.” Conner wolfed down the last doughnut, finished his coffee, and put the mug in the sink. His injured hip was throbbing from the cold. But the pain was nothing that a long, hot shower, some Tylenol, and a good night’s sleep wouldn’t cure.
“Help yourself to the hot water,” Travis said. “I figured you’d probably need it.”
“Thanks.” Conner kicked off his wet boots, set them behind the stove to dry, and headed down the hall. Travis was always thinking of other people’s needs. Maybe that kind of unselfishness was what made a man a good husband and father. If that was true, Conner reflected, he had a long way to go.
He’d been on his own since high school, which was when his parents had gone their separate ways. Hard experience had taught him to look out for number one. Aside from the animals he’d cared for, he’d never taken responsibility for anyone but himself.
His relationships never lasted. Either the women gave up waiting for him to care, or they became so needy that Conner ended up feeling trapped.
But lately, seeing his partners with the women they loved, the tenderness, the closeness, the shared fun, Conner had begun to realize that something was missing from his life. He wanted what his friends had. But he didn’t know how to find it, let alone keep it.
In the shower, he let the hot water run down his body, warming him and easing the pain in his hip. He was dog tired, but the prospect of learning more about the pretty schoolteacher had him looking forward to morning. He hadn’t gotten a good look at her, but what he’d seen he liked—big brown eyes and slightly elfin features below the knitted cap she’d worn. And he could tell she was smart. He liked smart women.
Humming to himself, he pulled on the thermal pajamas that kept him warm at night and crawled into a bed that always started out cold.
Megan Carson. Nice name. Nice girl. He already liked her—especially that sweet, slightly husky voice.
But aside from a few dates and maybe a few kisses, he didn’t plan to get serious. He was holding out for the Cowboy Christmas Ball and Lacy Leatherwood, the ebony-haired goddess who’d walked onstage last year and walked off with his heart.
* * *
By morning, the storm had passed. The sun rose on a landscape of glittering white, under a sky of crystalline blue. The air was filled with the sound of shovels scraping walks and driveways and vehicles struggling to start.
Megan was up early to make French toast for the family, sparing her father the job that usually fell to him. The talk around the breakfast table had revolved around something new. Daniel was pushing to study for his driver’s license, insisting that he be allowed to try, at least. If he could pass the written test and learn to drive, he could use his savings from work to buy a small used car.
The discussion was still going on between Daniel and his father when they left—Daniel to be dropped off at Shop Mart on the way to the high school. Megan and her mother were left alone to visit and catch up.
“I’m worried about Daniel trying to drive.” Megan’s mother had multiple sclerosis and relied on a wheelchair to get around the house. But she’d insisted on helping Megan clear the table and load the dishwasher. “I mean, what if he can’t pass the written test or learn to handle a car. He’ll be devastated. Or worse, what if he passes, gets a car, and gets in an accident?”
“He deserves the chance to try.” Megan took her brother’s side. “People with Down syndrome do drive. I’ve seen them in Nashville. And Daniel’s smart. He did well in that special school he went to. He might need help studying for the test and practicing with a car, but if he could do it . . .” Megan paused to wipe the counter with a towel. “He’s twenty-four years old, Mom. He wants to be independent. He wants to be a man.”
“What he wants is to get married,” Dorcas said. “And if he learns to drive, that’ll be next. Katy is a little doll. We love her, and I know how happy she makes him. But they’re like children. Why can’t they just be friends?”
Megan sighed. Her mother had always been protective of Daniel. Convincing her to let go was going to take time. And it wouldn’t happen this morning. She closed the dishwasher and switched it on. “What have you painted since I was here last? I’d love to see your new pieces.”
Dorcas smiled. “I’ve been busy. Come and look.”
Megan followed her mother into what had once been the dining room. With its north-facing window that gave perfect light for painting, and sliding doors for privacy, it had been converted to an art studio. As always, the small area was cluttered with easels, brushes, tubes of paint, palettes, and packets of expensive art paper. A long table was covered with sketches and finished pictures.
Megan had always loved her mother’s whimsical watercolors of flowers, children, and animals. Several years ago, her mom had acquired a good agent. Now prints of Dorcas Carson’s work were sold in galleries and boutiques all over the country. She’d also illustrated a number of children’s books. Her work hadn’t made her wealthy, but Megan knew how satisfying it was, and how essential it was to her mother’s well-being.
“I’ve been doing a book about butterflies. What do you think of these?” She pointed out several finished paintings that lay scattered on the table.
“They’re lovely. I especially like this blue one.” Megan glanced at her watch. It was 8:45.
“You keep checking the time,” Dorcas said. “Do you need to be somewhere?”
“Oh, didn’t I tell you? The man who brought me home last night said he’d come by at nine to help get my car out of the ditch. It’s early yet, but I want to be ready when he gets here.”
“Oh, that’s right. I remember Daniel saying that he’d been a champion bull rider.” Dorcas raised an eyebrow. “Is he good-looking?”
“He has nice eyes, but what does that matter? He’s only helping me with my car.”
“Well, you never know. But you’re almost thirty. I’d like to see you happy.”
Megan had been down this road before with her parents. “I’m happy now. I have a good job, and I’m starting to get more gigs as a singer. Life is good.”
“What about Derek, the man you said you’d been dating?”
“He’s all right. But I’m not sure he’s the one, if that’s what you’re wondering.” Megan knew better than to mention that Derek was already talking marriage. She’d always wanted a family. But the fact that Derek wasn’t too keen on her singing career was enough to make her hesitat
e.
“Your father and I would be delighted if you found someone from Branding Iron,” Dorcas said. “Then you could be close to your family.”
“Mom, if I want to make it as a singer, I need to be in Nashville. So don’t get your hopes up. Okay?”
Dorcas sighed. “Okay. Go put your lipstick on. If he’s a man of his word, he’ll be here soon.”
* * *
At 9:00 on the dot, Conner stopped the truck in front of the modest blue stucco house. He’d meant to knock on the door like a gentleman, but as soon as he pulled up, Megan stepped outside and came down the walk to meet him. Was she sending some kind of hidden message, leaving him to figure it out? Like maybe she wasn’t interested in anything that even resembled a date?
He did make it out of the truck in time to open the door for her. This morning, he could see that she was even prettier than he’d imagined—dark hair, which she wore in a soft pixie cut that framed her delicate features, sparkling brown eyes, and a generous smile. He liked her looks. And, as he remembered from last night, he liked her voice even more.
She’d had him at “I’ve got pepper spray . . .”
“Thanks again for your help,” she said, fastening her seat belt. “Let’s hope it doesn’t take too long to get my car out. I’m sure you have more important things to do.”
“Not right now. Let’s go.” Conner started the truck and headed down Main Street, toward the intersection with the highway. Travis and Rush, after some good-natured teasing, had given him leave to take all the time he needed. Their offer was more than generous. There’d be plenty of work for all the partners when he got home later this morning.
“My brother talked about you last night,” Megan said. “He’s a big fan of yours. But then, something tells me you have a lot of fans.”
“Not these days,” Conner said. “But it’s always fun to meet kids who remember who I was before I got hurt.”
“What happened? Did a bull hurt you?”
“My glove got caught in the rope on a dismount. The bull dragged me halfway around the arena before anybody could get me loose. Dislocated my shoulder and shattered my hip. It wasn’t the bull’s fault. He was just trying to get rid of me.”
“And, hey, you’re alive,” she said. “You’re here.”
“I am. I’ll never ride again, not even on a horse, but I count myself damned lucky to be in one piece.”
“Luck’s a funny thing. That injury could have saved you from something worse later on. You’ll never know.”
“Actually, it saved me for something better. I was living pretty wild—the parties, the women, the booze, you name it. After that day in the arena, the doctors patched me up and got me on my feet, but the medical bills took everything I had. I’d pretty much hit bottom when my old friend Travis called and invited me to be a partner in his ranch. It’s been the best thing that ever happened to me.”
He’d never told his story to a woman before, Conner realized. Until now, he’d only shared it with his partners. But something about Megan Carson, a woman he barely knew, made him want to come clean and bare his soul.
What if he’d revealed too much, mentioning his self-destructive past? What if he’d already scared her off?
Now what was he supposed to say?
He was saved from an awkward moment by the sight of her car, a short distance down the highway, buried in snow. If he hadn’t remembered where it was, he might have driven right past it.
“Oh no!” Megan exclaimed as he pulled the truck onto the shoulder of the road. “What if we can’t get it out?”
“If worse comes to worst, we can call for a tow,” Conner said. “But I think we can manage. Just be glad you didn’t have to spend the night in there.”
“I’d be frozen by now. Thanks again for the rescue.” She unfastened her seat belt and opened the door of the truck.
“Whoa! Where are you going?” Conner demanded. “You stay put. I can manage this.”
“But you’ll need help clearing the snow off the car. At least I can do that.” She climbed to the ground as he came around the truck. She was warmly dressed in snow boots, wool mittens, and a quilted parka, but last night’s wind had blown the snow into deep drifts around and over the car. Clearing it would be hard work, especially for a woman. But it was her car, and he sensed she wouldn’t take no for an answer. He had to let her try.
Conner had brought a snow shovel and a broom with him in the truck. He handed her the broom. “All right, if you want to help, you can sweep the snow off the car while I shovel around it. If you get too cold or tired, get back in the truck.”
“I’ll be fine.” With the broom in one hand, she crossed the road’s narrow shoulder, walked off the snowy edge, and, with a startled cry, sank past her knees. Struggling to stand on the steep embankment, she lost her footing and tumbled forward, landing with a plop, facedown in the powdery snow.
She wasn’t moving.
“Megan!” Alarmed, Conner lunged after her, bracing himself upright as he slid down the bank to where she’d fallen. As the snow settled, he could see her dark hair and her red parka. Supporting her head with one hand, in case she’d injured her neck, he eased her upright.
She was giggling.
“Are you okay?” He checked the urge to shake her for giving him such a scare.
“I’m . . . fine.” She was breathless with laughter. “Did you see me? It was so . . . funny!”
“But you’re all right?”
“Of course. That snow was like falling into feathers.” She studied him, her head cocked like a little bird’s. “What’s the matter, Conner? You look out of sorts.”
“Damn it, you scared me half to death!”
She grinned, her brown eyes as effervescent as homemade root beer. “Come on. Help me up. Let’s get my car back on the road.”
He took her hands, pulled her to her feet, and handed her the broom, which was sticking out of a drift. Using the handle to balance, she waded through the deep drifts to the car and began sweeping the snow off the windshield.
Conner retrieved the shovel from where he’d dropped it and started by opening up a path up the embankment. If Megan wore herself out and needed to rest, she’d at least have a clear path back to the truck. That done, he began shoveling around the car to clear the wheels. In the front and rear, he hollowed out enough space to attach the tow chain to the axle. Now he needed to decide whether to pull the car forward or back it out. Forward, maybe, since the slope was gentler in that direction.
Megan had finished sweeping off the car. She was covered in powdery snow. Where she stood in the sunlight, it sparkled like diamonds in her dark hair.
“Here.” Conner used his gloved hand to brush the snow off her coat. “You must be frozen. Get back in the truck to warm up. Once the tow chain’s attached, I’ll need you in your car.”
“I’m fine here.” Her teeth chattered slightly, but arguing with her would only take time. If all went well, the car would be back on the road in a few minutes.
“We’ll need your keys.” Conner remembered giving them to her after locking her car last night.
“No problem. I’ve got them right here in my pocket.” She pulled off a glove and fumbled in her coat. “I just—oh, drat!” She reached deeper into her pocket, then into her other pocket, her hand coming up empty. She looked like she was about to cry. “I know I had them with me when I left the house. Maybe they fell out in the truck.”
“Or maybe you lost them when you fell down in the snow. You check the truck while I look around down here. Don’t worry, we’ll find them.”
She clambered up the embankment, leaving Conner wondering where to start looking. He’d moved snow to clear a path after her fall. If Megan’s keys had tumbled out of her pocket, they could be anywhere by now.
On his hands and knees now, he began pawing through the shoveled snow. Megan was an intriguing, challenging woman. He’d have welcomed an excuse to spend more time with her. But this was not what he’d ha
d in mind.
Chapter 3
“I couldn’t find the keys in the truck.” Megan scrambled down the embankment to where Conner was digging through the snow. “I looked in the seat, under the seat, and in my purse. I even looked under the truck. I’m sorry. I feel like a fool.”
“It could happen to anybody,” Conner said. “You don’t have a hidden key on the car, do you?”
She shook her head. “I never thought I’d need one. I’m always careful. I’ve never lost a key or locked myself out of a car in my life. Can we tow the car out of the ditch without starting it?”
“Maybe. But not unless we release the hand brake and shift it into neutral. To do that, we’ll need to get into the car.”
“And to get into the car, we’ll need the keys. Gotcha.” Megan knelt in the snow and began scraping layers away on the other side of the path Conner had cleared. Megan’s car was an older model that opened with a key. Her small key ring had three keys and a silver guitar charm on it. Finding it in all this snow would be like looking for the proverbial needle in a haystack.
The sky was bright overhead, but willows and cottonwood trees cast shade where the car was lodged. The cold was bitter and biting. As she dug through the snow, Megan stole glances at her rescuer. In full daylight, without a cap, he was even better-looking than the photos she’d googled on her laptop, with chiseled features and dark blond hair that set off his startling blue eyes. The best bull riders tended to be small and wiry. Conner was, perhaps, five-nine or -ten, with a compact, muscular body that exuded strength. Looking online, she’d seen the classic photo of him, mounted on a bucking bull, arm up, body in perfect balance. He’d looked . . . magnificent.
She’d read a news account of the mishap that had ended his career, but she’d chosen to ask him about it anyway. She’d wanted to hear the story from his point of view, how it had played out and how it had affected him. His raw honesty had moved and impressed her.
Right now, he looked as cold and miserable as she felt. But he hadn’t complained or berated her for losing her keys. Megan found herself liking him for that. But after this experience, he would probably never want to see her again.
