Holding Out for Christmas

by Janet Dailey

  “Then I’ll try that. Medium rare.” Megan pushed the menu aside and sipped her wine, gazing at him over the rim of the glass. “You know, I’d have been happy with a burger and shake at Buckaroo’s. You didn’t have to go first class to thank me for pouring cups of cocoa.”

  He gave her a smile. “You deserve better than first class, and I’m not doing this to thank you. It’s my way of telling you that you’re a special woman, Megan. I want to see more of you. A lot more, if I have my way.”

  “What about your dream woman? The one you’re holding out for at the Christmas Ball?” Megan forced herself to ask the question. She could feel herself falling for Conner. But if he was still stuck on Lacy, there could be no hope for them.

  Conner hesitated a little too long before he spoke. “It’s like having a crush on somebody in a movie. She might be pretty, even exciting. But she isn’t real. And she can’t compete with a warm, caring, flesh-and-blood woman, especially the one I was holding in my arms last night.”

  Reaching across the table, he captured her free hand in his. “Come to the Christmas Ball with me, Megan. Whatever’s keeping you away, cancel it. I want to walk into that gym with you on my arm and show the whole town that we’re—”

  He broke off at the sound of a throat clearing. Megan looked up to see a waitress standing next to their table, pen poised over her order pad. Blond and on the buxom side, with baby blue eyes and a slightly pug nose, she was pretty enough to be noticed. But her death grip on the pen and the venom in her look instantly put Megan on her guard.

  “May I take your order?” Every word was razor-edged.

  Conner seemed to recover from his surprise. “Hello, Ronda May,” he said. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

  “I got my old job back,” she said. “I can’t say I expected to see you, either. Who’s your friend?”

  “Let me introduce you.” Conner was clearly squirming inside. “Ronda May, this is Megan Carson, who’s visiting from Nashville. Megan, this is an old friend of mine, Ronda May Blackburn.”

  Something told Megan the woman had been more than a friend, but that was no reason not to be civil. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ronda May,” she said.

  Ronda May smirked. “I’ll bet. Conner and I go way back, don’t we, Conner?”

  “Don’t you have a wedding coming up soon?” he asked. “The last time we spoke, you told me you were engaged.”

  “Not anymore. The dirty skunk cheated on me, so I told him to take a hike. I figured I deserved better than that.”

  “Good for you,” Megan said, meaning to show support.

  “Mind your own business, honey,” Ronda May snapped. “I’m only here to take your order.” She leaned over the table to pick up the discarded menus. Megan would never know if what happened next was accidental or deliberate. As Ronda May reached, her arm brushed Megan’s half-full wineglass, knocking it over and spilling dark red wine into Megan’s lap.

  Megan gasped as the liquid soaked into her jeans. She grabbed a cloth napkin, dabbing frantically.

  “Here, come on.” Giving Conner no time to react, Ronda May pulled her out of the booth and down the hall to the women’s restroom. Inside, she yanked a handful of paper towels out of the dispenser, wet them under the tap, and thrust them at Megan. “Get out as much as you can. It’ll stain,” she said.

  “Thanks.” Megan was doing her best to blot up the wine, but it had already soaked through to her underwear. She could feel the wetness against her skin.

  “No need to thank me.” Ronda May’s eyes blazed like an angry bobcat’s. “But as long as we’re here, honey, you need to know a few things. Conner and I were hot and heavy most of last year. He begged me to marry him. I said no because I wasn’t sure he was ready to settle down. When I ended things between us, he was heartbroken—must’ve called me ten times a day, pleading with me to come back.”

  Megan listened, trying not to jump to conclusions. The woman and Conner clearly had a history. What Ronda May was telling her didn’t match her impression of the cool and cautious Conner. But then again, how well did she really know him?

  “Why are you telling me this?” she asked in a level voice.

  Ronda May’s prettily made-up face filled Megan’s vision. “Because I’ve learned my lesson, honey,” she said. “I want him back. And if you know what’s good for you, you’ll stand aside and let me have him.”

  Chapter 9

  When Megan returned to the dining room, Conner, looking worried, was waiting for her by the booth. “Are you all right?” he asked.

  “I’m fine. Just wet.” Megan slid back into her seat. After Ronda May’s tirade, she’d simply walked out of the restroom. She was still at a loss for words.

  Conner sat down across from her. “I asked the hostess to get us a different server—unless, of course, you’d rather not stay.”

  Megan found her voice. “I’ll stay. But I get the impression your girlfriend doesn’t like me much.”

  “She’s not my girlfriend. Not anymore, at least. We dated for a few months Then we broke up. She found somebody else and got engaged. End of story—or so I’d hoped.”

  “So you’d hoped? She told me you begged her to come back.”

  “I begged her?” Conner’s chuckle sounded forced. “Not quite. We broke up because Ronda May wanted to get married. I didn’t. We lasted as long as we did because I didn’t want to hurt her. I wanted the breakup to be her idea. In the end, it was.”

  “Then you must have cared for her,” Megan said softly.

  “I did,” Conner said. “Just not enough to go the distance.”

  Was that the way he felt about her? Megan wondered. Ronda May might have bent the truth, but there was something to be learned from her story—something Megan would be wise to remember. Conner might care for her, but maybe, as he’d just said, not enough to go the distance.

  She was saved from the awkward conversation by the arrival of their new server, a young man this time, who took Conner’s order for two rib eyes, medium rare.

  “Would you like some more wine?” Conner asked.

  Megan glanced down at the wine-soaked front of her new jeans. “I think I’ve had enough wine for tonight,” she said.

  Their salads, along with fresh, warm sourdough bread, arrived promptly. Everything was tasty and well prepared, especially the steaks. But the glow had gone from the evening. Although she stayed out of sight, Ronda May had seen to that.

  Megan did her best to make small talk, as if the encounter with Conner’s former girlfriend hadn’t happened. She’d meant to mention that she’d ended things with her Nashville beau. Now there seemed to be no point in bringing it up.

  Deciding to skip dessert, they left the restaurant an hour after they’d arrived. The night was cold and moonless, with powdery snowflakes blowing on the wind. Still damp from the wine spill, Megan huddled into her coat as Conner walked her to the Jeep and offered an arm to help her inside.

  He didn’t say much until they were back on the highway, headed south to Branding Iron. “I’m sorry,” he said. “This isn’t how I wanted our evening to turn out. If I’d known Ronda May was working at that restaurant, I’d have made different plans.”

  “It might have saved me from a wine dousing. But it wouldn’t have changed anything else,” Megan said. “She made it clear to me that she wants you back. She even warned me not to get in her way. Sooner or later, you were bound to hear from her.”

  “Listen to me, Megan. Ronda May isn’t calling the shots. Whatever we had, it’s over and done with. I was happy when she found somebody else.” He drove in silence for a few moments. “You’re not saying anything. Don’t you believe me?”

  “It doesn’t matter whether I believe you or not,” Megan said. “This issue is between you and Ronda May, and I can’t be part of it. Whatever the two of you decide, I need to back off until it’s settled. I hope that makes sense to you.”

  “Damn it, there’s nothing to settle. We broke up.
It’s over.”

  “Not according to Ronda May.” Megan took a deep breath, wishing she could erase tonight from her memory, as if it had never happened—wishing they could start over, have a wonderful evening, and maybe even fall in love. But that was not to be.

  “You know I’m right,” she said. “You need to resolve this. And we can’t be together again until you do. Now take me home.”

  They were coming into Branding Iron. Conner turned off the highway, onto Main Street. The Christmas lights glowed overhead, but the magic seemed to have gone out of them.

  “I hope you know that I didn’t want tonight to end this way,” he said as he turned onto her street.

  “If it’s any consolation, neither did I.” Megan unbuckled her seat belt as he pulled the Jeep into her driveway. “Don’t call me until you’ve settled things—one way or another. And I won’t be calling you. Good night, Conner. No need to walk me to the porch.”

  As he braked, she opened the door, climbed out before he could help her, and strode, head down, toward the house. Conner didn’t go after her. But he waited, headlights on, as she mounted the porch. Only when he could see that she had the front door safely open did he back into the street and drive away.

  * * *

  Megan walked in to find her family sitting in the living room, watching a Christmas special on TV. Her mother gave her a startled look. “You’re home early, dear. And, oh, my, what on earth happened to your clothes?”

  “Nothing.” Megan shook her head. “Just an accident with some wine. I’ll be fine, but I’ve got a splitting headache. I’m going to take something and get ready for bed.”

  “How was your date, Megan?” Daniel had been over the moon about her going on a real date with his idol.

  “I’ve had better. Enjoy your show.” Megan headed for the hallway before her brother could ask more questions.

  “Soak your jeans in cold water,” her mother called after her. “That’s your best chance of getting those wine stains out.”

  Megan made it to her bedroom, where she stripped out of her damp clothes and pulled on her pajamas. After rinsing her jeans in the tub and leaving them to soak in a pail of cold water, she returned to her room and sank onto the edge of her bed. Tormented by questions, she buried her face in her hands.

  She’d done the right thing, refusing to step between Conner and his former girlfriend, she told herself.

  But had it been the smart thing?

  Maybe she should have taken a page out of Ronda May’s book and stood up to the woman in the restroom.

  Maybe she should have fought for Conner, instead of walking away and leaving him open to Ronda May’s manipulation?

  What if her high-minded decision had cost her the man she’d fallen for—the man whose passionate kiss she was already aching to feel again?

  She’d lied to her mother about having a headache. Now, as if in punishment, she could feel a real headache coming on. In the bathroom, she gulped down a couple of Tylenols, crossed the hall again, and crawled into bed. Maybe in the morning, after a night’s sleep, everything would come clear. Right now, nothing in her life was making sense.

  She was drifting into sleep when the jangle of her phone, which she’d left on the nightstand, shocked her awake.

  Conner? That was her first thought as she groped for the phone and checked the caller ID. But, no, the call wasn’t from Conner. It was from Derek.

  Megan hesitated. She’d broken up with Derek, in part, because she’d wanted to pursue things with Conner. Now that had changed.

  It would be like Derek to keep trying. All she’d need to do was take the call, apologize, and they’d be right back on track.

  With Derek, she would have love, security, and respectability, wrapped up and tied with a pretty red ribbon.

  Was that what she really wanted?

  Or was it something else?

  The phone rang again, then again.

  Before her voicemail could come on, Megan switched off the device and dropped it into the empty wastebasket next to the bed.

  * * *

  Conner peered down the road through the falling snow. Windshield wiper blades swished and thumped, barely clearing the view. He cursed, muttering obscenities between his teeth. He couldn’t remember feeling this rotten since the night that bull had dragged him around the arena, leaving his body a shattered wreck.

  He’d planned the evening to be a perfect date with the perfect woman. He and Megan had gotten off to a good start, but it was time to up the game. Time to show her how much she meant to him. Maybe they could even get past that silly charade involving Megan’s secret identity.

  Sitting in their secluded booth, watching her across the table with the candlelight glowing in her eyes, he could have almost believed that the magic would happen. Then Ronda May had shown up and “accidentally” bumped Megan’s glass, spilling wine into her lap. As if that weren’t enough, she’d dragged Megan into the ladies’ room, filled her head with half-truths and outright lies, and ordered her to get out of the way.

  Conner had known better than to ask Megan about everything Ronda May had told her. The damage had been done, the evening ruined.

  Tonight, even his relationship with Megan was hanging in the balance. And only now did he realize how desperately he wanted to keep her in his life.

  Conner had a long history with women. He liked them—some of them he’d liked a lot. But he’d never felt himself to be in love. He certainly hadn’t been in love with Ronda May—although she was funny and affectionate, and they’d had some good times. But with Megan, he felt stirrings of something new—the urge to cherish and protect her, to put her happiness ahead of his own. Was that love?

  He could only hope Megan would give him the chance to find out.

  He’d put his phone in the Jeep’s cup holder. Ronda May had his number and was bound to call him, but he wasn’t ready to talk to her. He needed time to cool down first. But he wanted the phone handy on the off chance that Megan might call him.

  He knew better than to expect that. Megan, he sensed, was a woman of her word. If she’d said she wasn’t going to call him, she wouldn’t call. Still, the hope was there that she’d change her mind: the phone would ring, and everything would be all right again.

  He was turning off the highway onto the ranch lane when the phone rang. He glanced at the number—Ronda May’s. He let it go to voicemail—a tearful plea for him to pick up, or call her back. Maybe if he didn’t respond, she’d get the message. But there wasn’t much chance of that. Sooner or later, he would have to confront her, and try to keep her from pushing his guilt buttons. Otherwise, if there was a way to make him feel like a dirty, low-down skunk, Ronda May would find it.

  Pulling through the ranch gate, he could see that Travis’s pickup was gone. Too bad. He could’ve used some backup and a good listening ear. But Travis’s absence was something he’d have to get used to; except for Bucket, he would soon be on his own.

  After parking the Jeep, he let the dog out for a few minutes, then called him back inside. The snow appeared to be letting up, but the night was still cold.

  The hour was too early to go to bed. Conner popped the tab on a Bud Light, settled in the armchair, and used the remote to flip through the limited channels on the old TV set. He found a couple of Christmas movies he’d seen, a kiddie special, and a college basketball game. Sinking back into the chair, with Bucket curled at his feet, he tried to focus on the game. But he hadn’t heard of either school that was playing, and the red team was winning by twenty points at the half. Conner’s thoughts kept drifting to where he’d wanted to be tonight—somewhere, maybe even here, with Megan in his arms, taking time to explore the different ways she liked to be kissed. She would smell like lavender and taste like red wine, and her lips would feel like warm satin against his . . .

  Conner didn’t realize he’d drifted off until Bucket alerted him with a low woof. He glanced at the clock. It was after 11:00, and he could hear a vehicle pul
ling up to the house.

  His first thought was that it might be Travis. But Travis would have parked his pickup under the shed. And Bucket would be in greeting, wagging mode. Instead, the dog was staying close to Conner, a wary growl rumbling in his throat.

  “Easy, boy.” Conner rose and switched off the TV. By the time he heard the rap on the front door, he’d already guessed the identity of his late-night visitor. Taking a deep breath, he opened the door.

  “Hello, Ronda May,” he said.

  In the harsh glow of the porch light, he could see that she’d been crying. Her eyes were red, her cheeks lined with trails of black mascara. “I’m freezing,” she said. “Can I come in? We need to talk.”

  “You can come in. But leave your coat on because you won’t be staying long.”

  She stepped across the threshold. Bucket, still wary, sniffed at her boot. “Get that dog away from me!” she snapped. “You know I don’t like him!”

  “I remember now.” Conner snapped his fingers, sending Bucket into the kitchen. The dog liked most people, but he and Ronda May had never gotten on.

  Ronda May had taken a seat in the armchair. She dabbed at her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she whimpered.

  “If that’s an apology, I’m waiting for more.” Conner remained on his feet. “You were out of line, spilling wine on my date and then dragging her into the ladies’ room so you could give her an earful of lies and threats. What were you thinking?”

  “That I still love you, and that I’d do anything to be with you again.”

  “That’s not going to happen.” Conner didn’t want to be cruel, but he was too angry to hold back. “I thought you were getting married. I was fine with it. I wanted you to be happy.”

  “I was—I even had my wedding dress bought. And then Chuck—I caught him fooling around with this high-school girl. Now I can’t have my wedding. But maybe that’s all right, because you’re the one I really wanted. Please, Conner, honey, can’t we just pick up where we left off? You’ll be alone here when Travis gets married. You’re going to need a wife. I can cook, I could make this old house look like a dream, and—”