by Janet Dailey
“And you lived happily ever after!” Katy clapped her hands.
“Not quite.” Maggie smiled at her. “Travis was madder than a hornet. He read me the riot act. I left thinking that he was the grumpiest man I’d ever met. But I found out later that he was just concerned about my dangerous driving. So everything worked out in the end.”
“And now you’ll be getting married in the church, wearing a beautiful white dress,” Katy said. “When I marry Daniel, that’s what I want, too.”
A momentary hush fell over the room. Megan exchanged glances with Connie Parker. The families knew, of course, that Katy and Daniel wanted to get married. But Katy had just made their intention public—news that was bound to surprise, even unsettle, some people.
It was Maggie who saved the situation. She reached over and took Katy’s hand. “Katy, dear, you deserve to have exactly what you want,” she said.
Slowly the silence in the room returned to the murmur of polite conversation. “I can’t believe you’re putting this wedding together at the last minute,” one of the women said.
Maggie grinned. “What do you mean by ‘last minute’? I’ve waited more than thirty years for this.”
“Who’s going to be your maid of honor, Maggie?” someone else asked.
Maggie shrugged. “I would have asked Tracy, but she’s going to perform the ceremony, so maybe nobody. But Clara’s going to be my flower girl—she’s had plenty of practice. And we’re thinking of letting Bucket be the ring bearer, if we can be sure he’ll behave. Conner’s going to be Travis’s best man.”
“And what about decorations—things like flowers?”
“The church will be decorated for Christmas. Along with some pretty candles, that should be nice enough. And Francine is catering the reception in the social hall, so you know that’s going to be wonderful.”
Megan sat back in her chair as the wedding talk buzzed around her. In her mind, she pictured Conner, so handsome in his tux, standing next to his friend. Subtly, the dream image shifted. Conner was standing in the groom’s place now, watching with love in his eyes as she floated down the aisle toward him. Her long white veil drifting behind her . . . but it was far too soon for such imaginings.
Rousing herself from her fantasy, Megan glanced over at Katy. She was listening raptly to the wedding talk, her lovely blue eyes shining, her fingertips resting on the tiny lapis stone of the friendship ring Daniel had given her. She deserved to be happy and to be loved. So did Daniel. Maybe, in the months ahead, their dream of a wedding would come true.
For Maggie and Travis, this Christmas would be a time of joy. For Katy, and maybe for Megan herself, it would be a time of hope.
Christmastime and wedding time.
A time when anything could go wrong.
Chapter 11
To Megan’s secret relief, Maggie’s bridal shower didn’t include a toilet tissue wedding gown. Instead, Clara passed out sheets of pastel notepaper and pens while Tracy gave instructions. Each guest was to write a note with a bit of advice for the bride. When the notes were handed in, Maggie would read them out loud. The notes would be anonymous. Advice could be funny, serious, even a bit naughty, as long as it was fit for the bride to read.
Megan glanced around the circle of women. Some, mostly the married ones, were writing eagerly, smiling to themselves as they scribbled. Others, like Megan, appeared to be at a loss. What kind of advice could you give a bride if you’d never been married yourself? She tried to imagine what it would be like, waking up in the morning to look into a pair of sleepy Texas bluebonnet eyes.
Why blue? What am I thinking?
Why did the face on the pillow next to hers keep materializing into Conner’s? She changed the mental image. This time, she was waking up first, her gaze caressing his sleeping face, eyelashes lying golden against his tanned cheeks, stubble shadowing his stubborn jaw.
She gave in to the fantasy. Maybe Conner would never be hers, but she could dream.
Without taking time to analyze her thoughts, she began to write.
At the end often minutes, Clara gathered up the pages, slipped them into a folder with a flowered cover, and presented them to Maggie.
“Now let’s see if our bride can read these without blushing,” Tracy teased. “With help, she might even be able to guess the writer.”
This was something new. The notes were supposed to be anonymous, weren’t they? Had the game changed?
The notepaper had come in a rainbow assortment of colors. Megan’s had been yellow. But she was already regretting what she’d written. It was too personal, too revealing to be shared, let alone have herself unmasked as the writer.
The first page was pink. “Here goes.” Maggie slipped on her glasses. “‘Love each other.’ I’ll bet I know who wrote this one.” She smiled at Katy, who was already blushing and giggling. “That’s the best advice ever.”
The next page was yellow. Megan shrank into her chair, but the note wasn’t hers. “ ‘Learn to laugh. It’s the only way to survive.’” After a few guesses, one of the older women confessed.
The next page was blue. “‘Sexy lingerie is always a great idea. Red and black are the best colors to get a man’s attention. And it doesn’t hurt to put a dab of perfume here and there. You’ll know where, honey.’” Maggie chuckled. “Francine, you naughty girl! That sounds just like you!”
Francine hooted with laughter.
Then Maggie drew out another yellow page. Megan’s heart sank. Why hadn’t she written something more conventional?
Maggie adjusted her glasses and cleared her throat. “‘Watch your man sleep. Touch his hair, feel his breath, and remember all the reasons you love him.’”
“Oh . . .” Maggie’s voice broke slightly. “This is beautiful—almost like a song. I don’t know who wrote it, but she sounds like a lady who’s very much in love. Does anybody want to fess up?” She glanced around the room. “No? Well, I’ll put it aside for now and guess later.”
As she slid another page out of the folder, Megan exhaled in relief. For now, she was off the hook. But she wouldn’t feel safe until the party was over.
The game continued to its end, followed by the opening of the shower gifts. By the time the last present was unwrapped, the afternoon was getting on, and most of the busy women needed to get home. Maggie stood by the door to thank each one as she left. Megan was among the last. As she approached the door, Maggie motioned her aside.
“What you wrote was beautiful, Megan,” she said. “It took me a little time to guess it was you. But when you didn’t admit to any of the others, I knew.”
Megan flushed. “Thank you for not giving me away. I was afraid I’d gotten too personal. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
Maggie smiled. “I believe I do. And I hope things work out for you and Conner. You’re just the woman he needs.”
With a murmur of thanks, Megan squeezed her hand and left. Was Maggie right? Was she really the woman for Conner, or was she just one more in a long succession of girlfriends, to be cast off when someone more exciting showed up—like Lacy?
* * *
Still lost in thought, she drove home. She found the house quiet, her father gone, her mother in her studio, and Daniel at the kitchen table, munching cookies and poring over the Texas Driver Handbook.
“Aren’t you home early?” she asked.
“My shoulder was hurting a little. Sam, my new boss, drove me home. He told me to rest until tomorrow. He’s a really nice guy.”
“Yes, I had that impression when I met him.” Megan remembered the man—not only handsome, but with a good job. If he wasn’t spoken for, Branding Iron’s single ladies would already be taking notice.
“How was the party?” Daniel asked.
“Fine.” Megan remembered Katy’s surprise announcement. She sat down across the table from him. “Daniel, have you and Katy made plans to get married?”
“Sure, we have.”
“So you’ve already asked her?
”
“I asked her a long time ago. She said yes.”
“But how will you manage? You’ll need a place to live.”
“Katy’s folks want her to stay close. When we get married, we can live in their basement. It’s got a bathroom and a little kitchen and everything we need. But I want to get a car first. Katy says maybe her dad can fix up an old one for us. But first I need to pass this test.”
“So you’ve got it all figured out.” Megan shook her head. “How do Katy’s parents feel about all this?”
“They’re worried about us. But they want Katy to be happy. Her mom talked to a doctor. It’s pretty much for sure that we can’t have babies, so it’ll be just us—Katy and me and her kitty.” He looked up from the pages of the driver’s manual, his dark eyes full of purpose. “I know Mom and Dad want to keep me here. But I’m a man, Megan. Katy’s a woman. We love each other. We have the right to be together.”
Megan blinked away a tear. Her brother was right. Their parents protected Daniel because they loved him. But that didn’t make it fair to treat him like a child. He was a man, and as far as his limitations would allow, he wanted to live a man’s life.
Here, in this family, he needed an ally. She would be that ally, Megan resolved. She would do it out of respect for his loving heart and for the man he wanted to become.
“Here you are.” Their father entered the kitchen, his cheeks flushed from the cold. Still wearing his coat, he laid a manila envelope on the table. “This is for you, Megan. I know you haven’t made up your mind to stay, but today when I went by the district office, I took the liberty of picking up an application for that first-grade teaching job. They’re still needing somebody. Whatever you decide, it wouldn’t hurt to have that application in place, or even to interview for the job.”
“Of course. Thanks, Dad. I’ll fill it out and drop it off.” Megan picked up the envelope, planning to look at the application later. “I don’t have a Texas teaching credential. Would that be a problem?”
“It shouldn’t be. They could issue you a provisional certificate. But you won’t want to waste too much time. The district office will be shutting down for the holidays after next week.”
Slipping out of his coat, he moved around the table to look over Daniel’s shoulder. He scowled when he saw the driver’s handbook. “I can’t believe you’re still wasting time on that,” he said. “Why not just give up?”
Daniel turned to the next page. “If I give up, I’ll never learn to drive.”
“But that’s just for the written test, son. Even if you pass, you’ll still need to learn how to handle a car. I’m not qualified to teach you. You’ll need somebody with special training.”
“I’ll work it out.” Daniel didn’t look up.
“Well, I’ll say this for you. You’ve got determination. Maybe too much for your own good.” He hung up his coat and went into the studio to greet his wife.
Megan rose and walked around the table to squeeze her brother’s shoulder. “Don’t be discouraged,” she said. “We’ll find a way.”
“Thanks. I know.”
Leaving him, Megan went down the hall to her room. She’d planned to make spaghetti again for her family, but it was early yet. She had more than an hour of free time ahead. Maybe she could work on her song. But after strumming a few chords, she realized that her concentration was off. She couldn’t stop thinking about her brother. There had to be some way she could help him.
There had to be state agencies that served people with disabilities. Maybe she could find a source for classes or instructors that helped such people learn to drive.
Opening her laptop, she began a search, starting with the state government site, breaking it down to the Department of Public Safety, then to the Department of Public Education. Under the disabilities section was a long list of services, none of which involved driver training. The last item on the list was Contact us. Megan selected it, got an e-mail address, and composed a message describing what Daniel needed. By the time she finished and sent it, her free hour was up.
There was no guarantee that she’d get an answer or, even if she did, that it would be useful. But at least she’d made an effort to help Daniel. Given the late hour, there was no point in waiting for a reply. It was time to shut down her computer and start supper.
* * *
Megan had just climbed into bed when her cell phone rang. “Sorry to call so late.” Conner’s voice sent a deliciously warm quiver through her body. She nestled against the pillows, enjoying the intimate feel of their connection. “Did I wake you?” he asked.
“No. I’m just snuggling under the covers in my jammies.”
“Me too.” He chuckled. “Too bad we’re in different houses.”
Megan felt the heat rise in her cheeks. “I think I’m blushing,” she said.
“I’m getting nicely warm myself. And this old house gets cold at night. No central heating.”
“You could always sleep with Bucket.”
“I can think of things I’d rather have in my bed than a smelly, damp dog.” He sighed and changed the subject. “So, how was the bridal shower?”
“Very nice. I think I made some new friends.”
“Good. You’ll want friends if you decide to stay in Branding Iron.”
“I know. But it’s a big decision.” She’d never told him about her singing career and how important it was to her. Maybe this would be a good time—but, no, she wasn’t ready to say anything that might hint at her secret identity.
“Is there something you want to tell me?” he asked, as if offering her an opening.
“No . . . not really. Just that my father brought me an application for that teaching job at the elementary school. I’m going to submit it. But that doesn’t mean I’ve decided to stay.”
“Well, I have something to tell you, in the spirit of honesty,” he said. “Ronda May called me yesterday, needing some friendly advice. It seems her loser boyfriend has apologized for cheating and still wants to marry her—even though the jerk hit her when they broke up. I did my best to discourage her from going back to him, but that was as much as I could do.”
“I suspect she was giving you one last chance to make a counteroffer.” Megan could have bitten her tongue for voicing that thought.
“You know you don’t have to worry about that,” Conner said. “Ronda May is a friend, that’s all. But the news was better today. She called me again. She got that job you told her about. And she’s not going back to dirtbag Chuck. She says she’s ready to be her own woman.”
“Now that is wonderful news.”
“She asked me to thank you, by the way.”
“She could have thanked me herself.”
“She was probably too embarrassed to call you. After that stunt she pulled in the restaurant, not many women would have done what you did. Taking her under your wing was above and beyond the call of duty. You’re one in a million, Megan Carson. That’s why I plan on fighting to keep you here in Branding Iron.”
It wasn’t a declaration of love, Megan told herself. But it was as close as he’d come. The question was, how much of it could she afford to take seriously? “That was quite a speech,” she said.
“You can take it for what it’s worth,” he said. “But I’ve kept you awake long enough. Sleep tight, Megan. I’ll be dreaming about Sunday.”
“Me too,” she whispered, floating on expectations.
After the call ended, Megan lay back in the bed, gazing up into the darkness and listening to the wind blowing a branch against the house. Something told her that despite Conner’s easy, outgoing nature, he was a man who guarded his heart. He was capable of saying nice things. But that didn’t mean he was ready to give that heart away. Maybe he never would be.
Or maybe he’d already given it to Lacy.
But now, she wasn’t being fair. Conner had been honest enough to tell her about talking with Ronda May. But she hadn’t been honest with him. Tonight, when they’d discu
ssed her decision to go or stay, she hadn’t mentioned her dream of a singing career. Conner didn’t even know that she was a singer, let alone that she was his so-called dream woman.
She had to tell him the truth, she knew, even if it ripped them apart. The longer she waited, the more hurt and angry Conner was likely to be. But how could she just pop the big revelation out of nowhere? It needed to be done right, in a setting where they could both talk openly. That would mean waiting for their Sunday date.
But putting off her confession was the coward’s way out. Maybe she should call him now, wake him up, blurt out the whole story, and accept the consequences. But that wasn’t going to happen. She didn’t have the nerve—and she was too afraid of losing him.
Restless, she swung her legs out of bed, turned on a bedside lamp, and walked to the open door of the closet. Lacy’s beautiful fringed, beaded jacket hung on its padded hanger, next to the skintight stretch jeans. The black wig rested on its inflatable base, along with the makeup box on the top shelf. The knee-high black boots, with their four-inch stiletto heels, stood in the corner. The sum total of Lacy Leatherwood was all right here.
With a sigh, Megan closed the closet door. If only she were tough-minded enough to bundle up the wig and the fancy outfit, haul it out to the trash, and be done with Lacy forever.
But even that wouldn’t save her from having to tell Conner the truth.
* * *
Early Friday morning, Conner woke to the sound of water dripping off the eaves of the house. His heart sank. It wasn’t a good sign.
With a muttered curse, he swung out of bed, strode down the hall, and out onto the front porch. Barefoot and still clad in the long johns he wore for sleep, he stared out past the overhang of the roof.
A warm chinook wind had swept in during the night, raising the outside temperature by a good twenty degrees. There was nothing left of the snow but a few melting white ridges where it had been scraped and piled. The front yard was a sea of puddles and gooey Texas mud, and the graveled driveway didn’t appear much better.
