* * *
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.”