* * *
Megan’s hand quivered as she laid the phone on the bed. She had done it. She had broken up with Derek.
She’d known it would be hard, and it had been—like slapping a faithful dog. He had been so surprised, so stunned, refusing to believe her at first, then demanding answers.
“Why? What have I done wrong?”
“You’ve done nothing wrong,” she’d answered as calmly as she could. “I’ve just come to realize that you and I don’t want the same things.”
“But I love you, Megan.”
“I know. But it takes two people in love to make that work. And I don’t love you. Not enough, at least.”
She’d almost ended the call right then, but he’d had one more question. “What about school? How can we continue to work together?”
“I can manage it if you can. If not, I’ll look for another job. Good-bye, Derek. I wish you well. Please don’t call me again.”
At that point, she’d ended the call. But as the phone lay on her bed, it began to ring again. Derek. Before the call could go to voicemail, she switched the phone off. She was being cruel, she knew. But niceness would only encourage him.
If Derek was going to be difficult, it might be a good idea to resign from her teaching job and look for something else—maybe something right here in Branding Iron. Her family would like that. But if she left Nashville, she’d be giving up all hope of a big-time singing career.
“She wasn’t bad. Maybe not Grand Ole Opry material, but I think everybody enjoyed her.”
Rush’s innocent words, spoken over the dinner table at Maggie’s, echoed in her memory. What if he was right? What if she wasn’t good enough—and never would be?
Only one thing was certain. She had a lot of thinking to do—thinking that demanded a cool, clear head. And right now, she was too emotional for decision making.
She glanced at her bedside clock. Conner wouldn’t be coming to pick her up for a couple of hours. Her mother was working. Daniel and her father were watching football on TV. She had some rare time to herself.
Rising, she took her old guitar out of its place in the corner. She’d started a song in her head on the drive from Nashville. But she had yet to get all the words down or set them to music. As long as she had the time, maybe the right ideas would come to her.
After tightening the strings to tune them, she sat on a stool and began strumming a few chords.
* * *
At 5:45, when Conner rang the doorbell, Megan was ready and waiting for him. Dressed in a black cashmere sweater, jeans, and boots, set off by dangly silver earrings, she looked delicious enough to devour on the spot.
“Here, let me help you with that.” Her coat was in her hand. Conner held it for her while she slipped it on. The subtle fragrance of lavender teased his senses. He breathed her in, savoring the aroma. “You clean up like a million dollars,” he said.
She laughed. “I’ll take that as a compliment. Let’s hope those steaks are as good as you say they are. I’ve been looking forward to this all day.”
“So have I. But not just for the steaks.” He let his hand rest on the small of her back as he guided her to the Jeep. He’d done a lot of thinking since this morning. In the end, he’d come to realize that Travis was right—he’d be a fool to let this fabulous woman go, or to lose her by playing stupid games.
The challenge now would be how to end the game he was still playing—and how to do it without driving Megan away.
“So, did you hear any more news from Travis and Maggie?” she asked as they headed north along the highway. “Is that big wedding on or off?”
Conner laughed. “Travis came to his senses. It’s on. I’m sure you’ll be getting an invitation. Did I tell you I’m going to be Travis’s best man?”
“Really? Well, if I get an invitation, I’ll look forward to seeing you in a tux—unless all the women mobbing you are blocking my view.”
“Ouch. The only woman I want mobbing me is you.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” she said. “Where’s
the ceremony going to be?”
“The Community Church. It’s the only traditional place with enough seating. Maggie’s got it reserved for December twenty-second, two days after the Christmas Ball.” He paused, giving her a sidelong glance. “I know you said you wouldn’t be going to the ball, but I keep hoping you’ll change your mind and be my date.”