Holding Out for Christmas (The Christmas Tree Ranch 3)

“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.