Holding Out for Christmas (The Christmas Tree Ranch 3)

“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.