Holding Out for Christmas (The Christmas Tree Ranch 3)
Tonight, even his relationship with Megan was hanging in the balance. And only now did he realize how desperately he wanted to keep her in his life.
Conner had a long history with women. He liked them—some of them he’d liked a lot. But he’d never felt himself to be in love. He certainly hadn’t been in love with Ronda May—although she was funny and affectionate, and they’d had some good times. But with Megan, he felt stirrings of something new—the urge to cherish and protect her, to put her happiness ahead of his own. Was that love?
He could only hope Megan would give him the chance to find out.
He’d put his phone in the Jeep’s cup holder. Ronda May had his number and was bound to call him, but he wasn’t ready to talk to her. He needed time to cool down first. But he wanted the phone handy on the off chance that Megan might call him.
He knew better than to expect that. Megan, he sensed, was a woman of her word. If she’d said she wasn’t going to call him, she wouldn’t call. Still, the hope was there that she’d change her mind: the phone would ring, and everything would be all right again.
He was turning off the highway onto the ranch lane when the phone rang. He glanced at the number—Ronda May’s. He let it go to voicemail—a tearful plea for him to pick up, or call her back. Maybe if he didn’t respond, she’d get the message. But there wasn’t much chance of that. Sooner or later, he would have to confront her, and try to keep her from pushing his guilt buttons. Otherwise, if there was a way to make him feel like a dirty, low-down skunk, Ronda May would find it.
Pulling through the ranch gate, he could see that Travis’s pickup was gone. Too bad. He could’ve used some backup and a good listening ear. But Travis’s absence was something he’d have to get used to; except for Bucket, he would soon be on his own.
After parking the Jeep, he let the dog out for a few minutes, then called him back inside. The snow appeared to be letting up, but the night was still cold.
The hour was too early to go to bed. Conner popped the tab on a Bud Light, settled in the armchair, and used the remote to flip through the limited channels on the old TV set. He found a couple of Christmas movies he’d seen, a kiddie special, and a college basketball game. Sinking back into the chair, with Bucket curled at his feet, he tried to focus on the game. But he hadn’t heard of either school that was playing, and the red team was winning by twenty points at the half. Conner’s thoughts kept drifting to where he’d wanted to be tonight—somewhere, maybe even here, with Megan in his arms, taking time to explore the different ways she liked to be kissed. She would smell like lavender and taste like red wine, and her lips would feel like warm satin against his . . .
Conner didn’t realize he’d drifted off until Bucket alerted him with a low woof. He glanced at the clock. It was after 11:00, and he could hear a vehicle pul
ling up to the house.
His first thought was that it might be Travis. But Travis would have parked his pickup under the shed. And Bucket would be in greeting, wagging mode. Instead, the dog was staying close to Conner, a wary growl rumbling in his throat.
“Easy, boy.” Conner rose and switched off the TV. By the time he heard the rap on the front door, he’d already guessed the identity of his late-night visitor. Taking a deep breath, he opened the door.
“Hello, Ronda May,” he said.
In the harsh glow of the porch light, he could see that she’d been crying. Her eyes were red, her cheeks lined with trails of black mascara. “I’m freezing,” she said. “Can I come in? We need to talk.”
“You can come in. But leave your coat on because you won’t be staying long.”
She stepped across the threshold. Bucket, still wary, sniffed at her boot. “Get that dog away from me!” she snapped. “You know I don’t like him!”
“I remember now.” Conner snapped his fingers, sending Bucket into the kitchen. The dog liked most people, but he and Ronda May had never gotten on.
Ronda May had taken a seat in the armchair. She dabbed at her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she whimpered.
“If that’s an apology, I’m waiting for more.” Conner remained on his feet. “You were out of line, spilling wine on my date and then dragging her into the ladies’ room so you could give her an earful of lies and threats. What were you thinking?”
“That I still love you, and that I’d do anything to be with you again.”
“That’s not going to happen.” Conner didn’t want to be cruel, but he was too angry to hold back. “I thought you were getting married. I was fine with it. I wanted you to be happy.”
“I was—I even had my wedding dress bought. And then Chuck—I caught him fooling around with this high-school girl. Now I can’t have my wedding. But maybe that’s all right, because you’re the one I really wanted. Please, Conner, honey, can’t we just pick up where we left off? You’ll be alone here when Travis gets married. You’re going to need a wife. I can cook, I could make this old house look like a dream, and—”
Conner stifled a groan. “Ronda May, you’re going to make some man a wonderful wife. It just isn’t going to be me. I’ve moved on. I’ve found a woman I want to be with.”
“Her? That little flat-chested mouse? Why, she’s—”
“Yes, her. And putting her down is no way to get on my good side. Tonight was supposed to be special for us, and your little stunt spoiled everything—but then, I’m guessing that’s what you wanted.”
Ronda May burst into fresh tears. “You don’t understand,” she sobbed. “I got fired tonight. I lost my job because of you.”
“Because of me?”
“You told the hostess to get you a different server. When I came out of the restroom, the manager was waiting in the hall. She fired me on the spot. I didn’t even get a chance to explain.” She broke into uncontrolled sobbing. “This is all . . . your . . . fault!”
Conner had already guessed what she was planning. He would gather her into his arms, comfort her, and promise to make things better. But she would be too broken up to leave. She would cling to him, begging him not to send her away while she was too upset to drive.