Holding Out for Christmas

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Holding Out for Christmas Page 20

by Janet Dailey


  Bucket thumped his tail and trotted to the front door to be let out. Conner stood, slipped on his coat, and waited on the porch while the dog did his business. Beyond the overhang of the roof, there was nothing but darkness and swirling, blowing snow. According to the weather forecasters, the storm would be massive, with heavy snow falling through the night and into tomorrow.

  Bucket’s needs didn’t take long. He was back on the porch in minutes, shaking the snow off his shaggy fur, ready to be let back into the warm house.

  As Conner was hanging up his coat, his cell phone rang. He grabbed it off the coffee table, where he’d left it. Maybe Megan had had a change of heart.

  The caller wasn’t Megan. It was Travis. Conner was happy to hear his voice. “Hey, partner, I’ve been wondering about you,” he said. “Is Maggie treating you all right?”

  Travis chuckled. “She’s got me spoiled. But it must be what the doc ordered, because I’m doing a lot better. I should be home in a couple of days, when I’m able to take care of myself. I won’t be able to work much till these ribs mend, but at least I’ll make it to the wedding—maybe even to the Christmas Ball.”

  “Don’t worry about the work,” Conner said. “Rush and I are managing fine. And nothing’s going to happen until this storm blows over. Have you looked outside? It’s a blizzard.”

  “That it is. I’m hoping you’re snuggled up with your sweetie, keeping cozy.”

  Conner sighed. “About that. The only snuggling I’ll be doing is with Bucket. Megan broke up with me today.”

  “Oh, don’t tell me.” Travis groaned. “You and Megan seemed perfect for each other. What happened?”

  “It’s a long story. I’ll tell you later. Mostly, it was just me and my big mouth.”

  “Well,” Travis said. “At least you’ll be free for the Christmas Ball. Maybe you’ll hit it off with your dream woman.”

  So Travis didn’t know the truth. And this was no time to tell him. “You bet me a hundred bucks that I wouldn’t get to meet her,” Conner said.

  “I know. But it would be worth losing the money to see you happy.”

  After the call ended, Conner walked to the window and gazed out at the storm. He was still holding out for the Christmas Ball, but for a different reason than before. This time, he could only hope that Megan would be singing—and that he’d have one last chance to win her back.

  * * *

  Megan waited until Daniel had gone to his room for the night. Then, bracing herself for an argument, she walked into the living room, where her parents had just finished watching a history program on PBS. They were sitting together on the couch, with her mother’s wheelchair pushed to one side.

  “We need to talk,” she said, moving the rocker to face them before she sat down.

  “What about?” Her father was instantly alert. “Have you decided to stay and take the teaching job—or maybe not?”

  “I’m still working things out. But this isn’t about me. It’s about Daniel.”

  “Not the driving thing again!” Her mother leaned forward, worry shadowing her thin face. “I’ve seen him studying that driver’s handbook. But there’s no way he could pass the test. And I’d never trust him to handle a car.”

  “But what if he could?” Megan persisted. “What if he could learn to pass the test and to drive safely, maybe with restrictions, but at least well enough to get to work and run errands around town?”

  “I don’t know that he ever could,” her mother said. “But the last thing I want is for you to get his hopes up and then have him hurt when it doesn’t happen. Don’t you see? It would be cruel.”

  “And how cruel would it be to treat him like a child all his life, to never let him be a man?”

  Her mother’s shocked expression told Megan that she might have pushed too hard. “He’s twenty-four, Mom,” she said. “He wants to be an adult. He’s in love with a wonderful young woman, and they want to get married. He’s already got a job, but to be independent, he needs to be able to drive.”

  “That’s enough, Megan.” Her mother folded her arms across her chest, a gesture that meant the subject was closed. “Not another word. I won’t have your brother hurt.”

  “Wait a minute.” Ed, always the peacemaker, spoke up. “If Megan has something in mind, it won’t hurt for us to listen. We can always say no.” He glanced at Dorcas. “All right?”

  She sighed. “All right. Go ahead, Megan.”

  Megan told her parents about the driving school. “He’d be taught by a specialist, a person trained to teach people with disabilities,” she said. “He’d get help with the test and with learning to drive safely. The course would last until Daniel got his license, however long that might take.”

  “You say the driving school’s in Cottonwood Springs,” her father said. “How would he get there? I’m too busy working and helping your mother to drive him to classes.”

  “That’s where I come in,” Megan said. “If you’ll agree to this, I’ll stay in Branding Iron and be available to take him wherever and whenever he needs to go. When I’m not with him, I can help around here.”

  “But what about the teaching job?” her father asked. “If you take it, you’ll be busy, too.”

  “I’d have to pass on the job, Dad. I’ve got enough money saved to last me for a while. And I can pay for Daniel’s classes, too. You and Mom wouldn’t have to do a thing.”

  “You’d do that for your brother?” Megan’s mother dabbed at her eyes. “You’d put your singing career on hold, give up your teaching and your life in Nashville?”

  “It wouldn’t be forever,” Megan said. “And right now, we’re talking about Daniel’s happiness, for the rest of his life.”

  “No promises, but I’ll think about it,” her mother said. “Meanwhile, not a word to Daniel.”

  “Of course not,” Megan said. “If it’s a yes, I’ll need to talk to his boss at Shop Mart to make sure he can get the time off. The next step will be to contact the driving school. When everything’s in place, we’ll tell him together.”

  Her mother frowned. “No promises, Megan. I said I’d think about it. That’s all.”

  * * *

  Megan lay awake that night, listening to the sound of windblown snow battering the windowpane. Her mother was still capable of saying no to the driving-school plan. She was a stubborn woman, fiercely protective of her vulnerable son. She would agree only if she could be made to understand that Daniel’s happiness mattered as much as his safety.

  And her own happiness? That question was on hold for the foreseeable future. She’d thought she’d found it with Conner. But she knew better now. She’d stepped into a fairy tale, complete with a handsome cowboy prince. But the ball was over and her coach had turned back into a pumpkin. End of story.

  Too restless to sleep, she rolled out of bed, slipped her robe on over her pajamas, and turned on the bedside lamp. By its faint glow, she found her guitar, sat on the foot of the bed, and began strumming a few chords. As she played, softly, to keep from waking her family, she could feel the music coming together—first the beat, then the chords, then, little by little, the melody, flowing like magic from her fingers.

  There was a light tap at the door. Without waiting for an answer, Daniel opened it, stepped into the room, and closed it behind him. “That’s pretty, Megan,” he said. “Can I stay and listen?”

  “Sure. Sit down.” Another time, she might have been annoyed at the intrusion; tonight, though, having him here felt comforting. She was reminded of the times, years ago, when he couldn’t sleep at night and she would read him stories while their parents slept.

  “Is that your new song?” he asked.

  “Uh-huh.” She replayed the tune, willing it to flow into her memory. She didn’t usually write her music down, just stored it in her head.

  “Has it got any words?”

  “Not yet.” She kept on playing. “Does it give you any ideas?”

  Daniel listened for a moment. “It
sounds kind of sad, like the way I feel when I can’t be with Katy. I think how nice it would be to wake up and look at her while she’s sleeping. I’ve never seen Katy sleeping. I’ll bet she looks like Sleeping Beauty in the story. Maybe I’d lean over and kiss her to wake her up. Then we could have breakfast together.” He sighed. “But I know it isn’t real. Not unless we can get married. That’s why the music sounds sad to me.”

  Megan remembered the little piece of advice she’d written for Maggie’s shower. Maggie had said that her note sounded like a song. Megan had been thinking about Conner when she wrote it—what it would be like to wake up early, feeling the love as she gazed at his sleeping face—the golden lashes against his tanned skin, the velvet shadow of stubble along his jaw, the faint white scar that slashed across one cheekbone . . . And now, to feel the loss, to know it was never going to happen . . .

  As her fingers moved over the strings, Megan could feel her thoughts coming together. Maybe something was about to click. She glanced at her brother. “You can stay here, but you’ll need to be quiet. I’m thinking.”

  “Okay.” He remained at the foot of the bed, in companionable silence, while she played with ideas in her head. She’d try them out on the guitar, weaving in the idea of Christmas, of loneliness and loss. And every line belonged to Conner.

  At last, she began to feel satisfied with what she’d created. She could polish it in the morning, then write it down and make a few notes to e-mail to the band in Nashville. The Cowboy Christmas Ball was three days from tomorrow. If everyone felt the song was ready, she would sing it there.

  After that, she would give Lacy a break for a while—maybe for good.

  Standing to put her guitar aside, she saw that Daniel had fallen asleep. He was sprawled across the foot of her bed, snoring lightly.

  With a smile, Megan folded the covers over him, then tiptoed into the living room. Wrapped in the comforter, she stretched out on the sofa. As she closed her eyes, the melancholy echo of her song played in her head, blending with the moan of the wind outside and the silence of falling snow.

  * * *

  Conner woke at dawn. Next to the bed, Bucket was nosing his hand, and tugging at the covers, pestering him to get up and start the day. Muttering, he sat up and blinked himself to full alertness. The house was eerily quiet, maybe because Travis was gone. Or maybe the silence was a sign that the storm had passed.

  He swung his legs off the bed and stood. The floor was icy cold. Finding his worn sheepskin slippers under the bed, he thrust his feet into them, grabbed his robe off the back of the door, and followed the dog into the living room.

  Bucket scratched at the door, needing to get out. Conner hobbled across the room, feeling the pain in his hip, which was always worse when he first got out of bed. Maybe there’d be enough snow for more sleigh rides. He could only hope.

  Reaching for the bolt, he slid it back, then turned the knob and opened the door.

  The cold air hit him like a shock. But it was what he saw that stopped his breath. Snow—at least eighteen inches deep—covered everything in sight.

  The overhanging roof had kept most of it off the porch, but the front steps were buried, as well as the road, the driveway, the vehicles, and the cut trees in the front yard. Racing past him to the steps, Bucket plunged into deep snow over his head. Recovering from his surprise, the dog began romping and diving in the white stuff.

  Luckily, there was a snow shovel on the porch. Conner pulled on his boots, coat, and gloves over the long underwear he slept in, and managed to clear the steps and a spot for Bucket to do his business. Then he called the dog inside, lit a fire in the stove, and got dressed again, in warm layers. He would need to shovel a path to the barn so the horses could be fed and cared for. Rush would be along later, but with Travis gone, the early-morning chores were Conner’s job.

  Forty minutes later, with the path shoveled and the horses taken care of, he was back in the house. He was warming himself by the potbellied stove when he heard his cell phone, which he’d left in the bedroom.

  He raced down the hall to answer it, hoping it was Megan calling. But no, the name on the caller ID was Travis’s.

  “Have you got the TV on?” Travis sounded agitated.

  “I haven’t tried it yet,” Conner said. “You know how the snow messes with the satellite dish. Why? Has something happened?”

  Travis sighed. “Maggie’s beside herself. The snow drifted onto a low section of the church roof. The roof caved in from the weight. Now we don’t have a place for the wedding.”

  Chapter 15

  Megan saw video shots of the ruined church that morning, after her father turned on the TV. Her first thought was Oh no! Poor Maggie! First the accident, and now this!

  The wedding invitation had been waiting when Megan returned from Nashville. Maggie and Travis were set to be married five days from now in the church—the only church in town, the church that was now unusable. The entire building had been cordoned off, Christmas decorations and all, with yards of ugly yellow crime-scene tape. TV cameras showed the beautiful old chapel, with its hand-carved pews and pulpit, buried in snow and debris. It wasn’t just Maggie’s wedding that had been spoiled. Branding Iron had lost a treasure, a place for services, weddings, funerals, and community support.

  Maggie and Travis could still get married—at home, in the courthouse, or somewhere in Cottonwood Springs. But there was no place that would accommodate the guests they’d invited to the wedding, and no place where Maggie, a vision in her white gown and floating veil, could make that long-dreamed-of walk down the aisle to marry the man she loved.

  The thought of it made Megan want to cry. She weighed the idea of calling Maggie, but she had nothing to offer except sympathy, and the last thing her friend would want now was a ringing phone.

  She could call Conner . . . but that was out of the question. She and Conner were history. He had played her for a fool, and she had too much pride to beg for his attention, like poor Ronda May.

  She’d spent a restless night, thinking about him as she tossed and turned on the couch. She’d replayed their final conversation over and over, remembering every word of what was said. In the end, she had to concede that the breakup had been as much her fault as his. If she’d laughed off the fact that he’d guessed her secret, they would still be a couple. But she hadn’t been that smart. Instead, she’d chosen to be offended and to judge his intentions.

  Had her stubborn pride been worth losing him? Would she get another chance, or was it already too late for forgiveness?

  There was nothing to do but wait—wait for her mother’s decision on the driving school; wait for a decision on the teaching job; wait three more days for the Cowboy Christmas Ball, where she would perform as Lacy, and where she would most likely come face-to-face with Conner again.

  What would she do? What would she say to him?

  But enough moping! She gave herself a mental slap. One thing wouldn’t wait, and that was the knee-deep snow blocking the driveway. Her father had already gone out to shovel, and he wasn’t as young as he used to be. He would wear himself out trying to do the job alone. Pulling on her coat, boots, and gloves, Megan went outside to help him.

  * * *

  By the time Rush arrived, Conner had cleared part of the driveway, including a path to the shed, where the Jeep was parked alongside Travis’s pickup. The lane from the highway was unplowed, but the Hummer’s powerful engine and oversized tires had no trouble pushing through the deep snow.

  “Hell, let’s get you a snowplow blade on the front of that machine,” Conner joked as Rush climbed out of the big vehicle. “It can push more snow in five minutes than I can shovel in half an hour. We could even hire you out.”

  “Did you hear about the church?” Rush grabbed a spare snow shovel out of the shed.

  “I did. Travis called me. Lord, I wouldn’t want to be him right now. Maggie must be a nervous wreck.”

  “He called me, too,” Rush said. “I just dro
pped Clara at your neighbors’ place so Tracy could go and give Maggie some emotional support. Maggie’s a tough woman, but sometimes life isn’t fair. She had her heart set on taking a walk down that aisle. Now . . .” He shrugged. “They can still get married, but it won’t be the same.”

  “What are they going to do?” Conner asked. “The invitations are out. Everything was in place—until the storm moved in.”

  “I’m guessing Maggie and Travis are still in shock.” Rush scooped a shovelful of snow and flung it to one side of the driveway. “And it’s not just them. I think most of the town was looking forward to seeing those two get married.”

  “I know.” Conner matched him scoop for scoop. The snow was wet and heavy—heavy enough to have broken an aging church roof with its weight. “As the retiring mayor, Maggie wanted a big celebration for the whole town. Now there’s no place to have it. What can they do besides postpone the wedding, or maybe have a simple ceremony somewhere and throw a party for the town this summer?”

  Rush paused to catch his breath, leaning on the shovel for support. “Tracy and I were asking each other the same questions over breakfast this morning. We wanted to help them, but we couldn’t think of how. That was when Clara came up with a great idea.”

  “You say Clara came up with it?”

  “Hey, my little girl’s a sharp kid, as you should know.”

  “Yes, I do.” Conner chuckled. “Last year, when she stayed with us, she outsmarted me at every turn. So, what did she have in mind?”

  “I’ll tell you while we finish shoveling. Let me know what you think.”

  Conner listened while Rush talked. He had to admit that Clara’s idea wasn’t bad. “It’s not perfect,” he said as they finished clearing the driveway and carried the shovels to the porch. “But it’s better than anything else we’ve come up with.”

 

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