“That’s no more than any man deserves,” Conner said.
“I know. But for Daniel, it’s like reaching for the moon. Life can be so unfair.” Megan dabbed at an unexpected surge of tears. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get so emotional.”
* * *
Sitting across the table, Conner watched her. He’d seen women cry—especially the ones he’d broken up with. They used their tears to punish, to express loss or frustration, or to get what they wanted. The sight of a weeping female was nothing new to him. But this was the first time he’d seen a woman cry out of pure love and concern for someone else.
Megan’s tears had a strangely moving effect on him. It was all he could do to keep from getting up, walking around the table, and gathering her into his arms.
The image of his dream woman—bold, glamorous, and over-the-top sexy—paled in his mind. She was a fantasy, a stage act. But the woman sitting across the table from him—tender, compassionate Megan—was real. She was flesh and blood, heart and pure soul.
Between the two, there was no comparison.
But after the thoughtless things he’d said to her, how was he going to convince Megan of that?
Conner’s musings were interrupted by the opening of the front door. “Hey!” Rush stuck his head inside. “We’ve got a crowd out here. You guys need to get moving.”
“Coming.” Conner pushed away from the table and followed Travis and Megan back outside.
* * *
By the end of the afternoon, Daniel was tired enough to leave with Rush and Clara. Megan watched the Hummer pull out of the driveway and head down the lane. The day had gone well. Her brother had enjoyed himself and earned extra Christmas spending money. Conner and his partners had treated him like a valued member of the team, and little Clara had given him her trust and friendship. He would be talking about this experience for days to come.
Megan was tired, too. She could have left and taken Daniel home herself. By now, she could be relaxing with her feet up, sipping herbal tea and reading a good book. But here she was, ignoring her weary feet, smiling as she chatted with customers and filled cup after cup of hot cocoa. She would be seeing those little floating marshmallows in her dreams tonight.
At least the burn on her fingers didn’t hurt much. Conner’s first-aid spray had taken care of the pain. But with people still coming in through the ranch gate, the work showed no sign of letting up.
By now, it was getting dark and cold. Conner had hung lanterns on the sleigh. Megan could see the approaching lights and hear the cheery jingle of sleigh bells as he returned from one more run. Stopping next to the house, he helped unload his passengers. Then, signaling for a break, he strode over to the fire.
“How are you holding up?” he asked Megan as he stripped off his gloves and held his hands to the heat.
“Fine. Want some cocoa?”
“Sure. No marshmallows.” He took the cup she handed him, his cold fingers brushing hers. “How’s the burn?”
“Not bad.”
“You don’t have to stay, you know.”
“I don’t mind, really.” Megan handed two cups to the older couple who’d just taken a seat by the fire.
“I’m going to owe you dinner for this—and not just at Buckaroo’s. There’s a nice restaurant on the way to Cottonwood Springs. Best steaks you ever tasted. We could go tomorrow if you’re free.”
Megan’s pulse skipped. Was the man actually asking her out on a date? “Aren’t you working tomorrow?” she asked.
He shook his head. “We decided to close on Sunday this year. Good idea, I think. We could use the break. So could the horses. And people can buy trees the rest of the week. So, are we good for dinner?”
She hesitated, but only for an instant. “That sounds fine,” she said.
“Great. If you’re still here when we close, we can make plans. If not, I’ll call you.” He glanced back toward the sleigh, where the next family was waiting for their ride. “Gotta go now.” He turned away and strode back across the yard.
* * *
By 8:15, a chilly wind had sprung up, and the stream of customers had dwindled to an end. Before leaving, Warren doused the fire in the pit, bundled up the willow sticks, and boxed the remaining bags of marshmallows. Following his example, Megan turned off the portable stove and covered it, put away the leftover cups, and washed the pan and ladle in the kitchen.
She was worn-out, but she’d stayed on the job. Was it to prove to herself, and maybe to Conner, that she could? Or was she acting on some deeper need?
She was attracted to Conner—now more than ever, after seeing how kindly he’d treated her brother. But she’d be a fool to think the attraction was mutual. True, he’d just asked her out. But that was only because he felt obligated to thank her for her help today. He’d made it clear enough that his type was glamorous Lacy—not a mousy little kindergarten teacher.