“And spoil your chances with that sexy singer?” Megan shook her head. “Not on your life. I’ve got someplace else to be.”
Conner held back a sigh. Here they were, playing the same silly game. He was ready to end it. But if he called her bluff now, she might be too angry to have dinner with him—a sad waste of a lovely evening. Confession time would have to wait.
* * *
Darkness had fallen by the time they reached the restaurant, a rambling, rustic log structure with open beams overhead and a blazing stone fireplace in its center. Candles glowed on the tables. White lights twinkled on a small tree in one corner. Country Christmas music, turned low enough for quiet conversation, played in the background. The air smelled of pine, fresh bread, and sizzling steaks.
Megan had dined at more upscale spots in Nashville. But so far, at least, this place deserved high marks for coziness and taste. The young hostess showed them to the secluded booth Conner had reserved. He seated Megan before hanging their coats on a nearby rack.
By the time he returned, Megan was scanning the menu while a wine steward poured a sparkling cabernet into two goblets. “I hope you don’t mind my choosing the wine,” Conner said. “I took the liberty of ordering ahead to make sure they had it in stock.”
Megan took a sip. “It’s perfect,” she said. “You have excellent taste.” She’d almost forgotten that Conner was no simple cowboy. As a champion athlete and celebrity, he’d moved in wealthy circles and acquired some sophistication. He would be at home almost anywhere.
Conner glanced up at the steward with a word of thanks.
“You’re welcome, sir,” the young man said. “Your server will be with you in a moment to take your order.”
Megan studied the menu. “What’s good here?”
“Everything. But I like the rib eye.”
“Then I’ll try that. Medium rare.” Megan pushed the menu aside and sipped her wine, gazing at him over the rim of the glass. “You know, I’d have been happy with a burger and shake at Buckaroo’s. You didn’t have to go first class to thank me for pouring cups of cocoa.”
He gave her a smile. “You deserve better than first class, and I’m not doing this to thank you. It’s my way of telling you that you’re a special woman, Megan. I want to see more of you. A lot more, if I have my way.”
“What about your dream woman? The one you’re holding out for at the Christmas Ball?” Megan forced herself to ask the question. She could feel herself falling for Conner. But if he was still stuck on Lacy, there could be no hope for them.
Conner hesitated a little too long before he spoke. “It’s like having a crush on somebody in a movie. She might be pretty, even exciting. But she isn’t real. And she can’t compete with a warm, caring, flesh-and-blood woman, especially the one I was holding in my arms last night.”
Reaching across the table, he captured her free hand in his. “Come to the Christmas Ball with me, Megan. Whatever’s keeping you away, cancel it. I want to walk into that gym with you on my arm and show the whole town that we’re—”
He broke off at the sound of a throat clearing. Megan looked up to see a waitress standing next to their table, pen poised over her order pad. Blond and on the buxom side, with baby blue eyes and a slightly pug nose, she was pretty enough to be noticed. But her death grip on the pen and the venom in her look instantly put Megan on her guard.
“May I take your order?” Every word was razor-edged.
Conner seemed to recover from his surprise. “Hello, Ronda May,” he said. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”
“I got my old job back,” she said. “I can’t say I expected to see you, either. Who’s your friend?”
“Let me introduce you.” Conner was clearly squirming inside. “Ronda May, this is Megan Carson, who’s visiting from Nashville. Megan, this is an old friend of mine, Ronda May Blackburn.”
Something told Megan the woman had been more than a friend, but that was no reason not to be civil. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ronda May,” she said.
Ronda May smirked. “I’ll bet. Conner and I go way back, don’t we, Conner?”
“Don’t you have a wedding coming up soon?” he asked. “The last time we spoke, you told me you were engaged.”
“Not anymore. The dirty skunk cheated on me, so I told him to take a hike. I figured I deserved better than that.”
“Good for you,” Megan said, meaning to show support.
“Mind your own business, honey,” Ronda May snapped. “I’m only here to take your order.” She leaned over the table to pick up the discarded menus. Megan would never know if what happened next was accidental or deliberate. As Ronda May reached, her arm brushed Megan’s half-full wineglass, knocking it over and spilling dark red wine into Megan’s lap.
Megan gasped as the liquid soaked into her jeans. She grabbed a cloth napkin, dabbing frantically.
“Here, come on.” Giving Conner no time to react, Ronda May pulled her out of the booth and down the hall to the women’s restroom. Inside, she yanked a handful of paper towels out of the dispenser, wet them under the tap, and thrust them at Megan. “Get out as much as you can. It’ll stain,” she said.
“Thanks.” Megan was doing her best to blot up the wine, but it had already soaked through to her underwear. She could feel the wetness against her skin.