“I said I’d think about it—but only if he’d swear on the Bible to never cheat again.”
“So, why are you calling me? And why are you crying? It sounds like you’ve already made up your mind.”
There was silence on the other end of the call.
“Have you?” Conner asked.
He could hear her sobbing. “No . . . there’s one more thing,” Ronda May said. “Something I haven’t told anybody.”
“I’m listening.”
“Before, when we broke up, after I caught him cheating, we had a big fight. He hit me, Conner. He punched me in the side of the face, hard enough to leave a bruise. I had to cover it with makeup. But he said he was sorry. He promised not to do it again.”
“And do you believe him?”
“I want to.”
“But do you really?”
The only reply was silence.
Conner mouthed a curse. “Listen to yourself, Ronda May. Why are you asking me whether you should marry a man who cheats on you and hits you, when you already know the answer to that question?”
“You’re saying I shouldn’t marry him?”
“I’m not saying anything. You’re a smart girl. You figure it out.” Conner took a deep breath and changed the subject. “Megan said she had a talk with you.”
“Uh-huh. She was trying to be nice, I guess. She even left me a voicemail this morning. I haven’t listened to it yet. Maybe I won’t.”
“Maybe you should.” Conner glanced up to see Rush standing in the doorway. “I’ve got to go,” he said. “But think long and hard before you say yes to that cowboy. You deserve a good man who’ll treat you the way a woman should be treated. And he’s out there, Ronda May. You just need to keep looking.”
Rush grinned as Conner followed him outside. “I figured you needed rescuing,” he said.
“Thanks,” Conner said. “I want Ronda May to be happy, but she’s got to learn to make her own decisions. She can’t expect me or any other man to make them for her.”
“Well, I hope that man doesn’t turn out to be Chuck Bartle,” Rush said. “If he treats his women the way he treats his animals . . .” He let the words trail off. “How are things with you and Megan?”
“Good. And I want to keep them that way.” Conner walked down the steps, whistling. He was already counting the hours until Sunday.
* * *
The next afternoon, Megan put on the wool slacks and blazer she’d packed, took her wrapped gift, and drove to Tracy’s for the bridal shower. Tracy’s house, just two streets over from Maggie’s, was a neat Arts and Crafts bungalow with an overhanging roof and a broad, covered porch.
When she rang the bell, it was Rush’s precocious little girl, Clara, who opened the door. Megan had heard the story of how Rush, after five years in his first marriage, had learned that Clara was fathered by his wife’s lover. Last year, through some legal maneuvering, he’d been able to get partial custody of the child he adored as his own. Clara now spent her summers and Christmas holidays with Rush and Tracy.
“Hi, Megan!” She was grinning, bouncing with pleasure. “I remember you and Daniel from the ranch. Come on in. You’re the first one here.”
A sleek calico cat jumped off the sofa and made a beeline for the front door. Clara snatched her up, laughing. “No, you don’t. It’s too cold to go outside.” Still holding the cat, Clara looked up at Megan. “Do you like cats?”
“I do, very much, but I don’t have one.” Megan stroked the silky back and felt the tremor of a purr.
“This is Rainbow,” Clara said. “I named her that because she has all the cat colors. Last year, she had babies. I have one of her babies at home. His name is Snowflake because he’s all white. He has a carrier to travel in, but I didn’t bring him because he doesn’t like the airplane. Come on. You can put your present here on the coffee table.” Still chattering, the little girl led the way across the living room, which was decorated for Christmas, with a glittering tree in one corner.
“Hi, Megan!” Tracy called from the kitchen. “Come on in here. I’m glad somebody’s right on time.”
“That comes from being a teacher,” Megan said, stepping through the kitchen door. “When the bell rings, you have to be ready to start class. The trouble is, it carries over into other things. When it comes to parties, I tend to arrive before everyone else. But now that I’m here, I hope you’ll let me help you. What can I do?”
“Let’s see . . .” Tracy glanced around the kitchen. “How about arranging that snack tray and putting it out—the cheese and crackers, the dip, and the other things you see there. I should have done it earlier. Now I’m running out of time.”