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