The emotion that surged in Megan was so powerful that it brought tears to her eyes. This was what it was all about—the closeness, the enduring friendship that bound these people together. And she had cut herself off from that friendship because of a perceived slight.
So Conner had known she was Lacy and hadn’t told her. What did it matter? What did any of her feelings about Lacy matter? She had made a rival out of a woman who wasn’t even real—a woman who was her.
She could have been out front, sharing this beautiful moment with Conner and their friends. Instead, here she was, cowering like a fool behind the stage, afraid of being seen.
Tracy took a step forward. “All please rise,” she said in a clear voice.
Everyone stood as the piano, which had been moved into the gym, began the first notes of the “Wedding March.” People swiveled their gazes toward the back of the room, straining to see.
First to come down the aisle was Clara, adorable in a long red velvet Christmas dress. Reaching into her silver basket, she scattered rose petals over the floor. A beaming Rush watched her from his place next to the aisle. She looked up and gave him a little grin, as if to say, Don’t worry, Daddy. I’ve got this.
A collective aah rose from the crowd as Maggie appeared. Gliding strong and unescorted down the aisle, she moved like an elegant white swan. Her cream satin gown was simple but beautifully cut, with a raised collar that framed her radiant face. Her veil, pinned to the knot of her auburn hair, floated around her like mist.
The expression on Travis’s face was worth a million dollars.
When Maggie and Travis faced each other to make their vows, Megan had to wipe away the tears that were smearing her stage makeup. They’d been through so much, those two—the long wait until Maggie finished her term as mayor, the ups and downs of the ranch, then Travis’s accident and the loss of the church. But nothing could have kept them from this moment, when their vows and rings would make them one in the eyes of the world.
Megan could read the emotion on Conner’s face. He cast furtive glances in the direction of the stage, as if expecting to see her there. She was well hidden, but the fact that he was looking for her tore at her heart. If she wanted a life with him, she would need to love him as much as Maggie loved Travis, as much as Tracy loved Rush. She would need to sacrifice her foolish pride and give everything to that love, with an open heart.
But first she needed a way to let him know.
“I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride.” Tracy’s face broke into a delighted grin as Travis took Maggie in his arms and gave her a lingering kiss. As they joined hands and made their way back down the aisle, amid cheers and congratulations, Conner stepped forward.
“That’s it, folks. I know you’ll all want to give your best wishes to the new Mr. and Mrs. Morgan. But first, let’s move these chairs back where they belong! It’s party time!”
* * *
Within minutes, the chairs were carried back to their places around the dining tables and the dance floor. As the Christmas music resumed on the PA system, the buffet table was uncovered and people began lining up to fill their plates. The wedding had put everyone in a good mood. It was as if the whole town had been rooting for Maggie and Travis to become wife and husband.
The bride and groom were given a table, and one of the teenage helpers brought them their meals. Rush and Tracy, with Clara, had joined them. There was an empty chair for Conner, too, but he didn’t feel much like sitting, let alone eating.
He roamed restlessly, picking out faces in the crowd. Daniel and Katy were standing in the food line, but Megan’s parents didn’t appear to be here. Given her mother’s health, that wasn’t surprisi
ng—especially if Megan wasn’t going to sing. Maybe Conner’s worst fears had come to pass. Maybe she’d gone back to Nashville, to her career and her boyfriend.
Gazing around the room, he saw Hank and Francine at a quiet corner table. And there was Ronda May, arriving late, on the arm of her new boss at Shop Mart. The pair looked totally smitten with each other. Conner chuckled. Some things had a way of working out. But how would they work out for him?
Half an hour later, after the tables had begun to clear, it was time for the Badger Hollow Boys to start their show. The lights beyond the stage dimmed as they took their places—two guitarists, a bass player, and a drummer—and started with a crashing fanfare that got everybody’s attention. Then they burst into a toe-tapping Texas two-step that brought a half-dozen couples onto the dance floor. After three more numbers, there was still no sign of Megan. Conner was struggling to hide his disappointment when the lead guitarist stepped to the microphone.
“Ladies and gents, we all know who you’ve been waiting to see. Well, your wait is over! Now, for your enjoyment, here she is—give her a big hand—Miss Lacy Leatherwood!”
Conner’s pulse skipped as the singer strutted onstage to loud applause—long black hair, gypsy eyes, crimson mouth, and stiletto-heeled boots. There she was, his dream woman—except that Lacy Leatherwood wasn’t his dream woman anymore. Looking up at her, he could see past the fake hair and overdone makeup to the woman underneath—the woman he really wanted.
Conner moved through the standing crowd at the foot of the stage to a spot front and center, where she couldn’t help but see him, even with the lights lowered. If he made her uncomfortable, so be it. He wanted Megan to know he was here for her, and that he wouldn’t walk away until he’d said what he’d come to say.
* * *
Megan’s knees went weak as she saw him in the shadows below the stage. She wobbled on her stiletto heels. Had Conner come to mend things between them, or did he only want to see her make a fool of herself? For now, she had no choice except to ignore him and go on with the show.
Fixing her expression in a sassy smile, she broke into her cover of the old Hank Williams hit, “Hey, Good Lookin’.” The audience loved it. They clapped and cheered. Next, to keep things upbeat, she did a girl’s version of “Take It Easy” and a couple more songs from her idol, Patsy Cline.
Conner was still there. He looked up, his eyes asking silent questions that deserved answers. It was time to make her move—to risk her pride, to risk everything.
With a deep breath and a prayer in her heart, she reached for the guitar she’d brought from home.
“You’ve been a great audience,” she said in the drawl that was her Lacy voice. “And because this is a special night, I’d like to sing you a special song—one I wrote myself. But first, there’s something I need to do.”
Moving deliberately, she leaned the guitar against a stool, lifted the Stetson off her head, and dropped it to the stage. “I hope you haven’t grown too fond of Miss Lacy Leatherwood,” she said, speaking more to Conner than to her audience. “Because she’s about to say good-bye and go away—for good.”