Restless, she swung her legs out of bed, turned on a bedside lamp, and walked to the open door of the closet. Lacy’s beautiful fringed, beaded jacket hung on its padded hanger, next to the skintight stretch jeans. The black wig rested on its inflatable base, along with the makeup box on the top shelf. The knee-high black boots, with their four-inch stiletto heels, stood in the corner. The sum total of Lacy Leatherwood was all right here.

With a sigh, Megan closed the closet door. If only she were tough-minded enough to bundle up the wig and the fancy outfit, haul it out to the trash, and be done with Lacy forever.

But even that wouldn’t save her from having to tell Conner the truth.

* * *

Early Friday morning, Conner woke to the sound of water dripping off the eaves of the house. His heart sank. It wasn’t a good sign.

With a muttered curse, he swung out of bed, strode down the hall, and out onto the front porch. Barefoot and still clad in the long johns he wore for sleep, he stared out past the overhang of the roof.

A warm chinook wind had swept in during the night, raising the outside temperature by a good twenty degrees. There was nothing left of the snow but a few melting white ridges where it had been scraped and piled. The front yard was a sea of puddles and gooey Texas mud, and the graveled driveway didn’t appear much better.

Bucket had followed him outside. With a happy yip, the dog raced off the porch and jumped into the nearest mud puddle, splashing and rolling in pure doggy joy. Scowling like a thundercloud, Conner shook his head. The blasted mutt would have to be kept outside until he could be bathed. Even then, he’d probably run right back to play in the mud again.

But that was the least of Conner’s troubles. He’d planned to spend the day restocking the freshly cut tree supply for the late shoppers who’d be showing up this weekend. Hank’s lot in town would need trees, too—even more so, now that the ranch yard was a lake of mud.

Yesterday, with the ground still snowy and frozen, harvesting the trees wouldn’t have been a problem. Today the trail to the trees would be a quagmire. The ATV’s thick tires, and the ones on the trailer, would be in danger of getting bogged down. And keeping the cut trees clean would be extra work. With the water to the outside hose shut down for the winter, mud couldn’t be allowed to get on their branches.

Travis had come out onto the porch. For a few minutes, he stood in gloomy silence, watching Bucket romp in the mud. “At least the damn dog’s happy,” he said.