Still dazed, Megan followed her friend toward the back door, where the musicians were putting away their instruments. The relief was slowly sinking in. The performance had been a success. She’d done all right, but she didn’t feel much like celebrating, especially if it involved alcohol. After the long night of travel, the day of rehearsals, and the adrenaline rush of performing, exhaustion was catching up with her.

Besides, there was only one person she wanted to celebrate with. And he was out of reach.

The band members were carrying their packed instruments and gear out to the van. Maybe she would just ask them to drop her off at her apartment. From there, she would try one more call to Conner. Then she would go to bed, catch the morning flight back to Amarillo, and drive back to Branding Iron—and Conner. She could only hope that he was all right.

Meanwhile, she had a great deal of thinking to do and a big decision to make.

“Coming, Megan?” Joe, the drummer, stood framed in the outside doorway with the lights of the parking lot behind him. “We’re almost done loading the van.”

“Thanks, I’ll be right there.” Megan headed down the hallway to the door. The wig felt itchy on her head. She could hardly wait to get home and get rid of the hair, makeup, boots, and skintight jeans. “I’m pretty beat, guys,” she said, stepping outside. “I couldn’t handle a night of celebrating. I hope you won’t mind just dropping me off at my apartment.”

“They won’t need to drop you off, Megan.” A tall, familiar figure stepped out of the shadows. “I’ll take you home.”

Megan’s heart sank. She should have known Derek would show up.

“Come on.”

* * *

With his hand at the small of her back, he guided her firmly toward his big white Cadillac. Megan was too tired to argue. She wasn’t afraid of the man. But she was in no mood for one of his interminable lectures.

He let her into the car. She sank into the sumptuous leather seat, wishing she could go to sleep right there. But she knew that wasn’t going to happen.

“How did you know I’d be here, Derek?” she asked as he climbed into the driver’s seat.

“Easy enough. I called the agency that handles bookings for the band. The secretary knows I’m your boyfriend. She told me you’d be in town.”

“You’re not my boyfriend. We broke up. Remember?” Megan was getting a headache. “Just drive me home, please. I’m exhausted.”

He started the car and backed out of the parking place. “I saw you onstage tonight. You were . . . incandescent.”

Only Derek would use a word like “incandescent.”

“I did my best . . . for the band,” she said.