“We’ll see. If it’s a yes, I’ll let Maggie know.” Conner wolfed down the last doughnut, finished his coffee, and put the mug in the sink. His injured hip was throbbing from the cold. But the pain was nothing that a long, hot shower, some Tylenol, and a good night’s sleep wouldn’t cure.

“Help yourself to the hot water,” Travis said. “I figured you’d probably need it.”

“Thanks.” Conner kicked off his wet boots, set them behind the stove to dry, and headed down the hall. Travis was always thinking of other people’s needs. Maybe that kind of unselfishness was what made a man a good husband and father. If that was true, Conner reflected, he had a long way to go.

He’d been on his own since high school, which was when his parents had gone their separate ways. Hard experience had taught him to look out for number one. Aside from the animals he’d cared for, he’d never taken responsibility for anyone but himself.

His relationships never lasted. Either the women gave up waiting for him to care, or they became so needy that Conner ended up feeling trapped.

But lately, seeing his partners with the women they loved, the tenderness, the closeness, the shared fun, Conner had begun to realize that something was missing from his life. He wanted what his friends had. But he didn’t know how to find it, let alone keep it.

In the shower, he let the hot water run down his body, warming him and easing the pain in his hip. He was dog tired, but the prospect of learning more about the pretty schoolteacher had him looking forward to morning. He hadn’t gotten a good look at her, but what he’d seen he liked—big brown eyes and slightly elfin features below the knitted cap she’d worn. And he could tell she was smart. He liked smart women.

Humming to himself, he pulled on the thermal pajamas that kept him warm at night and crawled into a bed that always started out cold.

Megan Carson. Nice name. Nice girl. He already liked her—especially that sweet, slightly husky voice.

But aside from a few dates and maybe a few kisses, he didn’t plan to get serious. He was holding out for the Cowboy Christmas Ball and Lacy Leatherwood, the ebony-haired goddess who’d walked onstage last year and walked off with his heart.

* * *

By morning, the storm had passed. The sun rose on a landscape of glittering white, under a sky of crystalline blue. The air was filled with the sound of shovels scraping walks and driveways and vehicles struggling to start.