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.