“So you’d hoped? She told me you begged her to come back.”

“I begged her?” Conner’s chuckle sounded forced. “Not quite. We broke up because Ronda May wanted to get married. I didn’t. We lasted as long as we did because I didn’t want to hurt her. I wanted the breakup to be her idea. In the end, it was.”

“Then you must have cared for her,” Megan said softly.

“I did,” Conner said. “Just not enough to go the distance.”

Was that the way he felt about her? Megan wondered. Ronda May might have bent the truth, but there was something to be learned from her story—something Megan would be wise to remember. Conner might care for her, but maybe, as he’d just said, not enough to go the distance.

She was saved from the awkward conversation by the arrival of their new server, a young man this time, who took Conner’s order for two rib eyes, medium rare.

“Would you like some more wine?” Conner asked.

Megan glanced down at the wine-soaked front of her new jeans. “I think I’ve had enough wine for tonight,” she said.

Their salads, along with fresh, warm sourdough bread, arrived promptly. Everything was tasty and well prepared, especially the steaks. But the glow had gone from the evening. Although she stayed out of sight, Ronda May had seen to that.

Megan did her best to make small talk, as if the encounter with Conner’s former girlfriend hadn’t happened. She’d meant to mention that she’d ended things with her Nashville beau. Now there seemed to be no point in bringing it up.

Deciding to skip dessert, they left the restaurant an hour after they’d arrived. The night was cold and moonless, with powdery snowflakes blowing on the wind. Still damp from the wine spill, Megan huddled into her coat as Conner walked her to the Jeep and offered an arm to help her inside.

He didn’t say much until they were back on the highway, headed south to Branding Iron. “I’m sorry,” he said. “This isn’t how I wanted our evening to turn out. If I’d known Ronda May was working at that restaurant, I’d have made different plans.”

“It might have saved me from a wine dousing. But it wouldn’t have changed anything else,” Megan said. “She made it clear to me that she wants you back. She even warned me not to get in her way. Sooner or later, you were bound to hear from her.”

“Listen to me, Megan. Ronda May isn’t calling the shots. Whatever we had, it’s over and done with. I was happy when she found somebody else.” He drove in silence for a few moments. “You’re not saying anything. Don’t you believe me?”