The hour was too early to go to bed. Conner popped the tab on a Bud Light, settled in the armchair, and used the remote to flip through the limited channels on the old TV set. He found a couple of Christmas movies he’d seen, a kiddie special, and a college basketball game. Sinking back into the chair, with Bucket curled at his feet, he tried to focus on the game. But he hadn’t heard of either school that was playing, and the red team was winning by twenty points at the half. Conner’s thoughts kept drifting to where he’d wanted to be tonight—somewhere, maybe even here, with Megan in his arms, taking time to explore the different ways she liked to be kissed. She would smell like lavender and taste like red wine, and her lips would feel like warm satin against his . . .

Conner didn’t realize he’d drifted off until Bucket alerted him with a low woof. He glanced at the clock. It was after 11:00, and he could hear a vehicle pulling up to the house.

His first thought was that it might be Travis. But Travis would have parked his pickup under the shed. And Bucket would be in greeting, wagging mode. Instead, the dog was staying close to Conner, a wary growl rumbling in his throat.

“Easy, boy.” Conner rose and switched off the TV. By the time he heard the rap on the front door, he’d already guessed the identity of his late-night visitor. Taking a deep breath, he opened the door.

“Hello, Ronda May,” he said.

In the harsh glow of the porch light, he could see that she’d been crying. Her eyes were red, her cheeks lined with trails of black mascara. “I’m freezing,” she said. “Can I come in? We need to talk.”

“You can come in. But leave your coat on because you won’t be staying long.”

She stepped across the threshold. Bucket, still wary, sniffed at her boot. “Get that dog away from me!” she snapped. “You know I don’t like him!”

“I remember now.” Conner snapped his fingers, sending Bucket into the kitchen. The dog liked most people, but he and Ronda May had never gotten on.

Ronda May had taken a seat in the armchair. She dabbed at her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she whimpered.

“If that’s an apology, I’m waiting for more.” Conner remained on his feet. “You were out of line, spilling wine on my date and then dragging her into the ladies’ room so you could give her an earful of lies and threats. What were you thinking?”

“That I still love you, and that I’d do anything to be with you again.”

“That’s not going to happen.” Conner didn’t want to be cruel, but he was too angry to hold back. “I thought you were getting married. I was fine with it. I wanted you to be happy.”