“I’ll work it out.” Daniel didn’t look up.

“Well, I’ll say this for you. You’ve got determination. Maybe too much for your own good.” He hung up his coat and went into the studio to greet his wife.

Megan rose and walked around the table to squeeze her brother’s shoulder. “Don’t be discouraged,” she said. “We’ll find a way.”

“Thanks. I know.”

Leaving him, Megan went down the hall to her room. She’d planned to make spaghetti again for her family, but it was early yet. She had more than an hour of free time ahead. Maybe she could work on her song. But after strumming a few chords, she realized that her concentration was off. She couldn’t stop thinking about her brother. There had to be some way she could help him.

There had to be state agencies that served people with disabilities. Maybe she could find a source for classes or instructors that helped such people learn to drive.

Opening her laptop, she began a search, starting with the state government site, breaking it down to the Department of Public Safety, then to the Department of Public Education. Under the disabilities section was a long list of services, none of which involved driver training. The last item on the list was Contact us. Megan selected it, got an e-mail address, and composed a message describing what Daniel needed. By the time she finished and sent it, her free hour was up.

There was no guarantee that she’d get an answer or, even if she did, that it would be useful. But at least she’d made an effort to help Daniel. Given the late hour, there was no point in waiting for a reply. It was time to shut down her computer and start supper.

* * *

Megan had just climbed into bed when her cell phone rang. “Sorry to call so late.” Conner’s voice sent a deliciously warm quiver through her body. She nestled against the pillows, enjoying the intimate feel of their connection. “Did I wake you?” he asked.

“No. I’m just snuggling under the covers in my jammies.”

“Me too.” He chuckled. “Too bad we’re in different houses.”

Megan felt the heat rise in her cheeks. “I think I’m blushing,” she said.

“I’m getting nicely warm myself. And this old house gets cold at night. No central heating.”

“You could always sleep with Bucket.”

“I can think of things I’d rather have in my bed than a smelly, damp dog.” He sighed and changed the subject. “So, how was the bridal shower?”

“Very nice. I think I made some new friends.”

“Good. You’ll want friends if you decide to stay in Branding Iron.”

“I know. But it’s a big decision.” She’d never told him about her singing career and how important it was to her. Maybe this would be a good time—but, no, she wasn’t ready to say anything that might hint at her secret identity.

“Is there something you want to tell me?” he asked, as if offering her an opening.