Undeniably Yours (13 page)

“I keep trying to talk myself out of it,” Amber continued. “But I don't think I'll be able to relax until I finish things with Stephen for good.”

“I understand.”

“You do?”

“I do. And what's more? I'll help you. I'll help you find him.”

After Amber's call, Meg slept poorly, chased by dreams of Stephen. Dreams in which she stood rooted to the spot, frozen, and trying but unable to move as he came rushing furiously forward to hurt her.

The moment she opened her eyes the next morning, anxiousness pounced on her. It stayed with her while she got ready for work, drove into the city, and went through the motions of her job.

She kept asking for God's help, kept telling herself to keep calm and breathe. But like a swimmer trapped in a tank, the waters of inexplicable, suffocating worry continued to mount. Up to her chin. Over her head, stealing all her air.

“So you'll oversee the team?” Uncle Michael asked her.

“Yes.” He'd been talking for ages about some team he'd formed to create some report for some oil and gas exploration proposal for some company. Her mounting alarm hadn't been helped by him, his relentless expectations, and his overinflated assessment of her potential at Cole Oil.

When was he going to leave? They were surrounded by the rich confines of Meg's father's office, sitting in shiny leather chairs in the seating area, with folders full of numbers on their
laps and silver pens in their hands. She really,
really
didn't want to come unglued in front of him.

“I'd like to have the team's report on my desk by Friday morning,” he said.

“I'll work on it. If that's all,” she pushed shakily to her feet, “I have some calls I'd better return.”

His attention flicked over her. “Certainly.” He rose, as smooth and elegant as always, and strode to the door. “I'll talk to you later.”

Once he'd left, Meg counted to ten, then threw the lock on the door and exhaled a half-sobbing breath.
I'm crazy
, she thought.
Nuts. If Uncle Michael had any idea, he'd lock me up—

No, Meg. Quit it. You're okay. You're just upset today. Overwhelmed by everything
.

She crossed hurriedly to the desk, located her sudoku, and toed off her heels. “God, come,” she whispered. “Help me.” With quivering fingers, she smoothed open the book in front of her. Hardly any blank puzzles remained. She'd need to buy another because she'd certainly have enough psychosis left to fill it.

Her eyes screwed shut.
Please help me, Lord. Please please please. Help me to calm down.

She believed in the Holy Spirit. Not just His closeness, but that He actually lived within her.
Trust me,
Meg
, that Spirit seemed to whisper.

I'm still trying to. Wanting to. Is . . . is this job your will for me? It doesn't feel like it, but I can't see any other path before me. Will you show me your plan?

No plan burst full-blown and clear into her head. In fact, the only thing she sensed God saying?

Wait on me.
Not very reassuring! Her sanity was teetering on a knife's edge, and she craved clear direction. How much longer
could she battle this particular attack? How much longer could she live like this?

She opened her eyes, gripped her pencil like a lifeline, and tried to focus her thoughts on filling empty squares with numbers. Her mind skittered through the options. 1? 7? What about here? 5? Checking the columns up and down, up and down, to see what might fit.

She hovered on the brink of submerging in her own heart-pounding panic for endless minutes. Finally, the waters began to lower, giving her just enough air in the top of the tank to breathe.

When her phone rang, she felt confident that God was reaching out to her in the way that He often did, offering her support and comfort through one of His people. Since Stephen's desertion, He'd proven himself faithful a thousand times. She'd learned that she could count on Him in the same way that she could count on there being sixty minutes in an hour, or twenty-four hours in a day.

She pulled her phone from her purse, expecting to see Sadie Jo's or Lynn's name on the screen. Instead, the incoming call came from an unfamiliar number.

She pressed a button to answer. “Hello?”

“Meg?”

She recognized the voice instantly. A shiver raced down her spine and all the way along the rear of her legs, tingling against the backs of her knees. “Bo?”

“Hey. Sorry to bother you at work. I just . . .” He hesitated. “Are you okay?”

God had tapped
Bo Porter
as His ambassador? God had assigned
Bo Porter
to the task of assisting her? Oh my goodness . . . “I'm okay. It's been a rough morning at work.”

“I'm sorry.” She could hear the concern in his voice. “Anything I can do?”

“No, but thanks for asking.” She rolled her lips inward and clamped them with her teeth in an effort to control her rickety emotions, to sound at least remotely together.

“Listen,” he said, “I was calling because I meant to tell you when I saw you at the farm the other night that Amber and Jayden are welcome to come by and ride the horses anytime.”

“They'd probably enjoy that.”

“I was thinking Jayden might like horses.”

“Sure. I'll tell them.”

“Just have Amber call or text me to let me know when they'd like to come out. I'll have one of the grooms meet them.”

“Great.” A pause followed. Meg didn't want the conversation to end. She wanted to go on clinging to his words, to the steady, reliable calm of them . . . of
him
 . . . for just a little longer.

“Want to tell me about what's been going on today?” he asked.

She rose and walked to the windows that overlooked downtown Dallas. Intentionally, she skipped over the news flash that she'd now be actively helping Amber find Stephen. “I'm just overwhelmed by my job. I'm in over my head, and it stresses me out.” She told him about Cole Oil, and he patiently listened. She asked him questions about his work, the farm, the horses. When they eventually said good-bye and she disconnected, she remained standing at the windows. Outside, the pale blue sky reached into the distance.

Her emotions and thoughts had, for the most part, returned to normal. The terrified clamor of her body had stilled. Without a doubt, talking with Bo had soothed her.

Could it really be that God had spurred him to call her just now? The timing had been so exactly like God. Precisely his usual MO with her when she was struggling.

But . . . Bo? Was she supposed to believe that God had added
his name to the roster of people He used to comfort her? The one man in five years that she had a little tiny crush on? Her employee.

Him?

Suddenly, the uncanny effect Bo had on her—that rush of peace she experienced when near him—made perfect sense. The inner serenity his nearness brought her didn't actually come from Bo, a man every bit as human and frail in and of himself as she was. It came from God, passed to her through Bo's words, Bo's compassionate eyes, Bo's trustworthy presence, the Holy Spirit within him. God was using Bo as His hands and His feet.

“Oh.” An exhale seeped from her lungs.

Only, it wouldn't do to get too carried away. She should be careful not to convince herself of things that weren't true, simply because she hoped and wished that they were.

Bo's call might have been a coincidence.

Except.

Except she didn't really believe in coincidences. Not nearly, anyway, as much as she believed in God.

Stephen considered himself an expert at the game of blackjack. He'd put his mind to it, and what he put his mind to, he mastered.

Over the last few years he'd earned thousands of dollars at blackjack tables just like this one, in casinos just like this one—with their purified air, windowless walls, and background noise of voices and ringing slot machines.

He fully expected to win this hand.

The dealer drew her next card, and was then bound by the rules to draw again. And again.

She's going to bust
, Stephen thought, satisfaction lifting sharp inside him.

Instead, she turned over a three, which gave her nineteen. Her nineteen trumped his eighteen.

Completely expressionless, the female dealer pulled his stack of chips toward her. And with that, she took the last of the five thousand he'd been playing with tonight.

Stephen allowed himself to show no reaction except a good-natured shake of his head. Inside, his temper exploded like fiery lava from a volcano.

The middle-aged blonde with the low-cut top sitting next to him crooned in sympathy.

“Not my night,” he said to her and gave her a what's-a-guy-going-to-do smile.

“It could still get better from here,” she said, her expression flirtatious.

As if. She was way too old for his tastes, a fact that he might have compromised if she'd had big money. But based on her purse, clothes, jewelry, and conversation, she didn't. “Sweetheart,” he answered, “even though I lost money, I got to sit with you for a good, long time. What could be worth more than that?”

She turned misty-eyed and pliable, which allowed him to make a smooth getaway. He moved through the casino toward the parking garage, checking his watch as he went. Two thirty in the morning. And five thousand gone. Five thousand!

He gripped the key chain in his pocket so hard that the sharp edges of his keys bit into his palm. Inside his head he cussed the last dealer he'd had. He wouldn't be a bit surprised to learn that she'd been cheating him since the moment she'd arrived at the table.

Disgusting casino. They promised you on billboards, online,
and in TV commercials that they were giving away millions, but every fool knew they were the ones making those millions. They only cared about money. About themselves.

He took the elevator and exited at P2. A smattering of cars sat in their spaces, silent and devoid of people. With no one to see, he gripped the grimy lip of a nearby metal trash can, and stared at it for a long moment while his breath grew labored and his rage overwhelmed him. He kicked the trash can, kneed it, kicked it more, and then threw it as far as he could heave it. It landed on its side with a tremendous metallic clang that eased his emotions not at all.

It had been an unlucky night and an unlucky month. Even though a good portion of the money he'd played with tonight he'd scammed off Kelsie—one of the Phoenix girls he'd been sleeping with—a good portion of it had been his own money, too.

A few million dollars no longer lasted as long as it once had. Certainly not for someone like him. He wasn't like most American men, herd of dumb cows that they were: content with a desk job, a recliner, football on TV, and king ranch chicken for dinner. He had excellent taste and the smarts to appreciate fine things.

Soon, he'd need more money.

He didn't doubt his ability to secure it for himself.

The only question?

How.

O
ver the next two weeks, one sunny Texas day stirred by gentle breezes rolled into the next, punctuated here and there with a spring storm just ominous enough to toss the local weathermen into a frenzy. The final days of April passed the baton to the early days of May.

After much careful thought, Meg deemed her visits to the horse farm unthreatening enough and beneficial enough to continue. Three or four times a week she made her way to the paddock rail. Each and every time, no matter the hour or the temperature, no matter that she never summoned him, Bo would appear.

The two of them talked and talked, sometimes laughing gently, sometimes admiring the horses in a lull of quiet. They discussed their childhoods, the Marines, theology, her previous jobs, Tulsa, Kentucky, horses. He told her she worked too much. She told him the same.

Bo's friendship and the camaraderie they shared helped Meg. In those spaces of relaxation, standing at the fence beside him encircled by nature, her spirit started to recuperate.

Thanks to Bo, Sadie Jo, Lynn, Meg's frequent sessions on the elliptical machine, and most of all thanks to God's grace, Meg began to find her way back to herself and to her right mind. The
spikes of panic she'd been struggling against since her father's death gradually started to ebb away.

Whenever she was with Bo, Meg continued to sense a cord of mutual attraction between them. And yet they both, as if they'd written out a pact and signed it in front of a notary, were careful not to say or do anything even close to inappropriate. They never stood too near. They never touched.

Meg no longer worried—or at least no longer worried
very often
—that Bo might be acting. She hadn't completely forgotten that he had, potentially, a lot to gain from her affection and thus might be using her. But every time she entertained the possibility, it seemed more and more farfetched.

So long as she protected her heart and didn't go getting all silly over him. So long as they preserved that respectful space between them. So long as they remained friends and nothing more. . . .

So long as those boundaries held firm, she judged her relationship with Bo a blessing from God and nothing that could cause her harm.

Over those same two weeks, Bo came to view his relationship with Meg as something that could cause him the worst harm imaginable. And yet, just as surely, as something he couldn't let go of.

One night after visiting with her at the farm, he parked his truck in the carport attached to his house, grabbed his two sacks of food, and let himself in through the side door. He didn't like grocery shopping, so he always waited to hit Brookshire's until the situation grew urgent, which happened every time he ran out of Dr. Pepper.

He flipped on the kitchen lights and set the sacks on the Formica countertop. After fishing his smartphone from his jacket pocket, he stuck it in its dock and set it to play “Tomorrow” by Chris Young.

He began putting away the food while mentally going over every detail of the conversation he'd had with Meg. How she'd held herself, the things she'd said, the way she'd looked at him with those light brown eyes of hers. He held tight to their time together whenever she came to the farm and spent every minute of the days she didn't come wishing she would.

When he finished putting away the groceries, he leaned against the counter, his hands on his hips, and frowned at nothing.

It was and would always be rich female boss, regular country boy employee between the two of them. On that understanding, they'd built a friendship that was only guaranteed to last as long as the farm continued to operate and not a minute longer. One month had passed since she'd told him she'd close his farm. Only five remained, and he'd drawn only slightly closer to earning back the farm's remaining balance. He hadn't made near enough progress.

When he was with Meg he worked hard to keep it polite and low-key between them. Not only did Meg employ him, but she'd been wounded somehow and was still trying to find her feet. Bo knew good and well that she depended on him to treat her in a gentlemanly, platonic way. She'd be terrified if she knew the depth of his feelings for her.

Even tonight, after he'd just seen and spent time with her, he felt physically compelled—the way he felt compelled to eat or sleep—to see her again.

William Cole would roll over in his grave if he knew.

He swore aloud. He still couldn't make sense of the effect
Meg had on him. Didn't understand his feelings for her. Over the years he'd dated plenty, and he'd sincerely liked each of his girlfriends. Ultimately, though, when it had come time to take them or leave them, he'd left them all without a problem.

With Meg, though? Just the thought of not seeing her again caused his heart to pound. His reaction to her was crazy, powerful, dangerous, and nothing he could
ever
act upon.

Amber Richardson had made a lot of F-minus decisions in her life. That short haircut in the seventh grade, for one. Her ninth-grade boyfriend, Justin. Her tenth-grade boyfriend, Robbie. The choice to try out for cheerleading, even though she had no coordination. Her eleventh-grade boyfriend, Chris S. All the times she'd gotten drunk at parties and let even drunker friends drive her home. Her twelfth-grade boyfriend, Cody. The times she'd mouthed off to her father, even though she'd known he'd mouth off back at her louder and angrier and longer. The choice to chase Cody to Lubbock instead of staying home and concentrating on school. Sex outside marriage. Her decision to move in with a group of party-girl roommates in Lubbock. Her romance with Stephen. Her sloppy use of birth control.

All bad. Bad, bad, bad choices.

The last two years of her life, especially, had been a long, hard marathon. A ton of times she'd worried that she and Jayden might not make it, that she might not be strong enough. But right now, at this moment, it looked like the two of them would maybe, somehow, survive. Because she'd
finally
gotten one stinking decision right. The decision to move in with Meg and turn her life around had been A-plus, one hundred percent, gold-star correct.

Amber was sitting on top of a big black horse with Jayden in front of her on the saddle, trotting around one of the pastures at Whispering Creek Horses. Jayden had never been on a horse before, but that hadn't mattered a bit. He'd been laughing ever since they'd started moving, and the sound of her little boy laughing was just about the sweetest sound Amber'd ever heard. She hugged her baby against her front and directed the horse to circle around the field again.

A redheaded high school kid named Zach rode next to them. He worked at the ranch and had saddled the horses. “How you doing?” he asked.

“Doing fine.” Amber had never owned a horse herself, but she'd grown up riding plenty of friends' horses.

“You look like a natural, and your son there sure seems to be enjoying himself.”

“He sure does.”

On this afternoon the clouds above looked fluffy, like white icing God had whipped with a hand mixer. The air smelled like grass and new beginnings.

The motion of the horse lifted her hair off her back and brought it down over and over again. For the first time in ages, she didn't have to stress about all the things she couldn't handle.

She liked her new job at the law office, and she really liked the nanny that she'd hired this past week. With Meg, Lynn, and Sadie Jo's help, she'd decided on a lady in her mid-fifties who had gentle eyes and an outgoing personality, and called everyone
sweetie pie
.

Jayden let out a happy squeal.

Amber smiled. “You like horses, Jay?”

He patted his hands excitedly against the horse's mane.

When Meg had mentioned a while back that Bo Porter had
invited them out to the ranch, Amber had wanted to bring Jayden right away. But she'd been too busy to drive out here until today. Now she wished she'd come sooner.

They rounded the far curve of the pasture, which turned them back in the direction of the barn.

“Looks like Ms. Cole is here,” Zach said.

Amber squinted. Sure enough, she could see Meg and a man walking side by side up to the white wooden fence. “Let's go say hi.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

Their horses crossed the length of the pasture. As Amber drew near, she could see that Meg had come straight from work. She had on a suit, her makeup looked like someone from the MAC counter had done it, and she'd clearly used a straight iron on her hair. If Meg hadn't been so nice, she could seriously have had her own reality show on Bravo.

Meg tilted her head to gaze up at them. “You guys look impressive.”

“Thanks,” Amber answered. “Jayden really loves riding. He's having a great time.”

“I'm so glad. Hello again, Zach.”

“Hello, Ms. Cole.”

“Amber, do you remember my cousin Brimm Westfall?”

“Oh, sure.” Now that she'd come close, Amber recognized the man next to Meg. She'd met him on Easter. He was the math and computer genius. “Nice to see you again.”

“You too.”

With his medium height and lean body, Brimm looked like a college kid more than a college professor. He wore a hip pair of glasses, a retro faded green T-shirt, jeans, and black-and-white Adidas soccer shoes with flat tan soles.

“I've explained everything to him,” Meg said, “and he's agreed to help you with your—” she glanced at Zach— “uh . . . search.”

“Really?” Amber stared at Brimm. “That's awesome. Wow. Thank you.”

He shrugged. “Sure.”

“Did you . . . were you wanting to start now?” Amber asked. Jayden grunted to let her know that he didn't like stopping, then started pointing toward the pasture. “I mean, we could get down.”

“No,” Brimm answered. “It's cool. Go ahead and finish.” His straight brown hair fell forward over a pointy, but still cute, face.

“Would you guys like to ride with us?” Amber asked.

“Not me,” Meg said quickly.

“Um.” Brimm squinched his lips to one side, thinking about it.

“Can you ride?” Amber asked him.

“I'm decent.”

“Then c'mon!”

“You can ride Huck here,” Zach offered. He slid off and brought the reins over the horse's head.

“These aren't Thoroughbreds that are part of the breeding and racing business?” Brimm asked Zach.

“No, sir. Mr. Cole kept these horses for him and his friends to ride. Huck's real gentle. Would you like to give him a try?”

“Well, why not?”

“Because you could break every bone in your body,” Meg whispered.

Brimm shot Meg a fast smile, let himself through the gate into the pasture, and mounted up. Zach excused himself to go and get another horse from the barn.

“Ready?” Amber asked Brimm.

He nodded, and they started off together at a walk.

———

Meg watched Amber, Jayden, and Brimm head off on the horses. Jayden screeched with pleasure and kicked his chubby baby legs, which caused Meg to smile.

This was a different barn than the broodmare barn Meg usually visited, yet the building itself and the arrangement of paddocks and pasture outside were almost identical.

She slipped on her glasses so that she could better enjoy the view, then relaxed into her familiar and comfortable post at the rail. Thankfully, she'd made it to another Friday afternoon, which meant she could enjoy two whole days before having to go back to Cole Oil.

Zach returned on a fresh horse and joined the others. Before the group had made even one loop around the enclosure, Meg heard footfalls approaching.

She knew who it was even before she turned because her tummy lifted and tightened with excitement. She glanced behind her, and sure enough.

Bo.

He walked toward her wearing his straw Stetson, jeans, ropers, and a white T-shirt under a beige corduroy jacket with a sheepskin collar. He smiled at her as he neared.