Undeniably Yours (14 page)

“Hi,” Meg said.

“Hi,” he answered, then came to an abrupt stop. “Are you cold? I'll just go and take a look in the barn. I can probably find you something—”

“It's all right.”

“It'll just take a sec.” He turned, then disappeared into the barn.

She whistled low under her breath. Why did he have to
look
like that all the time? Like an award-winning Marlborough ad?

Aunt Pamela had called Meg earlier in the day to talk about Tara's upcoming engagement party. She'd reminded Meg—again—to bring a date. If Meg had to ask someone to go with her to the party, which clearly she did, she wanted to ask Bo. For one thing, he looked like a Marlborough ad. Secondly, he'd make the evening bearable for her. Thirdly, her back-up plan was Mr. Son.

Unfortunately, though, she didn't know how to ask Bo to go out with her on something that sounded like a date without giving him the wrong idea completely.

He returned and handed over an orange cotton sweat shirt that said
HOOK 'EM HORNS
on the front. “This ought to help.”

“Thank you.” The sweat shirt would ruin her outfit, but she wasn't about to argue with him over it, so she put it on.

“I'm guessing you're not here for a horseback riding lesson.”

“Just so you know, I haven't forgotten about our horseback riding lessons. I'll let you know when I've worked up enough courage.”

“You do that. I'll be ready.”

The group of riders drew up to them and exchanged greetings with Bo.

“It looks like you're taking good care of these people,” Bo said to Zach.

“Yes, sir, Mr. Porter,” the kid responded with clear respect.

“We're having an awesome time,” Amber said to Bo. “Thanks so much for inviting us to come out and ride.”

“Anytime.”

“Brimm and I have just been talking about tomorrow night.” Amber shifted Jayden on her lap. “Sadie Jo wants to baby-sit
for me, but I'm not sure what to do around Holley on my big night out.”

“What do you like to do?” Bo asked.

“Well, I haven't been in a while, but I love country and western dancing. Is there anything like that around here?”

“Yeah, there's a place called Deep in the Heart on the edge of town.”

Amber's attention moved to Meg. “Would you like to go with me, Meg? Of course, you probably already have plans. . . .”

For the past five years Meg's weekend plans had mostly included Cashew, a bath, and a book. “I'm afraid I've only been country and western dancing a couple of times.” All during her college years, and always because a group of friends had talked her into it. Deep in the Heart sounded like the last place in Holley she'd voluntarily choose to go.

“It's okay that you've only been a few times,” Amber assured her. “How about it?”

“Um . . .”

“Please? It'll be fun.”

She couldn't stand to leave Amber's invitation hanging, nor did she want Amber visiting Deep in the Heart alone. “I guess I could go.”

“What about you guys?” Amber looked to Bo and Brimm. “If you come along, Meg and I won't have to rustle up local boys to dance with.”

Meg had no intention, none, of
ever
“rustling up local boys to dance with.”

“I'll be there,” Bo said.

Thank God
, Meg thought.

Everyone looked at Brimm. Meg fully expected him to decline. He had no rhythm.

Brimm lifted a shoulder. “Well, why not?”

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

On Saturday, Meg sequestered herself in the guesthouse and drudged her way through Cole Oil computer files. In the late afternoon, she reached a stopping point and made her way to her father's home gym, determined to sweat off as much water weight as possible. She wasn't positive what the term
water weight
meant. Nor did she know how much of it a person her size might be carrying around.

Hopefully lots, she thought darkly, because sweating it off was her sole hope of fitting into her tightest pair of jeans for tonight's outing to Deep in the Heart.

She stepped onto the elliptical and went to work. Her cardio sessions hadn't gotten any easier, even though she'd stuck to a regular schedule. They continued to kick her bootie every single time. She pumped her legs, wheezing air, fighting through the protests of her heart and muscles.

This is why people give up too early. Hang in there, Meg. It's good for you.
She plowed on, determined.
It's helping with the anxiety. And eventually you'll get better at it.

She'd decided that for the first time today, she'd finish her cardio, then try her hand at lifting weights. She'd surfed around online and found a weight-lifting workout for women, printed it off, and brought it with her.

Once she'd completed her time on the elliptical, she staggered over to the mini-fridge, toweled off, and guzzled a bottled water. She reread the weight-lifting instructions, picked up the recommended amount of weight for a beginner, lay down on a
bench and, with a powerful case of doubt, attempted something called a chest press.

Was she doing this right? She shoved the weights upward toward the ceiling. Recalling the online photos of the move, she did her best to imitate the model's form.

After eight chest presses her muscles started to burn. She imagined her jeans and used the visualization to motivate herself. With a puffing exhale, she heaved the weights upward again.

Once she'd finished the set, she sat up and blew a piece of hair out of her eyes.

Thank goodness that Bo had agreed to join Amber and her this evening. Meg had never been comfortable around strangers, but with Bo nearby, she'd be all right. His company had the power to turn a potential nightmare outing into something that might even prove to be . . . enjoyable?

She consulted her instructions, then started to lower into and out of squats.

It wasn't fair, of course, to pin all her expectations on Bo. For one thing, he'd probably know lots of people at Deep in the Heart and go off and leave her for long stretches. Only fair. For another, he'd likely dance with other women. Also only fair.

He might take a liking to Amber.

He might hit the alcohol too hard.

Or he might
, she reminded herself,
be wonderful. And you'll have fun.

Remember fun, Meg?

M
eg's plan to visit Deep in the Heart upset Bo. He'd been on edge over it all day, and now that he was here, waiting outside for her like they'd arranged, his concern had doubled.

He watched several cars pull into the dark parking lot, lit only occasionally with light posts. People drifted past him on their way inside, talking back and forth in quiet tones. He recognized most of them.

At last Meg's Mercedes pulled into the lot. His instincts honed in on the car, and he pushed away from where he'd been leaning against his truck.

When Meg stepped out into the night air, his mood nose-dived. She reminded him of Sandy in the final scene of
Grease
. She had on a pair of jeans that should have been illegal, a black top under a black leather jacket that clung to her curves, and a fifteen-hundred-dollar pair of boots. He guessed she'd spent even more time than usual on her appearance because her eye makeup was darker. Hair bigger. She looked powerfully, almost painfully, beautiful and every man in the place would surely notice.

Amber and Meg approached him.

“Evening,” he said.

“Hi, Bo.” Amber took him in with wide, excited eyes. Clearly, it had been a while since she'd had a night off from the mom thing.

“You look nice,” Meg said.

“Thanks,” he answered. “So do you.”

“I don't look like I'm wearing a Halloween costume?”

“No.”

“Sure?”

“Sure.”

“Brimm is on his way,” Amber said. “He told us to go on in and that he'd meet us inside.”

“Let's head in, then.” Bo held the door for the women, followed them into the entry hall, paid the cover for the three of them, and escorted them inside. He'd been to Deep in the Heart countless times. The low ceiling, the dim lighting, the faint smell of smoke, the glowing neon signs behind the long bar—all familiar.

This dark emotion inside of him? Unfamiliar.

The cover band's version of “Beer for my Horses” poured over them. Bo raised his voice to be heard. “Would you like a drink?”

“Goodness, yes,” Amber answered. “Diet Coke for me, please.”

“And you?” he asked Meg.

“Bottled water?”

Her choice came as a relief.

The women followed Bo to the bar. While the bartender dug around for a bottled water, which was probably an unusual request, Bo could sense the interest of dozens of men zoning in on Meg. His blood pressure climbed.

The horde stayed back long enough for Bo to pay. He led the women over to a tall table in a shadowy corner.

Around them several people threw back their heads, lifted their drinks, and sang along with the song's chorus, “Whiskey for my men and beer for my horses!”

“Are you hungry?” he asked Meg.

“I might be in a little bit.” She unscrewed the lid of her water. “Thanks for this and for paying to get us in.”

“No problem.” It was hard to talk over the music, so the three of them watched the dancers slide across the big hardwood dance floor.

Bo's stomach knotted with worry. It wasn't right, Meg being here. She was one of the richest women—maybe
the
richest, for all he knew—in the state of Texas, and she was standing defenseless right next to him.

He wasn't used to bringing someone as fine as Meg into a place like this. Over the weeks he'd known her, he'd gained a pretty good understanding of just how rare Meg was. She was worth far more than her father's money simply because of
who
she was. And also who she was . . . to him.

He might as well have brought a priceless one-of-a-kind diamond into the room and tossed it onto the stage.

He honestly didn't think it was safe for her to be here. None of these people, including him, were anywhere near good enough for her. No telling what someone might decide to do once they realized her identity. He cursed inwardly. Why didn't she travel with bodyguards?

Meg and Amber bent their heads together, saying things to each other he couldn't hear. His attention scanned the crowd.

Sean and Brady, two guys who'd gone through school with his brother Ty, caught his eye and headed over. Both were cocky good-for-nothings that the women in Holley loved to love
anyway.

“Hey, Bo,” Sean said. “How you doing?”

“Fine.”

“Good to see you here tonight.” His gaze traveled from Bo over to Amber and Meg.

Bo's entire body tensed with protectiveness.

“Who've you got with you?” Sean asked.

Bo introduced the women.

“Meg Cole?” Sean's eyebrows lifted high. “
The
Meg Cole?”

“I don't know about that,” Meg said.

Bo set his teeth together.

“The
one and only
Meg Cole?” Sean asked.

“I'm sure there are lots of Meg Coles.”

“Not in Holley, there's not,” Sean said. “Around here there's only one.”

Meg fiddled with the back of her earring, and Bo knew that meant Sean made her nervous. He leaned toward her. “You all right?”

“I . . .”

Brady escorted Amber toward the dance floor.

“Care to join them, Meg Cole?” Sean grinned persuasively and held out a hand to her.

Bo barely managed to restrain himself physically and verbally. He didn't have any right to make decisions for her. He was her employee.

Meg chewed the inside of her cheek. “Okay.”

Bo stood frozen as Sean led Meg away and swept her onto the floor. Through a haze of mute black fury, he watched another man's fingers wrap around hers, another man's hand settle on her waist. He himself had never given her more than a handshake.

Meg managed the steps gracefully, her face turned slightly
down and to the side as Sean talked to her. The song drew out forever. Unbearable. Never going to end.

Bo remembered, all at once, the many times he'd ridden out to Whispering Creek with his dad when he'd been a teenager. John Porter bred quarter horses and raised rodeo stock. But he was also known across all of north Texas as an expert horse trainer. Long before William Cole had decided to found a Thoroughbred farm, he'd owned a stable of riding horses. He'd relied on Bo's dad's opinion whenever he considered buying a new horse or faced a training issue with one of his existing animals. Bo had accompanied his dad to Whispering Creek many times, and his dad had always given him the same lecture on the ride over.

“The Coles,” his dad had said to Bo in his calm, slow-paced way, “deserve our utmost respect. You understand me, son? Mr. Cole's accomplished a great deal. A very great deal. Don't speak to him unless you're spoken to. And if Mr. Cole asks you a question, don't let me hear you answer with anything that's not followed by
Sir
.”

Back then, Bo'd had no trouble accepting the way of things. William Cole had been a powerful businessman, a multimillionaire, born into a family of oilmen. Of course he was better than Bo Porter from Holley, Texas, whose only accomplishments were his B average and his position as a safety on the Plano East football team.

After high school there'd been no money for college, so Bo and his brothers had all followed the path of the men in their family and gone into the service. He'd succeeded in the Marines, and his skills as a horseman had served him well since. To tell the truth, he'd rarely regretted his lack of higher education. He'd never seen much need for it. Hadn't had much cause to be ashamed over it.

Until now.

He'd never, in his whole life, felt his faults as clearly as he did at this moment, standing alone in a dark corner of Deep in the Heart, watching Meg dance. He was a lower-middle-class kid from a small town who had no knowledge except about war and horses. If he and Meg had lived five hundred years ago, she'd have been a countess, and he'd have been the guy that worked in the stable making horseshoes for her horses. Her servant.

That was the way of things. But unlike when he'd been a teenager, he no longer found the gulf between them easy to accept.

The song ended, and Sean edged close to Meg to say something. No doubt he was asking her for another dance.

Bo took a half step forward—

Meg shook her head and gestured toward where he stood.

Bo released his breath.

They made their way back. When they reached the table, Meg glanced up at him and then quickly away.

“I'm going to go get a drink,” Sean said. “Need anything?”

“No thank you,” Meg replied.

“Let me know if you change your mind about another dance.”

She nodded, and he moved off.

Meg turned to Bo and lifted onto her tiptoes, bringing her mouth close to his ear. “I don't want to dance with anyone else I don't know. I'm just . . . not good at that sort of thing. If anyone else asks me would you mind if I told them I was with you? Just as an excuse?”

Thank God. He pulled back, met her embarrassed gaze. “I wouldn't mind a bit.”

“I appreciate it.”

Only a couple of songs passed before the next guy tried his luck. This one's father owned the hotel on the square.

“Thanks for asking,” Meg answered. “But I'm here with him tonight.” She angled her head toward Bo.

Gossip traveled fast in Holley. Meg Cole was their resident millionaire and also someone the locals hardly ever got a glimpse of. The news that she'd shown up at Deep in the Heart would be big enough. That she'd turned guys away because she was with Bo Porter? This information would probably reach his employees at the horse farm in under thirty minutes.

He was going to be up to his shoulders in manure because of it.

Even so, he'd deal with the controversy. He'd much rather that, than go insane watching Meg dance with one man after another all night long.

———

There was just something an extra notch special, Meg decided, about a man who'd gotten dressed up to go out on a Saturday night.

Unlike her, Bo looked effortlessly hot at all times. Hot in a plain white T-shirt. Hot while baby-sitting a toddler. Hot in workout clothes. Hot at the end of a long workday. And hot, it turned out, while escorting her and Amber to a country and western dance joint.

He wore a crisp white shirt, more formal than anything she'd seen him in before. It fit him perfectly, the side seams running close along his frame. The bright whiteness of the fabric made his skin appear more tan, his gray eyes startlingly light.

Each time she'd leaned over to talk to him, she'd smelled a hint of spicy cologne. The bracing scent made her long to mash her nose into the hollow between his collarbones.

Goodness, she was losing it! She was twenty-eight years old. She hadn't experienced a single moment's interest in any man
in years. And now, suddenly, she'd been overtaken by the most overwhelmingly acute interest in Bo Porter. Ever since she'd walked up to him in the parking lot earlier, her senses had been helplessly, unswervingly attuned to him.

The band settled into a slower, softer song. Another man asked her to dance, and again, she blamed her negative answer on Bo.

She hadn't wanted to dance with the first cowboy who'd asked her, either, but her inner niceness had cringed at refusing him to his face. So, like a cream puff, she'd agreed and then regretted agreeing the whole time she'd been on the dance floor.

She'd always been introverted. Part of her discomfort around strangers stemmed from that. The other part stemmed from her experiences. Because of her father and his money, she'd learned long ago that people regarded her as an oddity. In a room full of duck, duck, ducks, she was the goose. She'd become overly sensitive about it in situations like this, concerned that people were looking at her, whispering, judging her appearance.

She needed to get over it. How much more self-centered could she be? Most likely
no one
here cared who she was or what she looked like.

“Are you having any fun?” Bo asked.

“I am. I'm enjoying the people watching.” Young women wearing jeans, thin necklaces, rhinestone-studded belts, and low-cut tops moved through the space on the arms of cute cowboys in Stetsons and Ariat jeans. Middle-aged couples who looked like they'd been boot-scooting together for decades glided across the dance floor. And a few suburbanites, more hiply dressed than the country folks, had apparently made the trip over from Plano or Allen.

Out of the crush, Brimm emerged. Meg waved, and he crossed toward them, his hands in his pockets. He'd eschewed western
wear and instead had on khakis and a yellow T-shirt with a graphic of Pac-Man on the front.

Meg gave him a quick hug. “Are you late because you got stuck solving an unsolvable math equation?”

“Meg.” He gave her a mock-chiding look. “You know I only solve unsolvable math equations on the weekdays. I got stuck playing Xbox LIVE.”

“Ah.”

Brimm exchanged greetings and a handshake with Bo, then took in their surroundings. “Cool place. Where's Amber?”

“Out there.” Meg pointed through the weaving dancers.

“I see her,” Brimm said.

Amber spotted him, too. “Brimm!”

He saluted her with two fingers.

As soon as the song ended, Amber made her way to their table. She grinned at Brimm, slightly flushed, her hair mussed from all the movement and twirling. “Ready to dance?”

“Is anyone here planning to video me and send the clip to YouTube so that everyone in America can laugh at me tomorrow?”

They shook their heads.

“Then I guess I'll dance. At least the hilarity will be reserved to the enormous crowd currently present.”

Amber pulled him onto the dance floor.

Sure enough, when Brimm attempted to two-step in sync to the fast beat of Garth Brooks' “Callin' Baton Rouge,” Meg couldn't help but laugh. He'd always been her favorite cousin: calm, loyal, smart, self-deprecating. But sadly, her favorite cousin had all the natural coordination of a baby giraffe.