Undeniably Yours (24 page)

“What kind of house would you like?” he asked.

“Something charming. Something that looks like a cottage out of a fairy tale.”

“A Texas fairy tale?”

“Yes, exactly. We could build it out of Texas stone—”

“That, I like.”

“—and some of those big wooden timbers. High ceilings. White wainscoting. Distressed wooden floors.”

“Why do new houses these days always have to have old-looking floors?”

“Because it adds character.”

“How many stories?”

“One. With a rambling floor plan.”

“Lots of windows,” he added.

“Yes, and soft comfy furniture.”

“Will the soft comfy furniture have pink on it?”

“Of course.”

He made a dissatisfied sound.

“What's the matter with pink?”

“I'm a man. That's what's the matter.”

Her lips curved. “Perhaps I could make some concessions.”

“Generous of you.”

“How about if I limit pink to the master bedroom only?”

“Definitely no pink in the master bedroom.”

“No?”

“A man shouldn't sleep under pink covers.”

She laughed, but her mind caught on the mental image of him with her under any-colored covers. Her skin flushed. “Well, then how about a pink guest room? Whenever I need a fix, I'll just go in there and breathe in the pink.”

“I'll agree to that.”

Their imaginary house sounded heavenly to her. She could almost envision how it would be, the two of them sharing a home, a life.

“Tell me about all the places where you've lived,” he said.

She snuggled closer to him. “Let's see. You're already familiar with the big house. After that I lived in a dorm at Rice.” She told him about her dorm room freshman year, and the apartment close to campus she'd shared with friends the following three years. Then her words trailed off.

“And?” he prompted. “What came next?”

“I . . .” Should she tell him what had come next or just gloss
over it? They'd shared countless conversations this week, but they hadn't talked about this. She hadn't wanted to haul this ugliness into their beautiful bubble.

“Go ahead,” he said. The sun vanished, leaving behind a streak of yellow at the horizon. “You can tell me.”

She released a painful breath. “After college, I got married and my husband and I rented a house in The Village in Houston.”

“I heard it didn't last very long between you two.”

“No, it didn't.”

“You want to tell me about it?”

“Yes and no.”

“Okay.” He simply lay there, his body relaxed alongside hers.

She sensed that it really would be okay with him either way—if she told him or if she didn't. His patience encouraged her to talk.

While the sky darkened to dusky purple above them, she told him about Stephen. Haltingly at first, and then with more assurance. She explained how they'd met, how he'd acted toward her while they dated, her father's reservations. She told him about the way Stephen had changed after their marriage: his lies, explosive anger, lack of remorse, and finally about the money he'd stolen from her when he left.

At that news, Bo pushed himself to sitting. He stewed in silence, the sawing noise of crickets loud.

She placed her hand on his back.

“No offense, Meg, but your ex-husband sounds like a world-class—” He set his jaw, holding in whatever violent word he'd been about to say.

Nonetheless, she understood him perfectly. “Yeah. He was.”

He looked back at her on the blanket. His eyes, gleaming in what had become mostly moonlight, told her volumes more
about his emotions. He extended his hand. She took it, and he pulled her up to sit next to him. “Did you get your money back from him?”

“No. I should have gone after Stephen and tried to get it back, but I didn't. I'm sorry now that I didn't.”

“How old were you back then?”

“Twenty-three.”

She didn't realize she was fiddling with the back of her earring until he took hold of her hand and pressed a kiss into her palm. Without a word, he pulled her into his lap, surrounded her with the two flaps of his corduroy jacket, and hugged her against him.

“If I'd gone after him,” Meg murmured against his throat, “I might have been able to protect people like Amber from him.”

“Is that why you took her in when she came to you for help?”

“In part. But also, I couldn't stand to turn her away. She needed a place to stay, and a job, and help finding Stephen.”

“Help finding Stephen?”

“She wanted him to pay child support.”

“I . . .” He paused for a long moment. “I didn't realize she was looking for him. Did she find him?”

“No. She got close but then changed her mind and decided to stop looking.”

“What about you? Did you ever try to find him?”

“No. I never want to see him again as long as I live.”

He set his chin on the top of her head and they stayed that way, intertwined so closely that she could feel his pulse.

“I wish,” Meg whispered, “that my past was different. That I was new and shiny. That I'd never been married and divorced.”

“I've done all kinds of things I regret, made all kinds of lousy choices.”

“You didn't marry the wrong person.”

“No, but I did other things that can't be undone.” He slid his hands behind her neck, angling her head so that she was looking directly into his darkened face. “I'm sorry about what you've been through, but I can't be sorry about the person it made you into.”

“I'd have been better without it.”

“But you wouldn't be the same. And you wouldn't be as strong.”

She swallowed hard.

“God's forgiven you, Meg. Now you're going to have to forgive yourself.”

She had no words.

“You hear me?”

“Yes.”

He pressed her back into her spot against his chest. His embrace spoke to her of acceptance, of her and her past. And perhaps for the first time since her divorce, Meg felt as if she could fully receive God's complete and total grace, move on, and leave it all behind at the foot of the cross.

“What did you do after Stephen left?” he asked.

“My father and I had agreed a long time ago that I'd come to work at Cole Oil ten years after I graduated from college. But after what happened with Stephen, my father tried to talk me into coming home and working for him. I turned him down.”

“Why?”

“For one thing, I'm not a fan of the oil business. Until those ten years were up, I wanted to choose my own career.”

“And?”

“I knew that if I was living on nothing but a normal salary, then no one would have any reason to manipulate me or pretend to like me the way Stephen had. It just . . . it felt safer.”

“It probably was safer.”

“I ended up taking a job in Tulsa because it was far away from Houston.” She told him about the condo she'd rented during her Tulsa years.

“And that ends the list of places you've lived.”

“That ends it.”

“So here's what I'm wondering.”

“Mmm?”

“In which one of those places were you living when you decided that you had to look perfect all the time?”

“What do you mean?”

“Every time I've ever seen you, even when you're about to go to the gym, you look like you're ready to pose for a magazine.”

“I . . .” Was he criticizing her? Pointing out her vanity? Her insecurity? “I was living in the big house, I guess, when I started looking this way.” He couldn't know what it had been like to grow up as William Cole's daughter. “As a kid I was always aware that people were sizing me up. So, to some degree I've always tried to look presentable so I wouldn't let my father down. I was . . . Well”—she frowned—“probably more anxious about that than most kids.”

“And after Stephen left?”

She groped for a reply.

“You made sure that you always looked extra perfect,” he said gently, “so that no one could say or think anything bad about you.”

His words struck her like a two-by-four. She froze in his arms, trying to absorb the blow. Difficult, because she knew at once, with piercing certainty, that he was right. She'd never consciously made that decision.
I'm going to be as pretty as I possibly can be so that no one can blame me for the fact that my husband
abandoned me
. But that's exactly what she'd been trying to do and why. “Bo Porter,” she whispered, “you shouldn't say things like that unless you have a doctorate in psychology.”

“I'm sorry, Meg. I have no business talking like that. I shouldn't have said anything. I'm probably dead wrong.”

“I wish I could say you were.”

“Please forgive me. I'm such a jerk. I only said it because I want you to know how beautiful you are to me. You might doubt a lot of things about this world, but I never want you to doubt that.” His voice had turned severe. “You'd be just as beautiful with no makeup and messy hair and—and old clothes that don't fit.”

Tears rushed to her eyes, an inner pressure. “You're going to make me cry.”

“Then cry. You know I have tissues.”

Tears began to slip over her lashes.

“For me, you're perfect just the way you are, and nothing you do or don't do is ever going to change that.”

“Oh, Bo. I'm just so-so looking, and I'm too curvy.”

“Excuse me!” He glared down at her with the most insulted expression she'd ever seen on his face. “You're crazy if you think so. You're going to make me mad, talking like that.”

He looked so outraged that she laughed.

“I'm serious!”

Meg smiled. “I know.”

“You're gorgeous. In my eyes you're the most gorgeous woman that ever lived.” He dug into his pocket and pulled out some tissues. “Now here.”

“Thank you.”

But she ended up not needing the tissues because he kissed away her tears, then just plain kissed her.

“Our house here on this hill,” he said against her lips, their breath intertwining.

“Our Texas fairy-tale house?”

“Our Texas fairy-tale house will be the best place of all the places you've lived, countess.”

She squeezed him around the middle.

“I promise you.”

Much later they set off in the direction of the guesthouse. Bo insisted on carrying the tackle box, his pole, the picnic basket, and the blanket draped across his shoulders. That left Meg with only her fishing pole and the flashlight she was using to illuminate their path through the trees.

“My family eats lunch together at my parents' place on Sundays after church,” Bo said. “My brother Ty's in town this weekend, and I'd like for you to come with me tomorrow.”

So far they'd sheltered their relationship by keeping it secret from everyone except Jake. They hadn't been anywhere public together. Meeting his family? Very public. “I . . .”

“We don't have to make a big deal out of it or say anything to them about us.”

His tone held a touch of defensiveness. Meg came to an immediate stop and pointed the flashlight down between their feet. “I hope you don't think I hesitated just now because I'm embarrassed to be dating you. I hesitated because I'm tempted to keep this relationship private longer so that I can protect it.”

“From?”

She gestured with the pole. “Outside people. Would you want to go to lunch with my family tomorrow?”

“No.” He gave her a sheepish, crooked smile.

“That's what I thought.” They started walking again.

“So your plan is to stick your head in the sand?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Not gonna work. Holley's a small town, and the truth is going to come out sooner rather than later.”

“How about we let the truth come out next weekend or next month or next year?”

“How about you go with me to lunch tomorrow?”

She sighed.

“I won't tell them we're dating, okay? They won't be any the wiser.”

She snorted.

“Meg?”

“Yes?”

“Will you please come eat lunch with my family?”

His request, phrased so politely, rendered her physically, mentally, and emotionally incapable of saying no. “Yes, Bo, I'll come eat lunch with your family.”

“Thank you.”

“If I were Catholic I'd do the sign of the cross.”

I
've got two quick warnings for you,” Bo said to Meg as they walked up to his parents' house for Sunday lunch.

“Warnings?” She was already nervous about making a good impression, worried that she'd overdressed, and second-guessing the bouquet she'd brought as a thank-you for Bo's mom.

“My mother's never met a stranger,” he said.

“All right.” That didn't sound too bad.

“So I apologize in advance for anything she might say.”

“Second warning?”

“Don't you dare take a shine to my brother Ty.” Bo mock glared at her from beneath the brim of his straw Stetson.

Such unbridled chemistry flowed between the two of them that simply looking at him full in the face—just that, just
looking
at him—made Meg's head swim and her body ache with desire. “Uh, I think I've got my hands full with you at the moment.”

“Good. Hang on to that thought when you meet him.”

“He's smooth with the ladies, huh?”

“Women have always found him irresistible. It's disgusting.”

Bo pushed open the front door and ushered her into the house he'd grown up in.

Similar to Bo's own house, the front door emptied right into the den. At the back of that space, half walls revealed a dining room on the left side and a kitchen on the right.

A woman turned from the kitchen sink. “There y'all are!” She hurried over, grinning widely.

“Mom, this is Meg Cole.”

“I'm Nancy. Nice to meet you, Meg.”

“Nice to meet you, too.”

Nancy greeted her son by rising on tiptoes and planting a smack on his cheek.

Bo's mom was a robust-looking woman, a few inches taller than Meg, with a tan face that didn't need makeup. Her brown hair, cut just below her shoulders, boasted a wide streak of gray that swooped upward from her forehead, then ran to the tips.

Meg handed her the bouquet of gerbera daisies, climbing roses, and dianthus. “These are for you.”

“They're so pretty! You didn't have to do that.”

“I wanted to.”

“Thank you.”

“Thank
you
for having me.”

“It's our treat! Come on in.”

It appeared that Nancy subscribed to the more-is-more style of decorating. Wall-to-wall tan carpet supported a den packed full of antique furniture accented here and there with faded blue and yellow pillows in a French Provincial print. Woven baskets and decorative iron pieces hung from the walls alongside framed posters—one of a church next to a field of lavender, the other of an aged French storefront with a bicycle leaning against it.

The Porters' whole house could have fit into the garage at Whispering Creek. Meg could already tell, though, that this
home possessed something better than square footage: It had a kind of homey appeal that spoke to a person. That made them comfortable when they were within the walls, and made them want to return when they left.

Meg followed Nancy toward the kitchen, where the provincial theme continued with a ruffly yellow valance over the kitchen sink window, a blue table runner with roosters on it, and an entire hutch filled with pottery. Meg paused to admire the extensive collection. She liked the sunny background hue of the dishware, and the trios of navy dots and white swirls that accented the rims. “These are beautiful.”

“That's my French pottery. I'm just
in love
with Provence.” Nancy pronounced it like
pro-vonce
with her thick Texas accent. “Aren't I, Bo?”

“Yes.”

She extracted a vase from one of her cupboards and ran water into it. “I'm convinced I was born in the wrong place. The Lord intended me to be a little French girl, I just know it.” Her gray eyes, so like her son's, brimmed with humor. “He's got some explainin' to do to me when I get up there, because I was born in Farmersville, Texas, instead.”

“I think He intended me to be a middle-class girl from the suburbs, so He's got some explaining to do to me, too.”

Nancy threw back her head and laughed. “I knew you'd be funny, and I
knew
you'd like those dishes there. I told John that we ought to serve lunch today off them or even the china. It's not every day we have someone from the Cole family over—”

“Mom,” Bo warned.

“Well, it's not,” Nancy insisted. Her expression turned woeful. “But the boys wanted barbequed hamburgers, of course. And they were determined to eat them off paper plates just like
we always do, so you'll have to excuse us. We're not ordinarily very formal around here.”

“It's fine,” Meg assured her.

Nancy nodded toward the pottery while she positioned the flowers in the vase. “I bought all that over at the first Monday swap meet in Canton. You ever been?”

“No, I haven't.”

“Are you kiddin' me? There wouldn't be a stick of furniture in this house if it wasn't for Canton. I'll take you with me the next time I go.” She spoke the statement with ease, as if accustomed to toting around strangers. “All right?”

“All right.”

Nancy thrust a platter piled with hamburger fixings into Bo's hands. “Would you mind taking this out there for me?”

Bo tilted his head. “Are you going to mind your manners?”

“'Course! We'll be right behind you. Now shoo!” Nancy gave Bo a swat and sent him packing out the back door. “Want to know a secret?” she asked Meg as soon as he was gone.

“Sure.”

“He's my favorite. Don't tell the others.”

Meg smiled. “I won't.”

“I can't help it. He's just so
good
. He's always been like that. So calm and responsible. And he can make me laugh, land sakes. You two are dating, right?”

Bo!
So much for his
they won't be any the wiser
prediction. She and Bo hadn't said a single word to one another in his mother's presence, yet it had only taken her five minutes to arrive unswervingly at the truth. “W-we . . .”

“It's all right. You don't have to say a thing. I know you're dating.” Nancy gave Meg a conspirational hug with one of her stout arms. If the occasion arose, Nancy would slaughter Meg
in an arm-wrestling contest. “I'm pleased as punch about it,” Nancy said. “That's all.”

“I . . .”

“Now come on outside, and let me introduce you to the others.”

Meg trailed the older woman out the back door to a small cement area that held a few lawn chairs, a grill, and a wooden ice cream maker, softly droning and packed with salted ice.

A short distance out into the Texas landscape, a long metal patio table and chairs waited under the shade of a gnarled tree. The remaining Porter family members, some sitting, some standing, turned en masse at Meg's approach. The sight of them there, all together and so forcefully attractive, seared into Meg's memory like a frame of a movie paused at the perfect moment. The Porter family: confident, red-blooded, and one hundred percent Made In Texas.

She'd definitely overdressed. What had possessed her to think that her church outfit, a pale lavender dress with a chunky necklace of glass beads and strappy silver heels, would suit this situation? Between her last name and her clothing, it was no surprise that Nancy thought she should be serving her off the wedding china.

The rich smell of hamburgers cooking wafted through the air as Bo met her halfway and walked with her to the table. He went through the introductions quickly. She'd already met two of his siblings. Jake, with the chiseled features and the wicked scar, worked at the horse farm. He regarded her warily from beneath the shade cast across his face by his black Stetson. And Dru, the dark-haired, blue-eyed teenager. She had on a jean mini, a black shirt emblazoned with tattered silver angel wings, and cowboy boots.

“It's about time we got some class around here,” Ty said when he shook her hand. His persuasive smile flat-out begged a girl to smile back. “Goodness knows we've been needing some.”

“Bo tells me that you're a professional . . .” Bull rider? Suddenly Meg doubted if she had the term right.

“Professional pain in the butt?” Ty supplied. “I'm afraid that's true.”

Meg laughed. With his golden brown hair, snug gray Nascar T-shirt, and lazy charm, Meg could see why the ladies found this Porter brother irresistible. Female-attracting pheromones rolled off of him like sheets of water off a roof.

Bo cleared his throat and gave her a knowing glance.

“Do you follow bull riding at all, Meg?” Nancy asked.

“I'm afraid I don't.”

“Ty was world champion a few years ago.”

“Wow,” Meg said. “That sounds impressive.”

Ty shrugged a shoulder. “I ride bulls for a living because the hours are good. Can you believe they pay me to work for just eight seconds at a time?”

“That's if he makes it eight seconds,” Bo said. “We'll have to go watch him sometime. It's pretty entertaining to see him get thrown on his head.”

“True,” Dru agreed.

“Well, listen,” Ty murmured to Meg. “I've got to let the bulls buck me off sometimes, right? Otherwise they'd get demoralized.”

“Ty!” Dru scowled at him incredulously. “Turn that off.”

“What?”

“That thing you do with women.”

“Dru,” Ty said fondly, “isn't there a Disney show you should be watching?”

“You know Disney's too old for me,” Dru shot back. “I'm only allowed to watch Teletubbies.” She popped some chips into her mouth and grinned.

“Try not to mind them,” John said to Meg. “We don't.”

“It's fun for me to be here,” Meg said. “And to meet all of you.”

“The pleasure is ours,” John said. Bo's father stood at a normal height for a man, which put him several inches shorter than all three of his towering sons. He had a wiry frame, and a haircut as tidy as his cowboy-style clothing. She knew from Bo that his mix of gentleness, integrity, and old-school discipline had earned him the deep respect of his children. “Did Bo tell you that I knew your father?”

“Yes, sir, he did.”

“You can call me John. I was very sorry to hear about his passing.”

“Thank you.”

“He was a good man to work with. He was always fair, and he cared a lot about his horses.” Meg couldn't help but be drawn to his thoughtful, soft-spoken demeanor and kind eyes.

“Speaking of William Cole's horses.” Dru turned to Meg. “Have you given any more thought to selling me the horse farm?”

“Quiet, Dru,” Bo cautioned.

“Cheap, remember?” she teased.

“That's enough,” Bo said.

Meg tried to smile at Dru, but it felt tight. No one could broach a more awkward subject in front of her, Bo, and Jake than the future of the horse farm. She and Bo, for goodness' sake, hadn't said a word about it to each other yet.

Dru glanced at Bo. “Well, I for one would like to know what she's going to do with the farm.”

“That's none of your business,” Bo said.

“Maybe not, but I can still ask her, can't I?”

“No.”

“You guys only have four months left now before her deadline.” Dru returned her attention to Meg. “Are you going to close down the farm like you planned?”

Discomfort fell over the gathering.

Bo actually growled.

Meg didn't glance toward Jake, but she could feel the burning weight of his stare. She thought about the horse farm's fate frequently. A thread of indecision, growing thinner every day, still prevented her from reversing her initial decision. She kept telling herself she had time.

“Please excuse Dru,” Nancy said. “She came ten years after her brothers and by then, I have to confess, John and I were tired.”

Ty chuckled. “Meg, I've tried beating Dru over the head with a club, but it hasn't turned out to be all that effective. She's got a hard head.”

“Maybe we should try the cat-o'-nine-tails on her,” Jake suggested.

“Perhaps a mace?” John offered.

“Bring it on, boys,” Dru replied. “You know how good I am with a gun.”

“Welcome to lunch with my family,” Bo said, pulling out a chair for her.

Animosity forgiven, they all held hands as John blessed the food. At the end of the prayer the entire family said, “Amen.”

Nancy added a vigorous, “Bon appetit!” and then plunked a little orange jar that said
Herbes de Provence
onto the table. “In case anyone else wants to use this as seasoning.”

They ate grilled burgers with melted cheddar on Mrs. Baird's buns that John toasted over the flame. Barbecue Lay's. Potato salad. The three brothers put away huge portions of the food and of Dr. Pepper.

The whole time discussion flowed, easy and lively, between the Porters. They talked at length about upcoming Thoroughbred races, particular horses, and noteworthy owners. They talked rodeo. They asked Meg questions, she asked them some, but mostly, she just enjoyed their banter.

Once they'd dumped the remains of lunch into a black trash bag, they served up the most delectable homemade vanilla ice cream Meg had ever put in her mouth. She scooped up and savored each bite, trying not to look like a victim of gluttony.

The family's plot of land could be classified as open prairie, broken only by horses, occasional trees, and functional buildings. Mr. Son would have disdained the few spare bushes that passed as landscaping across the back of the house. The adjoining garage was so overtaxed sheltering an old metal fishing boat, four wheelers, and storage boxes, that the Porters parked their cars on the driveway. Beyond the garage stood a barn and multiple paddocks that looked old but orderly, clean, and painstakingly kept up.

The Porters might live in plainer surroundings than she, but they were richer. They were loved. They were grounded. And they were accustomed to life within the context of a large family.