Undeniably Yours (6 page)

It appeared that Amber had indeed been telling the truth.

Meg's emotions tangled together like vines, writhing and difficult to pull apart. There was the tension of having to think about Stephen. Concern for a mother and a little boy, both so young and in need of protection. Anger at Stephen. Guilt, because if Meg had done what she should have done five years ago, then Amber might not have met Stephen in the first place.

A soft knock sounded, and Meg looked up to see Lynn lean into the room. “Can I come in?”

“Of course.”

Lynn shut the door behind her and handed Meg a steaming mug. “I thought you could use this.”

“Thank you.” Meg recognized the beverage by its smell. Sleepytime tea, her old friend. She blew on it and took a sip that tasted like chamomile, spearmint, and relaxation. Flavors in absolute contrast to the turmoil within her.

Lynn took a seat on the sofa across from Meg. “Amber and Jayden are squared away for the moment. I got a meal in front of them, and they're in the kitchen working on it.”

“I'm sorry that I've put you to work on a Saturday night.”
When Lynn had come to Whispering Creek, she and her bookish English teacher husband had moved into their own private semi-attached wing of the big house. Even though she lived on-site, Lynn strictly divided her work schedule from her private life.

“This isn't work. This is me helping a friend. So fill me in. What's going on?”

Meg outlined everything that Amber had told her. “She's driven all this way with her little boy, and it's getting late. I don't think she has a lot of money to spare for a hotel. I'm thinking I might ask them to . . . to stay here for the night. Is that crazy?”

“Why would that be crazy?”

“Well, my father would never have done something like that.”

“No, he wouldn't have.”

As a young man, her father had been burned a few times when he'd loaned money to friends and family members who'd never paid him back. From then on, no matter how close or distant the relationship, when people had come to him asking for help, he'd always responded by offering them jobs at Cole Oil. The hundreds of charities who courted him were always promptly referred to a company employee who handled his sizable charitable giving budget.

Her father had cautioned her numerous times not to be swayed by the sob stories of others. She'd always agreed privately and vocally, promising him that she wouldn't get sucked into other people's dramas.

Easily done in theory. Over the past five years, when she'd been living on nothing more than her own income, she certainly hadn't been confronted with dilemmas like Amber's. Maybe some people could look into the face of a young mother worried about providing for her child and turn her away, but Meg Cole wasn't one of them.

On the other hand, she
had
to be sensible! She'd been on the job for less than a week, and she'd already agreed to continue hosting ninety racehorses and their keepers. Now she was considering taking in her ex-husband's discarded child and ex-girlfriend. Who'd she be saving next week? A family of arctic seals?

She was either generous or the most massively gullible pushover alive. She honestly didn't know which.

She took a few more sips of tea, hoping to drink in some clarity right along with it. “I let Bo Porter keep his horse farm open. Now I'd like to invite Amber and Jayden to stay here, even though they're complete strangers, and even though they're going to need a lot more than a place to spend one night.”

“That's true.”

“I'm worried that I'm making bad decisions, that I'm letting myself get drawn into things I shouldn't.”

Lynn regarded her with a knowing expression. “And?”

“And I'm worried that I'm letting people take advantage of me.” There it was, out loud: the epicenter of the issue.

For a long moment, Lynn seemed to roll the situation around in her mind. “What would be so wrong with that? With letting people take advantage of you?”

Meg's brows lifted. “Wrong with it? Well, I . . . I don't want to be taken advantage of.”
Ever again
. “It would make me feel weak, to let people walk all over me and manipulate me.”

“Huh.”

“Well?”

Lynn shrugged. “Well, what?”

“This is when you're supposed to give me wise advice.”

“You want my advice?”

“Of course I do.”

“Your father was totally different than you are, Meg. He
couldn't forgive or forget when people took from him without giving back. But you're not that way, I don't think. You have the ability to forgive people some hurts.”

“I don't know,” Meg said doubtfully.

“You do. So give yourself permission to help anyone and everyone you want. If a few of them take advantage of you, then so be it. Forgive them and move on. But don't let worry or mistrust stop you from helping people. You can afford to be generous. In fact, if anyone on earth can afford to be generous, it's you.”

Meg nodded. Her thoughts and all those vines of emotion began to settle.

They walked to the kitchen and found that Amber had cleared the table and was rinsing off the dishes at the sink. Jayden stood at her feet, hugging one of her legs. She glanced back at them and smiled. “Thank y'all for dinner. It was delicious.”

“Good, I'm glad.” Lynn moved to the sink and opened the dishwasher to lend a hand.

Meg watched them from further back, struck by the scene and the Bible verse that it brought to the front of her mind.

For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in. . . .

For better or for worse, her father's fortune belonged to her now. She didn't have to manage it the way he'd taught her because his ways and opinions no longer bound her. The only Father she had left was of the heavenly variety. And
that
Father? She knew the counsel He'd give.

I tell you the truth, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me.

“Amber,” she said. “Let's go get your suitcases. You guys are going to stay here with us tonight.”

I
n the feeble morning light filtering through the bathroom window shade, Stephen McIntyre studied his reflection. He brushed his dark blond hair into place until every strand fell exactly as his last hair stylist had intended. With a crisp tug, he straightened the sleeves of his pale blue Brooks Brothers shirt. Critically, he brushed a nearly invisible piece of lint from his dress pants.

As soon as he was satisfied, he let himself out of the bathroom and into the bedroom of the girl's second-rate condo. The room smelled of perfume and stale sheets.

He swept his change off the top of the dresser and slid it into his pocket. The girl in the bed roused at the sound. He collected his wallet and keys and made for the door.

“Aren't you going to say good-bye?” she asked sleepily.

He turned and regarded her, hesitating for a split second while he considered his options. Was what she'd given him last night all that she was worth? Or could he play her for more?

He'd met her last night at a bar. Based on her clothing, shoes, and handbag, he'd classified her as richer than her condo proved her to be. Still, he could run some kind of a simple scam on her. He'd told her he was a stockbroker. Without too much effort he
could likely convince her to write him a check for a few thousand dollars, so he could invest it for her on a supposed “sure thing.” “I didn't want to wake you, honey. I was doing my best to be quiet so you could get some rest.”

“You're so sweet.” Her lips curved.

He crossed to her, took her chin in his hand, and kissed her. “You're sweeter.”

“No, you.”

“You.”

“Can't you stay?” She blinked up at him, her young face gullible, fresh, and free of wrinkles. “I'll make you breakfast.”

“I wish I could. I've got to get to work. Call you later, all right?”

“All right.”

“Get some more sleep.” He gave her one of his patented smiles. The sexy, admiring one. Then he left, closing the door softly behind him.

In the kitchen, he opened her purse, extracted her wallet, and flipped to her driver's license. He jotted down the info from it on a magnetic pad stuck to her refrigerator. He tore the top sheet free, folded it neatly, and stuck it in his shirt pocket.

He'd check her out fully on his Mac later.

He cracked open the portion of her wallet that contained cash. Forty-three dollars. He'd do a heck of a lot better off her before he was done. Smoothly, he closed the wallet and returned it to her purse.

In the foyer he caught a glimpse of a framed family photo of the girl with her adult siblings and her parents. Probably last year's Christmas card shot.

He grunted and made his way into the cool, clear morning. He'd met this girl just hours ago, but he already knew everything
pertinent about her, because he'd known a hundred others like her. She was a slutty, well-meaning, harmless girl-next-door. She saw herself as unique, which she wasn't, and brave, which she wasn't. In actuality, she was a pathetic rule follower, exactly like the rest of them.

Rule followers deserved to get taken by those smarter and those willing to break, bend, and twist the rules.

He slid into his BMW M5 and steered along the streets of Phoenix. He'd chosen this city because casinos, like desert cactus, flourished in these parts. And casinos offered him easy access to the excitement and risk he required.

He couldn't do monotony. Monotony made him twitch.

He pulled up smoothly to a stoplight. A woman in a black Mustang convertible came up next to him, caught his eye, and grinned. Stephen grinned back, while assessing her with a complete lack of emotion.

In this world you were either a victim or a conqueror.

Stephen McIntyre was no victim.

The morning after Amber's arrival, Meg attended Sunday morning worship, then returned to the solitude of the guesthouse to find acid reflux and worry waiting to greet her. It didn't make sense. She'd just been to church, and after all the songs, the encouragement, and the prayers, she ought to feel steady. But she'd discovered through the years that her panic came when it wanted, regardless of cause, and never listened to logic.

Supposedly, exercise reduced stress.

Apparently, in her case, so did proximity to Bo Porter.

If she'd had a choice between medicating herself with exercise and medicating herself with the cowboy, she'd have chosen calm-
via-Bo hands down. But he had Sundays off. And when sudoku and breathing techniques proved useless, she dressed resolutely in a pale gray sweat suit, crunched more antacids, and headed to her father's home gym. Within, cardio machines stood like soldiers in straight formation. Several racks of weights lined one wall. Benches, balls, and stretchy bands took up a corner. Mirrors glared at her from every angle.

Okay . . . hmm. She immediately rejected the idea of using the weights, the balls, or the bands. She had no idea what to do with any of them. She supposed she could hire a personal trainer for next time. Except she didn't particularly want some uber-fit person demanding that she work harder than she wanted to, leading her around, and staring at her during her workout agony.

So maybe not.

After grabbing a clean towel from the stack and turning the TV to the History Channel, she climbed aboard the elliptical machine. Unsure of the settings, she chose a small incline and a small amount of resistance.

First and foremost, she craved exercise's anxiety-killing benefits. But it wouldn't hurt her to lose five pounds, either. Since her father's death she'd been so overworked emotionally that she'd been inactive physically. One would have thought that all her fretting and her dodgy stomach would have kept the weight off. But alas, no.

Almost immediately Meg started to puff. She tried valiantly to focus her attention on the large wall-mounted TV screen. But the general torture of cardio proved a slight distraction to her viewing pleasure.

Her heart rate must be impressively high! She gripped the metal pads, then checked the digital heart-rate display.

It read
130
.

130?! Not possible. She was
dying
. She didn't know much about target heart rates, except that a twenty-eight-year-old's rate should be a lot higher than 130 in order to achieve maximum benefits.

She didn't think she could push her heart rate higher without passing out.

She thought of her nine female cousins on her mother's side of the family and tried to use them as motivation. She'd see them all on Easter, and it would be
so
nice to look slim in the face of their gorgeous and stylish skinniness. Her cousins had all been born naturally fabulous, while Meg had to spend ages on her hair and makeup and carefully monitor her intake of Oreos.

Maybe she should give up Oreos.

Her heart gave a protesting
twang
. Was life worth living without Oreos?

While her gaze clung to the TV, she thought about Bo and the ranch. Her overwhelming responsibilities at Cole Oil. Amber and Jayden.

After Amber had agreed to stay last night, Meg and Lynn had given her an abbreviated tour of the big house. Since every bedroom stood empty, Meg had assured her she could stay in any one of them. Amber, who preferred to sleep in the same room as Jayden, had chosen a second-floor bedroom in shades of sage green located close to the central staircase. They'd carried in her small suitcase, Jayden's diaper bag, and a portable folding crib. And that had been that.

Meg didn't know what to do about Amber and Jayden next, which step to take, what kind of help to offer. An idea had been circling inside of her since late yesterday evening, but it scared her as much as it appealed.
What do you want me to do about them, Lord? If you'll show me, I'll do my very best to follow through.

She wiped at the sweat on her forehead and cheeks with her towel. Her heart thundered with effort, her breathing labored in and out of her parted lips.

Panic attacks might be preferable to this.

She considered stopping.

But in the end, her desire to make herself stronger trumped her desire to quit. She needed, really needed, to prove to herself that she could be tough, that beneath all the trembling and fear she still had courage and she still had willpower. She blew a blond tendril of hair out of her face and kept on going.

After surviving thirty minutes on the elliptical, Meg treated herself to ten minutes of stretching, pounded back a bottle of water, grabbed a second bottle from the mini-fridge in the gym, and went in search of Amber.

She found her standing at the edge of the big house's manicured back lawn, watching Jayden run and explore.

Amber turned, her expression warming when she saw Meg. “Hi.” She had on her flip-flops, a snug pair of jeans, and a turquoise scoop-neck T. Her shiny hair hung down her back.

“How did y'all sleep?” Meg asked.

“We had the best night's sleep we've had in forever.”

“I'm glad.”

“That bed . . . oh my gosh. Is it a pillow-top?”

“I don't know.”

“It's so awesome that it must be a pillow-top.”

Meg accepted the pronouncement with a nod and watched Jayden bend over to sniff a blazing white azalea bush.

“We woke up this morning,” Amber said, “and one of the ladies who works here had breakfast waiting for us, and coffee,
and offered to do our laundry. I didn't know what to say, so I let her feed us and gave her our dirty clothes. I hope that was okay.”

“More than okay.”

“Well, thank you. And sorry again about arriving like that last night. Jayden and I aren't half so mental today.”

Meg smiled. “I'm mental now and then, too, so I completely understand.”

“If it's all right with you, I thought I'd let Jayden have his nap here. Then we'll pack up and head out this afternoon.”

“I'd like to talk to you about that, actually.”

“Oh?” Amber slanted her a look of surprise.

“How about we sit down?”

“Sure.”

Meg led her to one of the tables positioned along the back patio. They each took a chair shaded by a wood and canvas umbrella. A vase brimming with flowers cut from Whispering Creek's garden decorated the tabletop.

Both women kept an eye on Jayden as he moved to the steps leading from lawn to patio and practiced climbing.

Meg caught herself fidgeting with her water bottle and brought both hands to her lap. “I'd really like to know what happened with Stephen. That is, if you don't mind telling me.”

“I don't mind—careful, Jayden!” Amber pushed to the front of her seat, but it appeared that Jayden could navigate the four wide steps safely, so she scooted back a few inches. “I met Stephen at one of the restaurants where I was waitressing. I fell for him right away. I mean hard, you know? He moved in with me after a couple of months and, like, two months after that I found out I was pregnant. Total surprise. It sure wasn't like I'd planned it. I told him the news, and the next morning he left for work and never came back.”

“You never saw him or heard from him again?”

“No, nothing. He just . . . disappeared.” Amber's gaze remained mostly trained on her son as she spoke, her fingers nervously picking at the peeling blue nail polish on her thumb. “At first I thought something had happened, that he'd been in an accident. I kept checking with the police and the hospitals. Then I thought maybe he'd needed to leave for a while, but that he'd have a good reason and he'd come back. He didn't come back. He left me on purpose.”

“He did the exact same thing to me,” Meg said. “Vanished.”

“And you couldn't find him either?”

“I didn't try. I didn't want to find him.”

Amber searched Meg's face until a squeal from Jayden drew their attention. He'd returned to the grass and appeared to be attempting toddler yoga—his head plunked down and one leg pointing high in the air.