Undeniably Yours Page 18

  “All right.” Sadie Jo clucked over Jayden, running her palm over his hair, gazing fondly into his eyes, and kissing him on the tip of his nose. Then she turned to Meg and reached out to cup Meg’s cheek. “This is my baby,” she said to Jayden.

  His brows lowered comically. Clearly, he didn’t understand what baby had to do with the grown woman holding him.

  “My baby,” Sadie Jo said again, smiling at Meg, patting her cheek.

  Meg smiled back, feeling tears push against her throat and behind her eyes. Even though she was twenty-eight years old, it still felt good to be somebody’s baby.

  “Come, Ms. Greene,” Mr. Son said. “You keep this up, and we’ll be here all night. I’m ready to go home.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “I’ll walk you to your car.”

  Meg watched the pair move off together, then took Jayden to his bedroom. As she’d promised Sadie Jo, she dutifully unsnapped his pajamas and opened his diaper. Bone-dry. She didn’t think she needed to change a bone-dry diaper. Unless diapers were like panties. In which case . . . once they’d touched your privates and been taken off, it was best to start over. Unsure of the protocol, she decided to put a new diaper on him, just in case.

  She prepared his room for bedtime in all the instructed ways, then settled into the rocking chair with Jayden, his cup of milk, and his green frog. She launched into her mostly wrong version of “Hush, Little Baby.”

  Looking into Jayden’s gleaming eyes in the dim light while she held him, rocked him, and sang to him was like gazing into the soul of God. There was timelessness there. And grace.

  Just like the last time she’d done this, tenderness for the little fellow burrowed deep inside her chest. And exactly like the last time, Jayden returned her attention solemnly, almost unblinking.

  Meg finished singing and switched to humming.

  Thank God she’d invited Amber and Jayden inside that first night, more than a month ago now, when they’d shown up unexpectedly on her doorstep. The help she’d been privileged to extend to them had given her more satisfaction than anything else she’d done in years and years. For most of her adult life she’d had this deep, underlying sense that she was meant for more. More than working in a museum. More than the job of accumulating additional money for Cole Oil. But across all that time, she’d been unable—or maybe too selfish or maybe too unready—to figure out the calling God had placed on her life.

  At long last, in helping a single mother and her son, Meg had finally found one small thing of true importance that she could do. To join with God in a pursuit that mattered felt like taking a deep breath, like a cool strong wind soaring through her.

  She wished she could offer the same help to even more people, but—

  Look after orphans and widows in their distress. The Bible verse sprang into Meg’s mind as if God Himself had leaned over and said it softly into her ear.

  Yes, Lord, Meg prayed, I hear you. Amber might not be a widow, but close. And Jayden had one firmly committed parent, but he’d been orphaned by the other.

  Jayden finished his milk, and Meg set it aside. She watched the little boy bring his weathered frog up close to his cheek and stick his thumb into his mouth, sucking rhythmically, pausing, sucking again.

  Meg could relate to Jayden’s situation, because she’d been the same sort of orphan. . . .

  Oh my goodness. Surprise reverberated though her. Why hadn’t she noticed the similarity between Jayden and herself before now? No wonder she experienced such a strong pull of compassion toward him.

  She’d been him once. She was still him, only older.

  Goose bumps rose, then spread over her.

  She’d look up the Bible verse about orphans and widows when she got to the guesthouse. It didn’t say, she didn’t think, “look after an orphan and a widow.” It named both in the plural.

  Orphans.

  Widows.

  Meg kept right on rocking and humming and watching Jayden’s eyelids grow heavy. She’d taken on Amber and Jayden as a one-time deal. She hadn’t thought until just now, tonight, about reaching out to others like them. But there must be lots of others. Many, many single parents in need of second chances.

  Could she . . . ? Could she herself, one humble person, help many?

  Her thoughts spun in several different directions. How would she find these people? What could she do for them? How? When would she do it, since she already worked more than full time? She wanted to drop-kick her Cole Oil job, but couldn’t.

  At length, Jayden’s eyes closed all the way. His small, innocent face turned slack and peaceful with sleep.

  Could it possibly be that the more she’d been meant for all along was the job of ministering to single parents and their children? Children just like this one? Children just like she’d once been?

  She could see, all of a sudden, that she was uniquely suited for it, that God had used her past to prepare her for it. Her God most definitely had the power to redeem the pasts of His people.

  Single mothers and their children—her ministry.

  The idea clicked into place like a car key slotting into the ignition. A perfect fit. Meg quit humming but kept up the smooth movement of the rocking chair while tears of relief and gratitude rolled silently down her face in hot tracks. Finally. Finally! A perfect fit.

  How was she going to do it? She didn’t know. She had a hundred questions and just one answer. But the one answer she had trumped all the questions. That answer?

  God.

  If God worked through her, then yes, she—one humble person—could maybe, she thought, quite possibly, hopefully . . . help many.

  Bo lay in his hotel bed in Florida, miles and miles from Texas, missing Meg down to the pit of his stomach. He’d stretched out on his back, the sheets low on his hips, his gaze focused into the gray darkness above him, his ears registering the drone of the air-conditioner.

  His brain had refused sleep for the past two hours straight. In fact, his brain had been refusing sleep a lot lately, because it only wanted to obsess over the blonde who’d walked into his life, taken that life in her pretty hands, and broken it in half.

  After the disaster at Deep in the Heart, he’d spent days wrestling with himself over whether or not he should cut off all contact with Meg. He’d told himself that Jake could be the one to meet with her if and when she returned to the farm.

  Then the afternoon had come when Meg had indeed returned. His groom had called to report her arrival, exactly as Bo had requested. In response, Bo had remembered Meg standing outside the guesthouse the night he’d driven her home from Deep in the Heart. “I just wanted to say thank you.” Moonlight had slid over her profile, her hair. “For defending me the way that you did. It meant a lot to me.” There’d been trust in her eyes when she’d said those words.

  And in the moment that followed, the moment when he’d had to make a decision about whether or not to go to her at the paddock, he’d been unable not to go because if he stayed away, he knew he’d betray her trust in him. No matter what it cost him, Meg needed someone in her life she could depend on, someone who’d put her needs above his own, someone who was willing to keep her safe.

  He reached over to the nightstand, picked up his cell, and punched in her number. He stared at the ten digits. Let the pad of his thumb hover over the call button, even though he knew he wouldn’t press it. Minutes passed. Finally, with a groan, he rested his wrist across his forehead and peered upward into the darkness again.

  He used to enjoy industry conferences. But he’d gone through the motions of this one like a puppet, his body and voice doing the expected but his mind far away. Without the hope of seeing Meg, the days of this trip had no meaning. Everything he’d done had been empty, without a single stroke of color. He was on the verge of going out of his mind with loneliness for her.

  At least, thank God, he’d fly home tomorrow. His return trip couldn’t come one second too soon.

  He and Meg were friends and co
-workers who hadn’t hugged, hadn’t kissed. But if he had his way, he’d never travel this far from her again. Not for one day in the rest of his life. Not for any reason. He couldn’t imagine a single place on the globe he wouldn’t go to be with her. Or any place he cared to go without her.

  What he was less sure about? How he was going to continue to keep a handle on himself when he was around her. He worried over it constantly, because if he ever did reveal himself to her, not only might he put the farm in more jeopardy, but he feared he’d terrify her. If he terrified her, she might end their friendship.

  The engagement party for her cousin was coming up in a couple of days, which would present him with all kinds of temptations to say or do something he’d regret. Not only that, but he’d have to meet her family at the party. Sure as anything, they were going to recognize him for exactly who and what he was. They were—all of them—going to see him as a dumb hayseed not at all suited to Meg.

  Meg, with her gentle heart, either hadn’t noticed or didn’t mind that he was far beneath her. But her family would. And he’d bet money that at some point during or after the party, at least one of them would feel duty-bound to point out the obvious to Meg.

  It would probably be best for Meg to hear the truth from someone close to her. And yet he’d been hoping to God that she’d never hear the truth—that he wasn’t worthy of her—from anyone at all.

  The next day Meg straddled the seat of one of the machines in her father’s home gym and started on her fifteen “rows.” She scowled ferociously at the cables in front of her, watching as they raised and lowered the weight stack.

  She’d made herself work out for two reasons today. One, Bo was away, and working out gave her something to do to attempt to keep her mind off of him. Two, she’d purchased a women’s fitness magazine to motivate herself and read within its pages that muscles burned calories. Not just the act of building muscles. Of course that burned them. But the new, bigger muscles themselves burned calories all day and all night.

  Say what?! She’d been floored by this revelation.

  If she put on muscle, her body would burn calories while lying on the sofa! While eating Oreos! While sleeping!

  Nine, ten, eleven.

  She was—twelve, thirteen—going to do this. She was going to get herself into better shape, whether her body came along nicely or had to be dragged kicking and screaming—fourteen, fifteen.

  Her phone chimed, letting her know she’d received a text.

  From Bo? At last? Lord have mercy. She scurried over to her phone. The small screen told her she’d received a new message from Bo Porter.

  In instant response, her outer body went still and her inner body went nuts with excitement.

  She retrieved the text.

  I’m back from my trip. Glad to be home. How are you?

  For five straight minutes, Meg chewed the inside of her cheek and stared at her phone, trying to decide how to reply. Finally she settled on Welcome home! I’m doing well. She hit send.

  The exclamation point communicated cheerfulness, and the mannerly tone of hers matched the mannerly tone of his. Still, her response struck her as horribly tepid. Well? She couldn’t exactly reply to his simple friendly message with You’re back! You’re back! I’ve missed you wildly, foolishly, embarrassingly. I’m so happy I could kiss you! Can I kiss you? I’d like to kiss you.

  She waited, but no reply came. Her text hadn’t invited a reply. Even so, she tucked her phone into the waistband of her sweats so she’d have it close at hand.

  She finished up the last few weight-lifting exercises on her list, then clicked on the History Channel and climbed onto the elliptical. Struggle, sweat, agony. Struggle, sweat, agony. Typically, she had nothing but the puny distraction of the TV to occupy her mind during cardio. This time, though, her mind was fully occupied, and then some, by the news that Bo had come home.

  She hadn’t seen him for six days.

  It had felt, very sincerely, like six weeks.

  Meg had procrastinated a trip to the grocery store too long. Lynn, in contrast, kept a perfectly stocked pantry at all times. So the next morning before work, Meg dashed into the big house kitchen to grab breakfast. She stuffed a granola bar that she would eat, a banana she probably wouldn’t eat, and a bottled water into her purse, then poured coffee into a travel mug.

  As she was leaving the kitchen, she glanced longingly down the main hallway in the direction of Bo’s office. He might possibly be inside. Uncle Michael expected her downtown for one of his meetings soon, which meant she only had a few minutes to spare before she needed to start her commute. But it wouldn’t hurt to walk past Bo’s office. If the door was open, she’d indulge in a tiny peek inside.

  The plush floor runner absorbed her footsteps. When she’d neared to within a couple yards of his doorway, Bo himself walked out. In the flesh. As if she’d called him into being by the force of her hope.

  Meg came to an immediate halt and so did he. The shock and delight of seeing him again after days and distance broke over her like a riotous ocean wave.

  A slow grin tugged up the edges of his lips.

  Meg smiled back, purse over her arm, coffee in her hand, heart in her throat.

  “Hi,” he said.

  “Hello.” Her senses drank him in hungrily. The just-out-of-the-shower smell, the masculine face and extra short hair, those light gray eyes. All of it familiar and cherished. Every detail combined into a charisma so powerful that it all but bowled her over. “About time you came back,” she managed.

  “Yeah. I thought so, too.”

  “Did you have a good trip?”

  “I did.” He took in her outfit and her coffee. “On your way to work?”

  “Yes, but I’ve got a little bit of time. I’d like to hear about your trip.” I’d like to stare at you longer.

  “It can wait if you’re in a hurry.”

  “I’m not in that big of a hurry.” Uncle Michael held a lot of meetings. I mean, seriously. She didn’t need to be on time for every single one. “C’mon.” She led him into the great room, where she settled into a spot on the sofa under the antler chandelier. He took a chair.

  While they talked about his conference and his Florida horses and trainers, while she answered his questions about her week at home, she continued to revel in the reality of him: clothes, hands, the scratches on his boots, the line of his jaw.

  There had been a magnetic pull between them for a long time, and it had grown mightier than ever. But something new made itself known during their reunion. A kind of joy. She could see it in his expression. Feel it within her, answering.

  “How’s your job going?” he asked. “Is it still overwhelming you?”

  “Yes. It’s monopolizing. I bring work home at night and on the weekends, and I still can’t catch up.”

  “You’ve got to rest sometime, Meg. You work too hard.”

  “Tell that to my uncle.” She wished to goodness that she could stay with Bo for the entire day. Maybe trail after him, mooning over him while he worked. But, alas, she had to go.

  Bo escorted her to the garage.

  “You haven’t forgotten about the party Friday night, have you?” she asked, walking alongside him.

  “I haven’t forgotten.”

  “Still willing to go?”

  “You bet.”

  “I don’t know if I mentioned this before, but it’s going to be held at the Crescent Hotel in downtown Dallas, and it’s cocktail attire.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “For me, a dress and heels. For you, a suit and tie.” She worried, suddenly, that he didn’t own a suit. Why hadn’t she thought of this sooner? “Is that all right?”

  “Sure.” He glanced at her. “You might be surprised to learn that I do own a suit and tie.”

  “No.” She did her best to hide her relief. “Not surprised. I—”

  “It’s all right if you are surprised. I only own one because your father insisted. He had his tail
or make one for me.”

  “I should have known.” She remembered now. Her father had always made sure that his employees looked impressive enough to represent him well.

  “What time would you like me to pick you up?” he asked.

  “Six thirty.”

  “I think I might have found Stephen,” Brimm said to Amber late that night.

  “What!” His words snapped Amber to attention. “You found him?”

  “I believe I did.”

  They’d met here, in the big house’s office, earlier in the evening for their fourth computer session together. Brimm had been working on both his Mac and William Cole’s computer for three hours since. Amber had mostly been keeping him company, daydreaming, and giving herself a manicure. She quickly screwed the brush back into her nail polish and set it aside.

  Brimm swiveled his chair so that he faced her. “Okay, so we spent hours looking for him through Web sites and search engines.”

  “Right.” She stared at him with wide eyes. “No luck.”

  “Last night I decided to go back through your handwritten notes. In them, you mentioned that Stephen participated in a hacking forum online.”

  “I only know about that because he bragged about it to me one time. He’d been the first to figure out some kind of challenge that one of the other members had, like, posted.” She frowned. “I can’t even remember the name of the forum now.”

  “Hackers Anon. You wrote it in the notes.”

  “So . . . you went there? To the forum? And you found him?”

  “Just between you and me, I already had a . . .” Brimm pushed his glasses up his nose, “small, legal, very benign familiarity with that forum.”

  “Oh.”

  “Everyone there uses aliases. But since I know that Stephen likes challenges, I decided to put one together. Then I ran a competition to see who could crack it first.”

  “You used it like bait. To bring Stephen out.”

  “Exactly. The virus is actually a kind of Trojan horse. Once it’s downloaded into a person’s computer and they start tinkering with it, then I can infiltrate their computer and take a look around.”