Undeniably Yours Read online

  Did she have the nerve to turn from her father’s plans for her? Did she have the courage to snub her nose at demanding old Jedidiah Cole? The codger had probably had the foresight to imagine a great many things. But she wasn’t certain he could possibly have imagined her.

  “You should take some time to think about it,” the attorney suggested.

  “I’ll do that,” Meg answered. But in actuality she knew that thinking wasn’t really what she needed. Her own thoughts could take her down paths that led to destruction.

  What she needed was to pray. Then listen hard for God’s marching orders.

  For the rest of the day, Meg did exactly that.

  Prayed. Listened.

  When evening came, she still didn’t feel done. She required more time and privacy. Since her father had appointed his office as comfortably as any luxury hotel room, she decided to sequester herself there for the night.

  Her assistants, grateful for activity, brought in blankets and pillows, placed a dinner order, held all calls and visitors. They drove to Holley to fetch the overnight bag that Meg asked Lynn to pack.

  Meg dialed Bo. Not seeing him tonight would be the costliest part of her retreat.

  “Countess,” he said by way of greeting. She could hear the smile in his voice.

  “Cowboy.” Warm butterflies took flight within her.

  “You home?”

  “No. I’m going to stay in Dallas tonight.”

  A few beats passed. “For work?”

  “Yeah. I have a decision to make about my job that’s so . . . so big and important that I need to take time praying over it and considering it. Does that make sense?”

  “’Course it does. You want to tell me about it?”

  “Not yet. As soon as I make the decision, I will.”

  “How about I drive down and bring you something to eat?”

  She wanted to say yes. If he came, though, she’d go all mushy and muddled. She wouldn’t be able to find a coherent thought with a flashlight. “My assistants are going to have dinner delivered. Thank you, though, for offering. It means a lot to me.”

  “I’m not going to see you until tomorrow?” he asked doubtfully.

  “We can talk now, though. Tell me about your day and your sad and lonely plans for an evening without me.”

  They talked for forty-five minutes straight.

  Their conversation done, Meg turned to a new passage in her Bible. She ate. Journaled. Read her little book of verses. When it grew late, she went up to the rooftop garden and sat on a lounge chair wrapped in a blanket and surrounded by stars, enjoying God’s company. She slept soundly that night on one of the plush office sofas and got up the next morning to do more praying and listening.

  It turned out that God couldn’t be swayed by the arguments of ancestors or birthrights. News flash! He didn’t care about worldly human issues. God used Meg’s self-imposed isolation to confirm to her the path that He’d already, unmistakably, shown her. She didn’t need more time.

  Meg scheduled an appointment with her Uncle Michael for that afternoon, then took time getting herself ready in her office’s attached bathroom. Lynn had chosen Meg’s clothes wisely. A dark gray tailored jacket, matching pencil skirt, and a pair of red Louboutins. Meg dressed, then contemplated her reflection in the mirror.

  As a kid, she’d owned dozens of Barbie dolls. She could remember one in particular named Hawaiian Fun Barbie who’d come in a patterned swimsuit. Meg had been able to dress Hawaiian Fun Barbie like an accountant, but that hadn’t changed who she was underneath. Hawaiian Fun Barbie had been made for the beach.

  For weeks now, Meg had been dressing herself up as an oil executive, but it hadn’t changed who she was underneath. Her Creator hadn’t made her for Cole Oil.

  When she arrived at her uncle’s office, he came around from behind his desk and waved her toward the sitting area. She opted for the couch, a piece of furniture so deep that if she pushed her bottom all the way to the back of it, she knew from experience that her legs and feet would protrude straight out in front of her hips. Not exactly the professional image she had in mind, so she perched on its front edge. She set the folder she’d brought facedown beside her.

  Uncle Michael settled into a suede chair. “What can I do for you, Meg?”

  She cleared her throat. Unaccountably, her heart rate picked up speed. This was it. She’d thought about what she wanted to say to him, and now she simply needed to say it. “I . . . wanted to thank you. You’ve taught me a lot about this business.”

  “You don’t have to thank me. It’s been my pleasure.”

  “I wanted to anyway. Thank you.”

  “Don’t mention it.” He waited for her to explain why she’d called the meeting.

  She couldn’t find her voice.

  “Is that all, Meg? I have some work I need to get to—”

  “I’m not quite done.”

  He stilled, his eyes trained on her, his clothing flawless, his hair precise, his features so reminiscent of her father’s. A rush of tenderness overtook her. Uncle Michael could be highhanded at times, like he’d been with Bo. But she recognized his good heart.

  “Despite my father’s best efforts,” Meg said, “and despite your best efforts, Uncle Michael, it turns out that I don’t like the oil business.” She spoke calmly, but the words still managed to land with resounding force.

  “What?” he barked. “Meg—”

  “I don’t like the oil business,” she repeated. “I’m not cut out for it. I never have been, and I never will be.”

  “That’s not true. You’ll get there. You’ll become more knowledgeable and more confident. Just give it time.”

  “I’ve given it two months of my time already, and you know what? I don’t want to give it any more. Not a single hour.”

  He leaned forward and opened his mouth, but she halted him from speaking by raising a hand. “What I do want to give is controlling interest in this company. To you.”

  He stared at her with blank shock, unblinking.

  Certainty flowed through her. No one on earth was more qualified or more deserving of the responsibility that came with the role of majority shareholder of Cole Oil. “Before today you owned twenty percent. I’m giving you thirty-one percent more so that you now own fifty-one.”

  “No.”

  “Oh yes,” she assured him. “Congratulations, Uncle Michael. You’re now the majority shareholder. You’re going to be president of this company and chairman of its board. You’ve earned it.”

  He rushed to his feet. “No,” he said loudly, confusion and distress in his expression.

  Meg followed his lead and rose. In the past, a show of temper from Uncle Michael would have rattled her to her molars. Today, nothing could rattle her sense of peace.

  “This isn’t how it’s done in our family,” he said.

  “No, but it’s close. I’m interpreting Jedidiah’s intentions. He didn’t want the shares fractured, because he feared doing so would weaken the company. I’ve decided to respect his opinion. Instead of splitting my shares among many people, I’m passing them along, in bulk, to you.”

  “Meg, your father wanted you to be president.”

  “But it’s not what I want for myself. And I’m not going to spend my whole life trying to please a man who passed away last January.”

  His gaze measured her face and her resolve. “Be reasonable. You and I, we need to spend a tremendous amount of time discussing this possibility. Months. Years, even.”

  Meg laughed. “No thanks.” She handed him the folder, which contained papers she’d had her attorney draw up. “I’m going to retain twenty percent. That’ll give me a seat at the table for board meetings and a say in the direction of Cole Oil, which is something I find I’d like to have.”

  “Meg—”

  “I’ll have my eye on you, Uncle Michael.” She hugged him, then pulled back to smile at him. “So make me proud. Lead this company as honestly and as well as I know you
can.”

  “Listen, this is ridiculous—”

  “I’ve made up my mind. If you don’t want the shares, then I’ll give them to someone else. But I’m not keeping them.”

  “You’ve lost your sanity.”

  “Actually, it’s the opposite. I’ve just lately found it.”

  Michael stood, stunned and troubled, framed by the luxurious interior of his office. The papers he held gave him something his birth order never had.

  “You can thank me later,” Meg said.

  Chapter Twenty

  An hour after her meeting with Uncle Michael, Meg stuck her head into the warm room of the yearling barn. One of Bo’s employees had told her where to find him, and sure enough, Bo sat alone at the room’s table, poring over papers spread out next to his laptop.

  When he looked up and saw her, he pushed immediately to his feet, crossed to her in two strides, clasped her face in his hands, backed her up against the nearest wall, and kissed her.

  Her hands circled around to his back, where she could feel ridges of muscle running along both sides of his spine. Had she last seen him just the day before yesterday? It felt like she’d spent a month crossing a desert to make her way back to him.

  When they finally pulled apart, they were both breathing hard.

  “Hi,” Bo said.

  “Hi.”

  “I missed you like crazy.”

  “Missed you more.”

  “Not possible. How long has it been since I’ve seen you? A month?”

  Her lips curved upward. “That’s just what I was thinking. It feels like a month, but it’s only been two days.”

  He swept a lock of hair back from her temple and looked her dead in the eyes. “Thank God you’re home.”

  Her insides did a slow and delicious flip. Home, she wanted to say to him, isn’t a place for me anymore. It’s you. She pressed a kiss into the spot where his jaw met his throat and drew in a breath that smelled like him, like clean ocean wind.

  He clasped her to him in one of his tight, nothing-bad-will-ever-happen-to-you hugs that filled every inch of her with a sense of belonging. The two of them had almost nothing in common except for the fact that they were each perfect for the other.

  “I can’t stand,” he said, “to be apart from you that long. Honest. I almost couldn’t do it. I’ve been staring at these papers for hours, not doing anything.”

  “Worthless, huh?”

  “Worthless.”

  “Can I make it up to you by feeding you dinner?” She disentangled herself and lifted the cup and paper sack she’d set down in the hallway before peeking in on him. “Hamburgers and tator tots from Sonic.”

  “Now, that’s just too good to believe.”

  “Believe it. I even got you the Route 44.” She passed a cup as big as his head to him. “Despite the fact that no human can or should consume that much Dr. Pepper.”

  “Mighty generous of you. Thanks.”

  “I splurged.”

  “You splurged?”

  “Anything for you, Bo,” she said grandly.

  Humor sent a dimple into his cheek. “Sure this dinner here isn’t going to break the bank?”

  “Pretty sure. I’ll need to check with my accountants.”

  He laughed.

  They sat down together and went to work on the food. Meg made it halfway through her burger and tots before eater’s remorse struck her. “How long do you think I’ll need to ride the elliptical machine to work off what I just ate?”

  “About five hours.”

  “Hmm.”

  “’Course, your body’s perfect, remember? So as far as I’m concerned, that thing you do with the elliptical machine is strictly for your cardiovascular health.”

  “Bo.”

  “What?” he said lazily, his eyes daring her to chastise him. If she did, he’d only insist on his truthfulness.

  They’d been dating a short time, but Bo’s dependable, unceasing, rock-solid approval of her had already begun to sink into Meg. His acceptance of her made her feel safe and dared her to view herself as he did—as good enough. Already, her driving need to look her best had begun to fade. Each day, she spent less and less time fussing with her hair and makeup.

  She asked Bo about his day and found he’d not been nearly as worthless as he’d claimed. Today alone he’d settled on a course of treatment for a horse that had something called epiphysitis, fine-tuned the diet and supplement balance for some of his broodmares, been out to the racetrack to consult with his brother about their racers, and then worked for hours on payroll and tax issues.

  “Is that all?” she asked.

  “Yep, that’s all.”

  “Slacker.”

  Meg had come to understand that Bo, as farm manager, worked as an overseer of employees, horse doctor, horse trainer, horse nutritionist, accountant, advisor, breeder, bloodlines expert, salesman, buyer, and mental health expert to both equines and the humans who worked for him.

  “What’re you thinking about?” he asked.

  She hesitated.

  “I can see that you’ve got something on your mind. What is it?”

  “I was just thinking of all that you do for this place and wondering why you’ve never asked me to keep it open.”

  He paused, neither moving nor answering. She understood. She’d just broached the one subject they’d both carefully avoided all this time.

  Slowly, he used the backs of his fingers to push his drink away. “Once I began to feel the way that I do about you, the idea of talking to you about the farm didn’t sit well with me.”

  “Why?”

  “Well . . . What would you have thought? If I’d asked you, say today when you walked in, not to close the farm? Wouldn’t you have thought that I was trying to capitalize on our relationship? I decided a while back that I’d rather you shut this place down than think that about me.”

  She leaned over and kissed him. Their foreheads remained touching. “It would have been easier, wouldn’t it, if we’d met in some ordinary way?” She pulled back so she could look fully into his face. “If neither of us had been tied to Whispering Creek Horses?”

  “Easier, yes. But the fact is, I’m exactly who I am, and you’re exactly who you are.” His thumb skated along the edge of her jaw. “I’d change all kinds of things about myself if I could, but I wouldn’t change one thing about you.”

  “Bo,” Meg said, her voice hushed. “You love this farm.”

  He nodded gravely. “But when you close it down, I’ll still feel the same way about you that I do right now.”

  “What about if I keep it open? Will you still feel the same way about me then?”

  His features went blank with surprise. He inclined his head toward her. “What was that?”

  She laughed. “You can keep your beloved horse farm open, Bo Porter.”

  He whooped and swept her off her feet. “Really?”

  “Yes, really.”

  He spun her around a few times, then set her back on the floor. “No kidding?”

  “No.”

  “You’re not going to close down the farm?”

  She shook her head.

  He beamed down at her.

  This is joy, she thought. To give him something that made him happy. She’d received jewelry every Christmas and gift cards to Neiman Marcus every birthday from her father. But opening those presents had brought her a raindrop of pleasure compared to the river of pleasure tumbling through her now.

  Meg drew him down to the chairs so that they sat, knees touching, while she explained about giving her shares of Cole Oil to her uncle.

  “Is that why you stayed in Dallas last night? To pray over that decision?”

  “Yes and there’s more.” She told him about her ministry idea for Whispering Creek and the component of that plan that had to do with Whispering Creek’s horses.

  He listened intently.

  “What do you think?” she asked.

  He squeezed her hands. “I thi
nk it’s perfect.”

  “What about providing horses for the kids and adults to ride? Do you think that’ll work? Do you think they’ll like that?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you’ll help me?”

  “Not just with the horses, but with any part of it.”

  A knock sounded on the door. “Bo?” A groom stuck his head inside. “I need to ask you about— Oh.” He caught sight of Meg. “Excuse me.”

  “I’ll talk with you as soon as I’m able, Mike.” Bo showed zero embarrassment at having been caught holding hands with the owner of Whispering Creek, even though they’d yet to make any public declarations about their romance.

  “You bet.” The door shut behind the man.

  Bo returned his full attention to her. “To do what you’re describing, you’ll only need one barn and a small number of horses and employees.”

  “I’m keeping the Thoroughbreds, too. I see them differently than I did when I first came. They’ve become a part of this place. How many hours have I spent at the paddock, watching them?”

  “Lots.”

  “So I should know. Also, once the farm has paid back its initial investment—which it should do after the yearling sales, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then the Thoroughbreds will, in theory, earn their keep from here on out.”

  “And then some.”

  “Most of all . . .” Sentimentality rose, and it took her a moment to gather herself. “The Thoroughbreds meant a lot to my father. The more I’m around them, the more I understand why. I’m not going to do what he wanted me to do with my career, but I can still honor him by keeping his farm going. He’d have loved to see his horses succeed.”

  “There’s one horse in particular that I think might make him proud. Can I . . . would you mind if I introduced you to him? He’s here in this barn.”

  Meg nodded, and Bo led her into the corridor. She spotted Mike further down, cleaning out a stall.