Undeniably Yours Page 27

  “Can I tell him the good news?” Bo asked her.

  “Sure.”

  “She’s decided not to shut down the farm,” Bo called to him.

  “What!” Mike threw his ball cap into the air, then hurried over to shake Meg’s hand, smiling widely. “Thank you, Ms. Cole.”

  “You’re very welcome.”

  “You won’t be sorry, ma’am.”

  No, Meg thought. I don’t think I will be.

  “Can I send out an email to the others?” Mike asked Bo. “Letting them know?”

  “And steal my thunder? No way.” Bo grinned as he clapped Mike on the shoulder. “I’ll do it in just a minute.”

  Mike tipped his chin to Meg, then returned to work, face glowing.

  Bo drew Meg over to one of the stalls. The horse within stood tall and regal, sleekly muscled, his coat a watercolor mix of dark gray and light gray, his mane and tail white.

  “You’re not going to make me ride him, are you?” Meg asked.

  Laugh lines deepened around Bo’s eyes. “Not this guy, no. Meg, meet Silver Leaf. Silver Leaf, Meg.”

  “He’s gorgeous,” she whispered.

  “Yes, he is.”

  Silver Leaf’s dark liquid eyes regarded her calmly, as if he could read her mind. On her end Meg mostly said, I’m blown away by how beautiful and placid and wise you are. And he mostly said, I have benevolence on you, small human.

  “He’s descended from royalty,” Bo said. “His grandfather was Seattle Slew, and his great-grandfather was Secretariat.”

  She’d seen a lot of Whispering Creek’s horses, but this one possessed a unique blend of dignity, outright beauty, and something unfathomable that she couldn’t begin to put her finger on.

  “Your father was crazy about him. Jake and I both think he’s full of promise.”

  “I can see why.”

  Silver Leaf approached her, and Meg rested her fingers on his silky-soft nose. In response, he blew his hot, sweet breath over her hand. In that instant they formed a connection, woman and horse. Meg couldn’t help but feel that Silver Leaf might one day give her the opportunity to see her father’s dreams come true.

  Meg turned to look up at Bo.

  He stood close by, his hands deep in his pockets, watching her. “Thank you for giving Whispering Creek Horses a future.”

  “I can honestly say that it’s my pleasure. And now . . . ” She stepped to him and took hold of the fabric on the front of his shirt. His arms came around her. His face angled down, hers up. “There’s something that’s been on my mind for weeks and weeks. I’m dying to know more about it. Dying, you understand? But I’ve been too embarrassed to ask you about it.”

  “You can ask me anything.”

  “Good.” She cleared her throat. Smiled. “It’s about your tattoo.”

  “. . . and that’s my plan for the big house here at Whispering Creek,” Meg finished.

  Yesterday she’d told Uncle Michael and Bo about her life-changing decisions. And now she’d explained everything to the remainder of her staff. Lynn, Mr. Son, the rest of the big house workers, Jayden’s nanny, Jayden, and Sadie Jo had all gathered in the kitchen for their customary noon lunch. In response to her long monologue, every face surrounding the large table regarded her silently.

  Uh-oh. Maybe they were all thinking that their nutty heiress had taken another wrong turn toward crazy town.

  But then the table erupted in a chorus of enthusiasm, and Meg released a pent-up breath of relief.

  “What a wonderful idea.”

  “I’m behind it one hundred percent.”

  “I love it!”

  Jayden celebrated by throwing cut-up squares of sandwich over the side of his high chair.

  “Well done,” Lynn said to her, with clear approval.

  Sadie Jo’s eyes had gone shiny and her face trembly with joy. “This is what you were talking about, the other day out by the horses, when you said you wanted to help children.”

  “This is it,” Meg confirmed.

  “Oh, Meg. It’s perfect. Perfect!”

  Meg turned to the lone adult male at the table. “Mr. Son?”

  “I’m hungry,” he said.

  Meg laughed. “Yes, but what do you think about the future of Whispering Creek?”

  “I like it. Fine plan. Can we all go back to eating now?”

  “Yes, of course. Please do, everyone.”

  Lynn had made grilled cheese sandwiches and salad to complement their bowls of homemade tomato soup.

  “I know this will affect all of you,” Meg said to the group. “So I’d really like to hear your thoughts.”

  While they ate, Meg’s staff peppered her with questions and ideas.

  Despite the low clouds and the spitting drizzle beyond the windows, cheerfulness encircled the kitchen table in the same way that it always did at big house lunches. Perhaps even more so now that Jayden had joined their number.

  The toddler sat at the far end of the table, concertedly picking his nose. His nanny flanked him on one side, which left his other side open to Sadie Jo, who gazed at him adoringly, stroked his hair, and continually coaxed him to eat more than he wanted.

  Meg was answering a question about how she’d come upon the plan of turning Whispering Creek into a temporary home for single parents when her cell phone vibrated inside her pocket. She ignored it.

  Someone else asked her how the horse farm fit into her vision.

  While Meg explained, her cell phone vibrated a second time. She ignored it again.

  But just a few minutes later, it vibrated a third time. Two calls close together? Somewhat normal. But three? Three translated to an emergency.

  Bo, she thought, with a jolt of fear. Had something happened to Bo? Had he been hurt? “I’m sorry, I think someone’s trying to get ahold of me.” She pulled her phone out of her pocket and saw that it wasn’t Bo, but Brimm calling. “Please excuse me. I’d better take this.” She rose and headed from the room.

  “You didn’t finish your soup!” Sadie Jo called as Meg rounded the corner and made her way in the direction of the den.

  Meg answered the call. “Brimm?”

  “Meg.”

  “Is everything okay?”

  “Listen . . . I’m on my way over there. Can I meet you at the guesthouse?”

  “Oh no.” The tension in her cousin’s voice communicated bad news louder than words. Her stomach dropped. “Has something happened to Grandmother? Or someone else in the family?”

  “No, it’s nothing like that. All the Lakes are fine. I just need to sit down and talk with you about something.”

  “About what?”

  “I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

  Meg let herself into her guesthouse and turned on her lamps and chandeliers. With nothing else to do, she made herself sit on her sofa. Cashew climbed into her lap. What could Brimm possibly need to talk to her about that was so grave he’d drive out here during the middle of his workday? She couldn’t imagine. A suffocating weight of foreboding lowered over her, and she jumped back up to escape it. She lit her gardenia-scented candle. Returned to the sofa. Cashew stepped back onto her lap. Meg popped up again and went to unload clean dishes from her dishwasher.

  As if a well-lit, nice-smelling, tidy house could do anything at all to avert impending doom.

  When a knock sounded, she hurried to the door. Brimm stood on the threshold in his professor getup: a button-down shirt, blazer, and brown pants. They exchanged greetings, she drew him over to the table, and they both settled into chairs.

  “What’s going on?” Meg asked.

  He rested a briefcase on the surface of the table, toyed with its clasps, then seemed to think better of opening it. He faced her fully. “Do you remember that your father brought me in a few times as a consultant for Cole Oil’s computer security?”

  “Yes.”

  “In the past two years I’ve spent several days with the IT team at Cole. I’ve worked with them on fortifying firewalls
and anti-hacking, both for the company’s system and also for your father’s private accounts.”

  “Are you here because of a computer security issue?”

  “Exactly.”

  Thank God! Some of the rigidity eased from Meg’s muscles. Brimm might view a computer breech as a crisis, but she sure didn’t. He’d scared her good.

  “One of the IT guys called me today,” he said, “and had me come over to the Cole building. A hacker has been testing the security of your personal accounts.”

  “Trying to steal money from me?”

  “No, not yet. He’s simply been trying to take a look into all your various investments and holdings. It seems like he’s trolling for information. As if . . . well, as if he’s wanting to know exactly what you’re worth.”

  “A tabloid journalist, maybe?”

  “Actually, we’ve discovered his identity.”

  “Oh?”

  Brimm scrubbed his fingertips through his hair and looked away from her. When he finally looked back, apology shone in his eyes. “It’s Bo, Meg.”

  Shock—awful, sickening shock—thudded directly into her. She stayed still. But inside, her brain scrambled and flailed and tried to catch onto something firm. “Bo?”

  “Bo’s the hacker who’s been fishing for information about your finances.”

  “No way.”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “He wouldn’t do something like that.” Not in a million years!

  “For what it’s worth, I wouldn’t have thought so either, Meg.”

  “He’s not a hacker. He knows about as much as I do about computers.”

  “That’s what he wanted you to believe, anyway.”

  “He just—just uses computers for work, and that’s it.”

  “I wish that were the case, but it’s not. He’s been using his home computer to investigate the scope of your inheritance.”

  Bo loved her. He didn’t care about her financial portfolio.

  “I’m so sorry,” Brimm said. “The IT guys have been working on it for days and they were finally able to triangulate the hacker’s location. It’s Bo’s home computer, Meg. Bo’s address.”

  “No.”

  “The evidence is certain. I’ve spent the last two hours checking it out myself. I wouldn’t have come to you with this unless I was sure.”

  A howling refusal coursed through her in deafening circles.

  “I can explain, if you’d like, how they were able to pinpoint the particular computer involved,” Brimm said. “I even brought documents.”

  She wanted to beg him to take his evidence and his documents and his intelligence and leave. Instead, she watched him open his briefcase and lay papers in front of her. He spoke about the high-tech methods involved in catching hackers as he gestured to one page and then the next and the next. His words fell around her without penetrating. The only thing that did penetrate? Printed in black ink on white paper at the bottom of the final page: Bo’s name, address, and his computer’s specific ID number.

  At the end of Brimm’s speech, quiet widened between them.

  “I feel so bad about this.” He pushed his glasses up his nose. “I know you care about him. I could tell, just watching you guys together.”

  She had no words.

  “Listen, we can share what we have with the police. They can go after him—”

  “I can’t deal with that thought right now.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yes.”

  “I understand. Well, we can go that route later if you want. Are you okay?”

  She nodded, but within herself she could see and feel entire skylines of hope crashing down in clouds of debris and ash.

  “You want me to stick around?” he asked. “We can hang out. I can keep you company.”

  “Thank you, but I’d like to be alone for a little bit.” She walked him to the door. He gave her one of his stiff side hugs, hesitated, and then left.

  Meg closed the front door. Went into her bathroom and closed that door, too. She leaned her back against the inside of the door and slid down it onto the floor, her legs bending up. She covered her face with her hands and rested it forward onto her knees.

  Bo. Oh, goodness.

  Bo.

  What a rotten, worst possible, and wretched time to realize that she loved him.

  She loved Bo. And not just a little. She really, deeply loved him. Maybe even more miraculous for her, she’d come to trust him.

  He was honorable and true and decent in every way. Wasn’t he? An hour ago she’d have sworn that he was. She’d have bet everything she owned on it. Staked her future on it.

  But according to Brimm, Bo had been hacking into her finances to see how much . . . how had Brimm put it? To see how much she was worth.

  A wave of nausea heaved up from her stomach.

  Bo wanted her for her money?

  It couldn’t be true. God, she pleaded, it can’t be true.

  She remembered how Bo had looked standing in the parking lot with her that night at Deep in the Heart—his face bruised because he’d fought for her. All dressed up in a suit to take her to her cousin’s engagement party. Opening the door to her the night she’d gone to his house with a package of Oreos.

  She had an entire mental catalogue of the beautiful things he’d said to her—every intonation of every syllable—because she’d rewound and replayed his words in her head a million times. “I love you. I want to marry you. I can’t do many things but I can love you, Meg. I can love you every hour of every day for the rest of my life. I want you to know how beautiful you are to me.”

  She remembered the kisses they’d shared, the heat in his eyes, the need in his touch, and how his arms had felt around her—tight and fervent. He’d made her feel as if she was his most precious treasure.

  Her. Not her money.

  God? she asked. God, please. God? Come.

  But in the chaos of her mind, she couldn’t hear His voice, couldn’t find His presence.

  God, he loves me. Doesn’t he? You know everything that’s happened. I haven’t been completely wrong about him. Let Brimm’s discovery be a horrible mistake.

  Except that Brimm had just finished showing her pages of proof. He’d said the team at Cole Oil had been working on it for days and that he’d checked it out himself, personally. He’d said the evidence was certain.

  No! She squeezed her head with her hands. She didn’t want to know about proof. What she wanted, so much she could hardly bear it, was for Bo to love her.

  Once, many years ago, her father had confronted her with his concerns about Stephen. There had been some troubling evidence that time, too. Meg hadn’t wanted to believe it then, either. So she’d gone her own headstrong way. She’d insisted on Stephen’s goodness, on giving her heart to him, on marrying him.

  And what an epic disaster that had been.

  She’d ended up paying horribly for her mistake. Her experience with Stephen had made her the not-so-proud owner of a very, very expensive lesson: A woman should never ignore the facts to follow her own instincts about a man.

  Instincts could lie. Instincts were biased by desire and emotion. But facts were immutable. To ignore them was as stupid as driving down a road marked with signs that said DANGER—Impending Cliff, refusing to read those signs, and then reacting with surprise when your car sailed into thin air and nose-dived into the canyon below.

  The whole time she’d been falling for Bo, she’d known that she had no skill at judging a man’s sincerity. Maybe because Sadie Jo had raised her to be trusting and to believe the best of everyone. Maybe because she’d been born into money and so had a hard time predicting the awful things others would do to gain it. Her aunt and uncle had both warned her. And she’d . . . she’d defended Bo.

  She’d tried so hard to be careful with Bo. To be smart and protective of her heart. Yet, ultimately, she’d been unable to resist him. In a thousand ways, she’d been unable to resist him.

  So sh
e found herself here.

  Again.

  Confronted with evidence that warned her away.

  What she wanted to do? Trash Brimm’s revelations and wrap herself in denial.

  What she was going to make herself do? Cut Bo out of her life.

  Air seemed to be sucked out of the room, and suddenly she couldn’t quite gasp enough into her lungs.

  You have to get rid of him, Meg. He only cares about you because of the money.

  Her heart raced so fast she grew dizzy. Terror descended on her like a great black bird, shrieking and sending freezing wind rushing over her with every flap of its dark wings.

  A panic attack.

  By willpower alone, she pushed herself to standing. She’d gone weeks without having an attack and she flat-out wasn’t going to have one now. If her heart wanted to pound, then she’d give it a reason to pound.

  She pulled on exercise clothes and went to the gym in the big house. Without bothering to turn on the TV, she climbed onto the elliptical machine and pedaled the thing so hard it rocked.

  She pushed herself brutally—thoughts churning, gut twisting. She kept going even when sweat rolled down her body, even when her thighs burned and her chest ached, even when giant sobs overtook her.

  She’d been racked with indecision for days about whether or not to close the horse farm. What a joke. He’d probably known all along, from their very first meeting, that she was so weak and gullible that he could easily convince her to keep the farm open—so he’d set his sights higher. He’d been angling for marriage, which would entitle him to half of it all.

  For endless minutes, tears flowed unceasingly from the cavernous well of her grief.

  Just twenty-four hours ago Bo had said, “I wouldn’t change one thing about you.” The memory turned like a knife in her belly. Likewise, just twenty-four hours ago, she’d assured him that he’d be keeping his job.

  He most certainly would not be keeping it now.

  How could he do this to her? How dare he manipulate her, deceive her, betray her like this?

  How dare he?

  Bo stood outside the broodmare stable, frowning down at his cell phone. Since they’d been dating, he and Meg had been exchanging several texts and often a call or two every workday. By 5:30 p.m., they’d always decided how and where they’d spend their evening together.