Her One and Only Read online

  Month after month, he grew. In height, in weight, in strength.

  By rights, he should have ended up in prison. He probably would have if his algebra teacher, who’d also been the school’s assistant football coach, hadn’t seen potential in him. When his teacher had first challenged Gray to try out for the football team before the start of his sophomore year, Gray had flipped the guy the bird. He’d had no interest in making an idiot of himself on a football field.

  Gray had always told himself he hated organized sports, mainly because he’d never had the kind of mom who could be counted on to sign him up or pay for uniforms or take him to games or practices.

  His algebra teacher had kept after him until Gray had finally agreed to show up for the first day of tryouts. Nothing more.

  On that day, he’d been introduced to the great love of his life.

  A game.

  A game in which aggression was an asset. A game that had brought him fame and glory and money and thousands upon thousands of fans who idolized him because of how he played it. He was a Pro Bowl tight end in the NFL. He was a warhorse. He could protect himself without the help of a woman.

  At last, Dru glanced in his direction, caught him staring, and gave him a subtle shake of her head. She didn’t want him staring because, if his stalker was watching, she didn’t want his interest in her to link them.

  He gave her a “who cares?” expression and kept on staring.

  Chapter Two

  Pregnancy was a miracle. A strange, awe-inspiring miracle that took your regular body from you and exchanged it for something totally different and foreign: your pregnant body.

  Meg Porter rested her hand on her pregnant tummy and felt, both from the sensory details of her hand on the outside and the sensory details on the inside, a distinct jab from a tiny body part. Maybe an elbow? A foot? There it came again.

  Bo, who was sitting next to her in the grandstands at Lone Star Park racetrack, glanced at her.

  Gently smiling, she took his hand and placed it on her belly. Her very tight, firm belly. She was only in the second trimester, but thanks to the fact that they were expecting boy/girl twins, her belly had already grown to what felt to her like huge proportions. Hard to imagine that her tummy still had at least three and a half months of growing to do.

  The baby moved again, bumping Bo’s palm. Good baby. Sometimes when she held Bo’s hand to her belly so he could feel what she was feeling, the babies would decide to nod off to sleep, and Bo would be left waiting patiently for a kick that didn’t come.

  Another thump.

  Miracle babies, Meg thought, emotion and gratitude lifting her heart.

  Bo regarded her with amazement, as if she’d shown him a flower that could talk or a butterfly wearing a dress. “Incredible,” he whispered.

  “Incredible,” she agreed.

  His hand was big and exceptionally masculine against the fabric of her coat. His was the hand of a man who worked with horses, who’d once served his country as a Marine, who was her very best friend in all the world, her husband, the father of her unborn babies.

  She and Bo had four nieces and nephews, all thanks to Bo’s brother Ty and his wife, Celia. You’d think, being such an experienced aunt and uncle, that the two of them would have become accustomed to pregnancy and baby-dom. However, this pregnancy of theirs was a whole new, hushed, mysterious, and remarkable experience. The two of them were goofy over it. Every tiny event—each sonogram, each doctor’s visit, each purchase for the nursery, every miniature outfit they received—struck them both with awe and excitement.

  They’d been married now for eight years. The first year had been all-out bliss. The past seven had been tempered by infertility and the crushing sadness of two miscarriages. The journey that had brought them to this place had been a long and sometimes brutal test of faith.

  Meg was an only child. She’d inherited a fortune from her father upon his death, then turned right around and set up the Cole Foundation so that she could dedicate herself to the task of giving away her father’s money. She took immense joy in paying medical expenses, education costs, debts, and more for the single-parent families who came to live at her Whispering Creek Ranch while they were getting back on their feet.

  She’d been giving away terrific amounts of money for years and still hadn’t made a dent in her accounts. The money from her father’s oil company continued to flow to her like the Mississippi River.

  Meg was very aware that God had given her much. When He’d failed to answer her longtime prayer for a baby, she’d sometimes wondered if He was letting her know that she was off-base to ask for anything extra.

  Except, she and Bo had continued to feel year after year that God had a baby for them, that a family was still a part of His plan. Meg had gone the traditional medical route and done hormone studies, taken medications, received shots. They’d tried IVF several times. No go.

  She’d also gone the holistic route. Healthy eating regimens. Sleep. Vitamins. Supplements. Acupressure, even. No go.

  A few years into their struggles with infertility, they’d researched adoption. Many times since, they’d revisited the possibility. As much as they loved the idea of adoption, though, they’d never heard God call them to it in a personal way.

  Twelve months ago, Meg had come to a place of utter exhaustion with it all. She’d been unable to forge ahead with the stress and hope and disappointment. She’d worried that her preoccupation with having a baby had drained her ability to experience complete contentment with the things God had given her. So, she’d gone off all the treatments. She’d stopped counting the days of her cycle, and she’d quit beseeching God for a baby. Instead, she’d focused simply on thanking Him for and embracing the life she did have.

  A few months later, she’d become pregnant. Without charts and doctors and technology. Pregnant, the old-school way.

  She was now thirty-six, and Bo was forty.

  They’d been astonished and painfully hopeful when they’d discovered the pregnancy. It was terrifying to want something as much as Meg and Bo wanted a healthy pregnancy and baby. As thrilled as they’d both been at the news that they were expecting, they’d both also been heavily aware that neither of Meg’s two prior pregnancies had made it out of the first trimester.

  There had been times, between the day they’d learned of this pregnancy and this day, when anxiety had riddled her. She’d sought to squash it and trust God fully, but she hadn’t always succeeded. Even now, at twenty-three weeks along and with nothing but glowing reports from her OB, she still didn’t feel fully confident and assured that all would be well with her twins.

  The movement went quiet, the baby having apparently settled into a spot that pleased him or her. Bo took hold of Meg’s hand and drew it over the little stadium-seating armrest so that he could set their interlaced hands on his leg. As always, a sense of security and strength coursed into Meg through Bo.

  “You good?” he asked. “Do you need me to get you anything?”

  “I’m good.” Her husband had grown more handsome over time, in that annoying way men had of improving with age. He still wore his dark hair shaved close to his head, just like he had the day she’d met him. His gray eyes still had the power to make her go swoony with attraction. “I’ve been looking forward to this day for months,” Meg murmured, taking in the wide scene spreading before them. “Now that it’s here, I can hardly believe it.”

  “Believe it, Countess.”

  A large section of the racetrack’s grandstand had been cordoned off especially for them and their friends and family. Today marked the final day of the fall quarter-horse racing season. Racing wouldn’t begin again at Lone Star until the Thoroughbred racing season opened in April. To celebrate their closing day, Lone Star Park had planned several festivities, including the unveiling of a statue to honor one of the greatest Thoroughbreds ever to grace the dirt of Lone Star’s oval.

  A dapple-grey Thoroughbred stallion named Silver Leaf.

  The horse’s phenomenal success had been a family affair. Meg had the great pleasure of owning Silver Leaf. Bo managed Whispering Creek Horses, the horse farm on their north Texas ranch where Silver Leaf had been bred and raised. Jake, Bo’s younger brother, and Jake’s wife, Lyndie, had trained Silver Leaf.

  Meg looked immediately to her left, where Jake and Lyndie sat. They had their heads bent toward each other and were talking quietly.

  Jake resembled Bo, except he wore his dark hair longer, and his face bore a scar caused by an IED explosion during his time overseas with the Marines. The explosion had ended Jake’s military career and marked the years that followed with post-traumatic stress disorder. Though there was no cure for the condition, Jake had greatly improved since falling in love with Lyndie.

  Jake pressed a kiss near Lyndie’s temple, and Meg hid a smile at the sight. Muscular and dark, Jake was the perfect foil for his wife’s petite fairness and wavy blond hair.

  For this special occasion, all the men in the family had worn suits, the women dresses and coats. Meg had purchased a blue maternity dress and an A-line double-breasted gray wool coat. When pregnant, one needed cute jewelry or a fabulous scarf or a hat or something in order to attempt to look dashing. If not dashing, Meg trusted that her gray felt fedora with its black leather band looked, at least, stylish. The lady at Neiman Marcus had told her it did.

  Then again, the lady at Neiman Marcus could have been motivated by nothing more than commission.

  A race went off, and many of those in attendance either jumped to their feet or started calling out encouragement to their favorite horses. The voice of the track announcer poured over them.

  Meg hadn’t once worried that the weather might not cooperate for Silver Leaf’s big day. Silver Leaf had always radiated a kingly demeanor. With every win he’d amassed, his bearing had become even more esteemed and dignified. Frankly, the weather wouldn’t have dared to insult him.

  The horses raced under an early-afternoon robin’s-egg-blue sky, dotted here and there with cheerful cotton-ball clouds. Trees spiced with autumn’s yellow and orange leaves ringed the track at a distance.

  A baby’s squeal brought Meg’s attention to the right, where Bo’s other brother, Ty, sat. In his charcoal suit, with his bronze hair and aviator sunglasses, Ty looked far more like a movie star dressed for a premiere than like a father of four.

  Ty and his wife, Celia, had brought all their children. Addie, age ten. Hudson, four. Connor, two. And little Ellerie, six months. The squeal had come from Ellerie. She was laughing at her father, who was holding her facing him. Every few moments, Ty blew at her tuft of hair and elicited more giggles.

  “I think she wants me to take over,” Bo said to Ty, reaching for the baby.

  “No way, dude. She has daddy love. She likes me best.” Ty blew on her forehead again. Another baby chortle. “All my kids are under the impression that I’m awesome, which is probably why I like having them so much.”

  “Hand over the baby,” Bo said.

  “Fine.” Ty shot Meg a crooked smile as he passed the little girl into Bo’s hands. Bo renewed the game, and Ellerie laughed with amusement.

  The horses pounded past their seats on their way to the wire. Dru, the youngest Porter sibling, sat on the far side of Ty and Celia’s crew, holding Connor in her lap. She helped the toddler clap for the horses, then showed him how to hoot and holler once they’d crossed the wire. The boy, usually a bundle of relentless energy, watched Dru with fascination and did his best to mimic her actions.

  Dru had that effect on the kids. They were all dazed with adoration of her. If Dru asked them to line up like the Von Trapp kids at the sound of a whistle, they’d all rush to do exactly that.

  “In fact,” Ty said, “I like having kids so much that I’m going to try to talk Celia into one more.” He winked at Meg, because they both knew what was coming.

  Celia Porter snapped to attention at Ty’s statement. “No way, showboat.” She had the fine and graceful features of a fairy. Her curly auburn hair fell in artful layers down to her shoulders. She didn’t look like someone spunky enough to hold her own against the strong-willed Ty. But she was. “Thank goodness you’re taking over the baby baton from us, Meg and Bo. Because we’re done. Completely and totally done. As my husband very well knows.”

  “But look at our kids, love,” Ty said. “They’re perfect little specimens. We’d be robbing the world of something important if we don’t have any more.”

  “You’ll be robbing me of something important if we do have more. My sanity.”

  “You’ve got more sanity than all the rest of us in the family put together, sweet one.”

  Celia murmured something about that being God’s honest truth as she bent to re-tie Hudson’s shoe.

  Bo turned Ellerie toward the track and set her on his lap so that she was leaning back against him as if he were her recliner.

  The three youngest of Celia and Ty’s children had all been born while Meg and Bo had been struggling with infertility. Each of those pregnancies and births had brought joy to everyone in the Porter family, including Meg and Bo. Each of those pregnancies and births had also carved into Meg’s heart like a knife. Ty and Celia were younger than she and Bo. Their oldest child had been a complete surprise. The other three had come to them with extreme ease.

  Meg hadn’t wanted to feel jealous, especially not of Celia, whom she loved. The fact that she hadn’t wanted to feel jealous, and had known it was wrong to feel that way even, had made the jealousy she’d grappled with all the more wretched. She’d pleaded with God to take it from her, but since He hadn’t, she’d just gone ahead and been the very best sister-in-law and aunt that she could possibly be.

  Now she could watch Bo interacting with Ty and Celia’s kids and experience within herself nothing but tenderness. What was it about the sight of a masculine man holding a baby that carried with it such slaying power?

  She wanted, dearly, to see Bo holding their own babies. That sight would surely be one of the deepest joys of her whole life.

  Another race went off, and Meg consulted the schedule. Silver Leaf’s honorary glory lap around the track was listed next on the itinerary. Then they’d all move to the area in front of the clubhouse where the statue would be revealed. Meg’s anticipation, mixed with a dose of nervousness, heightened. “Ready?” she asked Bo. “Silver Leaf is up next.”

  “I’m ready if you are.” They looked at each other, and a wealth of communication passed between them.

  “I love you,” Bo said. He spoke the words with transparent honesty, spoke them as a man who’d backed up those three words with actions for years upon years. He was steadfast. Honorable. He’d told her on the day of their first kiss that he’d love her every hour of every day for the rest of his life, and he’d been doing just that ever since.

  “I love you, too,” she answered. In her early twenties, Meg had gone through a very brief, very heartbreaking marriage to a dishonorable man. She hadn’t, and wouldn’t, forget how much a man’s integrity meant.

  Bo handed Ellerie back to her parents as Meg swiveled to take in all the friends and family members assembled behind them in the stands. Bo’s father and mother, John and Nancy. Her uncle on her father’s side and her aunts on her mother’s. Numerous cousins and their numerous children.

  Stretching up row after grandstand row were many of the families that had come to live at one time or another at Whispering Creek Ranch’s main house, thanks to the Cole Foundation. The main house, the one her father had built, was huge and not at all to Meg’s taste and filled with an overabundance of memories from her childhood. So when she and Bo had married, they’d built their own house on another section of the ranch’s property, and she’d turned the main house into a place that functioned as both the Cole Foundation’s headquarters and a dwelling for the people it helped.

  All the faces looking back at her now came with stories and fondness attached. They’d filled her father’s house with new memories. These families were a testament to hope and to God’s ability to grant new beginnings.

  She turned back toward the track and leaned her shoulder into Bo.

  Suddenly, dramatic music rushed from the speaker system, and the big screens began showing a montage of clips featuring many of Silver Leaf’s races. The crowd whistled and cheered.

  Silver Leaf did not belong just to her. Horse-racing fans loved him. He was theirs.

  The announcer began detailing some of Silver Leaf’s accomplishments. “Winner of the Texas Classic. Winner of the Mesquite Tree Stakes. Winner of the Southwestern Invitational Handicap. Two-time winner of the Breeders’ Cup Classic. Ladies and gentlemen, please give a warm Lone Star welcome to Silver Leaf, returning once more to his home track!”

  The packed stands erupted, everyone pushing to their feet for a standing ovation.

  Silver Leaf burst onto the track, a stunning sight. Moisture gathered in Meg’s eyes. She was, admittedly, a bit sentimental. Happy moments like this one never failed to make her tearful. The tall grey stallion galloped with his famously coordinated stride, his snow-white mane and tail floating in the air.

  The announcer continued while majestic music played as backdrop. “Silver Leaf is ridden by his jockey, Elizabeth Alvarez. Elizabeth told me that Silver Leaf never once let her down. She traveled to be with us today because she couldn’t consider letting Silver Leaf down on his big day.”

  Elizabeth wore the pale blue and brown silks of Whispering Creek Horses, the same jockey’s uniform she’d worn all the times she’d raced Silver Leaf to victory. Elizabeth had been a mid-level jockey when she’d been paired with Silver Leaf. Nowadays, because of the respect she’d gained riding Silver Leaf, she’d become a top-tier jockey with mounts in all of racing’s biggest events. She wasn’t just one of the best female jockeys. She’d proven herself to be one of the best. Period.