Undeniably Yours (18 page)

“Absolutely.”

“Really?” she asked, like a dummy.

“Yeah. I'll be back in time.”

Meg wanted to launch herself into his arms and cover his battered face with grateful kisses.

“After all,”—his gray gaze sparkled—“I still have one good eye. Might as well blacken that one, too.”

She laughed. “Yes, exactly. I've always appreciated symmetry.” She gave him a parting wave and walked toward the parking lot.

She wanted one last peek at him.

No, she shouldn't—

She had to. Couldn't resist.

Meg glanced back and found him standing exactly where he had been, stock-still, watching her.

He tipped the front of his hat.

Oh, cowboy
, she thought.
What in the world am I going to do with you?

“Thanks for helping me with this,” Amber told Brimm a few nights later. They'd just settled into chairs positioned behind the desk in Meg's father's home office.

“You bet,” Brimm said.

Amber lifted one of the file folders she'd brought with her. “Meg was nice enough to get together all the papers and information and stuff that she still had from the time she was married to Stephen.” Amber lifted the front cover and paged through a few, showing him. A photocopy of Stephen's social security card and driver's license. A wedding license. The rental agreement on their apartment. Bank statements, bills, tax returns. She handed the file to Brimm.

He nodded. “This should be helpful.”

“And this is what I was able to get together for you.” Amber opened her own, much smaller file. The only official document she had was Jayden's birth certificate, and didn't that just sum up everything that needed to be said about her romance with Stephen? She also had pages of notes that she'd written on spiral notebook paper. As soon as she'd realized that Stephen had left on purpose, she'd started writing down everything she could remember him saying about himself, his family, the places he'd lived. She'd been determined to find his sorry butt even then.

Brimm took it from her and went through it. Once finished, he set the files aside and studied her. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Find him?”

“Yes.”

“I'm sure.”

Brimm looked concerned. Maybe he thought she was like those low-class women on Jerry Springer who were always doing things like this, chasing down baby daddies and such.

“You don't still have . . . feelings for him, do you?”

“No.” Not really true. She had
lots
of feelings toward Stephen, all bad.

“Good, because I wouldn't want to go to all this trouble just so you can hook up with a person whom I seriously dislike.”

Amber raised her right hand. “I have no plans to hook up with Stephen.”

“All right, then.” Brimm spun to face the big Mac laptop he'd brought with him. “Let's get going.”

“Let's do it. ‘Action is the foundational key to all success.'”

“Mmm?”

“Pablo Picasso said that.”

He angled his head toward her, one eyebrow cocked.

“I'd have been a genius, too,” Amber said, “except I don't like geeky clothes.”

He laughed. “It was the uniform of the genius that put you off?”

“That's right.”

Still grinning, he returned his attention to his computer.

Amber had started reading quotes back in high school in an effort—that had bombed—to impress her boyfriend's mother. When she'd lost the guy she'd kept the quote book. Then added more books to her collection.

She still read and memorized a few quotes every single night before bed. She liked, when she switched off her light, to turn the ideas of famous and successful people around in her mind. She also liked that, thanks to the quotes, she knew at least one scholarly thing.

She hadn't made much of herself yet. But she
had
been able to memorize almost all the quotes in all her books, so she must be worth something. Right?

Brimm's fingers flew over his keyboard. She watched him pause, zoom the arrow around the screen, and type some more.

“I was expecting you to use Meg's dad's computer,” Amber said.

“I brought mine because I'm used to it and because it has some extras that I've added. Uncle William's setup isn't too shabby, though. I'll use both computers here in a minute.”

Both? Wow. She watched him for a few minutes. “What's our plan?”

“We're simply going to start with the search engines and see if we can find him based on the data in the files—his social security number, et cetera.”

“Okay.” She picked at her lime green nail polish and passed the time by checking out some framed pictures of Meg as a child. “I think there's something going on between Bo and Meg,” she murmured while looking at a shot of baby Meg lying on a blanket and wearing a big bonnet.

“Like what?”

“Like a lot of
really
heavy interest.”

He gazed at her. “Of the romantic variety?”

He was so nerdy that he was cute. She liked his funky T-shirts and the way his brown hair fell forward. “Yes, of the romantic variety. I went out to the horse farm with her the other night, and the two of them looked like they wanted to eat one another up with a spoon.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

He slowly raked his hair back with his fingers. “I was thinking Bo was more your type than hers.”

“Country girl with the country boy?”

“Right.”

“Isn't that a little
too
predictable?”

“I . . .” His look of confusion told her that in his world, his math world, the predictable answer equaled the right answer.

“I'm just teasing you. Bo's like, gorgeous, and I would be interested in him if he liked me. But he doesn't like me. He's into Meg.”

“My family won't like it.”

“Why?”

“They'll assume he's after her because of her inheritance.”

Amber took offense on behalf of all poor people. “Not everyone is like that.”

He lifted a skinny shoulder.

“I don't think Bo's like that. Do you?”

“No.”

“Well, look at it this way,” Amber said. “She can hardly do worse than Stephen.”

J
udy can pat the bunny,'” Sadie Jo read aloud to Jayden. “‘Now you pat the bunny.'”

Jayden didn't make a move, so Sadie Jo took hold of his finger and used it to stroke the furry bunny inside the book.

Meg eased deeper into the patio sofa, content to watch the two of them together. Because Amber was working with Brimm tonight, Meg and Sadie Jo had volunteered to watch Jayden for her. They'd already fed and bathed him. The beautiful evening had convinced them to bring him outdoors for the remaining half hour before bedtime.

They'd chosen one of the weather-resistant sofas, tucked Jayden between them, and set a stack of books on the low coffee table. Even though the daylight had faded, the can lights in the overhang above them illuminated the books. The designer lighting scheme in the backyard lit up the trees.

“‘Now you play peek-a-boo with Paul.'”

Sadie Jo had brought these books from her own private stash and had already reminded Meg twice that these were the very same ones she'd read to her when she was small.

Meg admired the moon, big and full tonight. The sight of
it made her wonder if Bo had looked up from wherever he was in Florida and noticed it, too.

It had come as a genuine and unwelcome surprise, how much she'd missed him these past few days. Whispering Creek didn't feel the same without him. She'd known that visiting him comforted her. But until he'd gone away, she hadn't realized that she'd also grown accustomed to the more subtle comfort of having him (at the very least) nearby. Somewhere on the property. Close. Working with his horses.

With Bo gone, Whispering Creek had turned lonely and empty. Without their long talks at the paddock rail to look forward to, her days had become bleak.

Mr. Son walked into view from the direction of his gardening room.

Jayden spotted him, jumped up, and ran to him like an entrant in the hundred-yard dash. Mr. Son didn't, as a rule, carry Jayden around. But he did greet him cordially with a handshake.

Jayden tugged Mr. Son over to the coffee table and spread out Sadie Jo's books.
Goodnight Moon. The Very Hungry Caterpillar. Green Eggs and Ham. Brown Bear, Brown Bear. Are You My Mother?

“Evening, ladies.” Mr. Son dipped his chin.

“Evening,” they echoed.

Jayden picked
The Very Hungry Caterpillar
and thrust it into Mr. Son's hands.

“You want me to read this?” Mr. Son asked.

Jayden pushed it closer to him.

Mr. Son lowered himself into the nearest chair and positioned Jayden on his lap. With businesslike efficiency, he cleared his throat and began to read.

Jayden had been his usual whirlwind self for Sadie Jo and
Meg. But now that Mr. Son had arrived, Meg watched him morph into a perfect specimen of behavior. From what Amber had told Meg, this was always the case when Jayden visited Mr. Son for their thrice-weekly gardening lessons. In Jayden's world of women, it seemed as if the young boy recognized and cherished Mr. Son.

“‘But he was still hungry,'” Mr. Son read. “‘So he ate one slice of chocolate cake, one ice cream cone, one pickle . . .'” He grunted and lowered the book. “That's silly. Why would a caterpillar eat chocolate cake or a pickle?”

“It's fiction,” Meg answered.

“Silly fiction.”

“It's a children's book,” Meg replied. “It's fun.”

“Silly children's book.”

“It's a classic!” Sadie Jo insisted.

“Not a classic of mine.” He tossed it on the table.

Jayden peered at Mr. Son with fascination.

“Young man,” Mr. Son said, “don't waste your time reading about a hungry caterpillar. Better to read books about the alphabet and numbers. More practical.”

Meg laughed. “He's one and a half, Mr. Son. He doesn't have to be practical yet.”

“That's the problem with you American people . . .”

Meg refrained from pointing out that Mr. Son was as American as the rest of them.

“All you ever think children should have is happy time, happy time.”

“Well . . .” Meg scratched her temple. “I guess that does pretty much sum up my philosophy on toddlers.”

“Hear, hear!” Sadie Jo smiled broadly.

Mr. Son shook his head over their hopelessness.

“Is anyone hungry?” Sadie Jo asked. “Meg? You hardly ate a bite at dinner. I have a bag of goldfish in my purse.”

“No, thanks. I'm good.” Meg checked her watch. “I believe it's Jayden's bedtime. I'd better take him upstairs and put him down.”

They all rose to their feet, and Meg lifted Jayden into her arms. He stuck his hand in his mouth and began to fuss.

“Oh.” Sadie Jo's face filled with distress. “Do you think he has a wet diaper?”

“I don't know,” Meg answered. “We just put a new one on thirty minutes ago.” Did babies wet their diapers every thirty minutes? And if so, did their mothers change them that often? “I'll check his diaper before I put him to bed. Okay?”

“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.