Undeniably Yours (20 page)

“He's going by the name Stephen McKenzie, and he's living in Phoenix.”

“Phoenix?”

“Yes. I checked his email inbox and found all his contact information on a receipt that he received for something he bought online.” Brimm brought up a different screen, then scribbled the information from it onto a notepad. He ripped off the top sheet and handed it to her.

“Wow.” She took it from him with numb shock. “Thank you.” She'd been looking for Stephen for two years. And now, as suddenly as that, Brimm had found him. Amber looked down at the letters and numbers on the piece of paper he'd handed her.

“I'm going to get out of his computer.” Brimm's fingers went to work on the keyboard.

Oh. My. Gosh. She'd found Stephen.

A slideshow of memories raced through her mind. The morning she'd given birth to Jayden with only a girlfriend there to hold her hand. Walking the carpet of her apartment in the middle of the night, trying to get Jayden to sleep. The ugly way her tummy had looked for months after he'd been born. The times she'd had to leave Jayden in a day care she didn't love so she could earn money for him. The moments when she'd broken down because she'd been so tired and overwhelmed.

She'd done it
all
alone.

Now she held Stephen's address and phone number. So why did she feel sick to her stomach? How come the last thing in the world she wanted to do was pick up a phone?

“Are you going to call him?” Brimm asked.

“Not right now.” She met his gaze. “I will. But I might have to, you know, psych myself up first.”

“Sure.”

“Thank you, Brimm. I'm really impressed. Seriously.”

“You're welcome.”

She extended her hand to him. He took it in a handshake.

“Mission accomplished,” she said.

“Mission accomplished.”

Stephen much preferred not to sleep in the homes of the women he bedded. If the situation and the personality were agreeable, he always left early and returned to the privacy of his own place. The situation and the personality had been agreeable tonight.

Once he arrived home, he showered, then settled at his kitchen table to toy with the virus a compatriot of his had posted earlier. He'd fiddled with it a few hours ago, hit a wall, and needed to take a break. But his brain had been working on it the whole time since, and he thought he might know the tactic to take in order to crack the thing.

He brought up the program and went to work—

Wait. He paused, scowling. Something was wrong. The program wasn't performing the way that it should.

He typed. Waited. Typed. Tried to understand. His gaze traveled over the lines of information.

Someone had hacked into him.

The realization hit him like ice water. The person who'd posted the challenge on the forum had used the program to
hack into him
. It looked as if that had been their intent all along.

He pulled up his advanced and custom anti-spyware, anti-malware program. It hadn't detected the attack, which meant the program must be new and uncirculated.

Frozen and furious, he stared at the screen. Who? Why? Had they been searching for him in particular?

After all the laws he'd broken, Stephen lived cautiously and protected his privacy zealously. He needed to know—as immediately as possible—who'd found him out.

He went to work decompiling the code.

Hours later, Stephen finally tracked the trail of the virus backward through cyberspace to the ISP where it had originated. At last, near sunrise, he hacked into the ISP and traced it straight to its source. He rested his hands in his lap and leaned back in his chair, gazing at the address on the screen.

411 Farm Road 721. Holley. Texas.

His brow knit, because he recognized this particular address. It belonged to Whispering Creek Ranch, a place he'd visited many times when he'd been dating and married to Meg.

He knew, of course, that William Cole had died. He knew when he'd died, why, and approximately how much money he'd left behind. Meg would be the one living at Whispering Creek now. Meg, in control of a fortune that ranged into the hundreds of millions of dollars.

It was a twist of fate that made him want to spit venom each and every time he thought about it. He'd believed when he'd left Meg that he'd played her well. But a father who'd died young, time, and hindsight had revealed that he'd played her out too early and far too cheaply. If he'd had patience, he'd now be the one in command of William Cole's money.

The address on-screen burned into his brain.
Meg
? Meg had hired computer dogs to sniff him out?

He'd never in all these years considered weak, trusting Meg to be a threat to him. But maybe the power that came with the Cole family fortune had changed her. Made her vengeful. It
appeared that all of a sudden, years after he'd walked out of her life, she'd decided to make him pay for what he'd done to her.

He'd committed a string of crimes across three states. If she tipped off the police to his whereabouts, he'd find himself in extremely hot water.

Rapidly, he shut down his computer and zipped it into its carrying case. Then he went into his bedroom and began to pack.

He was nothing,
nothing
, if not skilled at protecting his own hide. He'd been an expert at it since childhood. Instead of waiting for fate to find and punish him, he always took fate into his own hands.

His computer had been compromised, which meant he could assume that Meg now knew his current last name, his location, his phone number. He had to leave Phoenix. He'd ditch his phone and buy another. Switch cars, even.

Then he'd go to Holley. He could assess the situation better from there, and strategize his next move.

T
he night of the engagement party, Meg answered the knock on the guesthouse door to find Bo on the threshold. He'd dressed in an immaculate dark gray suit, a white shirt, a silver tie, and a pair of black wingtips. “Wow.” It took her a moment to adjust to the sight of him dressed like an elegant businessman. “You clean up well.”

“Not half as well as you.” His glittering gaze took in her outfit, then returned to meet her eyes. “You trying to give me a stroke, countess? Because you've just about done it.”

She laughed. “Did you just call me
countess
?”

“You are one, right?”

“I don't believe we have any countesses here in America.”

“Sure about that?”

“Pretty sure.”

“Well, if we had any, you'd be one. You look beautiful.”

His compliment poured over her like a sunbeam. “Thank you. So do you.”

“I don't look like I'm wearing a Halloween costume?”

She remembered that she'd asked him the very same thing when she'd met him at Deep in the Heart. “Not at all.” The
narrow cut of the suit fit him perfectly, flattering his height and build.

She grabbed up her beaded purse and let herself out. They walked in the direction of the driveway, the breeze lifting a few of the ruffles on her skirt.

Bo thought her beautiful! He'd said
beautiful
—used that exact word—and called her
countess
, which was a very cute nickname.

She'd spent every lunch break of the past week shopping for the perfect dress and finally settled on this pale pink confection—strapless and tight down to her hips, then frothy with diagonal chiffon ruffles down to a few inches above her knees. To complement it, she'd purchased pale pink shoes with very high thin heels and ruched ribbons on the front.

Today, she'd gone out for a mani/pedi and a massage, then hovered over every detail of her bath, shaving, and skincare regimen. She'd even attempted a masque. She'd hired someone Lynn had recommended to handle her makeup and hair via house call.

Suddenly all the fuss, every detail of it, seemed worthwhile.

He'd called her beautiful.

Why were there so many glasses? Bo wondered. And so many forks?

Over the years, he'd attended dinners at fancy restaurants with Thoroughbred owners and buyers. But this engagement party dinner for Meg's cousin beat them all. So far, he'd survived the meal by carefully watching what Meg did and then doing exactly the same. He didn't think that he'd embarrassed her . . . yet. At least he prayed he hadn't.

A waiter set the meal's fifth course in front of him. Dessert. A
puffy chocolate thing in a round white dish. Bo hoped this was the last course, but couldn't be sure. He wouldn't put anything past these people.

Meg didn't reach for her spoon. Instead, she waited for a separate waiter carrying a silver pitcher.

Bo waited, too.

The man with the pitcher asked each of them if they wanted warm chocolate hazelnut sauce. Bo passed, but for those who accepted, the man used a spoon to pop open the top of their dessert. Then he poured liquid chocolate inside.

“I'm so full,” Meg whispered to him. “But I'm going to eat at least a little of this.” She picked up her spoon and took a bite. “It's delicious. Try.”

He tried some.

“Does it compare to the chocolate milk shake from Dairy Queen?” She glanced at him, humor in her expression.

He lifted an eyebrow. “You want my honest answer?”

Meg smiled.

The man sitting on the other side of her, one of her male cousins, asked her a question, and she turned to answer.

Meg had explained that tonight's party was for one of her mother's sister's daughters. However, he and Meg were seated at a round table with the only people here from the other side of her family, the Cole side.

Meg's uncle Michael sat directly across from Bo. He'd been eyeing Bo with suspicion all night and had made it pretty clear that he hated Bo's guts. Michael's wife, Della, had shiny light gray hair and a friendly personality. Their two adult sons seemed like decent guys: smart but laid back, willing to talk horses with him. Both men had brought along dates who were shallow and filthy rich.

Every one of them seemed completely at home in the luxurious ballroom.

Not him.

The place pressed in on Bo—heavy. The tables covered with cloth, flowers, and china. The drapes at the windows. The sconces mounted on the walls. The beige and blue rug that had to be five inches tall. The food.

It made him itchy. It made him feel like a regular man dressed up in rich boy's clothing trying to pretend to be someone he wasn't. It reminded him why the wealthy men in the room were much better suited to Meg than he was, a fact that filled him with black frustration.

He didn't like this party. Not at all.

But for Meg's sake, he'd volunteer to sit through a thousand more engagement parties just like this one.

Meg leaned toward him. “Do you think that my uncle Michael looks like my father?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“I do, too.”

Bo watched Michael reach over and clap his hand affectionately onto the shoulder of his older son. “Is your uncle like your father in personality, too?”

“Well, they both had lots of self-confidence and intelligence and ambition. But Uncle Michael's kind, in his own way. He has a heart.”

“And your father didn't?”

“No.” She pushed her dessert plate away.

Bo waited, watching her, hoping she trusted him enough to tell him more. She looked painfully gorgeous. So much so that his chest ached in response. Diamond earrings fell from her ears, and a diamond bracelet circled one wrist. She'd worn her blond hair down, every curl shiny and perfectly behaved.

He wanted to pull her into a closet, push his hands into that hair, and kiss her for an hour straight. He wanted to say things, do things—

He took a swig of his water, which had thin sharp pieces of ice floating inside it. Carefully, he set the long-stemmed glass back in its place and tried to take a deep breath. His body and its physical desires had turned on him lately, becoming scary hard to control.

Michael's wife threw back her head and laughed at something her husband had said.

Meg motioned to the couple. “See? Uncle Michael has always had Aunt Della. She and their boys mean the world to him. I think they're what saved him from becoming what my father became when my mother died.”

“Which was?”

“Cold.”

He angled his chair more toward hers. “I only knew your father as a businessman. He was tough, but fair. One of the most demanding men I've ever met.”

She nodded.

“I've wondered what it must have been like for you to be raised by him.”

He watched old, very old, hurt enter her light brown eyes. “I wasn't raised by him, Bo. He wasn't around enough. Sadie Jo raised me.”

His gut tightened like a fist because it upset him to see her upset. He wished, uselessly, that he could fix the past for her.

“Were your parents around a lot?” she asked.

“All the time. My mom stayed home with us and my dad worked hard, but he worked on our property. Why was your dad gone so much?”

“Work. Trips.” She lifted a shoulder. “Hobbies. I wouldn't see him for days at a time, and then when I did it was really uncomfortable. I don't think he knew what to say or what to do with me. I'm so completely different than him. I always felt like he was . . .”

“Always felt like he was what?”

Meg looked at him as if trying to decide whether or not she should say more.

“I'd like to know,” he said.

“I always felt like my father was disappointed in me.”

“Meg.” He could see uncertainty in her face. “If he was ever disappointed in you, then he was a fool.” Bo wished he could take William Cole out back and whoop his hide. “There's not one single thing about you that isn't perfect.”

Her brows rose. “That's not true.”

“Yes it is.” He was going too far and saying too much. But this ballroom, his emotions, and her unhappiness had made him reckless. He couldn't remember at the moment why he shouldn't tell her exactly how he felt about her. Why he shouldn't tell her—

That he loved her.

That's what this emotion was, God help him. Fierce, single-minded love. He'd hadn't wanted it, but it had barreled through him anyway, unstoppable. This was the thing people wrote books about, sang songs about, died for. His cynicism toward his friends who'd landed themselves in this predicament had come back to bite him.

He loved Meg, and it felt like painful joy. Joyful pain. Chaos inside. Violent loyalty.

Meg blew out a long, shaking breath. “Oh, Bo. I can't believe I'm talking to you about this. I never talk about this.”

“I guess you were due, then.”

“I guess I was.”

Just then, the engaged couple stood, tapped a microphone, and started talking. Meg slipped on her black glasses, and he groaned inwardly because they always made her look like a hot schoolteacher.
Lord, have mercy
.

He and Meg clapped their way through lots of champagne toasts and the giving of gifts from the bride and groom to their parents and wedding party. When it finally ended, all the guests rose from their tables.

Bo's main plan was to stay near Meg. Even here, where no one probably carried anything more dangerous than a gold pen, Bo's instincts warned him that she needed him as her bodyguard.

Meg introduced him to her grandmother Lake, an elderly lady sporting a mask of makeup and big blue jewels surrounded by diamonds, as well as a fourth husband who looked like Boss Hogg. Bo met a stream of aunts, uncles, and cousins, including the soon-to-be bride. Then a middle-aged couple who owned Thoroughbreds found him, trapped him, and started asking him questions about the horse business.

Meg excused herself, and he was stuck. While talking with the horse people, he watched Meg make her way through the crowd. He noticed other men watching her, too. Men who'd come from the same world as she did, who had fancy educations and seemed comfortable wearing stupidly expensive suits. Each time she spoke with one of them, Bo stiffened.

Some of the guests, like Brimm, she very clearly liked. But with most of them he could see, even from across the room, the way her expression turned polite, almost too careful.

The horse people introduced him to two divorced cougars who smiled at him over the rims of their wine glasses.

His attention followed Meg, who approached the bride's
mother, her aunt. The two women bent their heads together. At one point, Meg's aunt looked toward him with concern, then continued talking to Meg.

He'd known that coming here tonight would cause one of her family members to point out his flaws to Meg, and he'd been right.

Meg left her aunt, her features tight. She searched the room for him, and when their gazes met he felt the force of it physically. She headed back in his direction and, when she reached their group, took in the cougars with a long, cool look. The cougars and Meg all put on fake niceness, which didn't come close to the real thing.

When Meg at last asked him if he was ready to leave, it took some effort not to look too eager.

On the ride home, silence surrounded her. Bo kept glancing across the dark cab of his truck, trying to measure her mood. He could plainly see that she was troubled. He only wished he could figure out as plainly how to make it better.

“Want to tell me what's the matter?” he asked.

She took a good while to answer. They drove north on 75, the office buildings and stores that lined the freeway whipping past. “You know how there are some people in your life that build you up?” she asked. “And some people that drain you?”

“Yes.”

“Several of my family members drain me. I wish it wasn't so, but it is.”

“Anything I can do?”

“No. Thank you, though.”

“Would fast food make it better?”

“Goodness, no.” But she shot him a tiny smile.

“You sure? There goes Whataburger.”

The smile grew.

“I could take you horseback riding.”

“Possibly one of the only things more stressful than dealing with my family.”

“I could tell you a corny joke.”

“Hmm.”

“I could prank call your family.”

She chuckled. “What helps is having you around. That's enough.”

He hadn't known, before her, that tenderness could hurt. But it did. The sweetness of her words burned him.

She shifted to face him. “Thank you for coming with me tonight. I know it wasn't exactly your type of thing.”

“What do you mean? I love the Crescendo Hotel.”

“The Crescent.”

“Oh. Right.”

They grinned at one another. The rest of the way home, they talked more easily while the local country radio station played.