Undeniably Yours (22 page)

Surely that quick hug she'd given him at the end of the night hadn't thrown him. Had it? Surely not. She was overreacting. Hadn't she herself told Bo, several times, that he didn't need to meet her out here? He was probably just taking a nap or busy with his family. She caught herself spinning her earring back and let go of it.

For slow and grating minutes, she continued to wait. With every tick of her watch hand her uneasiness increased.

After a full hour, Meg returned to her car. She felt like a citizen of Gotham City who'd aimed the bat light into the sky, waited expectantly, and then finally realized that Batman wasn't coming. Bo had broken their pattern. He'd left her signal unanswered.

All evening long, while she pored over a report for Cole Oil,
she continued to try to talk herself out of her concern over Bo's absence, to be rational and objective.

But her gut wasn't buying it.

Her gut told her that something had gone wrong.

The next morning Meg stood at the windows that ran along the wall of her father's office. Her bare toes curled into the carpet while she wound and unwound a lock of hair around her finger. Her mind traveled miles to the north and east, to a horse farm, and to worries about a very particular cowboy.

“Ms. Cole?” The voice of her male assistant came through the intercom. “You're expected in Mr. Cole's office in two minutes.”

“Thanks.” Grudgingly, she located her heels hiding under her desk, slipped them back on, and let herself into the hallway.

Her doglike assistants swung their heads in her direction. “Oh,” her female assistant said, as if the sight of Meg had jogged her memory. “I've been meaning to ask you. Was Mr. Cole able to get in touch with Mr. Porter over the weekend?”

Meg surveyed the woman, trying to understand her question. “The two men saw each other on Friday night. Is that what you're asking?”

The woman's forehead wrinkled. “No, I . . .”

Meg waited.

“Mr. Cole called me on Saturday.”

“Saturday?” Foreboding twisted inside Meg. “What for?”

“I'm sorry. Perhaps . . . perhaps I shouldn't have said anything.”

“No, I'm glad you said something. Would you mind telling me what happened?”

The woman cut an uncertain glance toward Uncle Michael's
office. “Mr. Cole called me on my cell phone on Saturday and asked me to locate Mr. Porter's address. He said that the three of you had some—some business you needed to attend to together. Maybe I misunderstood that part.”

Meg sincerely doubted it. “Were you able to find Mr. Porter's address?”

She nodded. “I logged on to my work computer remotely and ran a search for Mr. Porter's employment records.”

“I see.” What in the world had Uncle Michael done? Meg thanked her assistant, then walked toward her uncle's office, her brain spinning. Uncle Michael couldn't have wanted Bo's address for any reason except that he planned to visit Bo at home.
But why?
What had her uncle said to him? Did his visit have anything to do with Bo's absence at the paddock last night?

Her heart started to pound.
Oh my goodness
. Bo didn't deserve hostility from her uncle. Bo'd been nothing but kind to her, nothing but good.

Meg knocked on her uncle's door, waited for his muffled “Come on in,” and let herself inside.

He didn't look up from his computer. “Have a seat. Almost done with this.” His fingertips hunted and pecked at the keys.

She waited, her emotions rising, her hands starting to shake.

He finished and turned his full attention to her.

“Did you call my assistant on Saturday and ask for Bo Porter's address?”

Never one to exhibit surprise, Uncle Michael simply leaned back in his office chair. The chair bobbed while he considered her. “I did.”

“Why?”

“Care to have a seat?”

“No. I'll stand.”

She read no apology in him, only the forbearance of a powerful man accustomed to confrontation. “I wanted Bo's address because I'd decided to drive out to his house and speak with him.”

“What—” The word came out unsteady. She blinked back tears by sheer force of will. “What did you say to him?”

“I told him why I don't like the idea of a romantic relationship between the two of you.”

“You did what?” she choked.

“It was a perfectly reasonable conversation. For what it's worth, he seemed to agree with the fact that you're not right for each other.”

Her cheeks flamed with embarrassment and anger. How dare he! She could barely stand to think about how her uncle might have made Bo feel, or that Bo'd apparently agreed with her uncle's assessment that they weren't right for each other. No wonder he'd not come to see her at the paddock last night. “Bo and I are friends.”

His look turned chiding. “Come on, Meg. I sat across from the two of you all night on Friday. I'm not blind.”

“You had absolutely no right to talk to Bo about his relationship with me. That's private.”

“Yes and no. Any man you date is a man you might marry. And any man you marry will have a half share of everything my brother spent a lifetime building. That
is
my business.”

“No it isn't.”

“Sure it is.”

“
No
, it isn't.”

He tilted his elegant head, eyes challenging.

With a frustrated groan, she paced away from him and tried with every step to think straight, to calm herself. Not easy. He
and Aunt Pamela had both
ridiculously
overreacted to one simple date!

She came back to face him, drawing herself up to her full height. “Like it or not, you're going to have to accept that my father's money is mine now. To be honest with you, I don't even like that fact most of the time. But it is what it is. The money is mine to worry about. Only mine. And whom I marry—that choice?—that's only mine, too.” She'd never had enough courage to speak to her uncle this way before. She almost couldn't believe she was doing it now. She
wouldn't
be doing it now, except that he'd had the audacity to bring Bo into this. The protectiveness pounding through her bloodstream made her brave.

“You shouldn't be dating Bo Porter, Meg. For one thing, he's your employee.”

Her uncle had just hit on the argument that she'd been hanging on to all this time in an attempt to guard herself from losing her head and her heart to Bo.

At this moment, though, standing here defending him to her uncle, it seemed stupid in the extreme that she'd kept Bo at a distance for any reason. The strength of her reaction to her uncle confirmed—for good—the depth of her feelings for Bo. She had so few true and trustworthy people in her life.

He was true and trustworthy. He was kind, funny, and genuine. And she suspected that he cared about her. All of which made him more rare and precious to her than all the money in her bank accounts. “It's not against the law to date an employee. Men do it all the time, do they not?”

“It's not against the law, but it is inappropriate.”

“Then I'm willing to act inappropriately in this case.”

Her uncle sighed and pushed to standing. Smoothly, he came around to the front of his desk. “Won't you take a seat?”

“No. Thank you.”

He pursed his lips and sat on the edge of his desk. “I don't trust his motives, Meg.”

“I take Bo to one family party. Just one! And you and Aunt Pamela both immediately jump to the conclusion that he's after me for my money.”

“I don't think it's wise to underestimate how strong a lure your inheritance can be to a man like Bo Porter. Neither of us were raised without money, Meg. We can't really understand what going without money can do to people, how much others can desire money, what they'll do to get it.”

A scream built at the base of her throat, circling to explode.

“Since your father died, I feel responsible for you, Meg. You know that. He's not here anymore, so it falls to me to protect you now.”

“I don't need protecting.”

“I disagree. You've always been . . . gentle. I'm just trying to make certain that no one takes advantage of you.” He laid his hand on his chest. “I have your best interests at heart.”

“In the future, if your ‘best interests' cause you to have concerns about my relationships, then come directly to me. Please don't ever go over my head again. Are we agreed?”

A hesitation, then, “We're agreed.”

“I'm taking the rest of the day off.”

“Where are you going?”

“To talk to Bo. I've got to try to fix the mess you made.” Halfway out the office door, she paused to look back at him. “One more thing.”

“Yes?”

“I'm not
that
gentle. Not anymore.”

M
eg passed the remainder of the day in a serious state of fret.

At first she'd determined that she'd go see Bo straightaway, at the horse farm. But she'd reconsidered, because she didn't relish holding this conversation in the vicinity of his staff or his brother.

Then she decided that she'd call him. But she really didn't want to talk over the phone, either.

So she'd finally resolved to wait until evening, then drive to his house and speak with him there. She didn't love the idea of arriving at Bo's home as an uninvited and unexpected guest, but she could accept that fate better than the other options.

Unlike her uncle, she'd managed to find Bo's address herself. It had been neatly filed in her father's home office amid all the records for Whispering Creek Horses.

A little past eight o'clock, she arrived at what she guessed to be the entrance road leading off the street to Bo's house. She double-checked the directions and GPS map on her phone and pulled in. The small dinner she'd forced herself to eat before she'd left home had hardened like marbles in her stomach.

When she reached the end of the driveway, she killed the
engine of the Mercedes. He lived in a small brick house, accented with a dark brown wooden door that matched the square porch posts. Trimmed hedges lined the front. No pots or flowers.

It struck her as a place secure in what it was: a Texas house on Texas land. Unpretentious and unapologetic about it, masculine, and surrounded by bare nature.

Some interior lights were glowing, and she could see Bo's truck parked in the carport next to the house. He was definitely at home, which meant he'd likely spot her sitting out here, staring. That unwelcome thought motivated her to grab the package of Oreos she'd brought and walk to the door. Her jeweled sandals slapped against her heels and the marbles in her stomach knocked together.

The sun had almost disappeared, and the air had thickened with hazy twilight. She'd wanted to give Bo plenty of time to return home from work and eat before descending on him. Maybe she should have come earlier? Maybe she should have worn her green top instead of this pale blue one with the short sleeves that ended in little cinched ties? Maybe she should just blurt out “My uncle is an ogre!” as soon as he opened the door.

She took a huge breath and knocked. Almost at once, she could hear rustling inside. She chewed the inside of her cheek and waited.

He answered the door wearing a simple black T-shirt, low-slung jeans, and bare feet.

Oh-God-help-me-help-me-help-me
. She briefly considered fainting.

“Meg.” His brows lowered. Gone was the warmth and affection that usually flowed between them. It had been replaced, at least on his side, by guardedness.

Her uncle—several
very
bad words came to mind to describe
him—had done every bit as much damage as she'd feared. “Hi.” She tested a please-don't-be-mad-at-me smile. “I apologize for showing up unexpectedly like this. I wanted to talk with you. I hope you don't mind.”

“I don't mind.”

He led her into a living room simply furnished with leather pieces and a wooden coffee table that held a couple of hardcover books and a
Sports Illustrated
. A baseball game played on a wall-mounted flat screen. He must have muted it, because instead of commentators' voices, she heard quiet country music. His computer sat, the monitor illuminated, on a desk against the back wall of the space. A desk chair stood in front of it, askew.

“Were you working on the computer?” she asked.

“I was.”

“Sorry to interrupt.”

“It's okay.” After hesitating near the living room couch, he continued over to a square table that straddled the space between the living area and the open kitchen. “Is this all right?”

“Sure, thanks.” She sat and carefully placed the Oreos on the table.

Still standing, he stuck his hands in his back pockets. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“No. Thank you, though.”

“To eat?”

“No, I'm good.”

“Sure?”

“Yes, thank you.”

After a beat, he took the chair next to hers. He dwarfed both the table and her with his size.

“These are for you.” Meg slid the Oreos in his direction.

“Thanks.”

When she'd been back at home, bringing Oreos had seemed like a decent peace offering. Now it just seemed lame, because clearly she hadn't driven all the way out here to bring him something he could buy at any grocery store himself for less than four dollars. “They're my favorite dessert.”

“I'd have thought your favorite dessert would be something more fancy.”

“What, like crème brulée?”

“I've no idea what you just said.”

“Crème brulée,” she reiterated.

“Nope, never heard of it.”

“It's a sort of custard with a hard, caramelized topping.”

“Then no wonder you like Oreos better.”

“Right. No wonder.” She'd dug herself a neck-deep hole of awkwardness, coming here and then talking to him inanely about dessert.

He studied her with those gray eyes of his, so piercing, so serious tonight, so able to penetrate straight to her soul.

Where had all her bravery gone? She'd been brave with her uncle, but it had fled like a cowardly deserter in the face of battle. “Bo, I . . . I wanted to say that I'm sorry.”

He frowned. “Why are you sorry?”

“About my uncle. I know he came out here on Saturday and spoke with you.”

Instead of clearing with understanding, his expression only turned more troubled.

“I didn't know about it until I found out at work today,” she continued. “I'm really so sorry. He had no right to do that. I'm embarrassed and—and angry because I'm sure that he offended you.”

“It's not your fault, Meg. You don't have to apologize.”

“He's my uncle.”

Bo folded his hands together on the surface of the table and stared down at them. She could see the muscles of his jaw harden with strain. More than that, though, she could sense his inner turmoil.

She couldn't stand for him to feel bad because of her. Instead of jumping out of her skin or bursting into tears, she leaned over on impulse and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek—there and gone—and returned quickly to her seat.

Bo had been still before, but now he froze completely. He looked like a man bracing against a tempest, his only movement the tense rise and fall of his chest.

What had she just done? Kissed him? She'd kissed him. She opened her lips to apologize anew—

He shot to his feet, sending his chair crashing onto the floor. He looped his hands under her arms and lifted her until she was standing before him, just a breath apart. He stared down into her face for a burning moment, and then he kissed her.

A combination of shock and mind-spinning sensation submerged Meg. Bo. Her Bo. Bo Porter—her crush, her friend, her employee, her calm—was kissing her. And
oh my
. What a kiss. The most perfect kiss that heaven had ever dreamt up. Tender and passionate. Full of endless longing and eternal promises.

His hands burrowed into her hair. Her own hands reached up in answer. She couldn't believe she was touching him—his chest, his neck—weaving her hands behind his head to draw him closer. Cold chills sizzled against the backs of her knees in glaring contrast to the hot and demanding heat pulling at her from the inside.

When Bo finally lifted his head, his expression was stark, honest, intense. His color high.

“I love you,” he said.

Plainly, just like that.

She gawked at him.

“I love you. I do. And I want to marry you.”

A sound like the final, joyful, exultant note of a choir anthem filled Meg's head. “Bo,” she breathed. It was the best she could do. He'd stunned the voice straight out of her.

“I can't do many things,” he said fiercely, “but I can love you, Meg. I can love you every hour of every day for the rest of my life. I swear to you I can. I want to earn the right to try.” The pad of his thumb rubbed her cheek. “I love you so much I can hardly see straight. I can't concentrate. I can't sleep. I can't make myself care about anything on earth except for you. I'm useless.”

“No you're not.”

“I'm a mess.”

“No.”

“I am.” He insisted. “About you, I am.”

Her gaze traveled over his familiar features with wonder. He loved her! Until now she'd only been able to guess at his feelings, unsure. To hear his feelings confirmed with such force caused joy and amazement to lift in her heart, violently sweet, almost uncontainable. She reached onto her tiptoes and kissed him on the lips, then the side of his neck, then she wrapped her arms around him and hugged him. In response, his powerful arms enclosed her against him in an I'll-protect-you-forever kind of embrace that spoke louder than a thousand words ever could. They stayed that way for long moments, heartbeat to heartbeat.

When he finally spoke, his words emerged ragged against her hair. “I wish . . .”

She waited, but he didn't finish. “What do you wish?”

“I wish you could be mine.”

That didn't sound promising. She pulled back enough to look at him.

His mouth twisted with bitterness. “I don't like your uncle—”

“No, neither do I at this moment.”

“—but at least he had the guts to tell me to my face to leave you alone. I couldn't argue with him about it.” He let go of her and strode away. “From the first day I met you, I've known that's exactly what I should do, but I couldn't make myself stay away. I've been kidding myself. Hoping, even though I knew better. . . . So stupid.”

“Bo, my uncle was completely wrong—”

“No, hearing him say it the other day hit home for me just how right he is. You deserve way better than me, Meg.”

“What?”

“You should be with someone who has framed degrees on his wall. Who's sophisticated. Rich.” He threw up his hands. “Look at me! I'm none of those things.”

“You think I care about those things? Really? Your heart is right, Bo, and that's what I care about. That counts for way more with me than everything else combined.”

“I drive a ten-year-old truck. I live in this small house. I grew up in Holley. I'm simple. I'm just this normal guy, and then . . . there's you. You're everything that's beautiful. I'm not good enough for you, and it kills me, because I want to be.”

Tears filled her eyes, blurring her view of him. “Of course you're good enough for me, Bo. Of course you are. I don't want to hear you say that you're not ever again.”

He came to her at once. “Countess,” he whispered, taking gentle hold of her face. She closed her eyes, and he mopped up all traces of tears with his fingertips. “I'm so sorry. Don't cry.”

“You are good enough.”

“Shh. Please don't cry. I'm so sorry. Here.”

She opened her eyes to see him pull a tissue from his jeans. He handed it to her and she used it to press away her tears.

He carried tissues around in his pockets for her, even on nights when he had no expectation of seeing her. Despite his attempts to convince her otherwise, he was one of the best, most worthy, most deserving men she'd ever met.

She drew him over to sit in the leather chair. She perched on the coffee table facing him, his face higher than hers, his knees bracketing hers on the outside. She made one last attempt to sweep away runaway mascara.

Bo watched her, his expression drawn with concern.

“Okay.” She took both of his big hands in hers. “I'm the one that's a mess. For the last five years, but especially since my father died, I've been weak and scared and unsure of myself.”

“Meg,” he protested.

“It's true.” She squeezed his hands. “You, Bo. You, on the other hand, have it all together. You're solid and strong and full of integrity. There's no logical reason for you to consider yourself not good enough for me, unless this has to do with my money.”

He scowled. He had pride, she knew. He was the oldest son, the caretaker of his siblings. He'd no doubt been born and bred to provide for his future wife and future children. He probably
wanted
it that way. It must go against his grain to be with a woman like her when their wealth was so unequal. He'd be teased for it by some. Others would always regard him with suspicion, would believe the worst of him, would whisper behind his back that he was with her for her fortune. There were
advantages to wealth, but there were difficulties, too. Difficulties that she couldn't change or shelter him from.

“I want to tell you a few things about my money,” she said. “First of all, I know I'm very, very lucky to have all that I do. I didn't earn it. I was just born into it. Whispering Creek, good schools, and all the rest of it.” He'd said that he loved her. She could see it now, a deep softness in his gaze, as he looked at her. “I want you to know, though, that those advantages haven't come free. My family's fortune cost me my father, which in turn cost me a lot of my self-confidence.” Her throat threatened to close with emotion, but she managed to keep talking through it. “My money cost me my first marriage. And it's cost me most of my ability to trust men ever since. So, between you and me, I'm done—
really done—
with letting my money cost me things. I'm not in the mood to let it cost
me you.”

“Meg,” he groaned, his eyes turning shiny with moisture. “I only want what's best for you.”

“What would be best for me is for you to try to see me completely apart from my last name and everything that comes with it. Okay? Just see
me
.”

He still looked torn.

“You think God views us any differently, Bo? He doesn't. He doesn't care one bit about all the outward things. To Him we're equal. We're both loved the same, valued the same. We both need to find our worth in God's view of us. To look for it anywhere else is a big mistake.”