Undeniably Yours (26 page)

By the next evening Meg had thought herself through circles and circles of excitement over her plans for the big house, but she'd gotten no closer to a conclusion about her day job. When she tucked herself into bed and attempted sleep, it didn't take long to deduce that sleep would be a no-go. She pulled her white robe over her pj's, brewed some Sleepytime, and took her mug for a nighttime stroll through the backyard.

She'd stopped halfway up the patio steps to peer at the stars when she heard rustling from the direction of Lynn's private wing.

“Can't sleep?” Lynn approached out of the darkness.

“No. You?”

“No.” Lynn had on a shirt with the Salvation Army crest on the front, her leggings, and Birkenstocks.

“How come I'm the only one wearing pajamas?” Meg asked.

“What do you mean? These are my pajamas.”

Oh. Lynn's night and day wardrobes appeared to be interchangeable.

The two women stood shoulder to shoulder and watched the trees move lazily with the wind. Meg drank tea, offered some to Lynn, who declined, and enjoyed the comfort of Lynn's companionship.

“I remember,” Lynn said, “how your father used to check on you every night before he went to bed.”

“He did?”

“Every single night. I heard him walking down the hallway to your bedroom just this past Christmas. Still checking on you.”

Meg gawked at Lynn. “I had no idea.”

“Oh yes. I worked for your father for decades, lived right here in this house with him. He had his good qualities, and he had his faults, just like we all do. But I do believe, hon, that in his way he loved you.”

She was no longer a child. She was an adult woman whose father's death had taken from her any final chance to rectify their relationship. So why did Lynn's words flow over her like life-giving heat? So dearly needed? “Thank you for telling me.”

Time had brought her to a place where she wanted to remember the good qualities Lynn had just mentioned, let go of the faults, and simply forgive her father for all the hurts. Meg wanted to accept that he had indeed cared for her as much as he'd been able. She wanted to let their relationship rest in peace.

“I've noticed, you know, the work you've been doing at night,”
Lynn said. “I've seen you through the guesthouse windows studying all those books about oil. All those binders and papers.”

“I've been trying to educate myself. I'm not sure I've made much progress.”

“Enjoying it any more than you did two months ago when you started?”

“If anything, I've become more sure that God has something else for me entirely.”

“You know what? You've given Cole Oil a good shot. I hoped you would, and I'm glad you did. Your father always wanted you to succeed him.”

“That's true, he did.”

“Part of it had to do with his ego and part of it with tradition. I think, though, that he imagined you'd thrive off the work the same way that he did. He expected you to enjoy it.”

Meg smiled ruefully. “The accuracy of his expectations for me were never his strong suit.”

“No,” Lynn agreed. She trained an unblinking look on Meg. “Do you know exactly what your obligations are toward Cole Oil? I mean, legally?”

“I . . .” Her father had raised her to think of Cole Oil as her unavoidable birthright. It was. Wasn't it? “I'm not sure.”

“Huh.”

Her thoughts spun. The world as she'd known it tilted.

“I don't think that the father who checked on his sleeping daughter every night would want that girl to spend her life doing a job she didn't like. Even if that job was the job he chose for her.”

Oh my goodness
.

First thing Monday morning, she'd ask her assistants to search out a well-respected, uber-expensive, unbiased attorney. Someone experienced in these matters. Then she'd find out
from that person precisely how much of her life she was—or wasn't—required to give to Cole Oil.

The well-respected, uber-expensive and unbiased attorney turned out to be a heavyset woman who'd accented her suit with a fabulously colorful Hermès scarf. The attorney's chic office enfolded Meg in quiet while Meg explained her family's history and showed the woman several documents.

When Meg finished, the attorney regarded her levelly. “Ms. Cole, you may do anything you like with your fifty-one-percent share in Cole Oil.”

Meg stared at her, silent with disbelief.

“You may give some of your shares away, or all. You may sell some of your shares, or all. The choice is absolutely yours.”

“My—” Meg licked her lips. “My great-great-grandfather determined that the controlling interest in the company would pass to the oldest child of each generation, who would subsequently pass it along to their oldest child.”

“Yes. From all you've told me and all that I've read here, the controlling interest in the company appears to have descended through the generations of your family in just that manner.”

“None of the firstborn children who came before me gave away a single share.”

“That's because the men who came before you all chose to follow Jedidiah Cole's wish for a line of succession that, frankly, reminds me of a monarchy.” Her expression told Meg just how little esteem she held for
that
brand of primogeniture. “While Jedidiah's wishes might hold the weight of tradition, let me assure you that they are not, and never have been, legally binding in any way.”

“I see,” Meg said weakly.

“Your father, grandfather, and great-grandfather were never bound by Jedidiah's wishes, and neither are you, Ms. Cole. If you don't want to retain controlling interest, you don't have to. You're free to do anything you like with your shares. They belong to you and no one else.”

Meg had always believed exactly and only what her father had wanted her to believe about her role at Cole Oil. Until last night, she'd never considered that she might have the freedom to slip out from under the mandate of history, to buck her great-great-grandfather's plans, and chart a different course for herself.

“Here's what you should consider,” the woman said.

“Yes?”

“If you divest yourself of the shares, then they're most likely gone forever.”

“I understand.” If she chose to part with her shares, her choice couldn't be undone. Her branch of the family would likely never again control Cole Oil.

“If you have children one day, you'll be unable to pass the controlling interest along to them.”

On one hand, it was possible that she could give away control of Cole Oil now, and then, years in the future, have a dark-haired, gray-eyed son or daughter or grandson or granddaughter that looked like Bo (purely as a hypothetical) and loved the oil business. Meg's decision would have forever obliterated that son's or that granddaughter's chance to run one of the world's foremost companies.

On the other hand, it was possible that she'd keep control of Cole Oil only to find that her son or daughter or grandson or granddaughter wanted to choose one of a thousand other futures for themselves. Just as she herself had always wanted to do.

The control of a powerful company versus the freedom to choose one's own path. That's what it came down to.

If she'd only had herself to consider, the decision would have been a no-brainer. But she had her descendants and also her ancestors to think of.

Her father, grandfather, great-grandfather, and great-great-grandfather. She'd known two of them in life and seen pictures of the others. She could almost envision those old ghosts, gray with translucency, sitting and standing around this office at this very moment, dressed in their stately clothes, looking at her with hawkish expectancy.

Did she have the nerve to turn from her father's plans for her? Did she have the courage to snub her nose at demanding old Jedidiah Cole? The codger had probably had the foresight to imagine a great many things. But she wasn't certain he could possibly have imagined her.

“You should take some time to think about it,” the attorney suggested.

“I'll do that,” Meg answered. But in actuality she knew that thinking wasn't really what she needed. Her own thoughts could take her down paths that led to destruction.

What she needed was to pray. Then listen hard for God's marching orders.

For the rest of the day, Meg did exactly that.

Prayed. Listened.

When evening came, she still didn't feel done. She required more time and privacy. Since her father had appointed his office as comfortably as any luxury hotel room, she decided to sequester herself there for the night.

Her assistants, grateful for activity, brought in blankets and pillows, placed a dinner order, held all calls and visitors. They drove to Holley to fetch the overnight bag that Meg asked Lynn to pack.

Meg dialed Bo. Not seeing him tonight would be the costliest part of her retreat.

“Countess,” he said by way of greeting. She could hear the smile in his voice.

“Cowboy.” Warm butterflies took flight within her.

“You home?”

“No. I'm going to stay in Dallas tonight.”

A few beats passed. “For work?”

“Yeah. I have a decision to make about my job that's so . . . so big and important that I need to take time praying over it and considering it. Does that make sense?”

“'Course it does. You want to tell me about it?”

“Not yet. As soon as I make the decision, I will.”

“How about I drive down and bring you something to eat?”

She wanted to say yes. If he came, though, she'd go all mushy and muddled. She wouldn't be able to find a coherent thought with a flashlight. “My assistants are going to have dinner delivered. Thank you, though, for offering. It means a lot to me.”

“I'm not going to see you until tomorrow?” he asked doubtfully.

“We can talk now, though. Tell me about your day and your sad and lonely plans for an evening without me.”

They talked for forty-five minutes straight.

Their conversation done, Meg turned to a new passage in her Bible. She ate. Journaled. Read her little book of verses. When it grew late, she went up to the rooftop garden and sat on a lounge chair wrapped in a blanket and surrounded by stars,
enjoying God's company. She slept soundly that night on one of the plush office sofas and got up the next morning to do more praying and listening.

It turned out that God couldn't be swayed by the arguments of ancestors or birthrights. News flash! He didn't care about worldly human issues. God used Meg's self-imposed isolation to confirm to her the path that He'd already, unmistakably, shown her. She didn't need more time.

Meg scheduled an appointment with her Uncle Michael for that afternoon, then took time getting herself ready in her office's attached bathroom. Lynn had chosen Meg's clothes wisely. A dark gray tailored jacket, matching pencil skirt, and a pair of red Louboutins. Meg dressed, then contemplated her reflection in the mirror.

As a kid, she'd owned dozens of Barbie dolls. She could remember one in particular named Hawaiian Fun Barbie who'd come in a patterned swimsuit. Meg had been able to dress Hawaiian Fun Barbie like an accountant, but that hadn't changed who she was underneath. Hawaiian Fun Barbie had been made for the beach.

For weeks now, Meg had been dressing herself up as an oil executive, but it hadn't changed who she was underneath. Her Creator hadn't made her for Cole Oil.

When she arrived at her uncle's office, he came around from behind his desk and waved her toward the sitting area. She opted for the couch, a piece of furniture so deep that if she pushed her bottom all the way to the back of it, she knew from experience that her legs and feet would protrude straight out in front of her hips. Not exactly the professional image she had in mind, so she perched on its front edge. She set the folder she'd brought facedown beside her.

Uncle Michael settled into a suede chair. “What can I do for you, Meg?”