Undeniably Yours

by Becky Wade

  She should have taken riding lessons from anyone but Bo. Then she wouldn’t have cared if she acted like a colossal baby in front of her teacher. With Bo, she did care, so she pretended courage.

  Finally, it came time to get on top of Banjo. She surveyed the horse’s head, trying to judge whether she had evil intentions in her eyes and also to make sure her ears weren’t flattened back. She’d heard somewhere that was a bad sign.

  The horse looked completely calm. Ears in the upright position.

  “Meg,” Bo said gently. He pointed to his own ear, and she realized she’d been spinning her earring back.

  “Oh.” She lowered her hand. “I’m ready.”

  “Look at me.”

  She looked.

  “I’d never let anything happen to you.” Clouds framed his face and dark birds took to the sky from distant treetops.

  He said the words with such utter seriousness that tears sprang to Meg’s eyes.

  “Tissue?” He reached toward his pocket.

  “No.” She drew herself up, smiled gamely. “I really am ready.” Total fib.

  He bent over and cupped his hands. She put her boot—the only pair she owned and probably not at all correct for actual riding—into his palms, and he hoisted her upward easily. She swung a leg over Banjo’s back and landed in the saddle.

  In instant response, her throat tightened with fear and her pulse thrummed fast in her ears. She remembered this from childhood. This feeling of being at the horse’s mercy.

  The day she’d been thrown, the last time she’d sat in a saddle, the horse had bucked, twisted, and veered underneath her. She could remember scrabbling for control, terrified, before she’d fallen.

  She thought back to when she and Bo had baby-sat Jayden together. What had she been thinking? She should have changed the two dirty diapers. Horseback riding stunk way worse than toddler poop.

  Bo kept up a steady stream of reassurance and teaching. He positioned the reins correctly in her hands, fitted the stirrups under her feet. “If it’s okay with you, I’m just going to lead her around at a walk.”

  Meg nodded tersely. She’d left the recommended amount of slack in the reins, but that didn’t stop her from gripping the leather strips ferociously.

  Bo had clipped a length of puffy rope to Banjo’s bridle. He didn’t need to pull on it to make the horse follow him. As soon as he started walking, the horse walked alongside.

  Bo looked back repeatedly to measure the look on her face while he kept on talking in that easy way, telling her about when he’d learned to ride, and then about her father’s favorite horses and why they’d been his favorites.

  His conversation helped. He didn’t ask a lot of questions, which she appreciated, since all her concentration was tied up in staring at her horse’s ears. She couldn’t quite get accustomed to the elevation off the ground or the way the saddle tipped side to side with Banjo’s gait.

  They walked for what seemed like a long time, making two gradual circles around the pasture. Meg kept trying to make her muscles relax, but no luck. They’d tightened like piano wires.

  Couldn’t horses smell fear? Or was it that they could sense fear? It was one of those, she was pretty sure. Unfortunately, telling herself not to be afraid because the horse would know didn’t help. It’s hard to scare oneself into not being scared.

  At one point, Banjo did a quick side step for some reason, and Meg barely managed not to yelp.

  “It’s all right,” Bo whispered to her. “You’re fine.”

  She nodded at him, because somehow he had the power to make it bearable. He’d said he wouldn’t let anything happen to her, and she believed him.

  Such a seductive idea, the idea of having someone assured and strong and knowledgeable to rely on. It almost tempted a person to think that if they had someone like that beside them, they could face anything. Even the death of a parent, panic attacks, and the demands that came with the role of majority shareholder.

  Eventually, Bo brought them to a stop and helped her off. “You did really well.”

  When her boots landed on solid ground, relief spiraled through her. Thank you, God. “I was terrible.”

  “No you weren’t. You’re just new at it. That’s all.”

  She tilted her face to regard him, standing there with his hand draped idly over Banjo’s neck, his fingers playing with the horse’s mane, his handsome face marked with bruises. She’d never have climbed onto a horse for anyone but him. She feared, in fact, that she’d do whatever crazy thing she could to make him happy, if he asked.

  You can’t, Meg. You can’t afford to trust him so easily. No matter how good-looking, how seemingly honorable. “Well, I . . . I’d better be going. Thank you for the lesson.”

  “Am I going to be able to convince you to come back for another?”

  “As you said earlier, a deal’s a deal.”

  “So you’ll come back one more time.”

  “Yes, but can I have a few days to recover first? At least until my next death wish?”

  He smiled. “Sure. I’m going to be gone until next week anyway.”

  “Oh?” Her thoughts dipped at the prospect.

  “Yeah, I’ve been wanting to tell you. I’m flying to Florida tomorrow.”

  “On business?”

  He nodded. “There’s this Thoroughbred Owners and Breeders seminar that I committed to attend months ago. Also, I’ve got a trainer who’s been racing some of our horses down there that I need to check on.”

  “I see.”

  They walked to the mouth of the barn together, then hesitated. She’d be heading to her car from here; he’d be returning the horse to its stall. This was good-bye.

  I’ll really miss you, she thought. Everything she wanted to say bunched up in her mind. I don’t think I’ll feel at peace again until you come home. A hundred books and a hundred baths aren’t going to be enough. Would you be willing to come with me to my cousin’s engagement party? “Have a safe trip.”

  “I will.”

  “Let me know when you get back in town?”

  “Sure.”

  She turned to go.

  “You were brave today, Meg.”

  She paused, then looked back at him. “Thanks.” She’d been a mammoth coward. But she didn’t want to correct him, not when he was looking at her with admiration, as if she’d done something sterling. “By the way,” she said, before she could lose her nerve.

  “Yes?”

  “No, ah, pressure or anything, but my cousin is having an engagement party next Friday night. I was wondering if you’d be willing to come with me. That is, if you’re back from your trip in time.”

  “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 so
cial 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.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Judy 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 gardeni
ng 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?”