by Becky Wade
Meg followed Nancy toward the kitchen, where the provincial theme continued with a ruffly yellow valance over the kitchen sink window, a blue table runner with roosters on it, and an entire hutch filled with pottery. Meg paused to admire the extensive collection. She liked the sunny background hue of the dishware, and the trios of navy dots and white swirls that accented the rims. “These are beautiful.”
“That’s my French pottery. I’m just in love with Provence.” Nancy pronounced it like pro-vonce with her thick Texas accent. “Aren’t I, Bo?”
“Yes.”
She extracted a vase from one of her cupboards and ran water into it. “I’m convinced I was born in the wrong place. The Lord intended me to be a little French girl, I just know it.” Her gray eyes, so like her son’s, brimmed with humor. “He’s got some explainin’ to do to me when I get up there, because I was born in Farmersville, Texas, instead.”
“I think He intended me to be a middle-class girl from the suburbs, so He’s got some explaining to do to me, too.”
Nancy threw back her head and laughed. “I knew you’d be funny, and I knew you’d like those dishes there. I told John that we ought to serve lunch today off them or even the china. It’s not every day we have someone from the Cole family over—”
“Mom,” Bo warned.
“Well, it’s not,” Nancy insisted. Her expression turned woeful. “But the boys wanted barbequed hamburgers, of course. And they were determined to eat them off paper plates just like we always do, so you’ll have to excuse us. We’re not ordinarily very formal around here.”
“It’s fine,” Meg assured her.
Nancy nodded toward the pottery while she positioned the flowers in the vase. “I bought all that over at the first Monday swap meet in Canton. You ever been?”
“No, I haven’t.”
“Are you kiddin’ me? There wouldn’t be a stick of furniture in this house if it wasn’t for Canton. I’ll take you with me the next time I go.” She spoke the statement with ease, as if accustomed to toting around strangers. “All right?”
“All right.”
Nancy thrust a platter piled with hamburger fixings into Bo’s hands. “Would you mind taking this out there for me?”
Bo tilted his head. “Are you going to mind your manners?”
“’Course! We’ll be right behind you. Now shoo!” Nancy gave Bo a swat and sent him packing out the back door. “Want to know a secret?” she asked Meg as soon as he was gone.
“Sure.”
“He’s my favorite. Don’t tell the others.”
Meg smiled. “I won’t.”
“I can’t help it. He’s just so good. He’s always been like that. So calm and responsible. And he can make me laugh, land sakes. You two are dating, right?”
Bo! So much for his they won’t be any the wiser prediction. She and Bo hadn’t said a single word to one another in his mother’s presence, yet it had only taken her five minutes to arrive unswervingly at the truth. “W-we . . .”
“It’s all right. You don’t have to say a thing. I know you’re dating.” Nancy gave Meg a conspirational hug with one of her stout arms. If the occasion arose, Nancy would slaughter Meg in an arm-wrestling contest. “I’m pleased as punch about it,” Nancy said. “That’s all.”
“I . . .”
“Now come on outside, and let me introduce you to the others.”
Meg trailed the older woman out the back door to a small cement area that held a few lawn chairs, a grill, and a wooden ice cream maker, softly droning and packed with salted ice.
A short distance out into the Texas landscape, a long metal patio table and chairs waited under the shade of a gnarled tree. The remaining Porter family members, some sitting, some standing, turned en masse at Meg’s approach. The sight of them there, all together and so forcefully attractive, seared into Meg’s memory like a frame of a movie paused at the perfect moment. The Porter family: confident, red-blooded, and one hundred percent Made In Texas.
She’d definitely overdressed. What had possessed her to think that her church outfit, a pale lavender dress with a chunky necklace of glass beads and strappy silver heels, would suit this situation? Between her last name and her clothing, it was no surprise that Nancy thought she should be serving her off the wedding china.
The rich smell of hamburgers cooking wafted through the air as Bo met her halfway and walked with her to the table. He went through the introductions quickly. She’d already met two of his siblings. Jake, with the chiseled features and the wicked scar, worked at the horse farm. He regarded her warily from beneath the shade cast across his face by his black Stetson. And Dru, the dark-haired, blue-eyed teenager. She had on a jean mini, a black shirt emblazoned with tattered silver angel wings, and cowboy boots.
“It’s about time we got some class around here,” Ty said when he shook her hand. His persuasive smile flat-out begged a girl to smile back. “Goodness knows we’ve been needing some.”
“Bo tells me that you’re a professional . . .” Bull rider? Suddenly Meg doubted if she had the term right.
“Professional pain in the butt?” Ty supplied. “I’m afraid that’s true.”
Meg laughed. With his golden brown hair, snug gray Nascar T-shirt, and lazy charm, Meg could see why the ladies found this Porter brother irresistible. Female-attracting pheromones rolled off of him like sheets of water off a roof.
Bo cleared his throat and gave her a knowing glance.
“Do you follow bull riding at all, Meg?” Nancy asked.
“I’m afraid I don’t.”
“Ty was world champion a few years ago.”
“Wow,” Meg said. “That sounds impressive.”
Ty shrugged a shoulder. “I ride bulls for a living because the hours are good. Can you believe they pay me to work for just eight seconds at a time?”
“That’s if he makes it eight seconds,” Bo said. “We’ll have to go watch him sometime. It’s pretty entertaining to see him get thrown on his head.”
“True,” Dru agreed.
“Well, listen,” Ty murmured to Meg. “I’ve got to let the bulls buck me off sometimes, right? Otherwise they’d get demoralized.”
“Ty!” Dru scowled at him incredulously. “Turn that off.”
“What?”
“That thing you do with women.”
“Dru,” Ty said fondly, “isn’t there a Disney show you should be watching?”
“You know Disney’s too old for me,” Dru shot back. “I’m only allowed to watch Teletubbies.” She popped some chips into her mouth and grinned.
“Try not to mind them,” John said to Meg. “We don’t.”
“It’s fun for me to be here,” Meg said. “And to meet all of you.”
“The pleasure is ours,” John said. Bo’s father stood at a normal height for a man, which put him several inches shorter than all three of his towering sons. He had a wiry frame, and a haircut as tidy as his cowboy-style clothing. She knew from Bo that his mix of gentleness, integrity, and old-school discipline had earned him the deep respect of his children. “Did Bo tell you that I knew your father?”
“Yes, sir, he did.”
“You can call me John. I was very sorry to hear about his passing.”
“Thank you.”
“He was a good man to work with. He was always fair, and he cared a lot about his horses.” Meg couldn’t help but be drawn to his thoughtful, soft-spoken demeanor and kind eyes.
“Speaking of William Cole’s horses.” Dru turned to Meg. “Have you given any more thought to selling me the horse farm?”
“Quiet, Dru,” Bo cautioned.
“Cheap, remember?” she teased.
“That’s enough,” Bo said.
Meg tried to smile at Dru, but it felt tight. No one could broach a more awkward subject in front of her, Bo, and Jake than the future of the horse farm. She and Bo, for goodness’ sake, hadn’t said a word about it to each other yet.
Dru glanced at Bo. “Well, I for on
e would like to know what she’s going to do with the farm.”
“That’s none of your business,” Bo said.
“Maybe not, but I can still ask her, can’t I?”
“No.”
“You guys only have four months left now before her deadline.” Dru returned her attention to Meg. “Are you going to close down the farm like you planned?”
Discomfort fell over the gathering.
Bo actually growled.
Meg didn’t glance toward Jake, but she could feel the burning weight of his stare. She thought about the horse farm’s fate frequently. A thread of indecision, growing thinner every day, still prevented her from reversing her initial decision. She kept telling herself she had time.
“Please excuse Dru,” Nancy said. “She came ten years after her brothers and by then, I have to confess, John and I were tired.”
Ty chuckled. “Meg, I’ve tried beating Dru over the head with a club, but it hasn’t turned out to be all that effective. She’s got a hard head.”
“Maybe we should try the cat-o’-nine-tails on her,” Jake suggested.
“Perhaps a mace?” John offered.
“Bring it on, boys,” Dru replied. “You know how good I am with a gun.”
“Welcome to lunch with my family,” Bo said, pulling out a chair for her.
Animosity forgiven, they all held hands as John blessed the food. At the end of the prayer the entire family said, “Amen.”
Nancy added a vigorous, “Bon appetit!” and then plunked a little orange jar that said Herbes de Provence onto the table. “In case anyone else wants to use this as seasoning.”
They ate grilled burgers with melted cheddar on Mrs. Baird’s buns that John toasted over the flame. Barbecue Lay’s. Potato salad. The three brothers put away huge portions of the food and of Dr. Pepper.
The whole time discussion flowed, easy and lively, between the Porters. They talked at length about upcoming Thoroughbred races, particular horses, and noteworthy owners. They talked rodeo. They asked Meg questions, she asked them some, but mostly, she just enjoyed their banter.
Once they’d dumped the remains of lunch into a black trash bag, they served up the most delectable homemade vanilla ice cream Meg had ever put in her mouth. She scooped up and savored each bite, trying not to look like a victim of gluttony.
The family’s plot of land could be classified as open prairie, broken only by horses, occasional trees, and functional buildings. Mr. Son would have disdained the few spare bushes that passed as landscaping across the back of the house. The adjoining garage was so overtaxed sheltering an old metal fishing boat, four wheelers, and storage boxes, that the Porters parked their cars on the driveway. Beyond the garage stood a barn and multiple paddocks that looked old but orderly, clean, and painstakingly kept up.
The Porters might live in plainer surroundings than she, but they were richer. They were loved. They were grounded. And they were accustomed to life within the context of a large family.
Nancy cracked a joke and everyone laughed. Meg looked at Bo and found him gazing steadily back at her, tenderness in his eyes.
You doing okay? he asked her with that look.
She gave an infinitesimal nod, and he nodded back.
Electricity snapped between them, and she very much wished that she could wrap her arms around him and hold on to him with all her might.
Oh dear, she thought as she looked at him. I just might have to . . .
Love you.
It might not be negotiable.
The notion caused her ribs to tighten with sudden fear. While Ty told the family a story about a fellow bull rider, Meg set her ice cream bowl on the table and made a production out of folding her napkin alongside it.
Bo and I are just dating, she assured herself. No pressure, no promises. I haven’t fallen in love with him yet. I haven’t risked everything for a man.
———
It brought Bo deep, deep pleasure to see Meg here, in the surroundings he’d grown up in. To watch her with his parents, brothers, sister. She’d been hesitant to come today, but she’d done very well with his family.
While he watched her, she let go fussing with her napkin and turned to answer a question put to her by his father. In that purple dress with circular diamonds in her ears, she looked lovely beyond words.
“You think God views us any differently, Bo?” Her words had been coming back to him a lot lately. “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.”
He was trying. And doing better at keeping that perspective.
He eased his shoulder blades lower into his chair, stretched out his long legs, and crossed them at the ankles. He could remember that his life had seemed full to him, before her. He’d had his career, relationships, activities he liked to do on his days off.
It came as a dull surprise to think that his world could have ever seemed complete without Meg in it. It could never be complete without her again. His heart beat because of her. His love for her was so powerful that in some mysterious way it caused him to experience everything more deeply—a deeper bond toward his family, a deeper appreciation of God.
When Bo looked at Meg he saw, felt, and heard God’s blessing. Every day, every minute they were together. For the first time, he was beginning to grasp the size of the grace God had extended to him. In turn, Bo found that he wanted nothing for himself so much as he wanted to serve out God’s purpose for him.
He believed that a big part of that purpose was to take care of Meg. God had been preparing him all his life for her, he was certain of it. So put a stake in it. Frame it. Draw a line in the sand. He’d lay down his life before he’d lay down the responsibility of protecting her.
Semper Fi.
Again. Meg had left Whispering Creek to spend time with Bo Porter—again. Stephen released a huff of annoyance. This afternoon, she was sitting around an outdoor table with Porter and a group of people who Stephen assumed to be Porter’s family.
Clasping his binoculars at his side, Stephen walked back toward his car. His strides slashed with impatience.
He’d grown sick of his crummy hotel room, of this armpit town, of the long, boring length of his days. He wanted to get to Meg and get out. But as long as she spent every moment outside Cole Oil and Whispering Creek with Bo Porter, he couldn’t.
He’d researched Porter’s background, and he didn’t like what he’d found. Six years in the Marines. Tours of duty in Iraq and Afghanistan.
Porter was a big, strong, dumb country boy with a military background. He probably kept a gun in his truck and a stocked gun closet at home. He probably liked to throw down and fight just for the fun of it.
Stephen didn’t want to grow old and gray following Meg around, which meant he needed to orchestrate events to suit his goals.
First he’d separate Meg from Porter. Cleanly and surely.
Then he and Meg would have themselves a little face-to-face.
Chapter Nineteen
Meg stood at the pasture rail next to Sadie Jo, far happier to watch other people riding horses than to ride one herself. Did that make her an impossible wuss? Or merely wise?
It was the first Friday in June, and Meg and Bo would soon be arriving at their two-week anniversary. Because of him, Meg slept, ate, worked, and relaxed in a bliss-filled, walking-on-clouds daze. She’d hardly noticed the long hours of this past workweek come and go.
“You must be hungry.” Sadie Jo pulled a lunch-box-sized bag of Cheetos from her purse and extended it to Meg. “I brought along a snack for you, dear.”
“Thank you, Sadie Jo. That’s sweet of you, but I’m fine.”
“You need to eat something. It’s almost dinnertime.”
“It’s only 4:45.”
“You’ll waste away!”
“Not a chance.”
Sadie Jo sighed, and Meg returned the Cheetos to her purse for
her. “Don’t they look great?” Meg tipped her head toward the riders.
“Just wonderful. Wonderful.”
Brimm, Amber, and Jayden were preparing to leave for a ride along Whispering Creek’s trails. Zach, the redheaded teenager who worked for Bo, had been leading them around the pasture, giving out instructions for the past fifteen minutes.
Meg smiled at the sight of Jayden sitting on the saddle in front of Amber. Her tiny houseguest was a born cowboy. He gripped the saddle horn, grinned, and flapped his legs out to the side. When Amber lifted him momentarily to adjust her seat, he let out a screech of displeasure.
“Oh dear,” Sadie Jo said. “Do you think he has a wet diaper?”
“Sadie Jo.”
“Yes?”
“I’m forced to conclude that you have wet diaper OCD.”
Sadie Jo used a hand to shade her eyes as she regarded Meg. “What does that mean?”
“Obsessive compulsive disorder?”
“Hmm?”
“It means that I must have had the driest diapers of any baby in the country.”
“Oh my, yes. That’s true enough. We went through diapers like water.”
Meg motioned toward Jayden. “See there, he’s content again. Even without a diaper change.”
“I tell you, it does my heart so much good to see him and Amber like this.”
“Mine too.”
“I wish we had a bushel more just like Jayden. I could easily love them all.”
“I know.”
Well? a voice within her asked. What’s stopping you? Why can’t you have more here just like Jayden? The question struck her like a lightning bolt.
A chill enveloped Meg’s body, followed by a cascade of tingling goose bumps. She could see, suddenly, her path forward. Like a curtain swept back to reveal a brightly lit stage, characters, action. She’d prayed for God to show her how she could move forward with the calling He’d placed on her heart, and He’d just in this moment—with Sadie Jo’s innocuous words—answered that prayer.
