Undeniably Yours

by Becky Wade

  A few months ago inheriting her father’s empire had seemed to Meg like a tremendous burden and a challenge that she wasn’t, and never would be, equal to. But recently God had been whispering a simple, quiet truth into her heart. He’d reminded her that none of it was actually hers. Not the bank accounts, the properties, the staff, the possessions, nor the controlling interest in the company.

  All of it belonged to Him. And that new certainty liberated her the way unlocked chains liberated a prisoner.

  God had entrusted her with the sacred job of stewardship, yes. But in order to steward what she’d been given, Meg didn’t have to make a zillion dollars for Cole Oil, or strive to be worthy of the role of chairman of the board. Her role was far simpler.

  All she had to do?

  One thing: what God told her to do.

  And God had just told her what to do with Whispering Creek Ranch. She and Sadie Jo could have more little ones like Jayden here. The big house had ten bedrooms, and Meg could fill every single one of them with parents and children in need

  of help.

  She didn’t personally care for the “I can kill deer!” decorating style of the big house, but that didn’t mean other people wouldn’t love it. In fact, visitors always ate up the whole lavish lodge thing. The home that her father had built decades ago provided the perfect—absolutely perfect!—place for families to come and get back on their feet. Whispering Creek was big, safe, empty, staffed with capable people, full of nature, and full of horses.

  Horses.

  If Amber and Jayden were any indication, her guests might actually come to regard the horses as the most beloved of Whispering Creek’s assets.

  The horses! The notion struck her as so new and astonishing that Meg could hardly get her mind around it. Her gaze tracked Brimm, Amber, and Jayden as they rode. They were smiling and talking, their hair combed by the breeze, sun shining on their shoulders. Horseback riding was like therapy for them, a chance to set aside their troubles, a treat, an activity that they didn’t usually have easy or free access to.

  But here, they did. Because she, Meg Cole, owned a dude ranch.

  She released a stunned laugh. Dude Ranch Owner. The most unlikely job description she’d ever imagined for herself. Yet God, it seemed, had a way of making the unlikely certain and the surprising possible. She couldn’t believe that she hadn’t recognized the hand-in-glove fit of it before now. Kids and horses. Horses and Whispering Creek. Whispering Creek and the work she was meant to do. God had been planning exactly this for her all along. She could look back and see it now, everything that He’d put into place and prepared.

  She’d been wavering over the decision to keep the horse farm open, but God had just answered that unequivocally for her. Bo’s horse farm had a role in the future of her ministry.

  She envisioned it all in a tumbling sweep that unfurled into the future. Bo could keep his Thoroughbreds and also expand the number of horses suitable for kids and beginners. Perhaps she might even be able to convince him to purchase some ponies.

  She already had staff in place at the big house and could hire more. More cooks, more housekeepers. She could find a teacher who specialized in early childhood education and set up curriculum for the toddlers and preschoolers. She could bring in more nannies to assist. Older kids could attend the local public schools.

  She could help the parents enroll in college courses if they were trying to attain a degree. Or, if they had their degree, she could help them with their job searches. Once they’d achieved the goals they’d set out to accomplish, she could find them safe places to live outside Whispering Creek’s walls because her objective would be to bring each parent to a place where they could support their family independently.

  So many details to research! She might need to establish a foundation and get civic approval to use the big house in such a way. She’d need to put an application process in place, to form guidelines for the people who came so that they’d understand what she’d be offering and what they’d need to adhere to in return.

  She had a lot to learn, and yet it felt as if a towering fountain of determination inside of her had finally found the source of water that it had been seeking. The fountain flared to life, powerful, shooting streams of water high within her. This was her life’s purpose. She knew it, and she knew how she could do it. She had the ability to offer families a new start and a shot at a stable future. Her! Unsure, vulnerable, tentative her.

  As had always been the case, tears accompanied Meg’s deep emotion. Through water-filled eyes she looked over at Sadie Jo, who was wholly unaware of the monumental things that had been transpiring inside of her. “I love you, Sadie Jo.”

  Sadie Jo took one look at Meg and started clucking and crooning. “What’s this? Oh, my dear heart. Don’t cry. Come here.” She beckoned Meg into a hug that smelled like pink Dove soap. “I love you, too.”

  After soaking in a long dose of comfort, Meg pulled back and held Sadie Jo by the shoulders. “I’m so grateful for you. After my mother died, I only had my father left and I needed you. You were there. And you’ve made a huge difference in my life.”

  “I’m the lucky one.” Never one to let a person cry solo, answering tears clouded Sadie Jo’s eyes. “I needed you, too. God saw that I didn’t have children or grandchildren and gave me you. I’m so blessed. So fortunate.”

  “I want to help children, like you helped me.”

  “You already are, honey. You’re helping Jayden.”

  “I want a bushel more, exactly like you said a minute ago.”

  Sadie Jo’s eyes widened with hope. “Do you think we can?”

  “I know we can.”

  “Oh, Meg. That would be . . . that would be glorious beyond words.”

  She squeezed Sadie Jo’s shoulders. “Do you know how often God has used you to talk to me? You’ve called so many times when I needed it, or visited me when I was struggling, or said something to me that I knew came straight from Him.”

  Sadie Jo laid a soft and wrinkly hand against Meg’s cheek. “I suppose I did know about it, in a way. He’s been my rock for a long time now. A person can hardly live with Him that long without understanding that He has a hand in everything.”

  The sound of horses approaching from behind them, from the barn, drew Meg’s attention. She let go of Sadie Jo and turned to see Bo walking toward them, leading Banjo and two other horses, all saddled.

  “Ladies.” He took in the scene, his face softening into a what-are-they-crying-about-now? expression. “Anyone need tissues?”

  Both women swept away their tears with their fingertips. “Thank you for offering, dear, but Meg and I only need tissues when we’re having a good hard cry,” Sadie Jo explained. “This was only a little sniffle.”

  “Ah.” His gaze searched Meg’s face.

  It always took Meg a few moments to adjust to the reality of Bo after they’d been apart because the effect of him in the flesh tended to bring on heart palpitations and breathlessness.

  “I’m sure you ladies are wondering,” he said, “how I can possibly get any work done when I’m out here hanging around you so often. All I can say is that the person who signs my checks is way too lenient.”

  “The person who signs your checks,” Meg replied, “is wondering why you brought out three horses.”

  Bo pointed at himself, then Sadie Jo, then her.

  Meg pulled a face. “A few moments ago I was thinking how content I was not to be riding.”

  “But you owe me one more lesson, so you don’t have a choice.”

  Meg mock scowled at him.

  In response, he raised an implacable eyebrow. “You, on the other hand,” he said, turning his attention to Sadie Jo, “do have a choice. I was thinking that you might like to join the rest of us on the trail ride. What do you say?”

  “How old do you think I am, Bo Porter?”

  “Fifty-five?”

  Sadie Jo glowed.

  “Come along with us,” Bo said to
her. “It’ll be fun.”

  Mmm-hmm, Meg thought darkly. Loads of fun.

  “I did love to ride when I was a girl. . . .”

  “Since we’ll be with Meg,” Bo assured her, “we won’t be going any faster than a very slow walk.”

  “Hilarious,” Meg said.

  “I might . . . well, I fancy I might like to give it one more try,” Sadie Jo decided, “if you’ll keep an eye out for me, Bo.”

  “Yes, ma’am. There’s no way I’m going to let anything happen to either of you.” He looked toward Zach, out in the pasture. “We’re going to join you,” he called to the teenager. “Give us a few minutes.”

  “Yes, sir,” Zach answered.

  Bo helped both Meg and Sadie Jo onto their horses, adjusted the length of their stirrups, then swung onto his own horse effortlessly. Meg sat on top of Banjo, tense as a jackrabbit, but trying to look as normal and cool about riding as everyone else.

  Zach led their procession out of the pasture, followed by Brimm, Amber with Jayden, and Sadie Jo. Bo came next, leading Meg’s last-place horse with a rope.

  “It’s a little embarrassing,” Meg said to him under her breath, “that Sadie Jo is riding independently, but that I’m being led along by you.”

  “What? This?” Bo lifted the rope. “I only did this so that I could keep you next to me. Maybe we can make out when no one’s looking.”

  Meg would have laughed, except that she didn’t want to risk spooking Banjo.

  She expected to loathe every minute of the ride and simply white-knuckle it through. Except that over the course of the next hour Bo’s company, the scenery, and the slow gait of her horse combined to work a little bit of magic on her.

  During the last stretch, she could even begin to glimpse why her father had been so fanatical about it. Horseback riding was never going to be her thing, personally—

  Hold that thought. Bo controlled his horse with a masculine ease and level of expertise that she found extremely sexy. He wore his Stetson. His rugged hands held his reins, his thumb occasionally rubbing against the leather. If she could always ride with him and could admire him the whole time, then, well . . . she should never say never.

  After the ride, Bo and Meg drove to his house and ordered pizza. He kept telling her how well she’d done with Banjo, and she kept wanting to tell him about her plans for Whispering Creek and his horse farm.

  Ultimately, though, prudence kept her quiet. Before she could move ahead with any of her ideas, she had to figure out what to do about her full-time job and the duty, heritage, and responsibility that came with it. Lord? What would you have me do with Cole Oil?

  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 bran
d 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.