Page 107 of Breaking All The Rules
She couldn’t tell if he was smiling or frowning on the other end; all Bea really knew was how good it was to hear his voice again. “Of course,” she said, keeping in character. “I have it on good authority that there’s a woman inside currently wearing Thursday panties.”
“I’m not sure that’s a problem, ma’am?” he said, then added, “I’m kinda partial to Thursday panties myself.”
Tears pricked the backs of Bea’s eyes at the warmth creeping into Austin’s voice and she pressed her lips together, daring to hope. “But it’s Wednesday. Which is in direct violation of the calendar.”
“I see… Pretty sure it’s also in direct contravention of Credence county bylaw four seven three subsection eight.”
“That’s what I thought, Officer. Maybe you should come and check it out? Before it descends into any further anarchy?”
“Yeah, Arlo does not approve of anarchy.”
Bea heard someone in the background—Arlo, she thought—querying what was happening. “Noise complaint,” he lied. “Out at the lake.”
The reply was distant but clear. “Give it to Reynolds. I need you here.”
Austin didn’t hesitate in changing his story. “Beatrice is at the ranch.”
There wasn’t any sound then. Even the muffled background office noises she hadn’t realized were audible suddenly stopped.
“Oh, for the love of… Go. Fix it. We’re sick of your sorry ass around here.”
Amid general laughter, Austin was back in her ear. “I’m on my way.”
Stupid tears blurred Bea’s vision as he hung up and she whispered, “Hurry.”
…
Bea heard the sound of a vehicle slowly approaching twenty minutes later. Her pulse leaped and she performed an instantaneous sit-up from her position curled around Princess on the bed. God…this was it.
Austin had thawed over the phone conversation, but she still had ground to make up.
She stood. Then she sat. Then she stood again, nerves making her indecisive as she moved to the kitchen, leaning her elbow casually on the bench. Quickly dismissing that as ridiculous, she stalked to the mantelpiece, resting her hand on that. Ugh—no. Too staged.
What about the couch?
She crossed to it, sitting on the arm, facing the door, crossing her legs. Then uncrossing them again. Then crossing them once more. A car door slammed, ricocheting along her nerve endings as she leaped up, standing undecidedly like a pimple on a pumpkin in the middle of the open floor plan, the beat of her heart a low echo in her ears.
Footsteps came next, and she couldn’t move at all. Then the sound of feet scraping on the mat. Then the door opened abruptly, and he was there, right there, filling up the doorway, his hat pulled low, scruff on his face, hands on his hips, his feet spaced evenly apart like he was the sheriff staring down the gunslinger.
He was breathtakingly male standing there like that and she could not take her eyes off him. Nor, apparently, could he take his eyes off her as his gaze ate her up. A surge of estrogen mixed with the adrenaline already flooding her system.
God, he looked good, this man she loved.
“Ma’am,” he said, his eyes burning into hers, his voice low and gravelly. “I understand there’s an issue with some panties?”
Oh, dear lord. Bea swallowed. Would she ever get used to the way he said panties. “Hey, Austin.”
He nodded. “Beatrice.” Then he stared a bit longer before saying, “So…you’re really back?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
She blinked at his rapid-fire reply. It wasn’t harsh, but it was direct, which was fair enough. And it deserved a direct answer. “Because I don’t want to be anywhere else.”
He nodded slowly. “That’s…good then.”
She smiled. “I brought you something.”
