Page 70 of Breaking All The Rules
“Don’t think,” Bea said as they went around another time, “I don’t know you’re staring at my boobs.”
“Ugh, aren’t men the worst?” a warm female voice asked.
Startled, Bea glanced over her shoulder to find an older woman sitting next to Austin on the railing. “I thought I raised you better, Austin.”
God…Austin’s mother. Bea was so surprised to see her out here, she almost fell off the horse, but she managed to stay seated as Austin gave the command for Buffy to slow, then return to him. Within a minute, Bea was off Buffy and meeting not only Austin’s mother—Margaret—but his sister-in-law, too, who had ridden up during the introduction on a muscular black stallion that looked like he could eat Buffy as a snack.
“You’ve got a really nice seat about you,” Jill said.
Jill was a petite brunette who looked about thirty, with a rangy kind of vitality. “Thank you, but I think you’re being too kind.”
“Nonsense,” she dismissed. “A few more lessons and you’ll be riding like a pro. You’re a natural. You can come out here anytime if you want to ride some more. I can teach you if Junior here isn’t home.”
Bea blinked at Austin. “Junior?” Oh, dear God. They called him Junior?
Austin rolled his eyes at his sister-in-law before addressing Bea. “The hazards of being the youngest of many,” he explained.
“Yep,” his mother confirmed with a smile. “By the time Austin came on the scene, there were a lot of names to remember.”
“I told Margaret they should just have called him six,” Jill said cheerily.
“We contemplated it,” she confirmed, with a very definite twinkle in her eye. It was clear Margaret Cooper didn’t take herself too seriously.
Ignoring his mother, Austin glanced at Jill, who was clearly having a fabulous time at his expense. “Why don’t you show Beatriss some of your moves?”
Even standing here in front of his family, he added that soft, seductive little accent to the end of her name that was definitely not junior. It was like a tray of oysters and a shot of tequila to her libido.
“Oh, yes.” Austin’s mom clapped her hands. “That’s a great idea. Why don’t you help Jill set up, while Beatrice and I find a perch.”
“Oh, just Bea is fine,” Bea assured. Austin had claimed Beatrice for his own, and she liked it that way.
Margaret nodded affably. “C’mon, Bea, this way.”
Bea followed Austin’s mom with some trepidation. Was this just a friendly overture or an excuse for the third degree?
Margaret climbed the railings like a damn billy goat in three quick, effortless moves before seating herself easily. Bea followed, looking more drunken penguin, but she managed, clutching the top bar tight as she squirmed around a little to find the most comfortable position.
“Austin was telling us this morning that you’re from LA.”
Okay…Margaret was getting right down to it, then. “Yes,” Bea said as she kept her gaze trained on the setup occurring in the arena.
“We’ve spent some time in LA.”
Bea prepared herself for a scathing assessment of her home city. Bea knew it could be brash and pretentious in all its trendy, cilantro-loving, turmeric-smoothie-drinking, freeways-and-Hollywood, faux-glittery facade that often hid deeper vices.
But she’d loved it, too. Sure, she’d turned her back on it, but it was as much a part of her as Credence was of Austin.
“It was fabulous,” Margaret said. “We had such a good time. It was so…I don’t know. Potential seems to sparkle in the air there. And all those amazing food trucks and omigod”—she clutched Bea’s arm—“the ramen noodles! I salivate whenever I think about them!”
Bea blinked. She’d expected complaints about the traffic and the smog and the sheer vanity of the place, but Bea got the feeling Austin’s mother was a positive person. The kind who always saw the good in things.
She could see why Austin was the person he was, growing up with his mother at the helm. Optimistic, enthusiastic, pragmatic. Like all things were possible. Bea had been raised with the up and downs of her mother’s moods and then the shadow of her death and the strictures that had come as a consequence.
“The ramen is excellent,” Bea agreed, smiling at the rapture on Margaret’s face.
“Unfortunately—” Margaret sighed. “There’s not a lot of that around here.”
“True.” Bea nodded. “But you do have Annie and her pies, which really should be proclaimed as some kind of national treasure. They alone are worth a dozen food trucks and all the ramen in LA.”
