Page 30 of Breaking All The Rules
“Umm, the seventies are calling, Junior, and they want their heart attack in a bowl back.”
Austin turned to face his brother, leaning his ass against the bench top. Clayton was older than him by five years. They were similar in looks, but Clay’s build took more after their mother—shorter and stockier. Austin was more his father—longer, taller, leaner.
They were close in that hard work, beer, and smack talk kinda way.
“This is true,” Jill, his sister-in-law, agreed. “Plaque forms in all vessels, if you know what I mean.” She waggled her eyebrows suggestively, grinning at him as she lost the battle with being serious. She and Clay had been together forever, and Jill enjoyed smack talk almost as much as they did.
“Look, Brian, I can’t believe it still works.” Margaret pressed her hand to her chest, which was a surefire sign there were tears brewing. That was his mom—ridiculously, wonderfully sentimental. “It’s forty years old.”
Brian sidled up to his wife. “So it does.” They both looked at the glowing light like it was the second coming. He pecked his wife on the forehead, then clapped Austin on the shoulder. “Ah, son, have I mentioned lately that I’m fondue you?”
Austin rolled his eyes as both Clay and Jill groaned behind them. His father loved a good pun as much as his mom loved a good cry. But she was laughing now as she snuggled into her husband’s neck. “The cheese is strong with this one.”
“Great. Thanks, Junior.” Clay sighed. “You know it’s going to be nothing but cheese over lunch.”
Their father snorted. “Nonsense. I can get through lunch without a cheese pun. Set your minds at cheese, boys.” He cracked up, followed closely by their mother. For a man who wrangled cows and ran the ranch with a firm hand, he was the ultimate dad joker.
“We should run now,” Clay said to Jill. “While we still have the will to live.”
“Do you mind if I give this away?” Austin asked when his mom’s laughter settled. He had contemplated just asking to keep it, but knowing his mother, she’d probably end up at his doorstep one day with several packets of cheese, insisting they have fondue, and then he’d have to lie to her and tell her it stopped working or something.
Given how the presence of a light alone had almost made her cry, he didn’t want to break her heart. Plus, he’d never once managed to lie to his mother and get away with it. Nobody who knew Margaret Cooper was foolish enough to take her soft, sentimental heart as the measure of her. His mom could sniff out a lie, a stashed bottle of Jack, or a girl in the barn quicker than he could blink. She should have been a cop.
“Sure,” she agreed readily, then she frowned. “To who?”
“Someone mentioned wanting one a few days ago,” he said with as much casualness as he could muster while he pushed off the bench and walked over to the bubbling pot of chili on the stovetop.
“And is this a he someone or a she someone?”
Austin’s spidey senses went on full alert—his mom’s nose was in action. “Just a work thing,” he dismissed as he inhaled the aroma of lunch.
Which was not technically a lie. He did meet Beatrice because of work. But that didn’t mean his neck wasn’t sweating as four sets of eyes bored into his back.
“Arlo doesn’t strike me as the fondue type,” she fished.
Austin almost laughed out loud at that image. The only part of a fondue set he could imagine Arlo being interested in were the potential of the skewers to be used as weapons. “Nothing to do with Arlo.”
“Someone in…Denver?”
“Nope.”
His mom had always been worried he’d take up with a city girl and she’d never see him again. Which was utterly ridiculous. Austin was home now, and that’s where he was staying. Although, technically, Beatrice was a city girl. Not that he’d taken up with her, and she was living here now—for the foreseeable future, anyway.
His mother narrowed her eyes. “Who is she, Austin Cooper?”
Well, at least she hadn’t called him Junior. “Mom.”
“Is she cheesy on the eyes?” Brian added, clearly amused.
Clay winced and Austin grimaced as they both said, “Dad,” in unison.
Jill laughed, because she’d always dug Brian’s puns. Clay, however, turned pleading eyes in Austin’s direction. “Seriously, bro. You’re a cop. Can’t you arrest him or something?”
Unconcerned at the possibility of being clapped in handcuffs, his father crossed to where Austin stood. “While it is fun watching you get grilled”—he stopped and smiled, savoring the more subtle pun for a second or two like a true craftsman—“in front of us all, you might as well spill, son. You ought to know by now that resistance is futile.”
Austin sighed and glanced at his mom. “It’s not a…thing. I’m just being…neighborly. Like you taught me.”
“Uh-huh.” She crossed her arms. “And does this neighbor have a name? Is it one of those nice girls who own the salon? Or that lovely young woman who came out and fixed my laptop?” She glanced at Brian. “We should have tipped her more.”
