Free Bucking the Rules by Kat Murray Page B

Josephine, were you even listening?”
    Not really. “Sorry, Mo—Regina. Something distracted me. What were you saying?”
    Her mother gave a long-suffering sigh, as if mentally asking why was I saddled with such an ungrateful child? “I was simply saying that I think Rich will make a wonderful husband. He’s got all the qualifications.”
    Wealthy, not hideous looking, wealthy . . .
    Actually, Rich was a perfect name for someone her mother would target.
    Regina laughed, a well-practiced little trill that sounded something close to a cross between a nightingale singing and angel wings fluttering. Well-practiced, indeed. “After all, fifth time’s the charm!”
    â€œSeventh,” Jo muttered, looking for something to throw without damaging property.
    â€œThat’s not right.”
    â€œI guess if you choose to not count those two annulments, then, hey—your math works.”
    â€œWhat has gotten into you?” Regina snapped. “Your attitude is horrible.”
    â€œSorry.” Jo rubbed between her eyes with her thumb. “I didn’t get much sleep last night.”
    â€œOh, dear.” Regina tsked . “You need sleep if you want to look your best. No man wants to deal with a woman who has bags under her eyes.”
    â€œRight, well, owning a bar doesn’t always lend itself to restful nights.” Nor do lusty dreams about unfulfilled promises from damn sexy cowboys.
    â€œYou could just work at a bar. Owning something is so complicated.” Regina’s goal in life was to avoid complication.
    â€œI manage, somehow.”
    â€œIs that sarcasm?”
    â€œNope,” she lied without a second thought. Lying had become a way of life with her mother. If Regina hated complications, then really, Jo was just giving her mother what she needed. She never felt guilty about it. Regina would just stop contacting her altogether if Jo took a hard line.
    â€œDid I tell you the story about that horrible woman who worked at that bar with us in Dallas?” Regina’s disgust was telegraphed loud and clear. “You must remember her. She was the one with all that hair like that snake woman from those stories. Anyway, I heard through the grapevine—”
    â€œMom?” Jo said loudly. “Regina? Can you hear me?”
    â€œJosephine?” her mother called back. “What in the world—”
    â€œRegina? Reg—damn,” she muttered, as if to herself.
    â€œMust be a poor connection. If you can hear me, I’ll let you go now so you can go back and get to your . . . work .” Regina said the word “work” the same way some people might say “spiders” or “taxes.”
    â€œOkay then. Let me know if I should be looking for a wedding invitation.” Which she would RSVP a big fat no to, but would send a nice gift. Just as she had the last four times.
    Oh, sorry. The last two. Apparently two of those four weddings didn’t count in Regina math. Funny how those gifts never got returned though. Regina math was very one-sided.
    â€œWill do. Love you, baby!” Regina blew noisy air kisses and hung up without waiting for a response. The only thing Regina was truly interested in was her next season’s wardrobe, and whatever adoration she could scrape out of the current cash cow.
    Whoops. Husband.
    Jo set the phone back down and made her way to the door. No point in dwelling on the Cleaver-esque mother-daughter relationship she would have killed for as a kid. The hand she was dealt would suffice. Besides. She was thirty years old. Did she really need her mommy’s approval and unconditional love at this point?
    No. But it would have been nice....
    Jo walked down the stairs with heavy steps. Sometimes, life was just too complicated to even think about.
    No wonder people drank.
    Â 
    Trace checked his watch, sighed, then stared out the window behind Peyton’s desk. The desk—and the