Gone Country (Rough Riders #14)(3)

Rielle frowned. “Who’s going into town?”


“We all are. See, Rory and I got to chatting…about our discussion at your fortieth birthday party last week.”


“I cannot be held responsible for anything I said since you all got me drunk.” Her head had pounded so horrifically the next morning she’d literally taken a dirt nap in her garden.


“This spilled out when you were sober, darlin’,” Ainsley reminded her.


“You sound more like Ben every day with darlin’ this and darlin’ that,” Rielle retorted.


“I’ll take that as a compliment.” She preened. “But it is what my loving—but clueless—husband said that caused your distress, so I feel the need to fix it.”


Rielle drained her drink, hating the reminder of Ben’s comment when he’d jokingly guessed her age as fifty, not forty. “You’re not responsible for the dumb shit Ben says any more than you are responsible for the dumb shit all men say.”


Rory refilled Rielle’s glass and sent Ainsley an insolent look. “I knew you’d take the wrong tack.” She set her elbows on the counter. “Mom. You’re not old. And we’re gonna deal with your claim that you look like a crone, because it’s a seriously f*cked-up self-image.”


Her cheeks heated, but her tongue sharpened. “So where is your other cohort in crime, Doc Monroe? Has she set up an appointment with a plastic surgeon as her part of this embarrassing intervention?”


“Joely planned to be here but she had to deliver a baby.” Ainsley got right in Rielle’s face. “Dial down the animosity, sister, and listen up.”


“You still wearing your large-and-in-charge big-girl panties, Miz Bank Prez?”


“At least until I get home and Bennett makes me strip them off.” She grinned cheekily. “And here’s the mushy, gushy stuff that makes you squirm…unless you’ve been knocking back tequila shooters. You’ve become one of my best friends since I moved in with Ben. You’re a wonderful person, funny, sweet, thoughtful and you work harder than anyone I know. You’re beautiful inside and out. I see it. Rory sees it. It’s a pity you don’t. We thought maybe if we helped you change your outer appearance, then you’d see it as well as feel it.”


Rielle remained quiet and traced the sugared rim of her martini glass. Upbeat Ainsley didn’t pull any punches—and to think that was why she hadn’t initially liked the woman. They’d started out on the wrong foot when Ainsley had been sneaking around with Ben McKay. But after Ainsley stood up for Ben and bitch-slapped her for the shitty way she’d treated him, Rielle realized she’d wronged them both.


It’d taken a couple months for Rielle to swallow her pride and apologize. Luckily Ben and Ainsley were ready to let bygones be bygones. Now she and Ainsley were tight—much tighter than Rielle had ever been with Ben.


“Mom? Are you crying?” Rory asked with an edge of fear.


“No.” She raised her head. “Just feeling idiotic for opening my mouth. It sucks dealing with this stupid female pride and age thing.”


“But see, you don’t have to deal with it alone.” Ainsley snagged a section of Rielle’s baby-fine long blond hair. “Rory. How long has your mom worn her hair this way?”


“As long as I can remember.”


“That’s because it’s an easy style,” Rielle protested.


“No, it’s a dated style,” Ainsley corrected.


“Well, forgive me but I don’t have time to fuss with a fancy hairdo when I spend my days digging in the dirt or sweating in the kitchen.”


“Which is exactly why you need a smart cut. Not every style is high-maintenance.” Ainsley held onto Rielle’s chin, turning her face to the left and right. “You have amazing bone structure. You hide it instead of highlight it. We need to fix that.”


“And how would we do that?”


Rory grinned. “By placing yourself in Nikki’s hands tonight.”


“Nikki?” Rielle knew her eyes grew comically wide. “Isn’t that your friend who sported a purple and lime green Mohawk in tenth grade?”


“She’s toned down the shock factor. We’ve already discussed this and she’s come up with a cool cut for you. She swears this style is easy to manage and it’ll take ten years off your face.”


“But I don’t think your face is the issue. It’s all this hippie hair.” Ainsley knocked back her drink. “So let’s whisk you off to the beauty shop and transform you from a hippie-chick into a hip-chick.”


“I don’t know if this is such a good idea…”


“Here’s where I’m playing hardball.” Rory loomed over her. “You’ve always told me change is inevitable. Have you been putting expectations on me that you aren’t willing to apply to yourself?”


“No! I have been making changes in my life.” Most were forced, not that she’d admit that.


“Then it shouldn’t be such an ordeal to add this change to the list.”