LEAD ME ON by Julie Ortolon (find a book to read TXT) 📕

gripped the saddle as the gray mare flew over the packed wet sand. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw Scott chasing after her on his powerful bay gelding. She leaned over the mare’s neck and urged her mount faster. Her heart beat in time to the pounding of hooves as they splashed through the surf. The waves came and went beneath her in a blur as they raced along the water’s edge. A flock of sea gulls took flight, screeching in protest while sandpipers scurried out of the way.

The sounds and scents brought back so many memories. As a girl she’d ridden as often as she could, loving the freedom, solitude, and total connection with nature.

Thunder sounded nearby, and at first she thought it came from the clouds crowding the sky over the gulf.

Then she glanced back to see Scott closing the gap, his smile wicked and triumphant. She thought of urging her mount to a faster pace, but drew back instead, letting him charge past.

Laughing, she reined her mount in a wide circle, so the mare could catch her breath. When Scott realized she’d ended her mad dash down the beach, he reined in as well. Turning his mount, he trotted back to her, a lone dark figure against the beige sand, frothy waves, and pale blue sky. “You should have warned me you wanted to race.”

“That wasn’t a race,” she said. “It was ... freedom.” She patted the mare’s neck and continued on down the beach at a jaunty walk, making him turn again to follow her. “Oh, I have missed this,” she said, lifting her face to the salty breeze that held a promise of rain. “Since we bought Pearl Island, I haven’t had time for things like riding.”

“You should make time,” he said, nudging his horse alongside hers.

“I wish I could. But running a bed and breakfast isn’t like a normal job. It’s twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week.”

He laughed. “I can definitely identify with that. But trust me when I say if you don’t get away from it now and then, you’ll burn out, big time. Even on something you love.”

She cast him a sideways glance. “Is this the voice of experience?”

“Hey, I do things besides write.”

“Like what?”

He frowned as if unable to think of anything. “So, when are you going to tell me why none of you went into the theater?”

“Are we changing the subject?” She tried to mimic his single-brow arch, but knew she wasn’t even close.

“That was the deal.” Teasing her, he raised one brow, and she wondered how he did that. “We go horseback riding, you tell me a story.”

“It’s not much of a story.” She tried again to get her brows to move independently, then decided to give up until she had a mirror to monitor her success. “I already told you both my parents were in the theater. They loved it. The whole lifestyle, traveling, performing, everything. Even when Adrian hit school age, we rarely stayed in one place. By the time he was in the second grade, he’d gone to three different schools in New Jersey, Massachusetts, and here in Galveston. When summer came, Mom would pack us up and off we’d go again, living like Gypsies.”

“I take it the three of you weren’t thrilled with the arrangement.”

“Part of the time we were.” She combed her fingers through her horse’s coarse mane. “There’s an excitement to life backstage, and a joy to being with your parents while they’re working. Dad was a wonderful actor. I may have been young, but I distinctly remember sitting in Mom’s lap watching him, and feeling a swell of pride along with that warm fuzzy feeling.”

“Warm fuzzy feeling?”

“You know, that feeling you get when everything in the world is just as it should be?” Like now, she thought, taking in the kiss of the sun on her cheeks, the scent of the gulf... and the fascinating, sexy man at her side.

“ ‘Fraid I don’t know that one.”

“Just as well.” She shrugged. “It usually comes right before tragedy strikes and destroys everything. Just one of life’s cruel quirks, I guess. Anyway, I had lots of moments like that when I was little, but there were other times when I wasn’t happy. Like when us kids had to sleep on the floor because the hotel didn’t have enough rollaway beds to go around. Or when we ate stale sandwiches that some stagehand brought in. I loved my parents, but...” She looked out over the gulf.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Come on,” he wheedled. “The story doesn’t count if you leave something out.”

“Sometimes ... I think it was selfish of them to raise us that way.” She watched the gulls as they dipped and rode on the wind. “After they died, and we came to live with Gran’ma, Adrian promised Rory and me we’d never have to sleep on the floor or eat baloney sandwiches again.”

“I thought you said your aunt raised you.”

“That was after Gran’ma died. I still miss her.” She smiled fondly. “She told the most wonderful stories about Marguerite and Nicole, and the rest of the family. Not that there’s that many of us. With everyone’s devotion to the theater rather than starting a family, it’s amazing the Bouchard line hasn’t died out.”

“When did your grandmother die?”

“When I was eleven. Rather than pack us up and move us to New York, Aunt Viv put Broadway on hold to work in Houston for a while. We were on our own a lot during those years, but Adrian turned out to be a pretty good mom.”

Scott grinned at her. “I’m not sure I would say that to his face.”

“Oh no, Adrian is very proud that he can cook and clean and do the laundry. Although the fact that he excelled in every sport and was so good-looking he had girls hanging all over him in high school kept the other boys from teasing him too much.”

“So that’s where I went wrong in school,” Scott said. “I never took