A Taste of Texas Page 6

  Brent waved at his friend Margo, who swept the steps of Tucker House, then saluted the new police chief, Adam Bent, before swinging toward the highway that would take them to the sports complex outside the city limits.

  “So you like books, huh?”

  Brent grabbed a dusty ball cap from the dash and crammed it on his head. “Sure. I love books.”

  Henry studied him. “Really?”

  Brent nodded. “Really. Books take me to new places. Places I can’t go—pirate ships or secret rain forests. Besides, I learn about people who are like me and people who aren’t. It’s like taking a trip, but you don’t have to pack.”

  Henry frowned. “I don’t really like books. I’d rather be doing something. Playing ball or watching TV. My mom reads stuff all the time. Sometimes she cries when she reads books. I hate when my mom cries.”

  The boy turned and looked out the window as if he knew he’d said too much.

  Brent wasn’t sure if he should respond. So he let a few moments go by. Nothing but Miranda Lambert on the radio crooning about love gone wrong.

  They drove into the parking lot adjacent to the ball field. A few of the kids on his team already tossed the ball, warming up.

  “You know, there’s nothing wrong with crying, Hank.”

  Henry’s head whipped around. He met the Brent’s gaze. “Do you cry?”

  Brent shrugged. “If I need to.”

  Henry’s brow knotted. “Oh.”

  Brent didn’t want to tell Henry the last time he’d cried had been when he read in the Oak Stand Gazette that Rayne Rose had married Phillip Albright. That when he’d read those words and saw her smiling face staring out from the page something had crumbled inside him and the world faded several shades dimmer. Because up until seeing Rayne’s and Phillip’s names linked together in holy matrimony, Brent hadn’t realized how much he’d believed in a second chance with Rayne…until that chance had disappeared. The dream of somehow finding himself in her good graces again had been blown out like a candle, leaving the recesses of his heart dark. And that knowledge had caused tears to prick the back of his eyes and sadness to burn deep inside his gut.

  But over the past day or two, he’d been looking for matches, contemplating a way to light the candle of hope again. If he could move past her anger and disappointment in him, then maybe, just maybe, he had a shot with Rayne. As crazy as the idea seemed.

  And it seemed crazy.

  Rayne was going to leave Oak Stand. Her life was too grand for the simplicity of the town. Besides, their past was a hopeless tangle of fierce emotions, emotions born of angsty teenage lust and love.

  But he couldn’t stop the thought that had anchored itself inside him. Fate wasn’t a fickle lady. She knew her mind. The cards had been dealt the moment he’d sat on that porch step days ago, hating himself and his life. Then a ball had landed in the backyard and things had changed. Maybe Fate was on his side this time, even if she wasn’t ready to show her cards yet.

  He turned to Henry. “Game on. Let’s play some baseball.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  RAYNE PULLED INTO THE parking lot of the baseball field and girded herself against stepping into “real” Oak Stand. Nothing like a pack of former schoolmates to make her feel like a gauche little nobody. She knew it was asinine to feel vulnerable again, but that didn’t help. Thinking and feeling were two different things. She cracked the windows in her Volvo SUV before sliding on sunglasses and climbing out.

  Remember. You’re not the pathetic, awkward Rayne Rose. You’re the successful, intelligent owner of Serendipity. You have products with your name on them. You have the power now. No one can take it from you.

  Why was she giving herself a rah-rah pep talk just to pick up her son? The word nutty came to mind as she scanned the area.

  The ballpark had seen improvements since the last time she’d been here. The stands had coverings and the concession had been painted a bright blue highlighting a mural of a baseball sprouting arms and legs. The park looked neat and well-tended, not a scraggly weed in sight.

  “Rayne Rose!” said a voice to her left.

  Rayne turned and saw a plump woman wearing a visor and tugging a toddler heading her way. She paused on the curb and tried to figure out who the woman was.

  “My gosh, it’s been years. I use your recipe for guacamole all the time. I saw you on Good Morning America.”

  Rayne nodded, but had no clue who the woman was. She had apple cheeks and brown eyes the color of rich chocolate ganache.

  “You remember me, don’t you? Stacy Darling. Well, Harp now. I was a year ahead of you.”

  Rayne took a step back.

  Stacy Darling had been one of the meanest girls in all of Oak Stand High. She’d been lithe, trim and amazing with a basketball. She’d also reduced many a girl to tears, and Rayne had been a favored target. Come on, retard, can’t you catch a ball? What did your hippy mamma eat when she was pregnant with you, Knobby? Grass? ’Cause you’re about as ugly as a goat’s ass.

  Being the awkward daughter of a pair of artisan hippies had been challenging. Her parents had traipsed across the country, unmarried and unrepentant, dragging Rayne and her sister, Summer, with them. Sometimes Rayne and Summer had been homeschooled. Sometimes dumped in an elementary school near whatever commune her parents were visiting. Her father blew glass and her mother worked pottery or made clothing. Not the ideal lifestyle for children. Rayne had come to live with Aunt Frances and Uncle Travis when she was ten. The six years she’d spent in Oak Stand had been the most stable in her life, even if she had to deal with bullies and mean-spirited people who forgot they were good Christian folk when it came to bastard children.

  “Oh, Stacy, of course.” Rayne turned her head toward the field and away from the memories. Henry had rounded second base and headed toward third. The boy flew like wings were on his feet. If only she’d had a smidgen of Henry’s ability when she’d been young. She wouldn’t have had to “forget” her P.E. uniform so often. And she wouldn’t have been in Stacy’s line of fire every day of her sophomore year.

  “I’m picking up my son.” Rayne started moving toward the fence surrounding the field. Several mothers sat along the chain-link length in camp chairs, surrounded by younger children.

  “Oh, me, too. I’ll walk with you,” Stacy said, tugging the toddler by the hand and falling into step with Rayne. Stacy’s little girl had a runny nose and droopy pigtails. She also didn’t seem to want to go with her mother. She kept planting her feet and sliding as Stacy tugged her. “My son plays on Brent’s team, too. He’s a good coach.”

  “Oh, okay. This is Henry’s first practice,” Rayne murmured as she watched Brent bend and curve one arm around Henry’s shoulders as he stood on third base. Her son nodded and looked intently at the slim boy batting.

  “I was so glad Camden got on Brent’s team. The scenery’s nice, if you know what I mean.”

  Rayne knew exactly what Stacy meant, but she wasn’t going to comment on Brent’s obvious attributes.

  Stacy cracked a smile. “Hey, I may be married, but I’m not dead.”

  Rayne really wanted Stacy to go away. She knew the woman had likely grown out of mean girl mode, but the last thing she wanted to do was make small talk about Brent Hamilton and how amazingly he filled out a pair of shorts. It seemed almost cliché. And she knew the only reason Stacy deemed her conversation-worthy was because of her minor celebrity status.

  “So are you visiting? Or moving back? Or what?” Stacy asked, waving at a platinum blonde woman wearing next to nothing. “There’s Brandi McCormick. You remember her?”

  Of course she did. She’d been Brandi Patterson in high school. Rayne remembered how the captain of the dance line had tripped her in the hallway and proceeded to make fun of Rayne’s granny panties when her skirt had flown over her head. Nothing like the whole school whispering about your underwear. Talk about scars. “I remember her.”

  Brandi ended her conversation and headed toward them. The only relief Rayne felt was that she’d avoided answering Stacy’s question about being in Oak Stand. Mostly, because she didn’t know the answer. She had no clue how long she would stay. She’d allow Henry to finish out the school year, of course, but she didn’t know if she’d stay much longer. Tulip Hill should be transformed to Serendipity Inn by the first of June and technically Rayne would be back in Austin…or apartment shopping in New York. Depended on an offer coming through from the network. Her agent still hadn’t gotten definite word. The last time her agent had gone to the mattresses with the network, she’d been turned down. Rayne had dreamed big about having a show of her own like Rachael Ray or Giada. This might be her last shot at negotiating with the Food Network.

  So she had no answer for when she’d leave Texas. Or if she’d even have the opportunity to do so.

  “Well, Rayne Rose, you grew up good,” Brandi drawled, sliding her hair behind her ear. A big diamond glittered on her tanned hand. Oversize designer glasses hid her eyes, but Rayne could smell bourbon on her. She wore a small tennis skirt and sleeveless athletic shirt. She looked like every suburban mom Rayne knew rolled into one parody. The phrase “trying too hard” came to mind.

  “Thank you,” Rayne murmured, seeking out her son once again. She could make nice with the other moms if only for Henry. She didn’t need their boys being as mean as their mothers had once been. “You look good yourself.”

  Brandi preened, tucking another lock behind her ear. “Thanks. I work out most days.”

  Then she delivered a pointed look to Stacy.

  “Don’t start, Brandi. I don’t have time to work out. With four kids and a part-time job doin’ nails at the Curlique, my hands are full.” Stacy narrowed her eyes at Brandi. “Brandi owns the Anytime Fitness an
d thinks everyone in town should belong.”

  Brandi surveyed her manicured nails. “Not everyone.”

  To say Rayne felt uncomfortable was an understatement, so she stepped around the two women and waved at Henry who delivered a thumbs-up.

  Brent saw Rayne and jogged her way. She could feel the two women behind her tighten with expectation.

  “Hey, Rayne. Henry’s doing great. He’s a natural.” Brent stopped in front of her and propped his arms on the top of the fence. He wore a pair of athletic shorts, a sleeveless workout shirt and an old ball cap. He looked about as fine as a man could. She could almost hear Brandi and Stacy sigh. He peered over her shoulder. “Oh, hey, ladies.”

  The women stepped forward and Brandi literally elbowed her way in front of Rayne. Something inside Rayne snapped. She pictured Brandi trying to put her in her place. Maybe it was infantile, but she knew what they’d once thought of her. Skinny little no-nothing Rayne. Well, no longer. She’d handled bigger egos and bitchier women in the back of every restaurant she’d worked in. She shoved her glasses atop her head, walked to the other side of the overly done woman and beckoned Brent with her eyes. She also licked her lips. Like a very good boy, he stepped her way. Rayne smiled. “I’m glad Henry’s doing so well. And I appreciate your giving him a lift.”

  Brent, a connoisseur of the game of seduction, gave her a toe-curling smile. Damn him. His dimples were weapons of destruction, hammering the defenses of any woman within twenty feet.

  “He’s a funny kid. Told me some good knock-knock jokes. And he’s a great ballplayer. I’m going to work him at—”

  “What about Camden?” Stacy interrupted. “Do you think he needs more batting practice?”

  Brent ripped his gaze from Rayne’s. “Nah, he’s doing fine, Stace.”

  Brandi’s perfume drifted into Rayne’s nose. “Well, Colby’s been having trouble with learning shortstop. Do you think I could get you to give him some extra practice? I’ll be glad to bring him to you.”

  Not so subtle. Rayne couldn’t stop her lips from turning up. She clamped them together and tried to look concerned that Colby was having trouble at shortstop. But Brent saw through Brandi’s plea. His knowing gaze met Rayne’s and she fell back through the years. It had always been this way. Girls chasing Brent. Her laughing at their blatant attempts.

  Until the girls had succeeded. She sobered at the thought. Hadn’t Tamara Beach portrayed a boa constrictor at his house hours ago? And Brent hadn’t seemed too bothered by it. Same old Brent.

  She wasn’t going to stand around and watch women fall all over themselves trying to secure a spot in his bed. She had way better things to do. And it wasn’t jealousy rearing its ugly head. Merely Rayne refusing to play the role she’d played years ago. She and Brent would share no secret looks, make no private jokes. They weren’t friends. They weren’t anything.

  Rayne stepped away from their chatter and crooked a finger at Henry who stood staring at the other boys trying to douse each other with water. He looked lonely.

  “Hey, tiger. Ready to head home? Maybe get a bubble bath in Auntie Fran’s big—” She stopped when a horrified expression crossed Henry’s face. Oops. Maybe she shouldn’t have offered that bubble bath in front of all those boys.

  The boys stopped trying to soak each other and stared at her. Henry looked as if he wanted to sink through the third base and disappear beneath the red dirt.

  A dark-headed boy who only came to Henry’s chin, grabbed another one of the boys, secured him in a headlock, and sang, “Yeah, Hanky wanky, wanna bubble bath, boo-boo?”

  Rayne nearly slapped herself at the tragic look in Henry’s eyes. He shot her a glance that said, “Thanks for nothing,” then lifted his chin and headed toward where the boys still tussled on the pitching mound. The boy who’d teased Henry struggled against a bigger boy who’d tripped him and planted him in the dirt. Uh-oh.

  Henry halted in front of the boy. “Yeah? Well, I’d rather take a bubble bath then suck the way you do playing third base.”

  Then her son jumped over the boy’s feet and headed her way. Rayne opened her mouth to say how sorry she was for stepping into her Mother of the Year shoes at the absolutely wrong time, but didn’t get the first word out. Henry crossed the first base line and then he hit the dirt. The dark-headed boy rolled him over and punched him in the face.

  “Henry!” Rayne yelled.

  Brent pulled himself from the two mothers and ran to the tussle. He had the two boys pulled apart before any other adults could react. The other boys gathered round the two squirming kids, who shouted a couple of obscenities at each other.

  Rayne didn’t know Henry even knew some of those words, though she knew her head chef used them often enough. Henry had learned from a master.

  “Cut it out,” Brent commanded as the two boys struggled to reach one another. Henry’s eyes flashed ire. He was as pissed off as Rayne had ever seen him. Blood trickled from his nose and something painful seared across her chest. This was her fault.

  “Oh, my gosh! Camden!” Stacy said, tugging the toddler once again toward the gate. “Camden, are you hurt?”

  Rayne didn’t move. To hurry over and wipe Henry’s nose would only make it worse. She clutched the top of the fence and watched as Brent dragged both boys toward the dugout.

  The other kids, along with Stacy, tried to follow, but Brent turned around and stopped them with a look. “I’ll handle this. Everyone else wait for me on the mound. No roughhousing. Stand and wait.”

  Then Brent disappeared into the dugout, dropping both boys onto a bench and standing over them. Rayne couldn’t hear his words. But she knew they were getting an earful. And she knew it was what Henry needed. A man doing a man’s job. Teaching boys about being boys.

  It made Rayne feel so inadequate.

  Henry needed a father.

  A longing crept into her heart as a dangerous thought flashed in her mind. Brent would be a good father.

  Strike that.

  Not an option.

  The last thing Rayne needed was the itty-bitty idea of a Brent as a “keeper” creeping into her brain and taking up permanent residence. She already had plenty of fantasies about Brent, ones she’d had for so long she was comfortable with them even if they wouldn’t amount to a hill of beans. The picture of Brent as a father, as a man to depend upon, couldn’t exist with her kinky ones. Because she suspected he could deliver on the tangled sheets one, but couldn’t on any daydream that involved her, Henry and a cute little picket fence.

  She and Henry were leaving in a matter of months whether it was back to Austin or to New York. And she and Brent were no longer friends. They weren’t anything.

  She’d repeat that mantra fourteen thousand times over in order for her heart to accept it as true.

  Stacy tapped her on the shoulder, drawing her from her affirmation regarding Brent.

  “What’s with your son? He started this, you know.”

  Rayne turned and pretended Stacy was a sous-chef. She set her gaze on subzero and leveled it at Stacy. “I don’t think so. Your son struck my child. I do believe that is the definition for starting it.”

  Stacy sputtered. “Listen here, Rayne. You may be a famous chef, but I know you. Your momma and daddy wasn’t even married and you think you can come back to this town and bring your kid. What is he? A bastard, too?”

  Rayne’s hand curled, but she did nothing more than look down her nose at Stacy, as she stepped so close to her that the chubby woman had to step backward. Rayne made her eyes crackle, then narrowed them. “What you may not realize is I’m not the same girl you tortured in school, and I won’t stand for you or your son picking on my child. If I have to get an attorney, then I will. You’re nothing but a bully, and I’ve learned how to deal with bullies. You smack ’em right in the mouth.”

  Stacy opened her mouth again, but Rayne stepped even closer. She could smell the garlic on the woman’s breath. “Go ahead. I dare you.”

  The cheerful, chubby Stacy didn’t look so friendly anymore, but she snapped her mouth closed. “Whatever. Just make sure your boy stays away from mine.”

  Silence sat between them.

  Which was not good. If she didn’t play nice with Stacy, Brandi and every other Oak Stand mommy, Henry would suffer. She needed to pull out her negotiating skills and tip the balance back in her favor.