A taste of texas, p.10
A Taste of Texas, page 10
“So you wanna borrow another one? I have one about a kid who thinks he’s bad at sports but finds out lacrosse is his game,” Brent said.
Henry cocked his head. “What’s lacrosse?”
Brent smiled. “I guess you’ll find out.”
Henry nodded. “Cool.”
“Henry, get this stuff back in your binder and next time zip up before you bail off the bus,” Rayne said.
Her son shot Brent a look that said, “See? This is what I get all the time,” before squatting and shoving papers in willy-nilly. Rayne almost smiled but instead she redirected her gaze to Brent. “Aunt Fran said you were going to the hardware store and would be willing to pick up some items from Dawn Hart. Do you mind if I ride with you? I want to settle up with Dawn and check the work before we haul everything back here.”
“Can I come, too?” Henry asked, biting his lip in effort to seal the bulging backpack.
“Sure. Let’s grab an ice cream at the Dairy Barn,” Brent said, digging in his pocket for his truck keys.
“Yes!” Henry abandoned the bag to give a fist pump. “I want a chocolate shake.”
Rayne watched as her son scurried toward the front porch, dumped his backpack and leaped into Brent’s truck. She blinked. Then looked at Brent. “Where does he get all that energy?”
Brent shrugged. “I think the government puts something in the school milk.”
Rayne shook her head. “So let’s go give him more sugar.”
BRENT VEERED OFF THE SQUARE and looked for a place to park in front of the Dairy Barn. No spaces out front, but there was one close to the bank. He pulled in and cut the engine.
“I think I want chocolate. But maybe strawberry. What about you, Mom?” Henry hadn’t stopped talking since they got into the car. Rayne had told him the child had nearly crippling anxiety, but Brent couldn’t tell there was anything wrong with the boy.
“I’m probably going to pass, bud,” Rayne said, climbing out. He liked what she wore—a pretty skirt that swirled around pink flip-flops. Her shirt was one of those that poofed out. He thought they called it peasant-style. Rayne wore them a lot and they suited her. Delicate, thin material that draped gently across her breasts, but gathered at her slim waist. Her curly copper hair looped around her shoulders to frame her face. He’d never seen a prettier woman. Truly.
“Aw, come on, Mom. You never eat good stuff,” Henry said, leaning down to tie his shoe into a knot that Brent knew would not hold for ten paces. He needed to teach the boy how to tie so the laces stayed tied and didn’t drag on the ground.
“I beg to differ. Everything I eat is good. And good for you.”
Brent laughed at Henry’s face. The boy had looked up and crossed his eyes. Funny guy.
They strolled down the street and Brent held the diner door open as Rayne and Henry entered. The place wasn’t too busy. Charlie Mac, the ancient owner, stood behind the counter wearing a white apron and white paper cook hat. He pulled a pencil from behind his ear. “What can I get you, Brent?”
Brent looked up at the board. “Hank here wants a—” he looked at the boy “—a chocolate shake?”
Henry nodded. “A large one.”
“Rayne?”
“Um, a bottled water,” she said.
Charlie Mac made a face. “We ain’t got no bottled water, but I can get you some outta the soda foundation.”
Rayne shook her head. “Nothing for me, thanks.”
Brent shrugged. He thought she took healthy eating a bit too far. Didn’t she know water was water? “I’ll take a banana split with chocolate sauce, butterscotch and caramel. Oh, and a cheeseburger, all the way, hold the onions. And a root beer.”
“Can I have fries?” Henry peered over the counter at Charlie Mac.
“I got curly fries,” the old man said, scratching on his order pad. Henry nodded with the same enthusiasm Apple showed when it came time to eat her kibble. Concentrated hunger.
Rayne opened her mouth, looked at Henry’s face, then pressed her lips together. She crossed her arms and tried to seem vaguely disgusted, but the twinkle in her eye when she glanced at her son gave her away.
Brent took out a credit card, pressing Rayne’s hand back as she tried to hand him a ten-dollar bill. “I got this, Rayne.”
Charlie Mac swiped the card and stared hard at the pretty lady standing slightly behind him. “I do declare. Rayne Rose, ain’t it? Ain’t seen you since you was a girl.”
“Hi, Mr. Charlie,” Rayne said. Brent turned to look at her. She wiggled her toes and twirled one curl around her index finger. “It’s nice to see you again.”
Charlie Mac grunted. That was the end of the conversation.
Brent took the plastic number set on the counter and scanned the place for a good table. He grabbed the soda and Henry’s shoulder and steered toward a nice booth by the window where the sun tumbled in to warm the zealously air-conditioned diner.
Henry hopped onto the faded red faux leather and Rayne slid in next to him, pinning him against the squeaky-clean glass of the front window. Brent sat and took a swig of his soda.
“Been a while since you’ve sat here and looked out at the park, huh?”
Rayne glanced out the window at the square that held a huge fountain flowing at the feet of Rufus Tucker, the founder of Oak Stand, and the broad swath of newly green grass. Pansies still flourished in the raised beds at the square’s entrance and squirrels scampered left and right, digging frantically for stored acorns. “It’s still a pretty place.”
Henry stabbed the windowpane. “Where are the swings and junk?”
“It’s not that kind of park. Just a town square with paths and flowers, and though you can’t see it, a small gazebo to the left of the footbridge spanning a dry creek bed.” Brent pointed in the direction of the structure where he’d given Rayne her first kiss. He still remembered how sweet she’d tasted. How surprised she’d been.
“Oh.” Henry glanced at the counter. Obviously, school had made the boy ravenous and he couldn’t wait for his food. He looked at his mother. “Did you play in that park?”
Rayne nodded. Brent thought back to the park where they had gathered acorns for a war with Bubba Malone and Talton Drake nearly every day one summer. And many afternoons he and Rayne had ridden their bikes to the library which sat across the square, stopping in the park to kick off their shoes and climb the ancient oaks bending toward the stone paths radiating from the fountain. They’d detached locust shells and covered themselves with them, splashed in the fountain until an adult ran them off and raced across the footbridge to climb on the roof of the gazebo.
“I’ve got an idea,” Brent said, scooting out from the bench and heading toward Charlie Mac.
He looked back at Henry and Rayne. “Charlie, make that order to go.”
CHAPTER NINE
RAYNE WATCHED AS HENRY sloshed his milk shake onto the brick-paved street that encircled the square, wincing when it dripped on his uniform shirt. Chocolate milk shake on white knit. Great.
“Henry, watch your shake,” she called as they darted in front of a small SUV looping the square. Traffic had picked up as the five o’clock hour neared.
“I’ve never been on a picnic,” Henry shouted, catching up with Brent. Her son’s words shook Rayne. Had she never taken the boy on a picnic? That couldn’t be right, but she knew it to be true. She’d always been busy. What a horrible excuse.
Henry glanced at her. “Come on, Mom.”
The child’s face looked lit from within, like a hundred fireflies had taken up residence. It struck Rayne, the reason for his joy. He was thrilled to be with Brent. Just as she’d always been, dogging Brent’s footsteps, worshipping at the altar of the all-state quarterback.
A bleep of alarm sounded inside her, but the sight of her son’s smiling face overshadowed the fear. She wanted Henry to be happy, to smile rather than chew his shirt or check obsessively for the note card of emergency numbers he carried with him in his pocket like a security blanket.
What would some hero worship hurt?
She didn’t answer that question. Just hurried her pace to catch up.
“Follow me,” Brent said, carrying the two white bags with the red logo of a barn. Already grease marks formed on the outside of the bags. She suppressed the inclination to snatch them and toss them in a trash can.
They filed into the park like ducks heading to a pond. The brick pavers of the path matched the ones in the street, and the oaks greeted them with a friendly wave of leaves. Rayne’s hair whipped in the wind, and she impatiently pushed it from her eyes. Here and there, people moved around them, but no one sat on the park bench or wandered over the well-trod paths. It felt much as it had when she was younger, a magical little oasis in the middle of reality.
“How about here?” Brent motioned with a bag. He indicated one of the benches. A copper plate read In Memory of Edward Monk. May He Forever be a Part of our Lives. A balding man in a checked sport coat materialized in Rayne’s mind. He’d carried wrapped bubble gum in his pocket and gave it to kids who gave him a high-five. His wife, Betty, had trimmed Rayne’s hair at the Curlique.
“Y’all sit on the bench,” Henry directed, snagging a fry from the sack that gaped open in Brent’s hand. “I wanna sit by the fountain.”
The fountain that gurgled at Founding Father Rufus Tucker’s feet was about twenty yards away. Rayne nodded. “Okay, but no playing in the fountain.”
Henry shot Brent another suffering look. The child was getting good at demonstrating disgust at his mother’s pampering, but Rayne was okay with it because he was taking a step in the right direction. Usually he’d insist on sitting right beside her as if she might gallop away and leave him behind. The separation anxiety he’d been struck with reared its ugly head at the oddest times. But today wasn’t one of them.
Brent rooted through the sack and pulled out Henry’s fries, handing them to him along with a packet of ketchup. “Here you are, sport. And mind your mother.”
Henry scarfed down three fries while nodding. He ran toward the fountain, clutching his treat.
Brent plunked down on the bench. “You want some of my banana split?”
“No, thanks,” she said, still standing. She raised her face to the blue sky peeking through the trees. “We better not spend too much time here. Dawn wants us to pick up the chairs and cushions.”
The leaves shimmered in the breeze, a soft rebuke to her need to rush. She inhaled the scent of spring in the air, allowed the splash of the fountain to soothe her, remind her that time marched at a clip, and she’d sought to slow it by coming to Oak Stand.
She tore her gaze from the bark of the oak and the spark of new, sticky green on the silver-leafed maple to find Brent watching her. His mouth was full of cheeseburger, but his eyes showed a deep hunger.
It made her mouth dry.
He seemed to sense her reaction and shoved his soda her way.
She took it and sipped. Root beer. How long had it been since she’d indulged in a soda? According to her taste buds, too long. Then she recognized the moment as a mirror of the past—she was sneaking sips of Brent’s root beer while watching him wolf down a Dairy Barn cheeseburger. Déjà vu waylaid her like a linebacker.
She shoved the soda at him. “Thanks.”
He nodded as he scooped up a huge bite of vanilla ice cream drizzled with caramel and shoved it in his mouth. Rayne felt her knees get mushy. The man’s mouth was seriously wicked. Sensuous bottom lip, framed by a scruffy five o’clock shadow that would make a Hollywood hunk envious. Then to further demonstrate the power of his sexuality, he licked his lips.
Damn it.
Rayne felt heat gather in her stomach. Her hand curled into a fist as if it remembered the feel of that hardness beneath those cotton pajama pants only nights ago. The air hummed with tension.
He took a scoop of chocolate-glazed ice cream and held the spoon toward her. “Want some?”
Rayne couldn’t stop herself, she took three steps and lowered her head and opened her mouth.
Brent’s eyes glinted. He knew what he was doing. The bastard. He said he wouldn’t play games with her. Then what the hell was this? He slid the spoon in her mouth, his lips twitching with amusement. Still, she knew by the gleam in his eye he felt the heat, felt the deliciousness of their play.
So Rayne swallowed the icy sweetness then took great pains in licking the chocolate sauce off her bottom lip. “Mmm. Good.”
She could hold her own in any game.
Brent closed his mouth then looked at the spoon, before dropping it into the plastic container that held the pooling ice cream and decadent sauces. He set it beside the half-eaten cheeseburger. He raised his hands to do what? Reach for her? Pull her into his lap?
Her mind raced with the possibilities before the water hit her in the face.
“Bull’s-eye!” yelled Henry. Rayne stumbled backward, wiping the cold water from her eyes.
She looked at her son. He grinned mischievously, holding a faded water gun.
“What? Where’d you get that?” Rayne said.
Brent dropped his arms, just as a stream launched toward his head. He ducked.
Henry squealed. “I found it under a bush. Awesome! I totally got you guys!”
Another stream hit Rayne in the shoulder before Henry lunged behind the azalea bushes growing behind the bench. Another blast of water arced over the tiny buds atop the bushes and hit Brent in the back of the head.
“That’s it!” he cried, leaping up, encircling the bush. Henry’s cry of laughter floated out, as another stream of water whizzed over Rayne’s shoulder. She ducked behind an oak tree. Brent jogged out with a laughing Henry slung over his shoulders. Henry still pulled the trigger of the water gun but the waning streams of water flew wildly with no target in mind.
Brent jogged toward the fountain. “Hmm. Where shall I set him down? Here?”
Rayne reached the fountain as Brent pretended to toss Henry in the tiled pool surrounding the fountain. Henry shrieked and clutched Brent’s shoulders.
“Get him, Mom!” Henry shouted, wiggling and kicking his feet.
The water gun clattered to the pavers below and Rayne snatched it up and pressed the barrel to Brent’s back. “Put the boy down, Hamilton, before I make you look like you wet your pants.”
Her statement caused Henry to dissolve even further into giggles. Brent lowered her son. “You sure you want me to put him down?”
He dropped Henry down within a foot of the gurgling waters, still cradling the laughing boy. Henry yelled. “Not here!”
Laughing, Rayne prodded Brent in the back. “If you get those new school shoes wet, someone’s gonna get hurt.”
Brent swung around and waggled his eyebrows. “You talk a big game, Mrs. Rayne Rose Albright, but I don’t think you have it in you.”
Rayne lowered the gun toward his stomach.
“Do it, Mom!” Henry cried, giggling in Brent’s arms. Rayne smiled at the glee her son took in her being silly. How had she failed to show him that she had a sense of humor?
Rayne smiled and cocked an eyebrow. “A mother must protect her son.”
She pulled the trigger but missed the mark. Brent grabbed the gun, set Henry on the bricks and gave her a wicked smile. “Now, your mother’s going to pay.”
“Run, Mom!” Henry shouted, reaching for the water gun in Brent’s hand. Brent let the child have the toy. His eyes were on her.
He lunged toward her. Rayne shrieked, hiked up her skirt and ran to the other side of the fountain while Henry dunked the gun beneath the water in the pool.
The sound of Brent’s deep laughter joined hers as they raced around the monument. The founding father glared his disapproval as Henry joined in the fray with a reloaded water gun. Rayne ran left and Brent met her. She spun and ran round the other side, but he was there before her.
Brent grabbed her upper arms and spun her backward. “You’re going to pay for trying to make me look like I peed my pants.”
Rayne could barely talk past the laughter. “Don’t do it, Hambone.”
He laughed at the nickname he’d earned in high school that made him sound like the hound dog he’d become. His laugh was low and luscious. Shivers crept up her spine. Then he scooped her into his arms. “Or what?”
“I’ll tell everybody that you cried during Rudy,” she said, digging her fingers into the softness of his shirt. Her fingers slipped so she wrapped her arms around his neck to keep from falling into the water he now held her over.
“Everybody cries during that movie,” he said, allowing her to slide down to his forearms.
“Eek!” she cried twisting away from the depths of the fountain. She could feel the spray on her arms. She looked down. Six inches from submersion.
Brent played dirty.
But then a stream of water hit him full in the face. He sputtered and stepped back. “What the—”
Henry delivered a Sioux warrior battle cry. He’d perfected the call to arms over and over in his room one Saturday. He did it rather well. “That’s what you get for trying to dunk my mom!’
Eyes shut against the water running down his face, he laughed then whispered, “That’s not all I want to do to her.”
Heat unfurled inside her and she grew keenly aware of being held in his arms. Of the flirtiness of his words. Of how good his lips had felt on hers several nights before.
Rayne tried to ignore the feelings stirring inside her and turned her head to see her son darting toward the azalea bushes. Smart boy. He was taking cover.
Brent seemed content to hold her. Her hands were still locked behind his neck in a death clasp. She could feel his heart beating right next to her breast. Something more than heat fluttered inside her. She looked up at the man that a mere week ago she’d sworn to despise.
Something shifted. It was that feeling she got when doing a jigsaw puzzle. Like when she slid one big blob of linked pieces over to another big blob of pieces, and then suddenly she could see where they linked and matched up. A revelation.
Brent’s gaze met hers, and she caught her breath at the expression in his eyes. Water droplets dripped from his dark brows and rivulets of water streamed down his face, but his ice-blue eyes seemed almost…serene.
