A taste of texas, p.12
A Taste of Texas, page 12
She trailed off. Damn, she wanted to go back to the inn. Snuggle with Henry and watch a Harry Potter movie. Whip up a batch of popcorn.
Nellie gave Kate a slight shake of her head before turning back to Rayne. “So I hear Brent’s doing work on your aunt’s bed-and-breakfast. He did the kitchen in Tucker House. Did a good job.”
It was an open invitation to discuss a myriad of things—the renovation of the inn, her reason for being in Oak Stand and Brent’s role in all of the above. But Rayne didn’t want to talk about Brent any longer. This whole night was too much and she was tired of pretending to enjoy it. “Lots of conversations start with I hear around here, don’t they? Like people don’t have anything better to do.”
“I’m sorry, Rayne. I wasn’t prying. Just trying to shift the conversation away from something that obviously made you uncomfortable. Another thing we are polite enough to do around here.” Nellie lifted her chin.
Touché.
It was Rayne’s turn to feel like crap. “I’m sorry. I feel like an ass. Not used to standing around chatting. I’m used to running a kitchen. No one questions me.”
Nellie flashed a gracious smile. “That must be nice. All I get are questions all day long from Mae.” Nellie’s voice assumed the plaintive whine of a toddler. “‘Momma, why can’t I have jelly beans for lunch?’ Or, ‘Momma, what’s that fat man eating?’ All day long, questions, questions, questions.”
Kate wrinkled her nose. “I think all kids should be shipped off to boarding school at age three and then brought back when they can carry on a semi-intelligent conversation. Say, about eighteen years old?”
“Oh, you do not,” Nellie said.
“Well, don’t tell me there aren’t days you don’t wish you could pack that chattering three-year-old off to camp or something? She’s got more to say than a preacher. Or a lawyer. Or a late-night talk show host.”
Nellie laughed. “She is precocious.”
“You think?” Kate smiled, making it obvious she respected the chatty Mae Darby.
Meg reappeared and lowered her voice. “So how much longer we gotta stay here? I nearly got hives when they started talking about cracked nipples.”
Kate’s mouth twitched. “I think I’m in love with your assistant, Rayne. Can she come over and play sometime?”
Meg gave Kate a droll look. “You know, of course, that I’m not a lesbian?”
Kate snickered. “You’re too funny. Bubba had lots to say about your being very heterosexual.”
Nellie looked like she’d swallowed a fish and snapped, “Big mouth!”
Meg lifted a well-shaped eyebrow over one kohl-rimmed eye. “Oh, so Bubba likes to kiss and tell, huh? Better make sure I give him something really good for next time. Just so you gals can live vicariously.”
Kate looked at Nellie. “See? I love this girl.”
Brandi floated back their way, her lapdog Stacy right on her heels. Kate gritted her teeth.
Brandi laid a perfectly manicured hand on Nellie’s arm. A diamond bracelet glittered in the track lighting over the mantel. “So glad you could stop by, Nellie. Oh, and you brought Katie. Never a party without her.”
Kate’s smile could have shattered glass. “Says the Kappa Sigma keg stand champion of 1998.”
Brandi forced a laugh. “Still bitter I beat your time?”
Kate showed her teeth again. “Nah, it was a perfect record to set on the Girls Gone Wild video. You look good upside down.”
“Meow,” Meg murmured, drawing a nervous laugh from Nellie.
Kate merely shrugged one shoulder. “You know we like to have fun with each other. Wouldn’t be a party without a little scratching and biting.”
Brandi nodded and flashed a smile as brittle as her colored hair. “So I heard Brent mentioned over here. What’s new with our favorite boy toy? You playing with him, Rayne?”
“Playing with him?” Rayne asked. When had Brent become merely a toy? She knew what people thought of him, and maybe he’d not done a good job of dissuading them from their beliefs, but it seemed a little unfair that he be whittled down to something so insignificant as the whip-thin viper’s plaything.
Brandi raised her eyebrows. “Can’t say I’d blame you. I hired him to build an arbor by the pool just so I could ogle him while he worked.”
Kate whistled. “Desperate much?”
Rayne felt irritation gather inside her. Though she knew Brent was perfectly drool-worthy, she also knew he was so much more. That very afternoon, he’d patiently explained base-stealing to Henry when she knew he needed to get over to Justus Mitchell’s house for some repair work. He’d also continued building birdhouses for the retirement home. The trees outside the kindergarteners’ windows at Oak Stand Elementary held four or five squirrel feeders he’d constructed. He gave his time to coach Little League and took a seven-year-old on his first picnic, earning himself a citation in the process.
Why did everyone in Oak Stand have him only filling the slot of town skirt chaser? When they looked at him, was that all they saw?
Then she felt guilt flood her. Hadn’t she called him a man whore recently? Hadn’t she put him in that slot, too? She wasn’t any better than Brandi, Stacy or the rest of the women, clinging to the assertion that Brent Hamilton was good for a couple of things—construction and seduction. Rayne felt ashamed she wasn’t prepared to let him be anything other than what his reputation said he was.
“I don’t have to be desperate, Katie. I like distractions. That’s all.” Brandi patted Kate’s shoulder then sauntered off to torture someone else. Her favorite target bobbed off behind her, throwing a cheery wave.
“Bye, Stacy,” Nellie said, shaking her head. “Poor woman doesn’t realize Brandi isn’t a true friend.”
“Quite the opposite. She’s a menace,” Kate said, popping a cracker in her mouth. “But she’s right about ol’ Brent. He does look good building things.”
“Stop,” Rayne said, shaking her head. “Everyone treats him like he’s nothing more than some hunk of meat.”
“He went through my underwear drawer,” Nellie said absentmindedly.
“What?” Meg stifled a choking noise similar to the one Rayne had made earlier.
“When he was working on Tucker House several years ago he went through my underwear drawer.”
Rayne actually took a step backward. “No. That’s… that’s—”
“Perverted?” Meg filled in. “Hey, I like a little perversion but that borders on sick.”
Rayne shook her head. “No way. Why would he do that?”
Nellie shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s just, well, I know my lingerie wasn’t the way I’d left it. I’m particular about my panty order.”
Kate laughed. “You’re particular about everything. I’m sure undies are no exception.”
Rayne didn’t know what to say. This was why so many persisted in believing the worst of Brent. Pawing through a woman’s underwear? Why? It didn’t sit right with her. There was no way he’d done something so bizarre. If he’d wanted to see underwear, there were plenty of women around town willing to model theirs.
“There’s some logical reason. Did you ask him?” Rayne set the empty glass on a coaster and crossed her arms. She felt defensive. She didn’t doubt Nellie, but she couldn’t believe such a thing.
“Well, I didn’t ask. I accused,” Nellie said, now looking a bit sheepish, as though she wished she hadn’t brought it up. Too late. “But he played it down. Said he liked the red ones. He didn’t deny it.”
Something that felt close to pain ripped through Rayne. Here she was ready to chastise all of Oak Stand for treating Brent as less than what he was, and he’d done something so…weird. “I don’t know. It doesn’t seem like him. I can’t believe he’d be so twisted.”
Nellie gave her a gentle smile. “Maybe, but then again you’re a bit biased. You’ve always seen him differently than the rest of us have. It could be a good thing, but then again, it could be dangerous.”
Rayne felt tears clog her throat. Nellie’s words hurt, and once again, she found herself doubting the man who’d held her so tenderly in his arms a mere two days ago in the town square. Had she picked up the blinders she’d always worn where Brent was concerned? Had she set them on a shelf fifteen years ago and now they were dusted and ready to view him in the light she preferred? Was she once again building him in her mind so big that she’d be unable to see his obvious flaws from her place at his feet?
Maybe she was the biggest idiot in Texas.
Maybe, once again, Brent had her under his spell.
But maybe everyone was wrong about him.
“Seeing people differently is not a bad thing. People in this town tend to put labels on others without giving them the benefit of the doubt. I never wanted to be that way.”
“Gotta respect a lady who thinks outside the box. No one likes to be stereotyped,” Kate said.
Something flashed in Nellie’s eyes. “You know, I never liked being the poor little rich girl, the girl who always did the right thing. Maybe you’re right, Rayne. Maybe Brent doesn’t like being who he is.”
Rayne looked Nellie right in the eye. “I’ll agree with you on that.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
THE COOL SPRING BREEZE whipped through the stands surrounding the baseball field, hurling empty soda cups to the concrete below and stirring up the yellow pollen coating the bright blue bleachers. Several fans sneezed as the Oak Stand Warriors took the field.
Rayne cheered as Henry ran out and took his place at shortstop. Aunt Frances blew an air horn.
Everyone jumped. One woman screamed.
“Sorry,” Aunt Frances said, sporting a Warriors T-shirt that said Hank’s Aunt on the back.
Rayne gave her son a thumbs-up sign. It was his first game and he’d earned the privilege of playing when he brought home signed papers showing significant improvement along with a computer printout that relayed he’d scored a nine out of ten points on his accelerated reading test. Rayne had been stunned. Henry had given her a told-you-so shrug and said, “I didn’t like dumb ol’ talking animal books, but I can do good on the ones about sports.”
She’d hugged him, after correcting his incorrect adverb usage of course, and let him eat one of the Pop-Tarts Brent had sent over for him via Meg.
“Oh, he looks so little,” Aunt Frances said, waving at Henry. Her son gave a quick wave and then focused on the batter lining up at the plate. A bright blue pitching machine whirred on the pitcher’s mound. A coach from the other team stood behind it and began threading balls into the slot. Brent emerged from the dugout, tugged the batter out of the way and crouched to catch the balls. He was making certain the strike zone was right.
Brent wore a red-and-black coach’s shirt that declared he was Coach Brent on the back. All the parents wore the red shirts with the black battle-axes crossed on the front beneath the word Warriors. His shirt looked much better on him than Rayne’s did on her. Wearing battle-axes was so not her thing.
As the thunk of the ball hit Brent’s glove, Rayne wondered for the tenth or eleventh time about him going through Nellie’s panties.
She was afraid to ask him, but more afraid not to ask.
What right did she have anyway? And what would it even mean to him if she asked about his reasons for digging through a woman’s panty drawer? She thought about the night she’d kissed him and brushed against his pajama pants just to play with him. Just to gain the upper hand with him. Then she thought about the day at the fountain when everything had shifted and she’d fallen into the infatuation she’d always had with him. Why was she moving in his direction? Why was she tempting him? Flirting with him? Letting him back inside her heart?
Was it fate? Or perhaps she simply wanted to get naked with him and call it a day? Or was there something more.
She suspected the latter, but was afraid to explore it too much. Afraid to label her feelings. And Rayne liked to label everything. She liked a plan, a path and a goal. But outside of her career, which hung in the balance, she had no idea about what to do with the burgeoning feelings she had for the man standing in the huddle of little boys giving a pep talk.
Confused was the word of the day. Who was she kidding? It was the word of the year. She felt bewildered about everything. Her career. Her relationship with Brent. Her new fondness for Pop-Tarts. Yes, she’d polished off the last two in the box and then hid the evidence from Meg. She knew she’d never live it down that she’d eaten chemically injected pastries if Meg found out. Not after she’d forced her assistant to throw out the Halloween candy last year.
Meg stood with Bubba Malone alongside the chain-link fence skirting the ball field. Rayne had never seen a couple look so misfit as those two. Bubba wore unlaced construction boots, stained jeans and a well-washed T-shirt. A ball cap faded from the sun sat backward on his head. He’d shaved his scruffy beard into a neat goatee that suited him much better. Meg wore a long skirt, a tight Ramones T-shirt and, of course, her patent leather combat boots. Her nose ring caught the sunlight just right.
Yet the two looked content to merely stand next to one another. No words. No forced conversation. No confusion. Simply being.
A referee clad in protective armor took up residence behind the plate and the game began. Good defensive play had the Warriors running to their dugout after a three up, three down inning. The parents cheered as if it were the World Series.
“Do you think Henry will get a hit?” Aunt Frances asked as Henry sauntered to the batter’s box. “I think they should let them bat until they hit the ball. I hate this whole ‘out’ thing.”
Rayne laughed. “That’s how you play baseball, Aunt Fran.”
“I’m not sure it’s good for their self-esteem.”
“You sound like Glenna,” Rayne said, deliberately drawing the comparison between Frances and her sister. Rayne’s mother was so very different than her aunt, but somehow they shared a gentleness in their nature. A demand for things to be just.
“I’m not like her at all,” Frances said before letting loose with the air horn again.
The front row ducked and a baby started crying. Several fans glared at her aunt. “Y’all were raised by the same parents. Merely pointing that out.”
“That doesn’t mean a thing. You’re nothing like Summer.”
Rayne smiled. Her sister was a fireball with a flair for drama. Yes, Summer was a bit over-the-top. “I’m a little like her.”
“Maybe,” her aunt conceded, “but don’t lump me in with that crazy hippy.”
Rayne laughed. “Okay, but you are a crazy fan.”
They both let the conversation rest as Henry pulled the bat over his shoulder and crouched in his hitting stance. Brent stood behind the pitching machine and directed Henry, moving him first forward than backward, closer to the plate then back again. Finally, when Henry was in the exact same spot he’d started in, Brent dropped the ball.
And Henry swung.
The ball connected and went sailing…right over the fence.
The crowd erupted as her son dropped the bat to the ground and took his jog around the bases. Rayne stood and clapped as Aunt Fran unleashed the air horn yet again. No one seemed to mind this time.
Brent’s eyes met hers from across the field. He mouthed, “Wow.”
And just like that, Rayne knew Nellie had been very wrong. Most of Oak Stand had been very wrong. Brent wasn’t a gigolo looking to get into every girl’s pants. He wasn’t some dumb jock with multiple passing records. He wasn’t perverted, irresponsible or callous. He wasn’t what he was painted to be at all.
She didn’t know exactly how she knew it. She simply did. And she wasn’t ready to put to words what she knew him to be exactly. But right then, she was content to believe Brent was better than everyone had given him credit for.
But she still wanted to know about the panties. For good measure.
Her son crossed home plate and his team met him for a good old-fashioned dog pile. Brent jogged toward the dugout entrance for some knucks. Henry’s smile could run the town on its wattage. He ducked his head under all the praise, but the smile stayed.
A crazy bubble of joy rose in Rayne.
“I think I want some nachos,” she murmured to Aunt Frances. “With extra jalepeños.”
Aunt Fran stopped clapping and stared at her. “What did you say?”
Rayne laughed. “I’m going to get nachos. You want something?”
“You’re going to let people see you eat processed cheese? This isn’t Pop-Tarts in the closet. We’re in public.” Aunt Fran didn’t meet her eyes. Instead she gave Henry a fist pump.
Rayne blinked before waving to her glowing son and mimicking Aunt Fran with the fist pump gesture. “How’d you know?”
“I found the foil wrappers. You can’t fool me, Rayne Rose.”
“Guess I never could,” she said, grabbing her wallet from the depths of her purse and fishing out a twenty-dollar bill.
Aunt Frances pushed a curl from Rayne’s face. “You know, sometimes what you think is bad for you turns out to be good.”
Rayne frowned. “You’re not talking about Pop-Tarts or nachos, are you?”
Aunt Frances gave her a wink. “You always were a smart girl.”
Rayne rolled her eyes and slid out from the bleachers. She waved to Stacy and Brandi, who’d had the foresight to bring camp chairs. She’d written them each a thank-you note for her welcome-home party, but would stop by after the game to make another personal gesture of appreciation, even if she didn’t care for them much. Being nice meant keeping their boys from pestering Henry. She looked out at the field of play and caught Brent’s glance as the new batter stepped to the plate. He winked.
