Page 20 of Takes Two to Tango

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 hours ago at Brent’s house? The man hadn't seemed too bothered by all her squeezing.

Same old Brent.

This wasn't jealousy rearing its ugly head. Rayne just refused to play the role she'd created years ago. She and Brent would share no secret looks, make no private jokes. They weren't friends. They weren't anything.

So she 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, you 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 plant 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 flipped him and gave him the same treatment.

"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 would leave 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 ofstarting it."

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