Page 62 of Takes Two to Tango

Then his father left the kitchen, taking his tea with him. Brent shrugged. "Guess that didn't go very well."

Donna returned his shrug. "Your father is a complex man. He'll come to accept it in time. He's always wanted so much for you. Maybe too much. But, Brent, he loves you. Never doubt that."

His mother whistled for Apple and gave him a light kiss on the cheek before disappearing into the den where her husband had likely gone to sulk. Or brood. Or perhaps watch the Rangers who were playing the Tampa Bay Rays.

Brent stared at the empty fruit bowl on the counter a moment before leaving. It could have gone better. Or it could have gone worse. Either way, he knew he'd taken the first step toward claiming himself.

He had more steps to take, including making Rayne see he was ready to be the man she needed.

But one move at a time.

He crossed the yard toward his small house. He needed to work up a new speech for the banquet. Something to reveal the man he now was. It was time. More than time.

A horrid smell filled his nose as he stepped onto his porch. He looked down at his tennis shoe. Dog poop caked the bottom.

Crap.

Literally.

Not the step he wanted to take. He jumped from the porch and headed to a thick patch of grass to scrape the mess from his shoes, hoping this wasn't an omen.

Lord, he prayed it wasn't an omen.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

BRENT WATCHED AS HENRY cranked back and swung the bat. His delivery was naturally graceful, and the ball pinged against the metal before sailing over the second baseman's head and rolling into the outfield. Henry flew around first base, never breaking stride as he took second and headed toward where Brent coached third base. His eyes had searched Brent's as soon as his foot hit the second base. The boy played heads-up ball.

It was the top of the fifth inning and the Warriors were up by nine runs. If he sent Henry home, the game would be over by the ten-run rule. So he held him up. It was too pretty a day to end the game so early.

Warmer weather had played hide-and-seek all spring long in the South, darting across a few days, baking them in warmth, then disappearing again, causing everyone to hunt for sweats to pull on. But this afternoon was warmer than the past few days, and Brent enjoyed the heat of the sun on his shoulders.

Henry shot him a smile and delivered some knucks.

"Good hit, bud," Brent said, glad to see Henry showed no ill effects from having been left at school the day before yesterday. In fact, he seemed back to himself. Thank God.

The bat cracked again. Brent waved Henry home, and the game ended.

Brent watched as Rayne's son celebrated with the rest of the team. The Warriors remained undefeated and there was general consensus among the boys that this could be theyear they took the city championship. Brent didn't want to focus only on the cutthroat competition for first place, but he was proud of them all the same. They were a good team and having Henry aboard had rounded them out.

A tender something moved in his chest at the thought of Rayne’s son. He was certain it was pride, though he wasn't sure he was entitled to it.

The boy was an incredible athlete, but there was much more to him. A bone-tickling sense of humor, a sweet vulnerability, and a thirst for someone to love him.

Brent walked to the pitching machine and unhooked it to store in the equipment shed. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Rayne stand and gather her camp chair and a small cooler.

She looked as lovely as the rose he often compared her to. Deceptively soft as satin with a protection designed to leave a person wondering how he'd come away with a prick of blood.

He dashed his once again too-poetic thoughts as he wheeled the machine down the first base line.

He and Rayne had not spoken since she'd grabbed her purse, twisted her tangled hair into a ponytail, and hurried to the school to pick up Henry. Usually, he had no problem not seeing a woman after he'd slept with her, but this felt different with Rayne. Maybe because of Henry. Or maybe because of the feelings he’d carried for so long for his neighbor.

He’d never callously used women in the past - he always made sure they understood what he was willing to give. Obviously, he'd failed with Tamara, who he'd not seen since the night he'd stepped in it at Cooley's. Damned messy.

But making love with Rayne had been exactly that to him. Making love, a first time for him. And he didn’t want it to be the last time. He wanted Rayne for keeps.

Henry, too.

And that thought scared the socks off him.

---