Page 15 of Takes Two to Tango

Brent's deep voice came from behind her. She spun on the stool to see him standing before Henry holding a book aloft.

"A book?" Henry sounded a bit disappointed, but wasn't rude enough to let it show.

"Yeah," Brent said, squatting down and thumping the book. She could make out a boy holding a bat on the front. "This one is about a boy named Charlie who finds out he's really good at pitching, and, get this, he only has one arm."

Henry took the book and studied the cover. "How's he do that with one arm?"

"Guess you'll have to read and find out," Brent said, standing and looking at her. "All right with you, Mom? Maybe a sports book might be better than, what was the one you were reading? A talking mouse?"

Henry's eyes never left the book. "Yeah, a dumb talking mouse."

Rayne shook her head and smiled. "Well, what do you say, Henry?"

"Hank," Henry said before grinning up at Brent. ''Thank you, Mr. Hamilton. I mean, Coach."

"You're welcome," Brent said, tousling her son's hair.

Seeing Brent touch her son in such a warm, almost fatherly manner did funny things to Rayne's heart. She wished Henry still had a father to play ball with, to receive books from, to grin up at. She missed that for him. “So get to reading. You've got practice in an hour. Can he catch a ride with you, Brent? I've got to finish a few things here."

Henry waited for Brent's nod before hauling out of the room like the devil was on his heels, clutching the book and tripping over his untied shoelace.

Rayne looked at Brent. Her heart still harbored resentment, but she felt the block of ice around it melt a bit. Nothing like being generous to her boy to move her toward a better place. "Thanks. That was nice of you."

"No problem." Then he smiled, causing her heart to cartwheel in her chest. Damn it. She had to stop thinking about his smile, his naked chest, the thought of being literally tangled up in him. The man had hurt her. Remember the Alamo. Or rather, the Oak Stand Literary Night 2008.

She moved toward the stove, picked up a wooden spoon and her control over her hormones. The soup looked perfect, nice and tomatoe-y. Rich and creamy. Her taste buds rioted for a little nip. She ignored them and instead added the chopped basil sitting on a cutting board beside the range. "So you happened to have a kid's book lying around?"

She saw his hand move toward one of the muffins and smiled. Men. Boys. They all were alike. Hungry. "Well, I like all kinds of books."

"Yeah, I saw the Debbie Macomber on the shelf. And, yes, you can have a muffin."

'"Thanks," he said, cramming it into his mouth. "Mmm. I like these. Oh, and that was my mom's book. Don't know how it got on my shelf."

"But a kid's book?"

He licked his fingers and made her think of things other than food. "Well, I coach kids. The lessons in those books relate to kids. Or something like that."

"Oh. Well, thanks for letting Henry borrow one."

"He can keep that copy. I have a few others, so if he likes that one, he can borrow another."

She stirred the soup, scooping enough to taste, and slipped the spoon in her mouth. It needed a pinch more sea salt and then she could dish it upf or Meg and Aunt Fran to sample. "That's nice of you."

"I can be a nice guy. Sometimes."

Rayne looked over her shoulder. "I remember."

"Yeah," he said, grabbing a paper towel and wiping his hands. "I gotta run. Tell your aunt I'll be back in the morning. Early this time because I got some work to do at the Harpers' in the afternoon. Send Hank over in about thirty, okay?"

Then he stepped out the back door before she could say anything else. Before she could remember how nice he'd once been. How sweet and vulnerable. So different than what others thought about him. And at one time so absolutely perfect for her.

She washed her hands and allowed the memories to follow the water right down the drain. It was easier that way.

BRENT JOGGED TO HIS PARENTS'house to let Apple out and realized he'd forgotten and left her asleep on his bed. After grabbing their mail and stacking it on the counter and riffling through the too-thinOak Stand Gazette,he hurried across the backyard, thinking about the repercussions of handing Henry one of his earlier books. He hadn't thought about it seeming strange that he'd have copies of a children's book lying about his house. He'd thought only of finding something Henry would actually enjoy reading, something that would hook him and have him turning pages.

Lucky he could think fast on his feet. It was a good ability to have.

Apple trotted up to him, carrying a decorative pillow she'd capriciously ripped apart. Fluffy white clouds covered his rug.Damn it. "Apple, you dumbass dog. I ought to punt you to Houston, you stupid mutt."

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