Page 28 of Takes Two to Tango

Deirdre tooted the horn and the Suburban pulled away with a chorus of "Byes" in its wake.

He brushed an errant leaf from his pants and turned around. He half expected Rayne to be standing there with a disapproving frown and a smart-assed comment But she wasn't. It was twelve forty-eight in the morning and she was likely fast asleep in the house to his left. He trudged toward the gate that led to his house, noticing that his parents' yard needed cutting already and that the cat had killed another field mouse and left it in the driveway.

As he pulled the gate open, a fluttering above him caught his eye. He looked up and caught sight of Rayne in the window. She stared at him for a moment before disappearing.

He shook his head and stared down at the two rubbers he held in his hand.

Fat chance of needing either one of them any time soon.

CHAPTER EIGHT

“SO YOU WANNA TELL ME AGAIN what we're doing here?" Meg asked Rayne as she picked up a spotted cherry tomato and tossed it into a plastic sack filled with other similarly blighted fruits.

"We're culling the bad fruit from the good," Rayne said, studying the plump fruit she'd purchased from a farmer outside of Tyler, Texas, earlier that day. The farmer's market had been a lovely find. When she managed to circumnavigate all the obligatory rosebushes for sale, she found a sprinkling of homegrown vegetables paving the way for more variety as the spring progressed. She'd even scored some lavender-infused honey.

"Oh, yeah?" her assistant said, wiping her hands on the damp flour sack towel beside the sink. "Because it feels like some kind of weird back-to-the-future thing."

Rayne made a face. "What do you mean?"

''This." Meg waved a hand around the kitchen. Her fingernails were painted turquoise and she wore a pair of striped purple tights with a black puffy skirt and tight ballet-style top. Rayne wondered how Meg picked out her outfits each morning.It was either with little thought or too much. Whenever she asked, Meg said it was a vibe.

''This is a kitchen," Rayne said.

"Yes, I have a brain. I meant Serendipity Inn. Henry. Brent."

"Brent?"

Meg blew out a breath. "I got eyes, sister. I see what's going on."

Rayne could feel irritation rise within. She was doing exactlynothingwith Brent. Her parting action several nights before had been rash, a way to gain control over the way he made her feel. Add that to the late night sighting outside her window - a drunk Brent and a SUV full of women - and she had plenty of reason to stay away from the simplistic ball of self-serving machismo. His bad-boy grin may have made her knees weak when she'd been sixteen, but as a grown woman she could fight against the feelings he stirred in her. "Nothing going on, Megan."

"When you use my real name, I know I've hit a nerve."

For a moment the kitchen fell silent. The only noise reaching Rayne's ears was the sound of Brent's hammer on the front porch followed by the whine of a table saw. He was nearly done repairing the rotted boards. He'd start sanding soon.

"Seriously, why aren't we in Austin talking to a real estate agent about scoring us a pad in Manhattan? The network would be stupid to pass up the idea for the show. It's brilliant. Rayne, this has been your dream, our dream, for the past few years and it feels like you're losing focus with this inn project. This feels wrong," Meg said, sliding onto a stool and contemplating her iPhone.

Meg could rearrange a schedule, scold the back of house, and plan a menu all at the same time. No one could line up people and events the way Meg could. She'd stepped right into Phillip's shoes without blinking. Rayne didn't know what she'd do without the woman she'd hired right out of the University ofTexas, the girl no one else would give a job to because she looked different and had a colorful past that included a stint in rehab.

But as much as Rayne respected Meg, it didn't mean that her assistant knew what was right for her.

"I made this decision based on many things. I'm worried about Henry. And Aunt Frances is not getting any younger. I don't want her scrambling to make ends meet. My success can help her.” Rayne finished culling the tomatoes and tied the handles of the plastic bag together. She'd deliver the unworthy fruit to the compost bin Brent had hastily constructed for her the day before. By the fall, she should have a nice rich layer of soil ready for the winter garden. Of course, she wouldn't be here in the fall so what did it matter. "It doesn't matter if it feels wrong to you. It feels right to me."

Meg narrowed her gaze, causing her smooth forehead to crinkle. She tapped her chin. "So I guess I shouldn't point out that Aunt Fran could sell this house and live nicely on the profits? And her dear niece has plenty of money to resettle her adored aunt into a nice retirement community without a yard to mow and planned activities like golf and bingo. And Henry is seven years old. Every kid that age has fears. Methinks this a diversionary tactic. Like you're afraid to move forward."

More than irritation bubbled within her. She didn't need Meg pointing out the fact she currently floundered around with no true direction. Shewouldgain control and move forward. Soon.

The past weekend she'd gone to Austin to check on the restaurant and do a Saturday morning cooking show. She'd talked to her agent and expected word on the network deal by the first of next week. Two weeks at the latest. Maybe three. The thought of not getting the offer made her stomach hurt, but there was little she could do about it. So she was taking steps in a direction. Even if she didn't know if it was the right one.

“First, I'm not afraid of my future. Just cautious. I have many people to think about. Henry. You. All my employees. It's not just me exploring a new venture. It's all of Rayne Rose Enterprises. I have to be sure," Rayne said, unwinding the band from her braid. She got a headache if she wore it too long. Or maybe Meg was giving her one.

"Fine. I'll shut up and do my job."

Meg's expression was unreadable. Rayne wasn't sure if her friend was giving up the battle or the war. Who knew with Meg? "Good. Agreeing with meispart of the job description."

Meg shook her head, slid off the stool, and headed toward the door. "No, my job is to keep you straight. Totally not the same thing."

"Are you going to pick up the extra fabric for the place mats?" Rayne asked, transferring the tomatoes to the sideboard beside the huge Viking stove. The cushions for the front porch rockers had been completed and Meg had the brilliant idea to use the excess fabric to make matching place mats for the table they'd use in the magazine spread. Dawn Hart, who currently served as a senior care center director, had once owned a furniture redesign center in Houston and still did extra work on the side. Work that was incredible. In fact, she was so good, Rayne had sent several antique armchairs to her workshop for refurbishment.

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