Page 51 of Takes Two to Tango

Then, obeying his own gut instinct, he turned, and pushed out the door.

His watch read ten thirty-seven, and the moon still cast a glow on the quiet beauty of the night. Any other time he'd hurry to his office, plop into his chair, and crank out a few more words on the scene he'd been fleshing out. But he didn't hurry down the steps. Instead he stood in the night and sucked in a deep breath.

He could smell the sharp scent of earth unfurling. Spring had arrived and with it a great possibility for change. He loved the smell of daffodils and new growth. A beginning.

He felt Rayne at the screen door behind him.

"Night, Rayne Cloud," he said, using one of the childhood nicknames he'd given her.

''Night, Hambone."

It was not the name she'd given him.

It was the name the cheerleaders had.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

AWEEK LATER, RAYNE STILL hadn't resolved where she was heading with Brent. And she still hadn't heard from her agent. So no progress there. But things were progressing nicely with the inn. Brent had stopped work on the porches for a few days in order to finish another job. It had given her a temporary reprieve from his presence but not from the desire that sat hot and heavy in her belly. He was a Krispy Kreme doughnut and she was a dieter. The more she tried not to think about him, the more she did. So she kept busy trying to not think. Instead, Rayne focused on doing. The result was a completed menu for the inn, a first draft of the new cookbook, and a new website ready to go live when the inn reopened for business.

They had three weeks until the magazine writer's visit, and they still had much to accomplish. Today Brent had returned to paint both porches. Which meant, of course, she kept looking out the window or going to check the mail... and the male. She was no better than the single gals down at Cooley's honky-tonk. Or the viperous Brandi, who'd hired Brent for personal eye candy.

She tore her gaze from the window and examined the parlor critically.

“Let’s try the sofa under the window. I think it will balance the room," Rayne said, motioning the two teenagers holding the large piece of furniture. They shot each other a look. It was a long-suffering look. She shrugged. They'd only moved it three times. She was helping them build muscles. Plus, they'd gotten out of school with the career shadowing program. Lifting a couch was better than doing calculus, wasn't it?

"Rayne, you know everything about running a restaurant, but I'm not sure you're great at decorating," Aunt Fran said, surveying the room with a critical eye.

Rayne felt herself bristle, but then realized her aunt was absolutely correct. ''But this is our project. I don't want to call in a designer."

Aunt Fran shook her head, making her silver-streaked brown bob ripple. "We don't have to call in a designer. Let's ask Dawn if she'll come take a look. You should see what she's done to Tucker House. Not to mention, the bungalow she and her husband remodeled actually landed a page inSouthern Living."

Rayne raised her eyebrows. “Wow.”

"Yes, all us backwoods folks don't have cotton for brains." Aunt Frances left the room and returned with a ragtag address book stuffed with note cards and scraps of paper. Rayne was certain her aunt had had the same one when she lived here years ago. Some things didn't change, which was oddly comforting.

"Whoever implied you were backwoods or cottonbrained? I happen to know Grandmother Rose was from Chicago, and you scored the highest in your class on your college admission test." Rayne motioned the two high school seniors to the kitchen where delicious zucchini bread rested on the baking rack. A glass of milk and three pieces later, she sent them outside to help Brent haul away the lumber scraps and rotten boards. By thetime she'd made it to the parlor, Aunt Frances had moved a side table to sit between two wingback chairs. "Dawn is going out of town tomorrow and said she'd pop by in about thirty minutes."

"If it's too much trouble..." Rayne narrowed her eyes at the newly arranged seating. Something wasn't right.

"Nope, she's taking her car to get the oil changed and said she'd swing by."

Rayne shrugged and went and made coffee.

An hour later, the coffee was gone and the room looked incredible.

"I like the way the chintz looks against the soft gold of the wall. Warm and inviting. I'll whip up a few throw pillows in a toile and paisley when I get back from Houston," Dawn said, nudging the sofa an inch more to the right so that it was perfectly centered across from the hearth. Her hair was gathered into a low ponytail and she wore a navy short-sleeved sweater set with a trim pair of plaid pants. A silver cuff on one slender arm along with a pair of Brighton wedges gave her a Town & Country appearance. But there was nothing remote or snooty in her warm smile.

"It's odd," Rayne said, wrapping several pieces of zucchini bread in waxed paper for Dawn's husband. "We shoved this furniture all over the room and couldn't figure it out. But you step inside and whamo! you knew exactly where to place it."

"Sometimes it takes an outside person to see what ought to be," Dawn said picking up her purse and surveying the room with a satisfied gleam in her eye. She gave Aunt Frances a small squeeze before heading for the door. "And I'll be glad to serve the outside person role anytime. Tyson might start hiring me out if I come home with treats like this. He'll mow through this bread in seconds. Thanks."

"You're welcome-" Rayne's words were interrupted by a crash on the front porch.

All three of them spun toward the door.

"What the-" Aunt Frances said, her hand clasped to her chest.

A really dirty word and a tinny thump served as a finale to the crash that had shaken the house.

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