Page 6 of Takes Two to Tango

Rayne shrugged. "It's Texas. It's always hot."

"When it's not cold." Her aunt laughed and sank onto the pew beside her. Aunt Frances’ faded brown hair fell just to her shoulders and always smelled of roses. Rayne caught the scent on the April breeze and it calmed her.

"I don't want to forget about the loaves of honey oat bread. They can't bake too long," Rayne said, wondering why she constantly “remembered" out loud. Bad habit left over from her childhood.

"Mmm."

"Avery Long's oldest boy is going to help me clear the area for the vegetable garden tomorrow. But I need to get those weeds pulled. Can you keep an eye on Henry?"

''Oh, you meanHank?"Aunt Frances’ eyes danced with amusement.

Rayne sighed. "Guess I've got something new to fight, huh?”

"He's a stubborn mule, that boy. Good trait to have, though. Get him far in life."

''Maybe so," Rayne said. "We've got Brent Hamilton to thank for that little gem."

Her aunt smiled. "Brent, huh? You two were thick as thieves when you were younger. Always made me smile to see you two together. Come to think of it, that man might be what the doctor ordered, Rayne. He's got medicine that's cured a lot of gals round here."

Rayne flinched. "You're talking about the man whore of Oak Stand? No, thank you.”

Aunt Frances smiled. "Always been partial to man whores myself. Know what you get."

"I'd rather chew glass than mess with him. He's overrated.”

Her aunt cocked her head. "You know this from experience?"

She wished. Kind of. She and Brent had never had a chance to explore anything other than sweet kisses paired with unbridled teenage lust. "Not really. But that ship sailed long ago. Disappeared into the Bermuda Triangle. Sunk by pirates. Chopped up for firewood."

Aunt Frances gave her that look. The one that said,baloney."Okay. But I wouldn't mind running my flag up his mast and I'm sixty-eight."

"And a very sick woman."

They both laughed. And it felt good. Rayne had wondered if she’d nearly lost the ability. The past few months she'd beenfaltering, taking a step in one direction only to doubt herself and backtrack. It wasn't like her. To not have a clear vision.

"I've got to get to work. This yard won't clear itself, and we're already behind on getting things planted." Rayne stood, slipped the apron over her head and tucked it beneath her arm. "Have the painters called? We need them on the job tomorrow if we're going to have the inn ready by the middle of May."

Her aunt pursed her lips. "About the painters. Well, they went to Houston for some kind of dirt track race. I'm not sure we can rely on them."

Rayne closed her eyes and counted to ten. Her aunt moved at a different speed. The whole town moved at a different speed. She had to remember she wasn't in Austin. She was in Oak Stand. "Well,Ican't paint the house, Aunt Fran. Tell Meg to call in professionals. She has a list, I'm sure. We can't allow Susan Lear to waltz through the door to substandard accommodations. Her article is the key to a successful launch. I pulled strings to get this feature inBon Tempmagazine."

The Tulip Hill Bed and Breakfast, her aunt's well-established but slightly faded business, was being transformed into Serendipity Inn, a Rayne Rose exclusive getaway, part of Serendipity Enterprises. But there was much work to do before they could open the doors. Rayne had brought her assistant, Meg Lang, with her, but Meg had been bogged down with traveling back and forth from Austin overseeing the restaurant and the new project. No one else was assisting. Serendipity Inn was a family project and very much on the down-low. Still, her aunt had insisted on using locals to spiff up the inn. The economy had been hard all over, but especially in small town America. Aunt Frances wanted to help the people of Oak Stand. Only problem was some of the people of Oak Stand didn't want to help them.

Her aunt nodded. "No problem. I'll take care of getting new painters. Someone will be here tomorrow morning. You take care of the garden, the kitchen, and the menu. Meg will help me with the rest."

Her aunt disappeared, entering the house the same way she'd emerged. With a bang.

Rayne slumped onto the bench. Why had she agreed to this?

Of course, re-creating the bed and breakfast had seemed like a brilliant idea months ago. After twelve years of slaving like a dog to build her career, the thought of reworking the bed and breakfast seemed exciting and restful at the same time. A sort of sabbatical with purpose. Something about heraunt's calming touch and sitting on the front porch swing while viewing paint and fabric samples had sounded right. Rayne needed the comfort of her loving aunt, some privacy, and a change for Henry.

But now she wasn't so sure.

Maybe it was being in a place bathed in memories. Or maybe it was seeing Brent. Or perhaps it was the fact she felt so not herself sitting on a pew in her aunt's backyard. So not like the woman she'd become.

Rayne Rose Albright was successful beyond all expectation with aNew York Timesbestselling cookbook, a restaurant that repeatedly made top ten lists, and a possible deal on the bubble at the Food Network. She even had her own line of ruffled aprons in production with an up and coming Austin designer.

A lot of good it did her. Not when she could barely crawl out of bed some mornings. Not when her child chewed holes in his shirts for fear of being lost or left behind. Not when crazed fans penned weird letters and showed up on her front doorstep. What good was money, fame, success?

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