Page 75 of Takes Two to Tango

Dang it. The words were out of his mouth before he thought better of them. He didn't want Henry thinking about his mother not being there. He was worried enough about her fool self driving home when tornadoes were ripping across their part ofthe state. She had to be okay. Had to. Until she got home, he’d distract Henry, keep him safe.

Henry looked wistful for a moment before shrugging the feelings off and picking up the small cardboard box they'd placed the little squirrel in. He looked down at the big-eyed animal. "I know how you feel little guy. I miss my momma, too."

Brent patted Henry's shoulder. "She'll be back soon. Hey, the Yankees are looking for a new pitcher. You up for the task?"

Henry smiled. "I can't pitch for the pros. Yet."

Brent laughed. ''That's the spirit. Always expect you'll get where you want to go, Hank."

The boy looked down at the animal Brent had forbidden him to touch. Who knew if baby squirrels had rabies... or other diseases? "I'll tell you where I don't want to go. New York. Only thing good about that place is they get snow. I never got to build a snowman before."

The heart in Brent's chest constricted at the thought of Henry and Rayne living in New York. Without him. When had he gotten so damned attached? Oh, yeah. The day both of them walked into his backyard.

He sent Henry to his parents' porch with the box and instructions to set it on the table and pull the screen over the top to prevent hungry cats from finding a snack. Then he turned toward the large limb that had fallen onto the rope hammock, breaking the frame.

As he broke off the branches that snagged in the ropes, he heard Henry singing to the squirrel. It was the "Goodnight" song Rayne had always sung to him when they were young. The sound made his heart lighter.

He'd make things work with them. Somehow.

New York was the capital of the publishing business. Moving there wouldn't be a bad move. He could lunch with his agent, meet with his editor rather than having long telephoneconversations about revisions and visions for more books. He could write anywhere. He didn't really want to. He'd never loved city life the way many did. Didn't give a rat's ass about Starbucks on every corner, good martinis, or designer clothes. Hated the constant noise and congestion. And, hell, Central Park was always crowded with those stroller-pushing jogging nannies and homeless nutjobs looking to score some blow. At least that's how they portrayed it on TV.

He couldn't see himself there. Were there old men in feed stores to drink coffee with? Bass fishing with Talton and Bubba? Sunsets and sunrises that took the breath away? Crickets? Cows? Eight-dollar haircuts? Betty Monk's chess pie?

He didn't think so.

But surprisingly, after his parents and uncle met with Tyson Hart, they'd agreed to sell half the company to him. Their construction company was now Hamilton Hart Builders. With that move, Brent had been pretty much freed to go wherever life took him.

If that meant New York, then so be it.

"Brent?" Her voice sounded like the velvet night sky. Or the calm after the storm. Or merely the woman he loved.

He turned and saw Rayne framed in the gate, the way she had been that day over a month ago. His heart soared as relief pooled in his stomach.

"Where's Henry?" she asked. Tenseness knotted her shoulders; worry creased her brow.

"Mom!" Henry shrieked, flying off the porch and into her arms. She dropped to her knees, closed her eyes, and held her son tight against her. Then she kissed his face all over while simultaneously checking him with her hands. She pulled back, looked at him, and then pulled him back into her arms for another hug.

“Mom…jeez!” Henry wriggled under her duress.

"I was so worried about you, pumpkin. So afraid that you were scared to death," she said, giving her son a shaky smile."You okay?”

Henry nodded. "'Course I am. Brent came and got me. Well, not got me 'cause he can't check me out But he stayed with me and we read an article on the NFL draft. See, I told you he would be a good person to put on my list."

She nodded, briefly meeting Brent's eyes. "So you did."

Henry disengaged himself from Rayne, grabbed her hand, and tugged her toward the porch. "Come see what me and Brent found."

"What Brent and I found,” she corrected, flashing him a hesitant smile before following her son to the box sitting atop the wicker table.

"Yeah, that's what I said,'' Henry said.

Brent couldn't stop a smile from twitching at his lips. He wanted to go to her, take her in his arms, especially after feeling panicky that she’d braved the storm. But what could stop a mother's love?

Not anything as measly as an F-2 tornado.

He tried to pretend he wasn't watching her ooh and ah over the baby squirrel they'd rescued. He broke more branches, finally untangling the large limb before dragging half the hammock with him across the yard.

Rayne appeared at his elbow as he tossed the remnants of the old Carolina hammock on the discard pile.

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