Chapter Six
CHAPTER SIX
B RENT STARED AT THE BLANK page and wondered why the words wouldn't come. He'd outlined the chapters, knew his main character down to his SpongeBob undies, and had a deadline looming. But, obviously, those things weren't going to help him meet his daily word count. The page mocked him with its perfect blankness.
"Hell," he muttered rubbing a hand over his face and pushing his rolling chair across the wood floor toward the massive bookshelf behind him.
Apple's nails clicked on the floor as she responded to his curse. Thankfully, no pillow or similarly fluffy item dangled from her mouth. Not that he had many fluffy items left. Apple had wreaked havoc on socks, slippers, and his memory foam neck pillow the first week his parents left. All he had left were a few feather pillows he'd tucked in the top of a linen closet. She ignored the rubbery dental bones he'd bought.
Just like a woman.
Immediately Rayne came to mind. He suspected she was the reason his usually energetic muse had abandoned him. Rayne was like his flighty muse-fickle, teasing, and infuriating without meaning to be.
He still couldn't figure out why she was in Oak Stand. Sure, the inn needed some spiffing-up, but it seemed odd Rayne would take the time out of her busy schedule and pull Henry out of school to splash some paint on the old house. Something more was going on at that bed and breakfast. Too much activity and he sensed it had something to do with Rayne's newly acquired fame.
And here he was, yet again mixing himself up in thoughts of Rayne. The sensible part of Brent knew he should have found someone else to do the work on the house. Should have kept his nose out of the baseball business with Henry, not to mention he shouldn't have fetched one of his books for the kid. But something niggling in the back of his mind told him he'd done the right thing by Henry. The boy, as capable as he looked, had a vulnerability about him that made Brent want to take care around him.
Just like Rayne.
She seemed capable as hell. So unlike the girl he'd once known. A girl with a silly grin and romance in her soul. This woman was so different he almost didn't know her. The Rayne he'd known stopped to smell the flowers and got lost in them. This new Rayne would have cut the flowers, arranged them into an acceptable bouquet, and displayed them on a weathered farmhouse table next to a perfect round of brie. Efficient, tamed, controlled. It was almost too much of a change. Almost enough to make him want to stay away from her. But he suspected the old Rayne, the dreamy, romantic waif, was somewhere inside this new woman.
So his heart wasn't buying the notion of keeping Rayne Rose at arm's length. In fact, his heart wanted her close. Very close.
He pushed his chair toward his desk, tugging with him the book he always grabbed when words defied him. It was a beaten, ragtag textbook full of American poetry. He'd bought it his junior year of college when he'd signed up for a poetry class. It was the semester after he'd ridden the pine through most of the football season, the season he'd disappointed everyone. Something about the words he'd read in the tome had allowed the fetters of his life to fall away. He'd felt emboldened and full of conviction in a way he'd not felt since those hours he'd spent with Rayne reading Longfellow and Poe, playfully trying his hand at crafting internal rhyme or drawing caricatures of their teachers. Doing things his father said were "girly things." But they were things Brent had found value in.
He thumbed through the dog-eared pages past the words of masters, opening to the page that held the crumpled paper. He lifted and unfolded the much handled poem. The handwriting was spidery with periodical fanciful loops. A small red heart sticker had been affixed to the upper left corner of the page. His finger traced the title "The Courage to Be He."
He smiled and tucked it back between the pages, hiding it as much as he hid himself. Closing the book of poetry, he stared at the blank page on the monitor before rolling the mouse. Maybe some research would motivate him. Or not.
A knock interrupted his lack of progress.
Brent glanced at the clock. It was well after nine o’clock.
He padded barefoot into the living area, drawing together the strings of his pajama pants.
Rayne stood outside, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth. She'd been showing upon his porch way too often for comfort. This, too, was a new habit of hers. The old Rayne hemmed and hawed, ducking behind trees and hiding behind curtains. This new Rayne invaded.
He unlatched the French door. "Hey."
Her gaze hit his own before dipping to his bare chest. She swallowed and redirected her gaze, but not before he caught the interest that flared in the warm depths of her eyes. "Hey."
A frisson of awareness skipped up his spine. She'd looked at him as though he was the last scoop of ice cream in the tub of rocky road. It made his body tighten with anticipation even though he knew it wasn't a good idea. Screwing Rayne wouldn't get him what he wanted. Well, it would get him something he wanted, but he wanted more than sweaty sheets and sexual satisfaction. He wanted a piece of what he'd once had with her... and that had nothing to do with lust. He stood a minute waiting for her to say something. She didn't. "Rayne?"
"Huh?"
"You knocked."
She blinked. "Oh, yes. Sorry. My mind has been wandering lately." She paused, as if to give herself a mental shake. "I wanted to say thank you."
He wanted to invite her inside so he could turn the glimpse of desire he'd seen into something full-fledged and worthy of bleary eyes in the morning. But that sort of behavior was his standard way of operating. Rayne wasn't just any girl. He couldn't go there with her. At least not yet. Or maybe never. He pulled logic in front of his libido and propped a hand on the doorjamb, blocking the entrance.
The scent of Rayne's perfume skated on the night breeze. Vanilla. Her scent was almost enough to make him fling logic to the corners of the earth and throw open the door. ''Thank me for what?"
"For taking Henry to task for the... incident at the ballpark. And for giving him a ride. I didn't get a chance to thank you before you left the parking lot." She caught her lower lip with her bottom teeth and fidgeted with the hem of her shirt.
“Sure.”
He expected her to say goodnight and leave. But she didn’t. What did she want from him. Why was she saying she didn’t want him around and then show up at his door twice in a two days? Mixed signals much?
"You came here at-" he checked his wristwatch "nine twenty-six to thank me for something anyone would have done? It couldn't wait?"
She straightened. "What?"
"What do you really want?"
After the comment she'd made the last time she stood in his house, he was wary of asking what she wanted. She'd said barging in on him while he was naked was cliche, but there was a spark of desire that had ignited when she'd looked at him two days ago. And there was one now. She kept turning up with contrived reasons.
Rayne propped her fists on her hips. "Okay. Fine. I used it as an excuse. Are you going to invite me inside?"
He shook his head. “We almost made trouble the last time you came inside. I nearly dropped the blanket and threw you over my shoulder for some monkey sex.”
She gave him a wry smile. “Nice try.”
"Me ape man want pretty girl." Nothing like stupid humor to put her back at arm's length.
“You already had a pretty girl inside earlier," she said, with a lift of her shoulder.
Ah. He almost smiled at her obvious female reaction to Tamara. "I'm used to making trouble with Tamara."
A frown gathered and something flashed in her eyes. "Don't worry. I'm not Tamara."
He smiled. "No, you're not, are you? Tam's reliably uncomplicated."
"If that's what you want to call it," she quipped, crossing her arms and lifting her eyebrows. Something about her pose softened him. Rayne was a woman. And all women wanted to be desired. If only she knew how badly he longed to show her, to lay her on his bed and memorize every new hill and valley. He'd noticed the scenery beneath those tight aprons she wore.
He stepped back and motioned for her to enter. "Okay, but when you're raking your nails down my back, don't say I didn't warn you."
Her head jerked and the foot she'd been about to put inside his house hovered midair.
"Kidding," he said, shepherding her inside the small living area and closing the French door behind her."No matter what people say I'm not a sex-crazed nymphomaniac.”
“Is that what they say?” Rayne said snapped before turning and tossing him a look - a sort of I-got-this-under-control look. "Doesn't matter. I know karate."
"Do you?” he asked, shuffling aside a sports magazine he'd left on the couch. "You seem to have learned a lot since you left Oak Stand."
She tugged the hem of her shorts down and perched on the cushion. "Yeah, lots to learn out in that big, bad world."
Silence descended. Rayne's irritation over Tamara seemed to vanish as quickly as it appeared. A mask of control was in place. Once again he marveled over the coolness she brought to the table. Or living room if he wanted to be literal. The second hand of the clock in the short hallway leading to his bedroom and office ticked off fifteen seconds.
"So?" he said
"I wanted to ask- Well, this may sound strange." She seemed to weigh her words. "You spend a good amount of time around boys Henry's age through your coaching, and I wondered if you thought Henry was normal.”
It was his tum to feel caught off guard. Henry, normal? Why the devil would she ask something like that? "Yeah. He's like any other kid, I guess."
Her shoulders sank a bit. "I know, but he's been having trouble sleeping and he's terrified of being left behind or forgotten. I haven't been around boys much. I don't know how obvious it is that he suffers from anxiety issues. Did you notice if the other boys sensed his unease?"
All other emotions between him and Rayne faded to the background. He'd sensed something in Henry, but nothing of this magnitude. "I haven't been around him enough to render an opinion on how he handles his fears, and I'm not qualified to give you one. To me he seems as normal as any kid. Are you sure you aren't overanalyzing it a bit?"
Rayne shook her head. "He has horrible nightmares. He panics if I pick him up late. We saw a therapist after Phillip died, and I've been doing everything she suggested, but he's not any better. He still has nightmares and crippling anxiety. He masks it well, I guess. And he seems ultracomfortable with you. But I wondered if the boys on your team had picked up on it. Wondered if maybe they teased him because he acted scared or nervous."
“Well, he popped off to Camden Harp, and that kid is the unofficial leader on the team. Henry seems to hold his ground well enough. He practices with good effort, has a firm knowledge of the game, and seems cool with the other kids. He's not chatty, but neither is he antisocial. Totally normal."
Rayne sighed. "Good. I know I'm probably being overprotective. I haven't had a chance to talk with his teacher about it yet. I thought you could give me some perspective before I meet with her next week."
Brent couldn't stop himself from sinking on to the couch beside her and taking her hand. Once again, warm vanilla tickled his nose. "Rayne, why are you in Oak Stand?"
Rayne pulled her hand from his. He knew he'd likely overstepped the bounds of their tentative relationship. His thoughts were confirmed when she stiffened like a soldier at attention. "That's none of your business."
“Maybe so. But, you asked about Henry so I have a question - why take a kid who's having trouble from the normalcy of his everyday life?"
"What if his life isn't normal anymore? What if mine isn't, either?"
"So you've quit your other life? Your career?" He was confused about how her life was different. Fame? Losing her husband? Or something more?
"No," she said, relaxing slightly and looking out the large windows into his parents' yard. Her mind seemed to be turning cartwheels. "I'm still running the restaurant, albeit from here, and I have a new project, a new cookbook. Lots of fantastic things going on in my professional life. More on the horizon."
"So this is personal?"
She sat there for a moment, looking absolutely lost. "I don't know. I “always felt so safe here, so normal. I thought-”
“That you might give that to Henry?”
“Is that dumb?” she asked, shaking her head. "Well, the inn is my newest venture so it’s not running away or anything. But I needed a break. Here seemed like a good idea.”
She looked at him and her eyes were naked. It was almost as if she sought to convince herself. He rose and put distance between them, mostly because his hands itched to touch her, to soothe her. ''A break?"
"Since Phillip's death, I've been struggling to keep my head above water. Not financially. Just mentally. He was my partner, kept everything under control so I could be creative. With him gone, I-”She lifted her hands. "Why am I telling you this? I haven't even talked about this with my therapist. It's not your problem. Really, I wanted to ask you about Henry. That's all. Not dump all my doubts and troubles into your lap."
"Isn't that what friends are for?" he asked.
But we're not friends. We're not anything. We're two memories of a friendship.” She leaned forward and set her chin on her hands, not looking at him.
He stilled at her words. "Memories. Yeah, I guess that's what we are."
Silence once again reigned.
He watched her as she struggled to find something to say. Something not as harsh as implying he meant nothing to her. The words hurt, and the flicker of hope he'd held earlier that day wavered. Why had he thought there could be something more between them? His yearning was of the heart, not of the reality of the world. She'd always done that to him. Made him believe in things he had no sense in believing. Things like beauty, honor, and purity. Things no one would associate with the man he was. Brent was sex, sin, and cowardice. He lived a lie because he was a lazy chickenshit. Was there any good reason to change now? Surely he could live the rest of his life screwing, drinking, and hiding who he truly was to the world. Why not? Lots of people lived a lie.
Rayne had moved on in life, even if she were taking a temporary detour, so he needed to stop trying to make something out of nothing. It was too late to chase that dream."You shouldn't have come here. I'm the contractor. I'm Henry's coach. Nothing else."
She rose and tossed loose curls the color of pennies behind her shoulders. "You're right. I don't know why I came. I do and I don't, you know?”
He shrugged but didn't say anything.
"Thank you for helping with Henry. I'm glad you're aware he's having problems. I would have told you anyway. Since you're his coach."
He nodded and held his ground, a statue frozen in the glow of the torchlight against the window panes.
Rayne walked toward him, her eyes soft in the scant light. “I shouldn't have…I didn't mean to hurt your feelings." She stopped in front of him, reached out, and squeezed his shoulder.
"You didn't hurt me. You're right. I'm just a memory."
A small smile slipped to her lips."You forget. I know you."
"You think you do, but you don't. Not anymore."
“I know you’re not what you pretend to be.”
“Oh, do you?” Her words angered him. Drove him to do something he shouldn’t.
He swiftly pulled her to him, lowered his head, and covered her lips with him. Hard, punishing, using her surprise to his advantage and hauling her against him so that she fit him in all the right places, he gave into what he wanted from her.
She groaned, softened, and for three whole seconds their kiss was agony and ecstasy.
He forced himself to rip his lips from her yielding ones. He pulled back and studied her glistening mouth as if it were the finest art before moving his gaze to her cinnamon eyes. They were soft with desire, and he could feel the want sloughing off her. “I am what I am, Rayne. Just exactly what everyone says. Good for it. A sure bet. So the next time you walk through my door, I'll know what it’s for. And I’ll give you what you want.”
She straightened, her eyes flashing. “Oh, please. Don’t act like I’m the same ol’ pathetic girl who dogged your footsteps. I’ve changed.”
"I noticed." He allowed his voice to drop to a silky purr, all the while hating himself for stooping to such tactics. She wanted him. If anyone knew a woman's desires, it was Brent. So he asserted control the only way he knew how , using the gift God had given him to its fullest. Like a cat with a mouse, he'd toyed with her desire for him, the yearning she'd always held for him. For a half second he’d enjoyed overriding her defenses because she’s hurt him.
Her eyes crackled. “Yeah? Well, you forget that of all the women in this town, I know you. And because I do, I know exactly what you're doing. It won't work on me."
"Oh, yeah?" He purred again, wrapping a curl around his finger and tugging her forward so he could reach out and stroke one of the nipples outlined against her T-shirt.
She inhaled, but caught herself. Then something happened, something that had happened only once before. Rayne smiled, and it was a devious smile. Her brown eyes filled with power and naughtiness. The mouse had turned the tables on him. "Know what?"
He frowned.
"I can resist you."
She rose on her toes and pressed a kiss to his lips. Her lips on his were experienced …sexy. She brushed a hand over the crotch of his pants, dragging against the raging erection beneath the cotton. Then she patted his cheek. "But can you resist me?"
Brent watched Rayne stalk out the door, standing there with his mouth slightly open.
Apple padded into the room as the door shut. She held his newest leather driving moccasin in her mouth.
She dropped it at his feet, sat, and looked up at him.
He groaned and picked up the wet, twisted mess. "Bad, girl!"
But he wasn't talking to the dog.