Chapter Eleven
CHAPTER ELEVEN
T HE COOL SPRING brEEZE whipped through the stands surrounding the baseball field, hurling empty soda cups to the concrete below and stirring up the yellow pollen coating the bright blue bleachers. Several fans sneezed as the Oak Stand Warriors took the field.
Rayne cheered as Henry ran out and took his place at shortstop. Aunt Frances blew an air horn.
Everyone jumped. One woman screamed.
"Sorry," Aunt Frances said, sporting a Warriors T shirt that said Hank's Aunt on the back. It was all a bit much, but Rayne didn’t have the heart to admonish the enthusiasm. Henry deserved a bit of fanfare.
Rayne sent her son a thumbs-up sign. It was his first game and he'd earned the privilege of playing when he brought home signed papers showing significant improvement along with a computer printout that relayed he'd scored a nine out of ten points on his accelerated reading test. Rayne had been stunned. Henry had given her a told-you-so shrug and said, "I didn't like dumb ol' talking animal books, but I can do good on the ones about sports."
She'd hugged him, after correcting his incorrect adverb usage of course, and let him eat one of the Pop Tarts Brent had sent over for him via Meg.
"Oh, he looks so little," Aunt Frances said, waving at Henry. Her son gave a quick wave and then focused on the batter lining up at the plate. A bright blue pitching machine whirred on the pitcher's mound. A coach from the other team stood behind it and began threading balls into the slot. Brent emerged from the dugout, tugged the batter out of the way and crouched to catch the balls. He was making certain the strike zone was right.
Brent wore a red-and-black coach's shirt that declared he was Coach Brent on the back. All the parents wore the red shirts with the black battle-axes crossed on the front beneath the word Warriors. His shirt looked much better on him than Rayne's did on her. Wearing battle-axes was so not her thing.
As the thunk of the ball hit Brent's glove, Rayne wondered for the tenth or eleventh time about him going through Nellie's panties.
She was afraid to ask him, but more afraid not to ask.
What right did she have anyway? And what would he think if she asked? Surely, it was only an accident, something benign. She thought about the night she'd kissed him and brushed against his pajama pants just to play with him. Just to gain the upper hand with him. Then she thought about the day at the fountain when everything had shifted and she'd fallen into the infatuation she'd always had with him. Why was she moving in his direction? Why was she tempting him? Flirting with him? Letting him back inside her heart?
Was it fate? Or perhaps she simply wanted to get naked with him and call it a day? Or was there some thing more?
She suspected the latter, but was afraid to explore it too much. Afraid to label her feelings. And Rayne liked to label everything. She needed a plan, a path, and a goal. But outside of her career, which hung in the balance, she had no idea about what to do with the burgeoning feelings she had for the man standing in the huddle of little boys giving a pep talk.
Confused was the word of the day.
Who was she kidding? It was the word of the year. She felt bewildered about everything. Her career. Her relationship with Brent. Her new fondness for Pop-Tarts. Yes, she'd polished off the last two in the box and then hid the evidence from Meg. She knew she'd never live it down that she'd eaten chemically injected pastries if Meg found out. Not after she'd forced her assistant to throw out the Halloween candy last year.
Meg stood with Bubba Malone alongside the chainlink fence skirting the ball field. Rayne had never seen a couple look so misfit as those two. Bubba wore unlaced construction boots, stained jeans and a well-washed T-shirt. A ball cap faded from the sun sat backward on his head. He'd shaved his scruffy beard into a neat goatee that suited him much better. Meg wore a long skirt, a tight Ramones T-shirt, and, of course, her patent leather combat boots. Her nose ring caught the sunlight just right.
Yet the two looked content to merely stand next to one another. No words. No forced conversation. No confusion. Simply being.
A referee clad in protective armor took up residence behind the plate and the game began. Good defensive play had the Warriors running to their dugout after a three up, three down inning. The parents cheered as if it were the World Series.
"Do you think Henry will get a hit?" Aunt Frances asked as Henry sauntered to the batter's box. "I think they should let them bat until they hit the ball. I hate this whole 'out' thing."
Rayne laughed. "That's how you play baseball, Aunt Fran."
"I'm not sure it's good for their self-esteem."
"You sound like Glenna," Rayne said, deliberately drawing the comparison between Frances and her sister. Rayne's mother was so very different than her aunt, but somehow they shared a gentleness in their nature. A demand for things to be just.
"I'm not like her at all," Frances said before letting loose with the air horn again.
The front row ducked and a baby started crying. Several fans glared at her aunt. "Y'all were raised by the same parents. Merely pointing that out."
"That doesn't mean a thing. You're nothing like Summer."
Rayne smiled. Her sister was a fireball with a flair for drama. Yes, Summer was a bit over-the-top. "I'm a little like her."
"Maybe," her aunt conceded, "but don't lump me in with that crazy hippy Glenna.”
Rayne laughed. "Okay, but you are a crazy fan."
They both let the conversation rest as Henry pulled the bat over his shoulder and crouched in his hitting stance. Brent stood behind the pitching machine and directed Henry, moving him first forward then backward, closer to the plate then back again. Finally, when Henry was in the exact same spot he'd started in, Brent dropped the ball.
And Henry swung.
The ball connected and went sailing... right over the fence.
The crowd erupted as her son dropped the bat to the ground and took his jog around the bases. Rayne stood and clapped as Aunt Fran unleashed the air horn yet again. No one seemed to mind this time.
Brent's eyes met hers from across the field. He mouthed, "Wow."
And just like that, Rayne knew Nellie had been very wrong. Most of Oak Stand had been very wrong. Brent wasn't a gigolo looking to get into every girl's pants. He wasn't some dumb jock with multiple passing records. He wasn't perverted, irresponsible, or callous. He wasn't what he was painted to be at all.
She didn't know exactly how she knew it. She simply did. And she wasn't ready to put to words what she knew him to be exactly. But right then, she was content to believe Brent was better than everyone had given him credit for.
But she still wanted to know about the panties. For good measure.
Her son crossed home plate and his team met him for a good old-fashioned dog pile. Brent jogged toward the dugout entrance for some knucks. Henry's smile could run the town on its wattage. He ducked his head under all the praise, but the smile stayed.
A crazy bubble of joy rose in Rayne.
"I think I want some nachos," she murmured to Aunt Frances. "With extra jalapenos."
Aunt Fran stopped clapping and stared at her. "What did you say?"
Rayne laughed. "I'm going to get nachos. You want something?"
"You're going to let people see you eat processed cheese? This isn't Pop-Tarts in the closet. We're in public." Aunt Fran didn't meet her eyes. Instead she gave Henry a fist pump.
Rayne blinked before waving to her glowing son and mimicking Aunt Fran with the fist pump gesture. "How'd you know?"
"I found the foil wrappers. You can't fool me, Rayne Rose."
"Guess I never could," she said, grabbing her wallet from the depths of her purse and fishing out a twenty dollar bill.
Aunt Frances pushed a curl from Rayne's face. "You know, sometimes what you think is bad for you turns out to be good."
Rayne frowned. "You're not talking about Pop-Tarts or nachos, are you?"
Aunt Frances gave her a wink. "You always were a smart girl."
Rayne rolled her eyes and slid out from the bleachers. She waved to Stacy and Brandi, who'd had the foresight to bring camp chairs. She'd written them each a thank-you note for her welcome-home party, but would stop by after the game to make another personal gesture of appreciation, even if she didn't care for them much. Being nice meant keeping their boys from pestering Henry. She looked out at the field of play and caught Brent's glance as the new batter stepped to the plate. He winked.
The gesture made her tummy flutter, and she wondered if they sold candy bars in the concession stand.
brENT LOADED THE EMPTY cooler and bucket of balls into the back of his truck, glad they'd pulled off the first win of the season. The boys had whooped, hollered and then ran for the bathrooms. They'd drunk all the Gatorade he'd mixed and put out.
Henry popped up at his elbow. "Thanks for coaching me. It was awesome."
"You're welcome. I had fun, too. Good play you made to get that out. Your throw to first was right on target."
Henry nodded. "Mom wanted to know if you want to join us for a burger at the Dairy Barn. She wants some onion rings."
"Seriously?" Brent looked up and saw Rayne talking with a few other mothers. Something caught in his chest at the way her hands moved as she talked. At the tilt of her chin. The animation in her eyes.
"Yeah, I know. She never eats fried stuff." Henry joined him in staring at his mom. "You don't think aliens adducted her, do you?"
"Abducted. And, no, I don't think they exist."
"I saw some in a magazine. They had big heads and weird eyes. It said they suck people's brains out of their ears," Henry said, looking as if he totally believed everything he'd read in the pages of the magazine.
"You're a funny kid," Brent said, tossing the catcher's equipment bag over the side of the truck bed and pushing up the tailgate.
He nodded. "I know. I checked out a joke book in the school library. I got better knock-knock jokes for you."
Brent ruffled Henry's hair, tugging the bill down over his eyebrows. "Good. I need more material."
Rayne broke away from the group of mothers and walked toward them. Her hips swayed gently. She wore a skirt and sandals with the T-shirt. On most women the outfit would have looked strange, but on Rayne it looked right.
"I hear you're in the mood for some of Charlie Mac's onion rings," Brent said, pulling off his visor and pushing his hair from his eyes. "Hank thinks aliens abducted you and replaced you with a replica."
Rayne looked down at Henry. "Oh, yeah? You're a funny guy."
''That's what Coach said," Henry said, flipping his glove into the air.
Rayne's eyes met his and something passed between them. Her gaze was warm, cinnamon with a hint of tenderness. Maybe Rayne had finally gotten past "We're not really friends. We're not anything" and had moved on to something. He wasn't sure what that might be, but the invitation for onion rings seemed a step in the right direction. "Well then, your mom and I agree on something."
Rayne tore her gaze from him and looked at her fidgety son."Stop before you hit someone."
Henry stopped. "Let's go already."
"So," Rayne said, "do you want to go for a burger?"
"Have I ever turned down food?"
She smiled. "Not in this lifetime. I'll treat. To celebrate the victory."
He shrugged. "Even better. I'm a cheap date. I'll only eat two burgers."
"Can I ride with Brent?" Henry asked, running to the passenger side of the truck before she could even answer him. He jerked on the locked door. Then frowned when it didn't budge. "It's locked."
Rayne ignored her son and looked at Brent. "You want to leave your truck here and ride with us? Aunt Frances is going to Myrtle Wilson's for bridge and finger sandwiches, so we've got room."
"Sure, as long as you're good with swinging me back here afterward."
"Sure."
''You can ride shotgun!" Henry whooped, nearly tripping over his shoelaces as he lunged to grab Brent.
Henry packed a punch, slamming against Brent's legs and wrapping his arms about Brent's hips. Brent stumbled, took a step away, and patted the boy's back. The impromptu show of affection should have felt awkward, but it didn't.
"This is the best day ever," Henry said against his legs. Immediately Brent's mind tripped back to several days before, the whispered words against his neck at the fountain. I wish you were my dad.
Alarms clanged in his brain, so Brent retreated another step and tugged Henry's ball cap over his eyes the way he'd done earlier. "Any day you hit a home run is a good day, sport."
He lifted his gaze to Rayne. She looked so sad and resigned. A prickling of awareness surged between them. It wasn't passion or any sort of sexual energy, though he knew that to be lurking beneath the surface. It was more of a human, Hallmark-card sort of moment. A poignant moment of understanding. Of a boy. Without a father. Wishing it was different.
Brent swallowed the sudden emotion that clogged his throat as Rayne turned and clicked the button that unlocked the doors on the Volvo crossover sitting four spots away from his truck. It was a somber navy blue car, the kind mothers who were way too protective drove. He bet Henry still had a booster seat in the back.
"Let's grab those burgers," she said, walking away. It was nearly a trudge, as if the heaviness of the moment weighed her down. Henry, ever light on his feet, bounced behind her. Brent pocketed his keys and tried to decide whether his going was a good idea.
He could feel Henry getting attached, and on any other month of Sundays he'd not mind a bit. Henry was a terrific kid, but things felt too fast too soon with the boy. Especially since the future perched precariously on the ledge of uncertainty. He wanted Rayne but not at the risk of Henry's heart. Didn't seem fair for a kid to be the casualty of their messed-up relationship. So maybe he should forget trying to push something with Rayne. Maybe the risk to Henry was too great. He and Rayne could deal, but a kid? Not so much.
He wavered.
Then Rayne turned back to him. "You coming?"
And despite his reservations, there wasn't much more he could do but start walking toward her.
THIS TIME THE DAIRY BARN was packed. Half the people there were clad in parent shirts declaring whose "Maw Maw" they were while the decidedly smaller other half wore various uniforms with dirty knees and dusty cleats. The atmosphere could only be described as mixed with some kids jubilantly hopping around the Formica tables and the others modeling how it looked to lose a best friend.
Henry pointed to a small boy with a sad-sack expression. "That's Tyler Ratcliff. He's on the team we beat."
"Why don't you go say hi to him? Make him feel better," Rayne said, giving Henry a small shove.
"No, I don't even know him. He's not in my class."
"So? Doesn't mean you can't be friends." Rayne gave Henry another push, wondering why her son was so shy around kids his age. Adults she could understand, but other kids? Surely they weren't intimidating? Henry eased away from her reach and made no attempt to move toward any other kids in the diner. Not even when one of the boys from the Warriors waved at him.
She started to march Henry over to the boy's table, but then she thought back to when she’d been eight years old and how awkward she'd felt. Her parents had dragged her from commune to commune, only venturing to Oak Stand when money got too low or there was a nearby art show. Otherwise, she played the role of new girl in elementary schools around the country. And with red curly hair, pale skin, and knobby knees, it hadn't been a glamorous role. She'd only felt herself when she'd come to live with Aunt Fran in her rambling house.
And met her first true friend. Brent.
So on second thought, she backed off. Like her, Henry would have to make his own way. Even if it pained her to see him struggle to interact with friends his age. "Why don't you and Brent find a table? I'll order."
"You sure?" Brent said, taking her son by the shoulder to guide him toward the seating area. He gave her a detailed order, leaving off onions and tomato, then steered Henry toward the back of the diner.
She hadn't spoken much to Brent on the way into town. Henry had filled the silence with the review of all the awesome plays from the game. It proved a good thing because her emotions felt too raw from the sight of Henry twined about Brent's legs, the tender way Brent patted her son's back. A bittersweet longing had swamped her, and it hadn't gone away. She kept thinking about Brent and why she'd come to Oak Stand. About fate and those damned panties of Nellie's. About who she was and who everybody thought Brent to be.
Rayne got in line behind a girl texting on her phone and perused the order board, choosing a chef salad for herself and a small plain burger for Henry. He'd have to do without the fries.
"Hello, Charlie Mac," Rayne said, stepping toward the register, changing her mind on the salad as she opened her mouth. "If my regular customers find out I've been wolfing down onion rings, I'll tell them you forced them on me."
Charlie Mac cackled like a rusty rooster. "I'm gathering you want an order of 'em?"
Rayne nodded. "And a side salad. Dressing on the side."
"That'll help," he said, sarcasm very much intended.
Rayne took the number, then headed toward her son and Brent. Gazes followed her winding path through the maze of tables. A few people waved, some rudely stared, and a few didn't bother looking up from their steak fingers and country gravy platters. They were probably people who'd never met Rayne. Or the chicken fried steak fingers were that sinfully good. Could be both.
Rayne sank onto the metal chair, glad they'd forgone the coziness of the booth. "Here's the number."
She sat the tented plastic number where it was visible just as a boy appeared next to Henry. He had disheveled brown hair and a cast.
"Hey, Hank. I'm Hunter Todd, remember me? We played kick ball at recess. Wanna come sit at my table?"
Henry looked at her. He looked a bit shell-shocked and uncertain. "Mom?"
She smiled and gave his arm a squeeze. "That's a nice offer. You can sit with Hunter Todd if you want." Henry looked at the boy and then back to his mom.
"You won’t be lonely?"
"Nah," Brent interrupted. "She's got the old Coach here to keep her company. You go on with Hunter."
Hunter Todd grinned at Brent. "I got some new magic tricks to show you. Only it's hard 'cause of my cast." He looked back at Henry. "You coming or not, Hank? Tyler's gonna sit with us, too. His mom got a new phone and let’s him play games on it.”
Henry looked wary but slid out and followed Hunter to a booth with two other kids whose gazes were locked on a cellphone. He cast only one glance over his shoulder at where she sat with Brent.
"That's good for him, huh?" Brent looked at her.
Rayne nodded. "He hasn't had as many nightmares recently. His grades are good. He seems to be flourishing in Oak Stand. Just what I hoped."
"So what's going to happen when you leave again?"
Brent's question irritated her. She didn't want to talk about the future. "He'll deal like any other kid."
Brent’s mouth turned down and he picked up the red plastic number. “You said he wasn't like other kids. He suffers from a disorder that obviously needs routine. Have you talked to the counselor yet?"
More irritation gathered inside her. "It's none of your business what I do with my son."
Brent leaned back. "You're right. None of my concern."
A hard silence fell. Uncomfortable, hard silence.
Rayne pressed her lips together and watched Henry as he quietly took in the rambunctiousness of the other boys wiggling in the booth. He nodded periodically at something Hunter said. He looked not exactly happy, but maybe a bit more accepting at being away from her.
He turned his head and caught her gaze. Then gave her the most endearing smile she'd seen in a while. She smiled back. Then looked at the man across from her. He watched her with a guarded expression.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I'm not good with people questioning me."
"You think?" Brent leaned back and crossed his arms, making him look broader, more masculine, more alpha male. She swallowed at the way her body reacted. She'd automatically leaned toward him.
Nervously, Rayne licked her lips. "So what are we doing here?"
"You mean between us?" he asked, pointing to her then to himself.
“I don't know how to label you. Are you my friend? My contractor? My kid's coach?"
"Or something more?"
She swallowed again. ''How? We can't be something more. It's not like I can date you or something."
"You can't? Why not?” His words were flung like a challenge.
She studied him, knowing the answer. Afraid to tell him. He'd break her heart. That's what he did, didn't he? What he'd done those fifteen years before. Taken her childish first love and ripped it to shreds. He'd hurt her once. And she had a strong feeling that if she opened herself to him, he'd do it again.
And she might not survive this one.
So she didn't answer. She turned from him and watched a teenage boy bob their way with a laden tray.
"You won't give me an answer?" Brent sounded aggravated.
Why? Why did it matter to him what label she gave him? Why did she have to declare him anything?
"Rayne?"
She smiled at the waiter. "Leave us these two baskets and take this meal to the little boy in the red baseball jersey at that table over there." She pointed in Henry's direction before turning to the irate man sitting across from her.
What to do? What to say to Brent wanting something more? Maybe she should lay it out. Let him see why she couldn't fall into something that wouldn’t last.
"Truth?" she asked, shuffling the double cheeseburger his way and setting the onion rings and salad in front of her.
Brent uncrossed his arms and leaned forward. “Sounds like a good place to start.”
"Because something more scares the hell out of me."
He flinched. "Why?"
"Because if I walk through those French doors of your house, I'll end up in your bed. And I have little doubt what will happen between those sheets would be very good. In fact, in my wildest daydreams, it's more than good. But the thing is, I can't climb in your bed without risking my heart. That’s how I work. So it's too dangerous. Not to mention, it’s not just my heart I’m risking.” She glanced over to her son.
Brent didn't react for a moment. Then he smiled. ''What if I don't want your body? What if I want your heart?"
Rayne felt herself reel. "What?"
"What if I want all of you, Rayne? What if I want more than sex? What if this thing between us is meant to be?"
"Are you serious?" She couldn't stop her voice from shaking. She looked down at the crispy onion rings. He couldn't be serious. Brent wasn't that kind of guy.
She looked at him.
He nodded. Sincerely.
''Well..." She tried to smile. It probably came out as strained, as if she had a stomach cramp or something. But it was way stronger than that. Her heart thumped. Her palms sweated. Oddly, she felt like Alice down the rabbit hole. Strange new world where her first love, the man she still yearned for, asked for her heart. “I guess that depends on why you went through Nellie Darby’s underwear drawer.”