A Taste of Texas. Liz Talley

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      Henry propped his chin on his elbow and watched the passing scenery of Oak Stand. They rounded the town square, braked for a squirrel and headed south toward the Oak Stand Athletic fields. “Do you think my mom will be early to pick me up?”

      Brent shifted his gaze from the road to the boy looking way too contemplative for a seven-year-old.

      “Sure. If not, we’ll call her. Or you can ride back with me.”

      “Oh,” Henry said, fiddling with the glove he held in his lap. “Okay. I think she’ll probably be early.”

      Brent waved at his friend Margo, who swept the steps of Tucker House, then saluted the new police chief, Adam Bent, before swinging toward the highway that would take them to the sports complex outside the city limits.

      “So you like books, huh?”

      Brent grabbed a dusty ball cap from the dash and crammed it on his head. “Sure. I love books.”

      Henry studied him. “Really?”

      Brent nodded. “Really. Books take me to new places. Places I can’t go—pirate ships or secret rain forests. Besides, I learn about people who are like me and people who aren’t. It’s like taking a trip, but you don’t have to pack.”

      Henry frowned. “I don’t really like books. I’d rather be doing something. Playing ball or watching TV. My mom reads stuff all the time. Sometimes she cries when she reads books. I hate when my mom cries.”

      The boy turned and looked out the window as if he knew he’d said too much.

      Brent wasn’t sure if he should respond. So he let a few moments go by. Nothing but Miranda Lambert on the radio crooning about love gone wrong.

      They drove into the parking lot adjacent to the ball field. A few of the kids on his team already tossed the ball, warming up.

      “You know, there’s nothing wrong with crying, Hank.”

      Henry’s head whipped around. He met the Brent’s gaze. “Do you cry?”

      Brent shrugged. “If I need to.”

      Henry’s brow knotted. “Oh.”

      Brent didn’t want to tell Henry the last time he’d cried had been when he read in the Oak Stand Gazette that Rayne Rose had married Phillip Albright. That when he’d read those words and saw her smiling face staring out from the page something had crumbled inside him and the world faded several shades dimmer. Because up until seeing Rayne’s and Phillip’s names linked together in holy matrimony, Brent hadn’t realized how much he’d believed in a second chance with Rayne…until that chance had disappeared. The dream of somehow finding himself in her good graces again had been blown out like a candle, leaving the recesses of his heart dark. And that knowledge had caused tears to prick the back of his eyes and sadness to burn deep inside his gut.

      But over the past day or two, he’d been looking for matches, contemplating a way to light the candle of hope again. If he could move past her anger and disappointment in him, then maybe, just maybe, he had a shot with Rayne. As crazy as the idea seemed.

      And it seemed crazy.

      Rayne was going to leave Oak Stand. Her life was too grand for the simplicity of the town. Besides, their past was a hopeless tangle of fierce emotions, emotions born of angsty teenage lust and love.

      But he couldn’t stop the thought that had anchored itself inside him. Fate wasn’t a fickle lady. She knew her mind. The cards had been dealt the moment he’d sat on that porch step days ago, hating himself and his life. Then a ball had landed in the backyard and things had changed. Maybe Fate was on his side this time, even if she wasn’t ready to show her cards yet.

      He turned to Henry. “Game on. Let’s play some baseball.”

      CHAPTER FIVE

      RAYNE PULLED INTO THE parking lot of the baseball field and girded herself against stepping into “real” Oak Stand. Nothing like a pack of former schoolmates to make her feel like a gauche little nobody. She knew it was asinine to feel vulnerable again, but that didn’t help. Thinking and feeling were two different things. She cracked the windows in her Volvo SUV before sliding on sunglasses and climbing out.

      Remember. You’re not the pathetic, awkward Rayne Rose. You’re the successful, intelligent owner of Serendipity. You have products with your name on them. You have the power now. No one can take it from you.

      Why was she giving herself a rah-rah pep talk just to pick up her son? The word nutty came to mind as she scanned the area.

      The ballpark had seen improvements since the last time she’d been here. The stands had coverings and the concession had been painted a bright blue highlighting a mural of a baseball sprouting arms and legs. The park looked neat and well-tended, not a scraggly weed in sight.

      “Rayne Rose!” said a voice to her left.

      Rayne turned and saw a plump woman wearing a visor and tugging a toddler heading her way. She paused on the curb and tried to figure out who the woman was.

      “My gosh, it’s been years. I use your recipe for guacamole all the time. I saw you on Good Morning America.”

      Rayne nodded, but had no clue who the woman was. She had apple cheeks and brown eyes the color of rich chocolate ganache.

      “You remember me, don’t you? Stacy Darling. Well, Harp now. I was a year ahead of you.”

      Rayne took a step back.

      Stacy Darling had been one of the meanest girls in all of Oak Stand High. She’d been lithe, trim and amazing with a basketball. She’d also reduced many a girl to tears, and Rayne had been a favored target. Come on, retard, can’t you catch a ball? What did your hippy mamma eat when she was pregnant with you, Knobby? Grass? ’Cause you’re about as ugly as a goat’s ass.

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