I’d like to say what happened years ago is so far back in the past that a mature woman wouldn’t give a nickel about a boy who didn’t keep a promise, but I guess I didn’t grow up enough. I’d rather you find someone else to do the job. Because I don’t want to be around you.”
Her words hurt. As sharp as a knife, they drew blood. He nodded. “I’ll see if I can find someone who can come out this afternoon. Maybe Ted Bloom’s finished over at the Pattersons’ place.”
Rayne held herself stiffly as she stood staring at the daylilies emerging from the weary earth on the side of the house. Her eyes looked wistful. He wished he could do something to make things better, but he’d screwed the pooch long ago, and had done such a fine job that nothing was left between them but bittersweet memories of what was once so good.
“I’m sorry, Rayne.” Nothing else to say, he moved to pass her and leave.
Her hand touched his arm and his step stuttered. “Why?”
The soft question hurt more than her anger.
He stopped and glanced at her elegant hand on his bare arm. Then he looked into her cinnamon eyes. Damn, but he couldn’t bear to stare into the depths because he saw a mirror image of what he’d seen that night. And like that night, it made his heart feel shattered.
He knew what she asked. For the first time, she asked why he had hurt her. Even he was afraid of the reason.
“Because I was a stupid boy who grew into a stupid man. You’re right. It’s best if I don’t do this job.”
Then he left, running with his tail tucked, like the damned coward he’d always been. It was easier to run than to explain he’d been trying harder to please his parents and everybody else in Oak Stand than to please himself…or Rayne. That he was a mere shadow of the brother he’d lost. Denny had been better. Had always been better, no matter what Brent had done to fill his shoes. He’d been a seventeen-year-old boy who hadn’t had the guts to claim Rayne Rose and the life he really wanted.
And the thirty-two-year old Brent Hamilton wasn’t any better. He still hid behind the charming persona he’d created long ago because it was easier to pretend than to get real with himself.
Because the barbers in Oak Stand still talked about how he held the state passing record. The mechanics down at the garage still talked about the touchdown he made as a redshirt freshman against Texas A&M in the last seconds of the game. The ladies down at the Curlique Salon talked about how his body made old ladies swoon and how his huge libido made women in three counties happy they’d gone home with him. His friends talked about how they wished they had a father with a construction company to hand to them.
A local legend and only he knew what a loser he really was.
Fifteen years ago, Rayne Rose had been the only person who’d “got” him. She’d been his secret, the only person who healed him and loved him for who he was. And fifteen years ago, hurting her had killed the best part of him. And ever since, he’d hated who’d he’d become. Even though on the outside, he hid it well.
So, yes, once again he ran.
RAYNE SWALLOWED WHAT FELT like ashes. She couldn’t believe she’d asked him anything about that long-ago night. Why in the hell had she done that? Years had piled upon years. It shouldn’t matter. It should be water under the bridge. Sluggish, foul water not worth contemplating. She’d crossed that bridge and taken a path far away. Brent shouldn’t matter anymore.
But he did.
She really wished he didn’t. It would be simpler if she’d felt nothing when she’d seen him again.
But to say seeing him again hadn’t unleashed the hurt, hadn’t set a pining in her heart for what they’d once had, would be a lie.
Aunt Frances passed Brent on the sidewalk and exchanged a few words. The sharp look her aunt shot her said it all. Aunt Frances was perturbed. Never a good thing.
For the second time that day, tears gathered in Rayne’s eyes. She was a stupid ball of emotion. Watching Henry walk into that second grade classroom had nearly done her in. He had been scared, though he’d squared his shoulders and pretended walking into a new school hadn’t bothered him. He’d asked her a dozen times on the way to school about when she’d pick him up, where he should stand and if he had enough money for lunch. His lack of faith in her and in the world he lived in broke her heart.
Maybe she shouldn’t have pulled him out of his old school. She simply hadn’t known what else to do. Her life had felt out of control and Henry had spent every night in her bed, thrashing and crying out. She stayed awake all night and slept all day, barely creeping out of bed to stop by the restaurant before picking him up from school.
She hadn’t known which end was up until Aunt Frances said, “Come home for a little bit, Rayne.”
And she had.
But maybe it had been a colossal mistake.
It sure seemed like one when she’d backed out of that classroom, leaving her little boy to the care of Sally Weeks, even if she were Howard County Teacher of the Year. Rayne had cried all the way to the inn as much for herself as for Henry. When had life gotten so intolerable? Had it been when Phillip died two years ago or when their dreams had started bearing fruit, spiraling out of her realm of control without someone to stand at her side? She didn’t know, but she’d hoped this project in Oak Stand could ground her again, give her focus and help her find the grit she’d lost.
“Why the devil did you tell him to find someone else?” Aunt Frances said as she mounted the steps. “I thought getting the inn in tip-top shape was vital. Brent does good work, the kind we need.”
Rayne shrugged. “I can’t handle being around him.”
“Oh, grow up. Whatever happened between you and Brent was years ago. You can’t tell me you hold a grudge over puppy love gone wrong.”
Rayne pressed her lips together. It hadn’t been puppy love. It had been the real deal. At least on her end. “It’s not about that, Aunt Fran. It’s about Henry. I want him surrounded by good influences. Brent is…unreliable. Well, not unreliable, more like irresponsible and—”
“Available. We need him.” Aunt Frances put her hands on her ample hips and gave Rayne that stare. The one her own mother never bothered to use for fear it might repress Rayne and her sister and keep them from finding enlightenment. “And don’t tell me Brent’s worse than the crew who worked here last week. I didn’t know curse words could be used in such unique combinations. They made sailors look like thumb suckers.”
Rayne almost smiled. She had to admit, the two Italian carpenters had seemed pleased with their newfound ability to pair Southernisms with the curse words they’d learned in Boston. They’d married New England girls and somehow ended up in East Texas. They possessed amazing carpentry skills and had constructed custom closets in each of the guest rooms. Rayne had nabbed them before they started contract jobs in Plano. It had been a coup since their work had been touted all over the South and featured in Southern Architecture Today. “True.”
“Yes, true. Now pull on your big girl panties, get your tail end over to Brent’s and make sure he starts tomorrow. Meg and I are meeting with Dawn Hart to look at fabric samples this afternoon, and I don’t have time to bake Brent an apple cake to apologize for my rude niece.”
Aunt
