A Taste of Texas

BRENT JOGGED TO HIS PARENTS’ house to let Apple out and realized he’d forgotten and left her asleep on his bed. After grabbing their mail and stacking it on the counter and riffling through the too-thin Oak Stand Gazette, he hurried across the backyard, thinking about the repercussions of handing Henry one of his earlier books. He hadn’t thought about it seeming strange that he’d have copies of a children’s book lying about his house. He’d thought only of finding something Henry would actually enjoy reading, something that would hook him and have him turning pages.

Lucky he could think fast on his feet. It was a good ability to have.

Apple trotted up to him, carrying a decorative pillow she’d capriciously ripped apart. Fluffy white clouds covered his rug. Damn it.

“Apple, you dumbass dog. I ought to punt you to Houston, you stupid mutt.”

The Boston terrier dropped the pillow his mother had painstakingly cross-stitched with his initials at his feet and smiled up at him. Then she barked.

He nudged her with his work boot and picked up the half-flattened pillow. “Damn it.”

Apple barked again before clamping her mouth onto the torn pillow for a game of tug-of-war.

“Stop it,” he said, pulling the pillow. Apple growled and shook her head.

“Talking to the dog again?”

Brent dropped the pillow and propped his hands on his hips. “Hey, Tamara. Yeah, stupid dog tore up that pillow Mom gave me when I moved in here.”

Tam stepped inside, shut the door and propped her bottom on the armchair. He could smell her perfume as it wafted toward him, curling into his nostrils. He glanced at her. She looked fine sitting there, with her golden hair tumbling down her back and her glossy lips ready to be plundered. She wore an itty-bitty dress that tied under her breasts and high-heeled sandals that made her legs look long and tanned.

“I see,” she drawled, and he could tell she had more on her mind than a cross-stitched pillow or a dog. “You wanna go over to the Dairy Barn for a burger tonight then maybe head out to Cooley’s? It’s two-for-Tuesday.”

He picked up the stuffing and repried the pillow from Apple’s mouth. “Nah, I got baseball practice.”

“Oh, yeah,” she said, rising and smoothing the flimsy cotton against her upper thighs. “I forgot you coach a team.”

He opened the door and whistled. Apple trotted outside, then spied a squirrel and gave chase. He closed the door as Tamara’s arms curled round his stomach.

“I thought maybe we could try to fix that problem you had the other night,” she whispered against his back. Her fingers smoothed themselves across his stomach. Unwillingly, he felt himself harden, but he grabbed her hands and disengaged them.

He turned. “I don’t think we have time for that kind of therapy, Tam. Though I do thank you for the offer.”

She smiled. Her two canines were slightly longer than her other teeth, giving her a vampy, cute smile. Two dimples appeared in her cheeks. “Well, you know, I do work for agriculture extension. It’s my job to make things grow.”

He chuckled, before bringing her hands to his lips. “And I appreciate the dedication you bring to your work.”

“Oh, heck, Brent. I had to go somewhere. Liv’s with Mark. They’ve been driving me crazy with all their talk of the upcoming wedding. I’m sick of tripping over bridal magazines and all the damned invitation sample books. I can’t believe she’s taking the plunge.”

Liv Wheeler was Tamara’s roommate. He’d dated her once upon a time. She was a sweet girl, not much of a conversationalist, but then again, they hadn’t talked much. The relationship had lasted about a month. She came from a good family and had a sweet disposition so he’d hoped it would evolve into something serious. But it turned out they had little in common. Liv only watched reality television, and the only books she’d ever read were The Baby-sitters Club series when she was twelve. No conversation, only action, which had been fine for a while, but really, he was more than a piece of meat, no matter what everyone liked to say.

“Mark’s a good guy. You need to find a guy like that.”

She tugged at his waistband. “Maybe you. You’re a good guy.”

“No, I’m not.” He removed her hands again and grabbed the remote control. He’d left the station on ESPN and the opening day baseball scores scrolled along the bottom of the screen. He clicked it off.

“What’s wrong, Brent? You’re always good for a quickie,” Tamara teased, propping her hand on one hip. “Or at least you were.”

Her words ruffled him. He didn’t have to prove anything to anyone. He was a man. Hell, he’d gotten hard staring at Rayne lick the spoon out of the soup earlier, so he knew there wasn’t anything wrong with the equipment. It was something else altogether that had him stepping away from Tamara. Something new and different wriggled inside him. A desire to be taken seriously. A wish to give up the fabled, carefree, eye candy image he’d fallen into long ago…and stayed in. He was tired of that life. And the woman before him was another piece in the puzzle of dissatisfaction.

But Tamara wasn’t the sort of girl who took no for an answer. Her tenacity had served her well in the past. Usually she got her man. But the digital clock on the microwave beyond her shoulder told him it was six-thirteen. It took ten minutes to get to the ball field. He still needed to gather up the catching equipment and fill up the watercooler.

“No time,” Brent said, giving Tamara a quick, hard kiss on the forehead, before unwrapping her from around his legs. “Got boys waiting on me, Tam.”

Tamara narrowed her eyes. “And I have some waiting on me at Cooley’s.”

Brent smiled at her attempt to stir jealousy. It was an emotion he was unfamiliar with. Except for when it stirred last weekend when Kate Newman had kissed Rick Mendez beneath the flowered arbor. And it wasn’t jealousy over Kate. It was jealousy for what they’d found together. Utter joy. Utter happiness. Utter love.

The only utter he held was utter contempt for his life. And for some reason, something inside him burned for a piece of what Kate and Rick had found last weekend.

He wasn’t sure why he wanted more now, but he knew he did.

A flash of color caught his eye and broke his thoughts. He stepped from the warmth of Tamara’s embrace and moved toward the French doors. Henry stood, nose pressed against the windowpane.

“Who’s that?” Tamara asked from over his shoulder.

Brent didn’t answer. Just pulled the door open. “Hey, Hank. Where’s your mom?”

The boy shrugged. “She was right behind me. She said she’d pick me up at seven-thirty. She knows where, right?”

Brent nodded as he saw the back end of Rayne disappear behind a hedge that needed clipping. An apron tie snagged on a limb and a slender hand tugged it loose. Brent had no doubt Rayne had seen Tamara twined round him like ivy on an oak. He wished she hadn’t. She already thought him the town gigolo and he’d cemented that impression in her mind, no doubt.

“Come on in, Hank. I’ve got to grab my equipment and then we can go.” The boy stepped inside and eyed the woman studying her manicure. “Oh, this is a friend. Tamara Beach.”

Henry ducked his head and rubbed the toe of his cleat in the rug. “Hi.”

Tamara bent down. “Hey, Hank. You gonna be on Brent’s team, huh? It’s the best team to be on because Brent is the best coach.”

Henry peered up at her beneath the brim of his stained baseball cap. “Um, yeah.”

Brent placed a hand on Henry’s shoulder. It surprised him Henry would be so shy. He hadn’t displayed any unease several days ago when he’d climbed over the fence. In fact, the boy had seemed in his element.

Tamara stood and smiled at Brent, her disgruntled feelings at not getting a roll in the hay gone. “Okay, you guys have fun. Will I see you later at Cooley’s, Brent?”

Brent shook his head. “Not tonight. Got a full day tomorrow. Have some fun for me.”

A small furrow appeared between her eyebrows before she nodded and flicked the bill of Henry’s cap. “Later, gators.”

Tamara picked up the keys she’d abandoned on the end table and slipped out the door.

Henry watched. “She’s pretty. Is she your girlfriend?”

Brent walked into the kitchen and started filling up the cooler with water from the faucet. Then he grabbed the equipment bag from the alcove beside the pantry. “No. Just a friend.”

Henry followed him. “Do you have a girlfriend?”

“Nope. No girlfriend,” he said, slinging the bag on his shoulder and grabbing two sports drinks from the fridge. It wasn’t too hot yet, but Henry might need some extra electrolytes.