A Taste of Texas. Liz Talley

      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.

      “So are you funny?”

      Brent shut the fridge door. “Huh?”

      “You know. Funny. Like this one guy who works for my mom. He likes other guys and stuff.” Henry’s brown eyes were so matter-of-fact. Brent had no clue kids his age knew about homosexuality. He was knocked for a loop.

      “Um, no. I’m not funny…in that way. But I know some good knock-knock jokes.”

      “Me, too.” Henry smiled and Brent noticed he was missing his two lower teeth. It made him look even cuter. “Hey, I read one whole chapter of that book all by myself.”

      Brent motioned him toward the door. “That’s great. Chapter books can be hard. Only big kids read those.”

      Henry nodded. “I feel bad for that kid in the book. He didn’t get born with a whole arm. That’s gotta stink.”

      Brent felt a flash of satisfaction. Just what he had thought when he’d met a college teammate’s son who’d been born with a congenital heart defect which resulted in an underdeveloped limb. He’d intentionally written that book to celebrate the fact his friend’s son Reese hadn’t allowed his handicap to keep him from playing sports. It was one of his favorite books.

      “Yeah, but the kid doesn’t let his disability hold him back. You’ll see that he’s pretty brave, especially when some kids make fun of him. Even his own teammates.”

      Brent unlocked his truck, tossed the equipment bag and cooler in the bed and helped Henry climb into the cab.

      “Well, I’m only on chapter two, but I guess it’ll make me mad if they’re mean to Charlie. It doesn’t seem fair to not be like other kids. It probably makes him cry at night when no one is around.”

      Brent opened his mouth, then shut it as he cranked the engine. He wondered if Henry knew firsthand about crying in the privacy of his room. It seemed unfathomable that a strong, funny kid like Henry could suffer humiliation at the hands of others. He seemed so cool. So talented. So innocent and wonderful.

      “Maybe,” Brent commented, reversing out of the driveway. “You’ll have to read and find out.”

      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