His Brown-Eyed Girl (A New Orleans Ladies Novel Book 2)

by Liz Talley

  Addy smiled. Most thirteen-year-old boys were lazy when it came to chores. Michael was not lazy, however, when it came to lacrosse. The boy tossed balls all over his front yard. And Addy’s and Mr. Linnert’s and every house within a 100-yard radius. He’d broken the neighbor’s bay window last spring.

  “I don’t care what he likes or doesn’t.” Lucas toed a piece of wood hanging haphazardly from the metal framework of the shelves. “He’s helping us rebuild Miss Toussant’s shed.”

  “Greenhouse,” Addy said, clasping her hands behind her back, accepting the fact she’d have three males and a sometimes pantsless toddler invading her world… whether she wished it or not. Lucas didn’t seem the sort to take no for an answer which was something she avoided in a man. But Addy couldn’t deny it would be good for Chris to learn how to right the wrong he’d created. And something about the pleading in the man’s voice had her conceding to what would likely be more trouble than aid. “And you might as well call me Addy since we’ll be doing a project together.”

  “And I’m Lucas.”

  “Lucas,” she repeated holding out her hand again.

  This time he took hold of her small hand with something roughly the size of a grizzly paw. But his grasp was warm and friendly for a man who seemed made of hard corners.

  No zaps of attraction.

  No weird tingly crap like in all those movies. Just heartfelt and firm.

  She inhaled slowly and exhaled with a smile.

  Something about his handshake allowed for respite, for some measure of conviction. Courtney and Ben Finlay wouldn’t leave their children with anyone who wasn’t trustworthy. She had nothing to fear.

  She extracted her hand from his. “I have to work the rest of the week, so it will have to wait until Saturday. My shop is open until noon, but I should be home by one. I’ll make a list of materials, and if you can get them from a home improvement store, that would be good.”

  Lucas’s eyes traveled over her again. “I can and will. I’m sorry this happened to your greenhouse. I should have made sure he didn’t get on the bike. From here on out, until his mother returns he will not be terrorizing the neighborhood with his dirt bike because it will be stored in the garage.”

  “But I gotta ride in the NOLA Classic in a couple of weeks. I gotta practice.”

  Lucas gave the boy a sympathetic look. “Not while I’m here. Take that up with your-”

  “Like that’s going to happen,” Chris said, his words loud, his face cloudy. “Why won’t Mom come home? Why won’t you tell us where she is?”

  “That’s not my call, kiddo. My job is to make sure you don’t kill yourself before she gets back… something which I’m obviously close to failing. Take up any complaints with her when she calls.”

  “All she does is ask how our day was. She don’t say nothin’ about nothin.’” Chris kicked at the bent tire.

  Trying not to look intrigued by the conversation, Addy bent and started stacking shards of broken pottery in the plastic rolling bin she used for compost. Thankfully, it was empty and would make transporting all the broken pieces to the garbage easy. Her action directed the attention of both males to the task at hand.

  Chris carefully set the bike down on the ground outside the greenhouse while Lucas shifted unbroken pots of delicate blooms to a concentric area in the one sturdy corner of the house. Wordlessly, Lucas picked up broken boards and handed them to Chris, jerking his head toward the two empty cans sitting at the back of her house. He moved elegantly for such a large man and the trepidation Addy had felt earlier came back. She didn’t like being penned inside the space with him.

  “Sun’s about to set. Better work fast.” He placed the cans beside the shredded plastic and got to work in a businesslike manner. She pulled a rake from the small plastic cupboard on which part of the damaged greenhouse rested and did as he suggested.

  After so many words spoken, silence was welcome, allowing each to his or her own thoughts, as they restored some order to the ruined greenhouse.

  “Luckily we’re not expecting frost,” Addy commented, placing the final ruffled pink and green orchid in front of the rows sitting shiva over the broken pile of unsalvageable plants.

  Lucas grunted in affirmation, picking up her ring of keys holding the small canister of pepper spray. He eyed it before passing it to her.

  “I’m a single woman.” Her declaration wasn’t an invitation. Wasn’t a status update. It wasn’t even an explanation. Lucas was damn lucky she hadn’t had the keys in hand when he’d burst through the plastic earlier.

  “Smart,” he said.

  Chris sighed, obviously bored with the adult talk. “Can I take my bike home now?”

  Lucas nodded. “I’ll take this pile out to the bin.”

  A disturbance at the torn entrance drew Addy’s eye. Golden curls followed by one blue eye studied her.

  “Can we haf choco-wate chip cookies?” Charlotte emerged fully into the opening, her big eyes fastened on Addy. The child looked hungry… maybe for more than chocolate chip cookies.

  Addy was accustomed to being around kids since she had a dozen nieces and nephews, but she’d hardly said “boo” to the kids next door, though her great aunt Flora liked to chat them up occasionally. Charlotte looked a little lost under her uncle’s care, and an invisible string inside her heart plinked at the girl in her juice-stained T-shirt and mismatched pants.

  Holding out a hand, Addy beckoned the girl. “You ready for some cookies?”

  “Mm-hmm.” Charlotte nodded, reaching small grubby fingers toward Addy. “I wike cookies.”

  The adorable speech impediment cemented the intent in Addy’s heart. Lucas needed help. “I like cookies, too.”

  “Uncle Wucas don’t wike cookies. He wikes beer.”

  Addy felt a giggle burble up inside her.

  “Please don’t tell Sister Regina Maria. She already thinks I’m the very devil,” Lucas said, pushing the bin out into the encroaching darkness. Michael stood at the end of Addy’s drive, tapping on his cellphone, casting an occasional glance toward where Lucas tugged the plastic sheeting closed.

  “Sister Wegina Mawia is my pwincipal,” Charlotte said, looking up at Addy with eyes the color of sea glass. Clear blue mottled with bottle green. Beautiful and trusting. But not when she looked at Lucas. Something about the big man scared the girl. Normally, Addy would agree. As a former victim of violence, she avoided large men. Even though she knew it was wrong to judge a man on his size, she couldn’t seem to help herself. Lucas was an oak tree.

  “Sister Regina Maria sounds like a good principal. Is she nice?”

  Michael joined them. “If dragons are nice.”

  “She’s not a dwagon,” Charlotte admonished, her plump lips straightening in a line, her brow wrinkling into thunderclouds. “You a fart head. Chris said so.”

  Michael laughed. “He’d know.”

  Charlotte didn’t seem to know what to say. But Lucas did. “Michael, did you finish your homework?”

  The boy gave his uncle a withering look.

  “Did you?”

  The boy still didn’t answer but instead tugged Charlotte’s hand away from Addy. “Let’s go home, Lottie.”

  “Nooo,” the toddler screeched, pulling away from Michael. “I want cookies.”

  “We got cookies.” The boy leaned over and picked up his sister, shooting Lucas a funny look. “If you don’t come with me, I’ll leave you with Uncle Lucas all by yourself.”

  The little girl froze and slid pretty eyes to her towering uncle. “No! He eats wittle kids. And mommies.”

  Michael’s eyes sparked. “Well, we know he hates Mom and Dad.”

  Charlotte started crying, but her older brother didn’t seem to care. He charged toward the gap in the camellia bushes, not bothering to listen as his uncle shouted, “Stop!”

  “That little-” Lucas bit down on the expletive sure to explode from his mouth. He shoved the rolling bin to the side and started toward the gap.<
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  But Addy did something unexpected.

  She reached out and laid a hand on his arm.

  Lucas stopped, turning to her, his irritation making her stomach flutter. “What?”

  “Let him go.”

  The man shrugged off her touch. “No, he’s being-”

  “Lucas Whatever Your Name Is, I think you need to tell me what’s really going on. Where are Ben and Courtney?”

  Lucas Finlay looked down at the small woman staring expectantly at him with eyes the color of aged wheat, not quite golden but not wholly brown, and stilled himself.

  What was really going on?

  How about total incompetency in dealing with kids?

  Or helplessness?

  Or guilt?

  Or all of the above?

  All those would likely cover the past forty-eight hours spent in the company of three kids he knew nothing about, a house that creaked and moaned and had weak pipes, and pets that needed constant feeding and walking. He’d encountered more poop in the last two days than in his entire lifetime… and he raised cattle on his ranch.

  Not to mention, Michael had been correct.

  Not about eating small children. Lucas might be tall, but he’d given up devouring tiny tots long ago… when he’d sold the golden egg laying goose. But the boy had been right about hating his brother and sister-in-law. Unequivocally correct.

  “It’s a long, complicated story.”

  Addy hooked a dramatic eyebrow. “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. It is. And right now I need to go.”

  “Ben and Courtney aren’t… I mean…”

  “No. They are still alive.” Courtney had been adamant the children not know what had happened. Neighbors carried tales and Lucas wasn’t sure what Courtney wanted to reveal about Ben’s injuries… about the fact his younger brother lay fighting in a hospital bed miles away, knocking on death’s door. “They’re in Virginia.”

  Not a lie.

  Walter Reed Army Hospital was in Virginia.

  “I know Ben’s deployed to Afghanistan. Was he injured?”

  Lucas didn’t move a muscle. “I can’t give out information without their permission.”

  She looked like she understood that it was something serious but wasn’t going to pry. “Oh, of course. I’ve just never seen you before. Not that I am close friends with your family.”

  “My mom and dad are in Europe, trying to get back so they can meet Courtney in Virginia. There was no one else to stay with the kids on such short notice.”

  The woman didn’t say anything. Just studied him which made him uncomfortable. This is what he didn’t like about being back in New Orleans. People lurked around every corner, and there were so many things in his way—trees, bushes, grass, lushness. Yes, everything was so damn plush and suffocating.

  Not like West Texas where a man could breathe. Where a man could stretch out and see for days what came toward him. There were no corners… and very few people. And those very few people left him the hell alone. Just as he wished.

  Here in New Orleans, he drowned in all the stuff surrounding him.

  Mostly in dog piss because Kermit the yellow Labrador had bladder issues. The vet had been on the list for the next morning, but if he had to go to Home Depot….

  She cleared her throat.

  He glanced at her again. She hadn’t warmed up to him, but most people didn’t. There was something hard in his demeanor, something off-putting that sent people away from him rather than toward him. Probably his size. He stretched six foot four inches and filled up most doorways with his breadth. He wasn’t fat, but neither was he slim. Solid. Thick. And unlikely to smile. Charm was his antonym.

  But he liked the look of her. Petite but not mousy. Brown hair that caught in the waning sunlight. Pleasant heart-shaped face. Very natural. No caked-on makeup or weirdly patterned shirts with spiky high heels. Just simplicity. Yeah, this woman looked simple. His fingers itched to shoot her. He’d use the new Nikon and catch the natural light falling soft against her golden skin. She’d look good against that light, her pensiveness, uncertainty, that vulnerability that haunted her eyes.

  But then he remembered where he was.

  “Courtney hasn’t told the kids what issues she and Ben are facing.” Damn. Even that was too much to say. He could tell Addy knew the situation wasn’t good, but he couldn’t take his words back. Yet, somehow he knew this woman wouldn’t spread them around.

  She nodded, mink hair falling over slim shoulders. He wondered what she’d do if he reached over and felt it between his thumb and finger. Then he remembered the pepper spray on her key ring and shoved his hands in to his pockets.

  “Okay, I’m smart enough to realize it’s something bad otherwise you wouldn’t be here. The children seem scared of you, likely perpetuated by Michael who is locked in a power struggle with you. So I’d say-”

  “Are you a counselor?”

  She smiled, and her face transformed into beauty. Not an overblown beauty, but the kind a person observes when a swan glides over the water on a still morn, the kind reflected in a pool sitting taciturn beneath a towering mountain pass. Serene beauty. Peaceful beauty. “No, I’m a floral designer.”

  His face must have betrayed the question.

  “Fine. It’s a fancy way of saying I’m a florist.”

  At this he gave a rare smile. “So you arrange things. Pull apart, reassemble, and create something that makes sense… just as you’re doing now?”

  She made a face. “I don’t think anyone has ever put it in such a way, but I suppose that’s weirdly accurate.”

  A screech erupted from the house. Chris or Charlotte? He couldn’t tell.

  “That’s my cue. Need to go, but I’ll send whichever child who’s not bleeding over for your list.” His long strides ate up the distance between her drive and the gap in the bushes. For some odd reason he didn’t want to leave her just yet.

  Or maybe he merely tried to avoid the slap of reality awaiting him. He’d learned kids were fantastic at delivering those particular slaps.

  Just before he disappeared, he remembered his manners. “Good to meet you and sorry about-”

  Another scream.

  Addy jerked her gaze to the faded blue house. “Go.”

  So he did.

  Of course when he saw what awaited him when he stepped through the front door, he wished he’d stayed a while longer basking in the serenity that was his brother’s next-door neighbor.

  Charlotte stood in the middle of the living room screeching like a parrot, pointing at a huge puddle of something.

  “What?” he shouted, stomping onto the area rug.

  Charlotte froze.

  “Where are your brothers?”

  She didn’t say anything. Just looked at him like he had horns. Like he might be looking over the plumpest parts of her for his nighttime meal.

  “Michael!” he called up the stairs.

  No answer.

  Kermit, the ancient yellow lab, slunk past, quickstepping it toward the kitchen and back door.

  “Oh, no,” Lucas muttered, glancing back at Charlotte. “Is that dog pee?”

  The little girl slowly nodded. “I stepped in it. Gwoss.”

  Chris came in holding a large plastic storage bag filled with ice, sank into the recliner and propped his ankle up, plunking the ice down on his bare foot and grabbing the remote control. “Looks like Kermit the Dog peed again.”

  Lucas closed his eyes and counted, throwing in a Hail Mary and the Serenity prayer for good measure. When he opened his eyes, the things he couldn’t change were still there. Dog pee, three-year-old, and a ten-year-old watching… Game of Thrones?

  Yep. Boobs.

  “Hey, turn that to a kids channel or something,” he said, giving Chris the same eyeball job his father had given him when he snuck off to watch movies with men blowing each other apart while saving a big-busted, scantily clad hooker with a good heart.

  “But everybody watches GOT.”


  “You’re barely ten. Turn the channel. Now.” Lucas skirted the pond of pee courtesy of the family dog and looked down at his niece who balanced on one foot.

  “It gotted on me,” she said by way of explanation.

  “It’s nearly time for your bath, so we’ll take one early, okay?”

  “’Kay. Can I have fwooty-ohs for supper?” she asked allowing him to lift her over the huge puddle of urine. She didn’t even shudder at his touch, but she didn’t hold on to him either. Maybe they were making progress. “You weally ain’t a monster, are you?”

  Lucas shook his head. “No. I’m your uncle. Your daddy’s older brother. I’m just big.”

  Her blue eyes didn’t blink.

  “You’re little. Does that make you a fairy?”

  The little girl smiled and something near the rock that was his heart stirred. Felt like gas but not as sharp. “Like Tinkerbell?”

  “Who’s Tinkerbell?”

  The little girl relaxed against him as he climbed the stairs. “You don’t know who Tinkerbell is?”

  Music blasted from Michael’s closed door. Lucas stopped and knocked but got no response, so he kept moving toward the kids’ bathroom. Courtney had obviously taken pains to make it bright and kid like, but the boys seemed to care little, tossing their socks, undies, and wet towels on the floor and leaving streaks of toothpaste in the sink.

  “Here. I’m going to start your bath water then I’ll get Michael to help you while I clean up the mess Kermit made.”

  Charlotte balanced on one foot, holding aloft a tiny foot with chipped pink polish on her little toenails. “’kay.”

  Lucas banged on Michael’s door.

  No answer. Of course.

  “Michael!” Lucas shouted.

  Lucas raised his fist to pound on the door once more, but it jerked open.

  Music battered him, and an angry thirteen-year-old with sullen brown eyes met him. “What?”

  Lucas lowered his fist because the kid’s eyes darted to it, and there was a haunted look in them. “I need you to bathe your sister.”

  “That’s not my job. I did my homework and took out the trash. Plus, I already wiped her and put her pants on.”