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

by Liz Talley

  “Fine. I’ll bathe her. You clean up your dog’s pee. Use the steam cleaner.” Lucas turned on his boot and started back to the bathroom.

  “Fine. Whatever. I’ll bathe the flea.” Equal parts disgust and resignation in Michael’s voice.

  Good. Lucas didn’t want to bathe Charlotte again. The first night she’d sang songs about spaghetti at the top of her lungs and insisted on using something called Elsa shampoo… which he could not find. He’d also thought she’d bathe herself, but that didn’t seem to be the case. Seems he was supposed to bathe her. And it felt weird because he’d never washed a little girl before. Big girls and a bottle of bath gel? Sign him up. A little girl with bubblegum soap and a Mardi Gras party cup to rinse her hair? Not so much.

  He’d take dog pee any day of the week.

  Chris quickly changed the channel when he came back into the room so Lucas tossed him another Father Knows Best stern look and went in search of the paper towels stored in the half bath under the stairs.

  Fifteen minutes later, he stood in the kitchen looking at the retriever who sat innocently at the back door, tongue lolled out, happiness pouring out of sweet brown eyes. He sort of wanted to kick it… and he sort of wanted to take it for a walk. Or maybe fishing. He’d always wanted a dog to take fishing and have it sleep at the end of his bed.

  “Out, Kermit. And don’t piss in the house again.”

  The dog struggled to its feet and lumbered out the back door into the fenced yard. And the Wicked Cat of the West darted in.

  Mittens.

  Meaner than a two-headed snake.

  Lucas sighed and leaned his head against the smooth painted wood of the back door.

  He needed help.

  He didn’t know what in the hell he was doing as evidenced by being yelled at in the carpool line. Sister “Wegina Mawia” had actually scared him… and she was barely five feet tall.

  Why did he tell Courtney he would come to New Orleans and watch the kids?

  Of course, he knew the answer.

  But it was complicated… and tied around the fact the brother he’d once loved, and now hated, was teetering on the precipice of death.

  Nutshell.

  But all the other shit he felt cluttered around that reason made it harder than he’d ever thought to be back here, back in the world he’d left behind.

  Courtney’s voice. “Please, Lucas. I know you hate me, but please. I don’t know what else to do. I have to be with Ben. Have to. Please, he’s your brother. This is me begging you.”

  Words he’d once longed to hear, but never in such regard.

  He’d wanted to punish Courtney. Wanted her to grovel. To regret. To know what she’d given up.

  But her words hadn’t been filled with regret.

  They’d been desperate for her children, the ones she’d had with his brother. The family she loved more than her pride. So she’d begged him to help her. Begged the man she’d betrayed so she could go to the man she’d cheated on him with—his own brother.

  Lucas banged his forehead against the door.

  “Uncle Wucas?”

  Charlotte stood in the doorway clad in a little nightgown with ponies on it. Her wet hair hung nearly to her waist, but he knew now from experience it would curl up to her shoulders when it dried. Her blue-green eyes looked so much like Courtney’s—big and ready to be filled with laughter. Yet this little one still looked frightened of him. How could he make her understand that he wouldn’t hurt her? He tried to smile.

  She took a step back.

  O-kay. That didn’t work. “Um, you want some cereal?”

  “’kay.”

  He walked to the fridge and opened it. No milk. Damn it.

  “I think your brother must have drunk the last of the milk.” He looked down at the kid standing in the doorway. Would she pitch a fit? He’d seen kids her age in the grocery store lying on the floor, screaming and kicking. Lucas wasn’t up for handling that at the moment, not after the dirt bike crash and the dog piss.

  Chris hobbled in. “What’s for dinner?”

  Good question. He needed a win here.

  “How about pizza?” he asked.

  “Yes!” Chris pumped his fist in the air. Oddly enough, he landed on his “injured” foot without a grimace telling Lucas all he needed to know about a trip to the doctor.

  Charlotte didn’t say anything, but several crystalline tears hung on her thick lashes.

  “You don’t like pizza?” Lucas asked, using the voice he used on his mares when they were foaling.

  Charlotte shook her head.

  “Shut up, Lottie. You like pizza,” Chris said, hopping to the pantry and grabbing a bag of potato chips and shoving a handful in his mouth. Pieces fell, sprinkling the floor and his T-shirt.

  Lucas grabbed the bag and rolled it shut. “If you want pizza, you need to lay off the chips.”

  Chris made a swipe for the bag, but when he realized he had no chance, he dropped his arms and glared at Lucas. “Why are you here anyway? We don’t even know you.”

  Good question. Lucas didn’t know the answer. On the drive from West Texas to Louisiana yesterday the same question had bounced around in his head. Why was he going to help out a family he knew nothing about?

  Well, he knew a little.

  His mother had forwarded him Christmas cards framing a perfect family year after year. Lucas had watched his nephews and niece grow up in the happy, shiny-faced photos, gummy grins growing into painful half smiles. But other than a Christmas card and what he gleaned from his parents, Lucas knew nothing about his brother’s family. “Because your mother needed help.”

  “But you hate my dad. That’s what Michael said.”

  Statement. Delivered with anger. From the affable Chris.

  Charlotte stopped swinging on the back doorknob and looked up at him.

  Michael emerged in the doorway, face dark as a thundercloud, arms crossed. Tension hung like wet flannel. “We may be kids, but we’re not stupid. So why don’t you clue us all in on why we’ve never seen you before now?”

  Another good question.

  But the truth was too hard for children.

  “Where’s the number for a pizza place nearby?”

  Michael’s eyes narrowed, flickering within the dark depths was an unspoken line scratched between them. “Find it yourself, Uncle.”

  Addy stared down at the dregs in her chai tea and frowned. She should have had decaffeinated tea or a nice glass of wine. Something about the past few hours had left her unsettled and sucking down caffeine wasn’t a good idea. She lit the chamomile and honey scented candles on the shelf above the ancient claw foot tub and tossed some dried lavender in the water pouring from the arched faucet.

  Surely a bath would wash her cares away and later she’d get back to reading about the sensual Arabian sheik and the woman who defied him… only out of bed, of course.

  “Addy?”

  Addy set the empty teacup on the marble vanity and pulled on her worn terrycloth just as her aunt Flora burst into the bathroom.

  “Oh, there you are,” Aunt Flora said, readjusting a sombrero on her gray locks. “I hollered for you for a good five minutes. Thought you were out for a run.”

  “You know I don’t go at night. The running bath water must have masked the sound. What the heck are you wearing?”

  “What does it look like?” Aunt Flora asked. “It’s one of those Mexican hats. Doris got it for me for the Zumba class. We’re doing a Latin routine that requires a sombrero.”

  “Mexican Hat Dance?” Addy cracked.

  Aunt Flora twisted her lips and sent her eyes toward the pressed tin ceiling. “Well, I don’t know the song, but I think that Pitbull guy sings it. You should come to class with me.”

  “I’ll stick to yoga and running. I’m hopeless at sashaying.”

  Aunt Flora snorted and sat down on the toilet lid. “We don’t sashay. We rumba, salsa, and do kicks. But stick to your boring exercise. Zumba is for the young
at heart.”

  “There’s an insult in there somewhere.”

  “Phooey. The insult was right out front.” Aunt Flora smiled, revealing the gold crown behind her canine. The woman had a Cheshire smile and a wicked sense of humor… when she could still find it. “I saw that tall drink of water next door. Who is he? And where can I get one?”

  “He’s Ben’s brother. I think. At any rate, he’s the kids’ Uncle Lucas. And I don’t think he’s for sale.” Addy tamped down the odd feeling stirring inside at the thought of the man who had so recently invaded her world. His presence was definitely unsettling, mostly because there was something about him that was sad. Lonely. Searching.

  She knew how that felt. Two fellow travelers.

  And yet she had no idea if her musings were true. He could have a wife at home, wherever home was. He might not be looking for someone. He might not be lonely. He might not be looking for…

  No. She wasn’t looking.

  Not really.

  Although it would be nice to have a guy around to do things like stomp on palmetto bugs and fix the hinge on the laundry room door. And maybe for things like… sex.

  “Pity. I’d take a dozen. He’s a good-lookin’ thing, if you ask me,” Aunt Flora said, plucking at the tight Lycra covering her thin legs. The tight leggings weren’t exactly flattering on a seventy-five-year-old bird-legged woman, but when had something like propriety ever stopped her flamboyant aunt? On second thought, Aunt Flora looked pretty wonderful in that sombrero and flamingo tights.

  “I didn’t.” Addy shut off the water and cocked an eyebrow at her aunt.

  Aunt Flora didn’t budge. “You could use a drink of water like that.”

  “I could use a bath. I’m dirty, and the middle Finlay kid destroyed my new greenhouse two hours ago so I’m doubly stressed.”

  “What?” Aunt Flora rose and jerked the blinds open, peering out in the inky darkness to where Addy’s greenhouse tilted like a drunk.

  “Hey! I’m naked under this robe,” Addy said, pulling the collar closed and moving out of line of sight in case anyone peeped out the upper window of the blue house next door. Which never happened. That she knew of.

  “Heh,” Aunt Flora said, shaking her head and pulling the blinds closed. “Wouldn’t want anyone to see you naked now would we? Might lead to dangerous things.”

  “Aunt Flora.” Addy shook her head, laughing.

  “Just saying.”

  “I’m not afraid of it leading to dangerous things. I just don’t want to scar those poor Finlay children for life,” Addy said, trying to deliver her aunt the message she wanted to get on with her bath so the woman needed to skedaddle.

  Aunt Flora made a face. “You have a beautiful body, sugar. Oh, and there’s a thirteen-year-old boy over there. If he should catch sight of a naked Addy Toussant then he’d be set up for failure his entire life, for you my dearest, are the loveliest of women. And it’s a good thing he hasn’t caught sight yet. I don’t need boys with binoculars falling out of treetops.”

  Addy snorted. “That’s so inappropriate. And you’re too good at flattery.”

  “I’m a pro. It’s what I do.” Aunt Flora rose, grabbed Addy under her chin and gave her a squeeze. “But I’m not liar.”

  “I left you some soup on the stove. Should still be warm, but if you need it hotter, use the microwave this time.”

  Aunt Flora stilled. “I know very well how to light a fire on that stove. Been doing it since you were knee high to a grasshopper, and anyway, I didn’t cause that fire.”

  “I know,” Addy said, laying a soothing hand on her aunt’s forearm. “Put that out of your mind. I’m going to take a bath, and then we’ll watch your boyfriend Mark Harmon in NCIS, okay?”

  Aunt Flora nodded, but the damper remained. Addy wanted to kick herself but knew her role as semi-caretaker of her aunt meant she had to step on Flora’s toes at times. Her aunt had recently been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease and though she still functioned well enough to drive familiar distances and conduct her daily living, she had suffered some setbacks, most recently, a small kitchen fire when she left the oven mitt on the burner. “Yes, that sounds nice. Enjoy your bath, dear.”

  The door closed and Addy twisted the lock behind her aunt, craving the solitude of fragrant water and her own thoughts. She stepped into the tub and settled back into the delicious warmth that embraced her. The scent of lavender soothed her and almost made her forget the intensity of Lucas’s dark eyes.

  Lucas.

  Him again.

  He was a record that kept playing in her mind. Why? She wasn’t sure if she was even attracted to a guy like him, all big, lumbering, and serious. Maybe it was because he looked like a man who needed help. Three kids, a bunch of pets, and a chaotic household? She’d likely need a bottle of wine in hand to muddle through, and she’d been raised with four brothers and sisters, along with an assorted number of pets.

  But Lucas had never asked her outright for any assistance.

  So maybe it wasn’t the fact he looked like a man who needed someone to toss him a life preserver.

  Maybe she was intrigued by those broad shoulders, the jaw hewn from marble, the slightly full bottom lip that pressed into a stern line when he looked troubled… which was frequent in her limited experience. Besides he’d looked pretty spectacular in those worn Wranglers.

  Yeah, she’d noticed the brand of jeans.

  Cowboy jeans.

  Boots.

  Callused hands and—

  A knock sounded on the door.

  “Yes?” she called out.

  “A little boy hobbled over here with a paper and said he wants a list. What am I to do with it?” Aunt Flora’s tinny voice squeaked through the narrow crack of the door. “Oh, and, well, dearest, another letter from Angola came.”

  Addy’s heart plunged as she shot upright, sloshing water onto the tile floor. Fear’s fingers squeezed hard, and Addy had to focus on breathing. She sucked in air, closing her eyes, and counting slowly as she went through her mental checklist.

  Windows locked? Yes.

  Door bolted. Always.

  Or maybe not. Aunt Flora had answered the front door, allowing Chris to hand off something. What if she hadn’t relocked it? Her fading memory allowed for such gaps in the house’s security.

  Addy stood up, water sluicing down her body, jerking her robe from the hook.

  “Addy?” Aunt Flora called. “You’re not answering me, and that little boy is waiting down in the foyer.”

  The front door was definitely unlocked.

  “Just a minute, Aunt Flora,” Addy called, scooping up a towel and rubbing at her legs.

  Breathe, Addy. Robbie Guidry’s still in prison a hundred miles away. Calm down.

  But her heart still galloped, driven by irrational fear.

  Addy hurried across the bathroom, twisted the bolt, and jerked the door open. Aunt Flora chirped a surprised “oh” and stepped back, holding a yellow legal-sized paper that said LIST at the top. She also held a letter that stuck out to the side. A stamp declared it sent from a prisoner at Angola State Penitentiary. Not Robbie. He wouldn’t risk jeopardizing his parole. He used a friend, no doubt.

  Addy’s heart stutter-stepped.

  “Sorry,” she said, by way of apology. Aunt Flora clasped her free hand to her chest. “Did you lock the front door?”

  Aunt Flora blinked. “The front door? Well, I think I did. Chris is standing there, and-”

  “You have to always lock the front door, Aunt Flora. You know that.” Addy slid past her aunt while tightening the sash of her bathrobe. Normally, she wouldn’t venture out in front of anyone in such a state, but desperate times and desperate measures called for showing the legs she hadn’t had time to shave.

  She jogged down the stairs so fast Chris jumped when she hit the landing.

  “Hey, uh, Addy,” the boy said, nervously shifting his eyes around the foyer she’d painted Wedgewood blue last spring. He’d never b
een in her aunt’s house before. Not many people had. “Uncle Lucas sent me over to get your list. I have to get my homework done and everything, uh, soon.”

  Addy reached over to twist the dead bolt, but just as her hand touched the handle the door opened.

  She screamed and stumbled back.

  Chris frowned and pulled the door open to reveal Charlotte standing on the front porch in a pink nightgown and bare feet. “It’s just Charlotte.”

  Addy’s racing heart didn’t slow. She clasped her chest. “Oh, God, you scared me to death, Charlotte.”

  “You’re wearing a wobe,” Charlotte said, sidling into the foyer, damp curls bouncing. “I have one, too. It’s purple.”

  “Go home,” Chris said, flinging out an arm and pointing toward their house. “You’re not supposed to go outside without permission. And never out the front door, Lottie.”

  “I came with you,” Charlotte said, looking up at her brother with eyes pure as snowbanks at midnight. “I wove you. You’re my best brudder.”

  Chris hesitated, brown eyes flickering down at his little sister. “Well, I don’t care. You still can’t leave without telling-”

  “Charlotte!” Lucas shouted, taking the front porch steps two at a time. “What the hell do you think you’re doing running off like that? Do you know what could have happened?”

  The man’s eyes blazed, and even Chris stepped back, bumping into an antique table holding figurines her aunt had bought in Italy.

  Charlotte squealed and scampered behind Addy where she proceeded to crank up a good wail.

  Addy reached down, curved a hand around the child’s shoulder, and held her to the back of her thigh. Charlotte wrapped her chubby arms around Addy’s leg, causing the terry cloth to part. Addy felt the cool night air on her bare thighs and tried to tug the robe closed. As she jerked the bottom closed, she felt the top part. She let go of the child, pulling both parts closed and clutching them as she faced the huge man filling up her doorway. “Stop yelling at her. Please.”

  Lucas stilled, shifting in his boots, eyeing the exact spot where she held tight to the fabric. His eyes lowered only slightly before rising to her face. “I’m sorry, but she scared me. I sent Chris over for your list, and after I paid the pizza guy, I couldn’t find Charlotte.”