His Brown-Eyed Girl

by Liz Talley

  “Now you’re talking, cowboy.” Tara smiled and he noted she had a lot of teeth. Straight white expensive-looking teeth.

  “Beer or wine?”

  “White wine,” Tara said, keeping her breasts front and center while rubbing together her glossy lips and sliding her gaze down his body.

  Made him feel like a deer in a rifle sight but he’d been in more uncomfortable situations. There had once been a woman named Delilah in a New Orleans nightclub who wasn’t exactly Delilah beneath her skirt. Beer goggles and overzealous hormones had given him that vivid memory, so, yeah, he’d been way more uncomfortable in being pursued by the, ahem, opposite sex.

  Lucas checked on Charlotte, who balanced on a stool under the ministrations of a teenage girl and went to grab a beer and white wine. A few minutes later he returned and Tara wasn’t alone. A slender man with a receding hairline and a glowering expression stood beside her, holding the hand of a boy whose face was smeared with cotton candy.

  “Way to be obvious, Tara. You’re forty, for Christ’s sake, and you’re dressed like a whore at your son’s school fair,” the man said.

  “Shut up,” Tara hissed. “I’ve seen what you’ve been dating. You’re lucky you’re not in jail.”

  “Ah, someone’s jealous…not to mention past her shelf date.” A mean smile played about his lips. “And suddenly my afternoon is more enjoyable.”

  Lucas wasn’t interested in Tara, but he could tell her ex-husband was a jerk. Something cruel lurked in the man’s eyes.

  “Here you go, babe,” Lucas said, curving an arm around Tara’s waist. She stiffened before relaxing against him. The gratitude in her eyes in that moment was enough to outweigh the difficulty he knew he’d have convincing her he was not into her.

  “Thank you, Lucas,” Tara said, smiling at him.

  “You ready to move to the duck pond? Charlotte’s finished,” Lucas said, nodding toward the ex-husband. The man’s self-satisfied smile vanished, and he stepped back quickly, releasing the boy’s hand. Tara picked up her son’s hand, rubbing some of the candy gunk off his chin.

  “I’m Sam Lindsay,” the man said, holding out a hand.

  Lucas took it and gave him a punishing handshake. “Lucas Finlay.”

  Sam resisted wincing, but Lucas knew he’d gotten the message. Nothing Lucas hated worse than a bully. Sam had pretentious prick written across his forehead. In fact it was almost a blinking marquee.

  “Okay, let’s go,” Tara said, tossing her ex a smile that said “eat shit and die.”

  Charlotte ran to Lucas, skidding to a stop in front of him. Preening, she put her little hands on either cheek and asked, “What am I, Uncle Wucas?”

  “A sparkling butterfly!” he proclaimed.

  “Yes!” Charlotte bounced up and down…and nearly hit the dirt.

  “Let’s go with Sheldon to the duck pond,” Lucas said to his niece.

  Charlotte looked over at the boy who wore paper bunny ears and hadn’t stopped chowing down on his cotton candy and said, “This kid wooks weird.”

  Sheldon dropped his candy and slapped Charlotte right in the face. “You’re a dumb booger head!”

  Then both kids started crying.

  And that was how Lucas ended up not having to worry about Tara clinging to his arm. He bought Charlotte extra tickets and let her eat two snoballs as a thank-you.

  Chapter Seven

  ADDY TRIED TO CONCENTRATE on the computer screen where the accounting program was doing its best to defeat her, but it was no use. She wasn’t in the mood to reconcile her bank statement…but then again who was ever in the mood to reconcile her bank statement?

  Her mind kept tripping back to the afternoon she’d spent yesterday with Lucas and the kids next door. How they’d eased her fear over Robbie’s “gifts,” allowing her to place her energy in something much more worthwhile. Charlotte had glowed from the attention, Chris had laughed and entertained and even Michael had smiled…once. Just that afternoon, the work she’d done with the boys while Lucas took Charlotte to her school fair had filled her with an odd contentment.

  And then there was Lucas.

  Lucas, a man of the broad-shoulder, rugged type.

  Lucas, a man she’d never have chosen in a million years.

  Something about him reminded her of the sheriff in the naughty erotic romance she started reading the night before. She’d set aside the book with the sheikh and helpless English virgin for the Western knowing she shouldn’t play with fire. But something about those wranglers and boots, about the hard line of his mouth she wanted to feel against hers had her opening a new book about a cowboy.

  How would Uncle Lucas look tied up to her bed? Reclining against ruffled pillows and lavender quilt? She could see his muscles, long and sinewy, beneath golden skin. She wanted to touch his hair, trial her fingers along his chest, down to—

  What was she doing fantasizing about a man who looked at her like a box of doughnuts that once he’d taken his fill of would mosey back to Texas?

  But then again maybe Lucas was exactly what she needed in her life at that moment. A big—what had Flora called him?—tall drink of water. Yes, maybe she needed a drink from that well.

  Or maybe she should stop trying to make her naughty books real.

  Addy pushed back in her rolling chair, just as Aunt Flora passed carrying her bedding down the hall.

  “Hey, Auntie dearest, what are you doing with those sheets?” she called, rising and trailing down the hall behind her aunt.

  “Washing ’em,” her aunt answered.

  “Why? Did you spill something? You washed them a few days ago,” Addy said, propping her hands against the doorjamb of the laundry room. Aunt Flora set the bundle of sheets in the wicker laundry basket and turned to Addy. “I didn’t wash my sheets a few days ago. A few days ago was Wednesday or Thursday. I never do laundry midweek. I’m too busy.”

  Alzheimer’s reared its ugly head. Her aunt had done laundry midweek after spilling an entire cup of tea on her bed. “I thought you had—” Addy snapped her mouth closed.

  “Wait, did I?” Aunt Flora looked blankly at the sheets. “I could have sworn…”

  “Well, it won’t hurt to wash them again. You’ll be back on schedule.” Addy offered with a wry smile.

  “Don’t baby me,” Aunt Flora snapped, slamming the lid on the washer. “I’m not an idiot. I forgot. No use trying to spin it for me.”

  Addy stood there silently, not knowing how to respond to the fact her aunt’s mind deteriorated more and more each week. The medicine had helped for a while, but over the past few months, her aunt had worsened. They needed to talk to the doctor about trying something different. “I’m not—”

  “Yes, you are. I’m not a child. Don’t treat me that way.”

  What could she say? She tried hard not to treat her aunt any different from before she’d been diagnosed, but she couldn’t ignore the signs…nor the fact her aunt’s forgetfulness made Addy feel vulnerable, feel as if she needed to check behind her. “I’m sorry.”

  Addy turned to go.

  “Wait,” her aunt said. “I shouldn’t have gotten angry. I’m not mad at you. I’m mad at myself. At this stupid disease that’s making me feel so…so weak.”

  Turning, Addy stepped toward her aunt and took the laundry basket from her. She grabbed her aunt’s hands and forced her to look at her. “You’re not weak. You’re the same person you’ve always been. I shouldn’t have said anything. Doesn’t hurt if you wash your sheets again. In fact, I wish you’d wash mine, too. I haven’t had time.”

  “Please,” Aunt Flora muttered.

  “Don’t overthink this, okay?”

  Aunt Flora’s eyes reflected agony. “Why is this happening to me? All these years I’ve waited to turn the shop over to you, waited until I could do all those things on my bucket list—skydiving, driving out West to see the Grand Canyon, taking painting classes. I’d put all those things off until I retired, and now look at me. My mind is being
eaten away and I can’t even remember when I washed my damn sheets last. Or where they moved the dry cleaners I use. Or what the Harringtons named that ugly dog of theirs.”

  “Freddy Bear.”

  “Huh?”

  “Their pug’s name is Freddy Bear. Ridiculous, huh?”

  “Yes. Very ridiculous.”

  Addy squeezed her aunt’s hands. “Look. It sucks. No way around it. But you are still you. You’re not weaker or any less of a person. So suck it up, buttercup.”

  Her aunt smiled at the adage she’d often muttered to Addy over the years. “I’ve never considered myself a buttercup kind of a gal.”

  “No?”

  “I’m a Bird of Paradise.”

  “I can see that,” Addy said, giving her a quick hug before turning back toward the office and ledger awaiting her. “And wash my sheets while you’re at it…or come help me with balancing the books.”

  “I don’t remember how to do the books. You’re on your own, kiddo,” Aunt Flora cracked, obviously finding the sense of humor she’d misplaced during her moment of frustration.

  “Yeah, yeah,” Addy said, trudging down the hall. She wished she hadn’t said anything to her aunt about the stupid laundry. Should have let her pass without calling out and reminding her of the curse her aunt now bore.

  Aunt Flora had always been Addy’s soul mate. Growing up in a large family in a too-small house in New Orleans East, Addy found Aunt Flora’s rambling, quiet Uptown house a refuge. Anytime her mother came into the city to run errands, Addy begged to go to Aunt Flora’s. Her mother’s oldest sister had never married, electing to stay in the family house on Orchard Street, and run the floral shop she’d bought from the gentleman she’d trained under for many years, and who Addy always suspected her aunt had been in love with.

  Addy had craved puttering in the garden with her aunt, learning the names of flowers, watching with interest as seeds sprouted, buds opened and pretty stems mixed with other pretty stems to become fabulous arrangements for which people paid money. Paired with butter cookies and sweet tea, gardening with Aunt Flora became Addy’s sanctuary. Seemed only natural she follow in her mentor’s footsteps.

  After Addy had been attacked, she hadn’t wanted to go away to college. She turned down the scholarships offered to her from schools out of state and elected to go to the University of New Orleans, commuting from her home. After years of therapy and after Aunt Flora had hired her to work part-time, Addy had moved into the city with Aunt Flora. Up until a year ago when Aunt Flora had officially retired and sold Fleur de Lis to Addy, their arrangement had been ideal.

  Not that it still wasn’t good.

  But Addy worried about the ensuing years. Her mother refused to accept her older sister was slipping and that Alzheimer’s increasingly progressed despite the prescriptive medicines, therapies and herbal supplements they researched. So Addy had no help in determining the future for the aunt she loved so.

  As she stepped back into her office, a flash of color outside caught her eye. Pulling back the curtain, she saw Michael and Chris rolling around near her newly restored greenhouse beating the hell out of each other. Lucas was nowhere to be seen, and Michael decidedly had the upper hand…and he wasn’t going easy on his younger brother.

  “Oh, my Lord,” Addy muttered before looking around for her gardening clogs. She found them beneath the desk, quickly slid them on and took off for the back door.

  Seconds later she shouted at the boys, “Hey, cut it out!”

  But either they didn’t hear or didn’t care they’d been discovered. They didn’t stop grunting, punching and rolling around before popping up and tackling each other again.

  Chris’s lip bled and Michael’s shirt was torn at the collar.

  “Stop it,” she yelled again, reaching toward the nearest boy and catching only air. “Chris. Michael. Stop now!”

  She heard the heavy pounding of feet coming her way and knew it was Lucas.

  The large man grabbed each kid by the upper arm, ripping them apart before giving them a shake. “What in the hell are you two doing?”

  “I’m kicking his ass,” Michael shouted, jabbing a finger toward his younger brother, who started crying.

  “No, you’re not,” Lucas said, letting each of the boys go but keeping himself firmly between them.

  “It’s not my fault,” Chris said, choking as he said it. The kid needed to go into acting. He could summon tears at the drop of a hat and his expressions…he had the wounded victim down pat. “He attacked me and I didn’t do nothing.”

  “Yeah. Sure you didn’t,” Michael said, straightening the shirt bunched up around his skinny torso. Hair flopped into his eyes and a bruise formed on his cheekbone.

  “Hush, Chris,” Lucas said before looking over at her. “Thanks for coming to break this up.”

  “I didn’t do much good. They’re nearly as big as me.”

  She should go back home, but she didn’t. Though she’d never before interfered in the lives of her neighbors, she felt she was needed here. Strike that. She knew she was needed here.

  “Okay, Michael, what’s going on?”

  The thirteen-year-old gave his uncle a withering look, turned then stomped toward the front of the house, effectively telling them all to go to hell without even opening his mouth.

  Lucas’s mouth almost dropped open, but he locked it into a tight line, his eyes betraying disbelief over the lack of respect. He started toward the front of the house.

  “Lucas,” Addy said.

  He turned his head.

  “Let me go after Michael. You take care of Chris.”

  “Hell, no, I’ve have enough of his disrespect. He’s acted like a turd since the moment I arrived and I’m done with him.”

  “Look, let me try first. Okay?”

  The man stood for a moment, shoulders tense, before finally taking a deep breath and nodding. “Okay.”

  Addy walked around to the front of the house and found Michael sitting on the porch steps. Obviously, the shady location was the go-to spot for calming down. Except Michael didn’t look calm. With his forearms propped on his knees and his jaw firmly set against the emotion he obviously battled, he looked anything but calm. He looked more like a kid about to lose it.

  “Hey,” she said, hoping he wouldn’t bolt…or turn his anger on her.

  “Hey,” he said, staring out into the last fingers of sunlight stretching toward the darkening sky.

  “You okay?”

  “Sure. Fine. In fact, you can call me dandy.”

  Addy climbed the steps and sat down beside him. “I know you don’t know me well, but is there some way I can help?”

  “Help what? Help me undo the shit storm Chris just caused on Instagram? Or maybe you can call my mom and tell her to stop treating me like a baby? Or maybe you can heal my father, bring him home? Turn back time so everything is like it was months ago?”

  “You know about your father?”

  Michael looked at her. “Do I look totally stupid? You think I don’t know this has something to do with his getting injured overseas? I heard my mom talk to my dad weeks ago. She wanted to fly into Germany and he wouldn’t let her. He wanted her to stay with us. So what happened to make her leave?”

  “I don’t know.”

  He shook his head. “My mother’s bullshit gag order on everyone means it’s pretty bad. She left us with an uncle we’ve never met before. I get As in math so I’m pretty sure I can add all that up.”

  Addy could add, too, though minutes before reconciling her bank statement might have proved differently. “Lucas hasn’t told you anything.”

  “Par for the course.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  He didn’t say anything, and Addy knew she wasn’t helping any. She had no clue why Courtney hadn’t told her kids anything about their father’s condition. Seemed wrong not to reveal the situation…to leave them with an estranged relation.

  “Why did she leave us with him?” Mich
ael’s voice trembled with unshed tears. “We don’t even know him. We’ve only seen his picture at Grammy’s house.”

  “I don’t know, but I do know he’s trying to do his best.”

  “Yeah, well, it sucks. I want my mom to come home. We can deal with everything if she’ll come home and tell us what’s going on.”

  “Sometimes people do things we don’t understand. It’s not fair.”

  Michael snorted. “That’s an understatement.”

  “I’ve spent my life accepting I can’t control everything. It’s hard to swallow being powerless, but once you accept it, it’s easier to face the world around you. You can’t control things with your father…even if you knew what was going on with him. You also can’t control the fact your mother left you with your uncle. So what can you control?”

  For a moment, Michael was silent. If she could see into his mind, she guessed she’d see the cogwheels turning, pulling in her questions and churning them to make sense of it.

  “Nothing,” he said with a shrug. “I guess I can’t control anything. Dumb-ass Chris just posted on my Instagram a pic of me looking at that orchid and put something stupid about how I wanna give flowers to Hannah Leachman. Now everyone is going to think I like her.”

  “Oh.” Addy paused thinking about that one. “Do you like her?”

  Michael shrugged. “She’s kind of cool, but now I’m going to get ragged about it, and I didn’t even post it. Chris did it to make himself look funny.”

  “All brothers and sisters cause us trouble. Trust me. I have four of them. My older sister still tries to set me up with guys. The last one she set me up with lived with his mother and played in Boogle tournaments. He also walked around with a parrot on his shoulder all the time.”

  A semismile twitched at the boy’s lips. “Yeah, sometimes it sucks having siblings. Lottie spilled hot chocolate on my math homework last week and Chris used up all my body spray. He got sent home because no one in the class could breathe and one kid was allergic and swelled up.”

  Addy smiled. “Yours are definitely interesting.”

  “You like Lucas, huh?”

  “What?”