His Brown-Eyed Girl

“Aunt Flora.” Addy shook her head.

“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.

“You have a beautiful body and there’s a thirteen-year-old boy next door. If he should catch sight of a nekkid Addy Toussant, then he’d be set up for failure his entire life, for you, my dearest, are the loveliest of women. It’s a good thing he hasn’t caught sight yet. I don’t need boys with binoculars falling out of trees.”

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

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

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

Aunt Flora stilled. “I know very well how to light a fire on that stove. Been doing it since you were knee-high, and 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 that cutie pie Mark Harmon in NCIS, okay?”

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

The door closed and Addy twisted the lock, craving the solitude of fragrant water and her own thoughts. She stepped into the water, settled in the claw-foot tub and allowed the warmth to embrace her. The scent of lavender soothed her and almost made her forget the intensity of Lucas’s dark eyes.

Lucas.

Why did the man intrigue her?

Maybe 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 assorted pets.

But Lucas had never asked outright for assistance.

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

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.

Callous 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 asked. “Oh, and...well, dearest, another letter from Angola.”

Addy’s heart plunged as she shot upright, sloshing water onto the tile floor. Fear’s fingers squeezed hard. She sucked in air, closing her eyes and counting slowly as the alarm sounded inside her.

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, water sluicing down her body, and jerked 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 still sits in a prison cell a hundred miles away. Breathe.

Addy hurried across the bathroom, twisted the bolt and jerked open the door. Aunt Flora chirped a surprised oh and stepped back, holding a yellow legal-size 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 stopped.

“Sorry,” she said, by way of apology when 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 said, sliding 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 been 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 porch in a pink nightgown and bare feet. “It’s just Charlotte.”

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

“You wearing a wobe,” Charlotte said, sidling in, damp curls bouncing. “I have one. It’s purple.”

“Go home.” Chris flung out an arm and pointed 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 at her brother with eyes pure as snowbanks at midnight. “I love you. You’re my best brother.”

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 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.