Читать книгу His Brown-Eyed Girl - Liz Talley - Страница 10
ОглавлениеChapter Two
LUCAS FINLAY LOOKED 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 past 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 him hating his brother and sister-in-law. Unequivocally correct.
“It’s a long story.”
Addy hooked a dramatic eyebrow. “Yeah?”
“I need to go.”
“Where are Ben and Courtney?”
For a moment, he didn’t answer. Was it any of her business? She was a neighbor. Neighbors carried tales and Lucas wasn’t sure what Courtney wanted to reveal about Ben’s injuries...about the fact Lucas’s younger brother lay 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.
“Ben’s deployed to Afghanistan. Was he injured?”
Lucas didn’t move a muscle. “I can’t give out information without their permission.”
“What about your parents? Why aren’t they here instead of you?”
“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 golden retriever had bladder issues. The vet was on the list for tomorrow, 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 photograph her. He’d use the new Nikon and catch the natural light falling soft against her golden skin.
Then he remembered where he was.
“Look, I don’t feel comfortable talking about the situation. 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 back his words. 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. Scream?
Then he remembered the pepper spray on her key ring and shoved his hands into his pockets.
“Okay, I’m smart enough to realize it’s something bad otherwise you wouldn’t be here. I’ve never seen you before so that means you’re not close to your brother. The children seem scared of you, likely perpetuated by Michael who is locked in a power struggle with you. So I’d say—”
“You a counselor?”
She smiled and her face transformed into beauty. Not an overblown, sexy beauty, but the kind a person observes as 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. “I’m a floral designer.”
His expression 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 accurate.”
A scream erupted from the house. Chris or Charlotte? He couldn’t tell.
“That’s my cue. Need to go, but I’ll send over whichever child’s not bleeding for your list.” His 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.
Before he disappeared, Lucas turned and held up his hand. “Good to meet you and sorry about—”
Another scream.
Addy jerked her gaze to the 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 awhile longer basking in the serenity that was his brother’s next-door neighbor.
Charlotte stood in 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 golden retriever, slunk past, quickstepping it toward the kitchen and back door.
“Oh, no,” Lucas muttered, glancing at Charlotte. “Is that dog pee?”
She slowly nodded. “I stepped in it. Gross.”
Chris came in holding a large plastic storage bag filled with ice, sank into the leather recliner and propped his ankle up, plunking the ice 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 Cinemax.
“Hey, turn that to a kid’s channel or something,” he said, giving Chris the same eyeball job his father had given him when he sneaked off to watch shoot ’em up movies.
“But it’s PG-13. No sex or nothin’.”
“You’re not thirteen. You’re barely ten. Turn the channel. Now.” Lucas skirted the pond of pee and looked at his niece who balanced on one foot.
“It gotted on me,” she said by way of explanation.
“Of course. It’s nearly time for your bath, so we’ll take one early, okay?”
“’Kay. Can I have frooty-ohs for dinner?” she asked, allowing him to lift her. She didn’t even shudder, but she didn’t hold on to him, either. Maybe they were making progress. “You weally ain’t a monster, are you?”
“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?”
She 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 even know who Tinkerbell is?”
Music blasted from behind Michael’s closed door. Lucas knocked but got no response, so he kept moving toward the kids’ bathroom. Courtney had obviously taken pains to make it bright and kidlike, 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’ll start your bath 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 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 hunted 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.”
“Fine. I’ll bathe her. You clean up your dog’s pee. Use the steam cleaner.” Lucas turned toward the bathroom.
“Fine. Whatever. I’ll bathe the flea.” There were equal parts disgust and resignation in Michael’s voice.
Good. Lucas didn’t want to bathe Charlotte again. The first night she’d sung songs about spaghetti at the top of her lungs and insisted on using something called Dora the Explorer 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. Little girls with Strawberry Shortcake 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 Lucas entered the room so he 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.
“Out, Kermit. And don’t piss in the house again.”
The dog lumbered out 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 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 while picking up Charlotte from school. Sister Regina Maria 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 here in the world he’d left behind.
Long ago.
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 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 had been 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 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 eyes looked so much like Courtney’s—big and ready to be filled by life. She still looked frightened of him, but he couldn’t do anything about it.
He tried to smile but it probably looked as if he were in pain. She took a step back.
“Do you want some cereal?” He walked to the fridge. “Uh, I think your brother must have drank the last of the milk.” He looked at her. 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. “How about pizza?”
“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 blond 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, grabbing a bag of potato chips and shoving a handful into 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.”
“But—” 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 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 of this perfect family year after year. Lucas had watched his nephews and niece grow up in the happy, shiny photos, gummy grins shifting 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.” Statement. Delivered with anger. From the affable Chris.
Charlotte stopped swinging on the doorknob.
Michael appeared, face dark as a thundercloud, arms crossed. Tension hung like wet flannel. “Yeah, you do. 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?”
Flickering within the dark depths of Michael’s eyes—so similar to Ben’s—was an unspoken line scratched between them. “Find it yourself, Uncle.”
* * *
ADDY STARED at the dregs in her chai tea. She should have had decaffeinated tea or a nice glass of wine. The past few hours had left her unsettled and sucking down caffeine hadn’t been 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 sheikh 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 terry-cloth robe 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 run at night. The faucet must have masked the sound of you calling. 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 it’s very sexy. You should come to class with me.”
“I’ll stick to yoga and running. I’m hopeless at sashaying.”
Aunt Flora snorted and sat 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 crowns in the back of her mouth. The woman had a Cheshire cat 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. She felt an attraction toward him, which seemed at odds with the perpetual fear she clung to whenever a large man lumbered into her periphery. That contradiction unsettled her.
Not that she couldn’t use a man in her life.
Again she reminded herself she wasn’t unhappy without a man to stomp bugs and fix the hinge on the laundry room door. Still she wouldn’t mind a date or two...but this man had his hands full enough without worrying with her. And he’d be leaving eventually. Of course she didn’t know where he’d return to, just that he would. So not a good idea to open herself up to the idea of Lucas.
“Pity. I’d take a dozen. I could use some help around here. And he’s a good-lookin’ tall drink of water, if you ask me,” Aunt Flora said, plucking at the tight Lycra covering her thin legs. Honestly, the tight leggings weren’t appropriate on a seventy-five-year-old woman, but when had something like propriety ever stopped her flamboyant aunt?
“I didn’t ask you.” Addy shut off the water and cocked an eyebrow at her aunt.
Flora didn’t budge. “You could use a drink of water.”
“I could use a bath. I’m dirty and the middle Finlay kid destroyed my new greenhouse two hours ago.”
“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.” Flora shook her head and pulled the blinds closed. “Wouldn’t want anyone to see you nekkid, now would we? Might lead to dangerous things.”
“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.
Charlotte screeched and scampered behind Addy, where she proceeded to crank up a good wail.
Addy 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 bodice 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 gaze lowered 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.”
The little girl still cried, holding fast to Addy. “As you can see, your yelling is not helping the situation.”
“She’s not supposed to leave our house without Momma,” Chris said, folding his arms, very adultlike. He was quite the little parent.
“Mommy! I want my mommy!” Charlotte wailed, her little body trembling against Addy’s leg.
“Here.” Addy bent and scooped the child into her arms, praying she had not just shown her promised land to the two males in her foyer, and strode toward the living room on her left. Making calming noises, she stroked the little girl’s back. “Shh, shh, Charlotte. Your mommy will be home soon.”
The child hid her face in the curve of Addy’s neck and squeezed her tighter. Addy sank onto the flowered couch, carefully tucking her robe around her and glanced at the two men standing silently in the foyer. She jerked her head, indicating they follow her, and tried not to worry about the front door standing wide-open, an invitation to the outside world.
Lucas pulled the door shut and nudged Chris toward where Addy sat.
“What?” Chris pulled back. “No, I wanna go. I’m hungry. Besides, I still gotta do some math.”
Lucas nodded. “Go then. Three slices of pizza only. No soda.”
“Cool. Later, Addy.” Chris didn’t wait for her response as he slid out the door, closing it with a loud bang.
Addy couldn’t stop herself from eyeing the unlocked dead bolt. A second later she lifted her gaze to Lucas who noticed her preoccupation with the door, but hopefully thought she worried about the force the ten-year-old had used.
He walked into her living room, gaze darting left then right before once again landing on her.
“I’m sorry,” Lucas said, ducking his chin slightly. “I didn’t mean to scare her. Or you.”
The irony was Addy wasn’t scared.
Nervous to be practically naked in the room with a man she felt an uncanny attraction toward? Yes. Scared? No.
And that thought surprised the hell out of her.
She should be terrified of a man storming into the place she felt safest, yelling, disrupting, darting glances at the places that made her very much different from him.
Moments before she had been terrified.
The letter from Angola had been sent to terrorize her, and her heart still thudded from the adrenaline of pounding down the stairs and being startled by Charlotte. But Lucas arriving, filling up the foyer with his strength and somewhat sweet failing at being a caregiver stilled her. So odd, yet so welcome in the face of what she’d experienced earlier.
Lucas quieted her trembling.
“I know you didn’t,” Addy murmured, stroking Charlotte’s back again. “But you are a large man and somewhat frightening to a small girl.”
“I apologized. I don’t know what else to say.”
Addy shook her head and cuddled the little girl who sank into her, snuffling but no longer sobbing. Something sweet and tender toward the child awoke within Addy. Having her mother leave her with someone Charlotte didn’t know had to be traumatic. “I know you don’t know what to say, but you have to try on her shoes. She’s young and missing her mother. She doesn’t understand what’s going on, only that you scare her with your scowls and anger.”
Something in his eyes softened, something different glowing within. “But I don’t scare a big girl like you?”
