His Brown-Eyed Girl. Liz Talley

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