Page 10 of His Brown-Eyed Girl

“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 evenknowyou.”

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.

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