Page 2 of His Brown-Eyed Girl

He looked down at the arm he held tight against his torso. The grubby little fingers moved. Slowly, he uncurled his fist and wiggled his fingers.

“Good.”

He smiled slightly, obviously happy he’d not lost use of his fingers. Carefully, he extended his arm, moving it so his elbow resembled a hinge. “It still hurts a little.”

“Well, yeah, you fell on it. Can you stand up?”

He nodded and scrabbled to his feet, wincing as he moved his arm. Addy rose and gently touched his shoulder. “Maybe we should—”

The door to the greenhouse flew open. A huge man stood against the blinding sunlight.

Addy closed her mouth and scrambled back, knocking another shelf to the hard ground. More pottery broke. Irrational fear erupted within her. Unable to gain traction, she hit the heavy metal pole supporting the greenhouse and nearly tripped over the discarded bike.

“What in the hell?” the mountain asked, voice strong as the shoulders filling the space where solid plastic sheeting had once stretched tight to the ground.

Fear rose in Addy’s throat even as her body prepared to fight. Instinctively, her mind cleared, and she noted in mere nanoseconds the exits and the tools around her. She’d been preparing for this day for a long time.

But then reason clawed its way into her head.

This wasn’t Robbie.

This wasn’t a stranger.

She’d seen this man before—he’d been in and out of the Finlay house the past few days, obviously minding the neighbor’s kids. He wasn’t there for her. He was here for the kid.

She steadied her breathing but remained aware.

Chris had started crying. “I’m sorry, Uncle Lucas. I forgot she put this dumb house on my bike path.” The tears streamed, and snot may have followed. The kid looked pathetic… and blaming her for the crash.

Little turkey.

Imagine building a greenhouse on her own property. Or technically Aunt Flora’s property. The nerve!

Addy stared at the kid, wondering if she should say something… wondering how he’d managed to turn into a sobbing mess in the matter of seconds.

The large man jabbed a finger at the boy. “No excuse. I told you to stay off that bike when I wasn’t there to supervise. I had to wipe your sister.”

The kid ducked his head, sniffling, tears falling on his New Orleans Saints jersey. “I want my momma.”

“Okay, maybe stop yelling at him.” Addy unglued herself from the now sagging heavy plastic. Remain assertive. Protect the victim. “It’s obvious the child’s hurt. And scared.”

The man flicked dark eyes toward the boy. “Are you hurt, Chris?”

“Mm-hmm,” the boy mumbled, wiping his face on his sleeve, using the uninjured arm. “I hurt my shoulder.”

The man stepped inside crowding the area, making Addy’s heart race… and not in a good way. More in the way large male strangers had been doing for the past eighteen years. The fear never went away. She’d merely learned to outwardly control it.

Breathing deeply, she stretched out a hand, shifting some of the power. “I’m Addy Toussant.”

The man the kid had called Lucas didn’t tear his eyes from the boy as he stooped and placed a humongous hand on the boy’s shoulder. “And I’m Lucas. I’m taking care of my nephews and niece for a while.”

“Charlotte. And Michael,” Chris clarified, his brown eyes meeting hers as his uncle examined his arm.

“Yeah, Charlotte and Michael,” the man muttered, his eyes narrowed in concentration as he poked and prodded the boy. Addy watched for signs of pain in the boy’s face but didn’t see anything alarming. Lucas stood. “I don’t think anything’s broken.”

The boy hobbled a little. “My ankle hurts, too.”

Lucas stepped back, and his shoulder brushed hers. Addy scooted back, ignoring the piece of splintered shelf jabbing into her thigh. “Are you surprised? You drove your bike through this nice lady’s, um, house thing.”

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