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Lucas gave Addy his full attention for the first time. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Think I’ll just go, too,” Chris said slinking past his uncle, rolling his bike toward the back of his house.
“Wait,” Lucas said.
The boy stopped and looked at his uncle with frightened eyes. Addy watched as the man forced himself to relax.
“You need to help Miss or Missus—” He struggled for her name.
“Toussant.”
“Yeah. You need to help her clean up. And then we will arrange a time for you to help repair the damage you’ve done here.”
“A boy can’t fix this,” Addy said, her eyes roving over the rubble. “I’m going to have to replace some beams and most of the sheeting. Plus several of the shelves are broken. And pots. And several plants will need replacing…” Her voice faded as the enormity of the task set in.
Lucas’s dark eyes swept her from foot to crown, but not in a skeevy way. No hair raised on her neck. The look was appreciative, not harmful. There was something else—a tingly awareness that made her swallow the misery of the situation and avert her eyes from the broad shoulders and hard jaw. Her thoughts needed to stay away from the overt maleness of Uncle Lucas. “I can handle those repairs, but Chris will assist me.”
“I’m sure you don’t have the time what with taking care of the children.”
“Ineedto help make this right. Happened under my watch, and it will be good for Chris to learn some new skills.” His dark eyes reflected something in the depths. Maybe it was desperation. Taking care of the Finlay bunch had to be a challenge. “In fact, Michael can help, too. With the three of us, we’ll have you up and running in no time.”
“Michael’s not going to like it,” Chris muttered, rolling his brown eyes. “He doesn’t like helping with anything. He’s lazy.”
Addy smiled. Most thirteen-year-old boys were lazy when it came to chores. Michael was not lazy, however, when it came to lacrosse. The boy tossed balls all over his front yard. And Addy’s and Mr. Linnert’s and every house within a 100-yard radius. He’d broken the neighbor’s bay window last spring.
“I don’t care what he likes or doesn’t.” Lucas toed a piece of wood hanging haphazardly from the metal framework of the shelves. “He’s helping us rebuild Miss Toussant’s shed.”
“Greenhouse,” Addy said, clasping her hands behind her back, accepting the fact she’d have three males and a sometimes pantsless toddler invading her world… whether she wished it or not. Lucas didn’t seem the sort to take no for an answer which was something she avoided in a man. But Addy couldn’t deny it would be good for Chris to learn how to right the wrong he’d created. And something about the pleading in the man’s voice had her conceding to what would likely be more trouble than aid. “And you might as well call me Addy since we’ll be doing a project together.”
“And I’m Lucas.”
“Lucas,” she repeated holding out her hand again.
This time he took hold of her small hand with something roughly the size of a grizzly paw. But his grasp was warm and friendly for a man who seemed made of hard corners.
No zaps of attraction.
No weird tingly crap like in all those movies. Just heartfelt and firm.
She inhaled slowly and exhaled with a smile.
Something about his handshake allowed for respite, for some measure of conviction. Courtney and Ben Finlay wouldn’t leave their children with anyone who wasn’t trustworthy. She had nothing to fear.
She extracted her hand from his. “I have to work the rest of the week, so it will have to wait until Saturday. My shop is open until noon, but I should be home by one. I’ll make a list of materials, and if you can get them from a home improvement store, that would be good.”
Lucas’s eyes traveled over her again. “I can and will. I’m sorry this happened to your greenhouse. I should have made sure he didn’t get on the bike. From here on out, until his mother returns he will not be terrorizing the neighborhood with his dirt bike because it will be stored in the garage.”
“But I gotta ride in the NOLA Classic in a couple of weeks. I gotta practice.”
Lucas gave the boy a sympathetic look. “Not while I’m here. Take that up with your-”
“Like that’s going to happen,” Chris said, his words loud, his face cloudy. “Why won’t Mom come home? Why won’t you tell us where she is?”
“That’s not my call, kiddo. My job is to make sure you don’t kill yourself before she gets back… something which I’m obviously close to failing. Take up any complaints with her when she calls.”
“All she does is ask how our day was. She don’t say nothin’ about nothin.’” Chris kicked at the bent tire.
