Page 43 of His Brown-Eyed Girl

“Creampie was gonna win a medal in the pet show,” Charlotte moaned between sniffles. The child sounded as weary as Lucas felt. Maybe she’d not gotten a nap at preschool. Lucas sure the hell didn’t. The dog had pissed on the floor again, and he had to take him into the vet. His afternoon had been chopped in half. By the time he’d shoved the pills down Kermit’s throat and settled in for a conference call with his business manager, it was time for carpool.

And Lucas was certain carpool was the devil’s afternoon recruiting ground. He probably claimed a dozen souls that very afternoon when someone had blocked the K-2 loop. Who knew soccer moms had such creative curse word combinations?

A rumble down the stairs along with shouting announced the arrival of the two boys.

“You’re such a moron, Chris,” Michael said before slinking into the family room and casting Lucas a withering look. It was always a withering look, as opposed to, say, a helpful look. “What?”

Lucas tried really, really hard to be patient, but the day had been crappy, and he was tired of being Mr. Nice Guy. Okay, he hadn’t been exactly Mr. Nice Guy, but he’d attempted to keep up the good-sport veneer he’d painted on before walking into his brother’s house last week. That veneer had cracked and the bill had come due.

“How about you lose the attitude?” Lucas said, rising and stretching to his full height of six foot four. He glowered at the kid, but the effect was lost on Michael because as usual he’d shifted his gaze away. “You’re whole sulky, moody teen thing is on my last nerve.”

Michael gave him a blank stare. “Like I care? I’m controlling what I can control, and I’m leaving you alone. You’re the one who wanted me down here, and I’m here.” The kid straightened his spine but still looked so young, maybe even vulnerable, as he tossed his hair out of his face with a practiced flip of his head.

Lucas reigned in his aggravation and took Michael’s advice—control what you can control. He needed the damn TV fixed so Charlotte would stop the whining. “Something happened in the middle of your sister’s video—I think she sat on the control—and I can’t get it back on.”

Michael sighed and took the control from Lucas. “First you have to make sure it’s on this channel. Then you go to Input, then make sure you press this and then this.”

Performing a complicated series of button-pushing, Michael nodded in satisfaction as a cartoon tabby appeared wearing a huge pink bow.

“Creampie!” Charlotte shouted, pointing at the screen.

“There, squirt,” Michael said, rubbing his sister’s hair and moving toward the foyer and stairs.

“Thanks,” Lucas called, impressed, but afraid he’d never be able to mimic what the kid had done with the remote.

“No problem,” Michael called back.

It was the most civil conversation Lucas had with the kid since arriving last week… if one could call that a conversation.

“Pay up,” Chris said, shoving a grungy palm Lucas’s way.

“You really need to wash your hands, dude.” Lucas reached for his wallet right as the doorbell sounded. He glanced at his watch. Six o’clock. Dinnertime. But he hadn’t ordered pizza.

Maybe Addy would be standing on the porch with something Aunt Flora had cooked that day. He’d hated the way it had felt that morning. The vibe had been wrong, and he’d spent the day thinking about her, about how he could change things. But he had come up with no solution. Pursuing anything other than temporary friendship was selfish of him.

Besides he wasn’t a man to lose his head over a woman. Wasn’t a man to daydream about soulful eyes and dark hair. The kids and lack of sleep were pecking at him, making him loopy, making him poetic.

Ugh. He hated poetry… unless it showed in his photographs.

The doorbell sounded again, and Lucas took his boots to the front door. Two seconds later he was looking at Tara Lindsey, aka Sheldon’s mom.

“Hey,” she said smiling broadly with overglossed lips. “Thought I’d be a good neighbor and bring you guys some supper.”

For a second, he just stared. She wore tight jeans, high heels, and a shirt that dipped dangerously low. Her perfume wrapped around him, making him want to turn his head for a good deep breath of night air.

“Lucas?”

“Oh, sorry. Been a rough day. Come on in.” He stepped back and she sauntered in without Sheldon. Maybe the kid was afraid of Charlotte taking revenge. Or maybe Tara wanted to concentrate on other things like exploring what she thought to be an invitation. He shouldn’t have put his arm around her. Dumbass move.

He closed the door as Tara turned toward him. “You want this in the kitchen?”

“Yeah.” He gestured toward the back corner, wondering if the “this” was the foil-wrapped pan in her hands… or something else she wanted to give him. Uh, seemed determined to give him.

She strolled back to the kitchen each click of a heel preceded by a little hip wiggle.

Here was an obvious woman.

Even the ten-year-old standing in the open entrance of the foyer got that. He turned to his uncle and wiggled his eyebrows.

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