Liz Talley - His Brown-Eyed Girl

His bike?

Addy looked at the torn plastic, bent frame, busted shelves and pottery shards. Yeah, she was totally concerned about the stupid bike. Precious, no, valuable, orchids lay scattered on the ground, roots dangling, stems crushed, petals bruised.

Dirt smeared the boy’s cheek, and if Addy hadn’t been so troubled by the fact the accident-prone child had nearly decapitated himself and destroyed her orchid collection, she might have thought it endearing. But she was upset...and mad...and scared the boy had nearly broken his fool neck.

“My arm hurts,” he said, cupping his shoulder. “And my handlebars are all bent.”

Addy struggled to her feet, carefully lifting the bike off him and pushing aside. “Let me see.”

The boy scooted back, wincing as he cradled his right arm. “Owww.”

Addy knelt beside him and gently placed her hand on his forearm. “Can you wiggle your fingers?”

Big tears hovered on his thick lashes. He dashed them away with his other hand. “I don’t know.”

“Try.”

He looked 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 only slightly as he moved his shoulder.

Addy rose as the new flap in her greenhouse flew open. A huge man stood in the blinding sunlight. She stumbled back, knocking another shelf to the ground. More pottery broke as irrational fear exploded 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 happened here?” the mountain asked, his voice strong as the shoulders filling the space where plastic sheeting had once stretched tight.

Fear rose in Addy’s throat 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 even as her instinct took over, reason clawed its way into her head.

He 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 kids. He wasn’t there for her. He was here for the boy.

She steadied her breathing, but remained aware...just as she’d practiced.

Chris started crying. “I’m sorry. I really am, Uncle Lucas. I forgot she put this dumb house on my bike path.” Tears weren’t wiped away. Snot followed. He looked pathetic...and was blaming her for the crash.

She was fairly certain she could build a greenhouse on her own property. Or technically Aunt Flora’s property. Addy stared at the kid, wondering if she should say something, wondering how he’d managed to turn into a sobbing mess in a 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 around. I had to wipe your sister, and you disobeyed.”

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

“Okay, stop yelling at him,” Addy said, ungluing herself from the now-sagging plastic and propping her hands on her hips. Remain assertive. Protect the victim. “It’s obvious the child is hurt. And scared.”

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

“Mmm-hmm.” The boy wiped 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 over fifteen years. The fear never went away. She merely had to control it.

Breathing deeply, she stretched out a hand, shifting some of the power. “I’m Addy Toussant. This is my aunt Flora’s house, but I live with her.”

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

“And Charlotte. And Michael,” Chris said, his brown eyes meeting hers as he allowed his uncle to move his arm.

“Yeah, them, too,” Lucas muttered, his eyes screwed up in concentration as he poked and prodded the boy. “Stand up so I can get a better look at your shoulder.”

Chris allowed Lucas to lift him to his feet. Addy watched for signs of pain in the boy’s face, but didn’t see anything alarming.

Chris hobbled a little. “My ankle hurts, too.”

Lucas stepped back so his shoulder brushed hers. Addy dropped the hand he hadn’t shaken and scooted away, 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.”

Chris peered over at her. “Sorry, Miss Abby. Really. I forgot you put this on my trail.”

Addy didn’t say anything. She probably should say something inane like “It’s okay” or “My name’s Miss Addy,” but she didn’t. Mostly because the child had destroyed part of her newly built greenhouse...and plenty of poor, helpless orchids.

“I’m glad you’re sorry because you’re going to help her rebuild it.” This from the tall, dark and somewhat handsome man.

“What? No.” Addy turned to the giant glowering at the boy. “It’s really not necessary.”

“The hell it isn’t. I told him to stay off that damn bike while I went in to help his sister. He disobeyed, nearly killed himself and destroyed property in the process. He’s helping fix this.”

“You’re cussing,” Chris whined, making a god-awful face. “I don’t know nothin’ about fixin’ stuff.”

“Well, that’s the way you learn.” The man picked up the motorbike as if it were a small toy and rolled it toward the split in the plastic as the older boy arrived on scene.

“Holy shit, Chris, what did you do? Mom’s going to freak.”

“Watch your mouth,” Lucas said, shooting the older boy a stern look, blatantly ignoring his own naughty word moments before.

Michael crossed his arms and gave his uncle a go-to-hell look. “Whatever. Like you don’t cuss.”

The man ignored him and shoved the bike toward Michael. “Take this to your house.”

Michael caught the bike and glowered. “Why do I have to clean up his messes? I always have to—”

“Do what I said,” Lucas said, his tone brooking no further argument. “Where’s your sister? I left her in the bathroom.”

And that was when Charlotte showed up sans pants.

“I’m through,” she trilled with a smile, thrusting a wad of toilet paper in the air toward Lucas.

For a moment, all were stunned silent.

“Where are your pants?” Lucas asked as the two older boys started laughing.

“I couldn’t put them on. You hadda wipe me.” She looked about three or four years old. Old enough to know better than to go outside with a bare behind. Young enough not to care.

The man lifted his eyes heavenward and took in a deep breath. Addy wasn’t sure if he was praying or trying his best not to bolt toward the huge truck he’d parked in the narrow drive the day before. She didn’t know why he’d gotten saddled with the Finlays’ three kids, dog, cat and whatever else they sustained in the rambling shotgun house next door, but he was more of a champ than she.

Or was that chump?

“For crying out loud, Lottie. You’re not supposed to leave the bathroom without clothes on. And you can wipe yourself. You know it and I know it,” Chris said looking like a small parent. “Wipe yourself.”