“Does she really?” He glanced at her in surprise.
“You know Ma.” Rafe shot him a knowing grin. “She aims to please.”
“I like chocolate milk too,” came a soft voice from the bottom of the porch steps.
“I see you have good taste.” Ezreal slowly started rocking his chair. “What else do you like about kindergarten?”
“I like coloring,” Lessa piped up.
“I like recess.” Janna moved to the first step.
“Because you get to go outside?” Ezreal asked.
“Yes. I like it better than being inside. It’s stuffy there.”
“But you like to color too,” Lessa added.
Ezreal glanced at Rafe’s little sister, appreciative that she seemed to understand how skittish her friend was. Did Lessa know why the girl was so nervous?
“I like music time better. Mama does too.” Janna watched Ezreal.
The color of her eyes tugged at a memory. The pale gray irises were surrounded by a dark blue. Where had he seen eyes like that before?
“Are you going to help with Mama’s class?” Janna asked.
Ezreal stopped rocking for a second, confused. Then it hit him—this child was the piano teacher’s daughter. His stomach knotted, and his heart started to pound again. He took a deep breath, preparing to tell her that he couldn’t help.
“Does she still need helpers?” That hadn’t come out right. Ezreal’s hand shook as it gripped the arms of the rocker.
Janna nodded. She looked like she wanted to say something else but glanced first at Rafe and Lessa and then around the yard as though there might be someone there spying on them.
Ezreal couldn’t help scanning the area too. What was the child afraid of?Whowas she afraid of? When the little girl took the final step, he looked at her. She now stood a few inches from his knees, gazing at him with those intense gray eyes. He didn’t move.
“Mama says not just anyone can come to our house,” Janna finally said, her voice so soft it came out as a whisper. “We have to be careful.”
Something in the girl’s voice made the hair stand up again on the back of Ezreal’s neck, and he found himself checking the driveway again. Was Janna’s family afraid of someone in particular, or was her mother just paranoid? A single mother with a couple of kids had reason to be concerned. Boone’s crime rate might be lower than the national average, but it did have crimes, some of them violent.
“So not just anyone can help teach?” Rafe shot Ezreal a knowing sidelong glance.
“No,” Janna said. “Lessa said you play the piano.”
“I play a lot of instruments.” Ezreal started rocking again, more slowly this time.
“He writes music.” Rafe started his chair moving. His sister had her arm thrown around his neck, her head leaning against his.
“Mama writes music too.” Janna stepped a little closer. “What kind do you like?”
Ezreal considered before answering. It was a broad question, but she was very young. Since she was a classmate of Lessa’s, Janna was probably five or six. How much did she understand? He needed to know more.
“I like the music that’s all around us. Can you hear it?” Ezreal tilted his head and glanced toward the trees where a soft breeze tickled the leaves. Birds chirped a descant. He smiled, his right hand moving with the beat.
Janna came to stand next to him and rested her elbow on his knee, her head turned as though she were listening. His throat tightened. A child’s trust was no small thing, and Ezreal would never do anything to betray it. Not turning his head, he shot Rafe a sidelong glance. He seemed to understand the significance and gave a soft nod.
“I can hear it too,” she whispered.
“Not many people can.” Ezreal kept his voice low too.
“I don’t hear anything.” Lessa jumped from her brother’s lap and went to the front door, saying, “I’m hungry.”
