“Mr. Barton? Mr. Al Barton?”

Brown eyes peered back at her from under bushy, grey eyebrows. “Yes?”

His one-word reply also formed a question, which wasn’t surprising. Ginny was used to people being wary of the police knocking on their door.

“I’m Officer Spencer and this is Officer Stubbis. We’d like to ask you a few questions. May we come in?”

Nodding, the older man moved back, opening the door wider. Once inside, he led them to his living room, filled with comfortable furniture. Ginny’s eyes quickly appraised the space, the length of the room allowing it to flow into a small dining area, with the kitchen at the back. There were three windows on the side of the house she was interested in and she noted a dining room chair was pulled from the table and placed near the window overlooking the house next door. The dining room table held a variety of papers, but she was unable to discern their contents.

“Will you have a seat?” Mr. Barton asked, indicating the sofa.

Thanking him, she and Sam sat down, watching Al as he took a seat in a chair opposite them.

“What can I help you with, Officers?”

“We’re investigating a report that there was a man peering into the window of your neighbors…the Caldwells,” Ginny began, lifting her hand to point to the house visible from the windows.

Bushy eyebrows lifted in unison, as Al responded in surprise. “You’re kidding? I’ve never noticed anything untoward in this neighborhood. I know times are changing and we have so many rental visitors, but that’s horrible.”

“So, you haven’t seen anything?” Sam asked.

“No, no,” Al responded, shaking his head. “I admit that I’m often working, so I wouldn’t have noticed much, but if I had, I would have reported it.”

“Do you mind me asking about your work?”

Smiling slightly, Al said, “I’m retired, so I confess it’s really a hobby…I draw. Mostly charcoal. I do sell some to a few dealers and even some for magazines.”

Glancing over to the dining room table, Ginny inquired, “Is that where you work?”

Twisting his head to follow Ginny’s line of vision, his voice tightened. “Uh, yes. Some. I also have a bedroom down the hall to the right that I use at times as well. This area has good light.”

“What subjects do you draw?” she asked, suspicious that his chair was at the window instead of the table.

Lifting his shoulders in a shrug, Al said, “Oh, anything that catches my eye.”

Sam leaned forward, a smile on his face, “Anything pretty around here catch your eye? Maybe from that window over there? Lots of pretty scenery around.”

Ginny hid her smile, knowing Sam was using his Aw shucks, good ol’ boy routine. And as usual, it worked.

Al seemed to relax slightly, saying, “Living here gives me lots of pretty scenery.”

Sam’s smile dropped off his face as he continued, “So, if I walk over to your drawing pad, am I going to see some of the pretty scenery from your neighbor’s backyard? Such as their teenage daughter?”

Ginny watched Al’s bushy eyebrows rise so high she wondered if they would disappear into his hairline.

Sputtering, Al exclaimed, “It’s not illegal to draw what you see in public.” Pinching his lips tightly for a moment, he then blurted, “And if girls are going to wander around in their bathing suits that leave nothing to the imagination, then that’s on them.”

“I’m curious about your chair angled at the window, facing your neighbor’s back yard. Do you normally spend your time watching out that window? Maybe waiting for a glance to see your teenage neighbor who, being in her backyard that is reasonably hidden from view, is not technically in public?”

“No, that’s not the way it is. Yes, I draw women…some with clothes and some nudes, but if I happen to see her lying in the sun, I use her as simply a way to study the female form. I use it in my art.”

“Uh huh,” Sam grunted. “Sure you don’t get a little excited at the view?”

Al clamped his mouth shut and stared at the two officers. Taking a deep breath, he said, “I understand you have a concern about someone peeking into windows, but that was not me. And what I do inside my house is my business and definitely not breaking the law.” Standing, he added, “I’d like to ask you to leave.”

“And if we have a witness that the person peeking into the window was you?” Ginny prodded, standing as well.

Swallowing deeply, Al replied, “Then bring them forward and arrest me. If you have the proof.” With that, he lifted his hand toward the front door.

Nodding, Ginny and Sam walked out and down the walk toward the neighbor’s house. Once there, they began to scour the area outside the window. Ginny asked, “What do you think?”

“I think he’s a dirty-old-man who gets his jollies by jacking off while watching his teenage neighbor out the window.”

“So, you believe the child?” she asked, surprised by his response.

“Yes. That little girl’s got no reason to make this shit up. But…” he leveled a stare her way, “Mr. Barton’s right. There’s no law being broken by him looking, drawing, or even masturbating to what he sees from the inside of his house.”

Unable to find evidence, they nonetheless dusted the window and window-frame for prints before going to the front door to talk to the child’s mother, who was expecting them.

Ginny did not need to turn around to know Al Barton was staring at her from his window. She could feel his eyes on the back of her head.

* * *

Brogan walked to the Baytown High School football field and stood on the sidelines for a moment. He watched as James ran the boys through their paces. Any other time, his mind would go back to when he and the other original Baytown Boys played every sport they could. But not today…today was about the man in the middle of the field.

Not one to notice a man’s appearance, he did catch that the cheerleaders near the bleachers were certainly noticing the coach. As James jogged back to grab waters for his players, he looked over at the girls and smiled. Huge. What the fuck? A grown man flirting with a bunch of teenage girls?

Even madder now than he was when he arrived, he waited until practice was over and the players had left. As James waved goodbye to the other coaches, he started walking toward his car, not noticing Brogan until he was almost upon him. Startled, he eyed the big man warily, but plastered on a white-toothed smile and said, “Hey, Brogan.”

Brogan said nothing, but continued to stare, his arms crossed as he leaned with casual grace against the pole next to James’ car.

“Listen, about yesterday,” James began again. “I never should have approached Ginny. I was just upset over my guys being so stupid and now they’re out for a lot of matches. This could really affect some of their futures, you know?”

If he was hoping to gain male camaraderie with Brogan, he was mistaken, squirming under Brogan’s unrelenting gaze. “But, uh…I get that…uh…I shouldn’t have—”

Pushing off the light pole, Brogan pulled himself up to his full height. “Let me tell you how this is going to go, asshole. You don’t speak to Ginny. You don’t talk about her. She’s with me and I don’t share.”

James narrowed his eyes, a slow smile curving his lips. “Ginny know you’re here? She know you’ve staked a claim? She doesn’t seem like the type of woman who goes for the caveman act—”

Brogan’s arm flashed out, his hand wrapped in James’ collar as he whirled around and walked the man backward until he was pressed up against his car. “You’re not a good listener, are you? You don’t talk about her. And if I have to remind you one more time, you’re not going to like the consequences.”

Throwing his hands up, James cried out, “Chill, man, chill. Fine, I won’t talk to her or about her.”

Brogan let go reluctantly, the desire to send his fist into James’ perfect smile almost overriding his good sense, his body quaking with the need to pound something. The thought of Ginny being disappointed in him had him stepping back, his gaze murderous. “You keep that promise asshole.” With a head jerk, he turned and walked off, missing the venomous expression on James’ face.

* * *

Brogan walked into his parents’ house, the smell of home cooking tempting his nostrils. He realized that while working in a restaurant the odor of food wasn’t always tantalizing, but his mother’s Guinness stew always made his mouth water.

Stepping into the large kitchen, he wasn’t surprised to see the whole family already gathered. His mother was at the stove stirring a large pot. Aiden, and their dad, Eric, along with Pops, were sitting in the den, arguing over sports. Katelyn was bent over pulling bread out of the oven and Gareth was at the counter, his eyes glued to her ass.

Walking by, Brogan shoulder bumped him, growling, “Eyes back in your head, man.”

Gareth, without turning away from his view, replied, “Yeah, right.”

Moving into the kitchen, he kissed his mom and sister before heading into the den to plop onto the end of the sofa.

Aiden turned toward him and said, “Hear you gave surfer-boy some love today.”

Jerking his eyes over, Brogan said, “No one’s business but my own.”

Hands up, Aiden defended, “Hey, you got no problems with me. Ben dropped by and we had a good yuk over it. That prick’s managed to grab up the last couple of girls I’d planned on asking out.”

“You’re just pissed because he’s encroaching on your territory?” Katelyn asked, walking into the room, her arm around Gareth, pushing him into a chair and sitting in his lap.

“No, no,” Aiden protested, his face resembling that of an adolescent pouting, before he grinned. “Well, yeah, kinda.”

Eric looked over at Brogan and asked, “Was there trouble, son?”

“Nope,” Brogan replied. “Just had a little man-to-man talk, that’s all.”

Katelyn’s eyes brightened as a smile curved her lips. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with Ginny’s run-in with him, would it?”

At that, Corrine walked into the room, wiping her hands on a dishtowel, her sharp gaze pinned on her oldest. “Ginny? Ginny Spencer?”

“Jesus, Mom,” Brogan complained, looking around to see his entire family’s attention on him.

“Well, I don’t want to be the last to know,” Corrine complained.

Eric grinned at his wife and then shifted his gaze toward Brogan. “You and Ginny?”

Sighing heavily, Brogan shot Aiden a look, before replying, “We’re…friends.”

“Just friends?” Katelyn asked, her smile now wide. “From what Jillian said—”

“Are you shittin’ me?” Brogan asked, leaning forward, pinning his sister with a hard stare. “Jillian’s been sharing what she had no business sharing.”

Katelyn left Gareth’s lap to kneel on the floor in front of Brogan. Placing her hands on his knees, she looked up and said softly, “No, she hasn’t, Brogan. She just said that Ginny was upset and you comforted her. She said that she’s never seen you so determined to protect someone.”

Dropping his chin to his chest, he felt her hands squeeze his thighs and unfamiliar tears prickled his eyes. Swallowing deeply, he lifted his head to see his family staring at him, concern in their eyes.

“She’s the best of women,” he said, then shook his head and corrected, “the best of people.” Then, softly, he added, “I’m not worthy.”

Corrine gasped, “Not worthy? But—”

“Corrine,” Eric said quietly to his wife and, catching her eyes, shook his head.

Biting her bottom lip, she did what he indicated, her eyes full of concern.

“Corrine? That stew ready to eat?” Pops asked, scooting forward and pulling himself up from his seat. “My stomach’s growling and I’d like to take care o’ that problem.”

Taking Pops’ hint, they all made their way to the dining room, where bowls of stew and hot, buttered bread filled their plates. Conversation soon ensued, playful bantering flying back and forth across the table.

Once the dinner dishes were washed and the kitchen cleaned by all, the younger MacFarlanes began to leave. Katelyn said goodbye, hesitating at Brogan, wanting to say something, but was pulled gently away by Gareth. She stared for a second before she smiled and headed out the door, quickly tucked in tight to his side.

Aiden was next as he slapped Brogan on the back and said, “See you tomorrow. You open the bar, remember?”

“I made the schedule, I should remember,” Brogan quipped, earning a laugh from his brother.

Pops looked up at Brogan, “Had a friend drop me off. Think you could take me home?”

“Sure thing,” Brogan replied easily before turning to his mom to offer a hug. Whispering in her ear, “Thanks, Mom.”

Corrine looked up into his eyes and clutched his shoulders tightly. “Whatever’s on your mind…we’re here. And to me, you are one of the most worthy men I know.”

A curt nod was his only response as he turned to his dad, who pulled him in for a handshake-hug. With a slap on the back, Eric said, “Always here for you, son.”

Nodding, he and Pops walked out to his old truck. Watching to see if his grandfather needed assistance, he climbed into the driver’s seat. A minute passed before Brogan could not stand the silence. “Okay, Pops, what’s on your mind?”

“You were always a serious boy. Aiden was a mischief maker and Katelyn was a combination of princess-tomboy. But you…hell, boy, you were so serious about everything. But you were also loyal to a fault and fun-loving.” Sighing, he continued, “You came back from the military. Still serious…but it was like something broke inside of you. Seen it in my own time in the service…seen it with your father’s time. Figured it was just something that happens to some of us in war. But to hear you say you don’t feel worthy…those words just about damn near broke my heart tonight.”

Pulling into his grandfather’s driveway, he cut the engine and stared out the windshield, sighing heavily. “I like her, Pops. She’s smart, driven, and so fuckin’ good. I’m gonna watch out for her. I want to lighten her load. Hell, I want to take care of her. But, I don’t know about anything else.”

“Well,” the older man began as he opened the door to the truck and climbed out. Slamming the door, he propped his arms on the open window, “she’s always talking at the AL meetings about counseling. Sounds like you need to take her up on it…or at least talk to someone. Remember boy, you’ve got a whole family and group of friends that have your back. Always do and always will.” Slapping his hand on the truck door, he waved as Brogan watched him walk to his front door and into his bungalow.

Scrubbing his hand over his face, he backed out of the driveway and headed toward his house. Thinking of the card on his kitchen counter with the Mental Health group number on it, he knew he had a phone call to make first thing in the morning.