Page 38 of S.O.S. Billboard

O’Shea was just about to move from the step to see if she could find Billboard’s outdoor trash when the door to the other side of the duplex swung open.

A tiny little lady in a bathrobe, her graying hair pulled back in a ponytail, walked out, and O’Shea, not wanting to scare her, immediately cleared her throat.

“Oh! Hello.” The woman turned, hitting her with a carbon-copy of Billboard’s dark eyes, She gave a momentary, confused shake of her head before a huge smile broke out across her face, transforming it from wary to delighted. “Who are you?” she asked brightly.

“I’m, uh, a friend of Billboard’s?”

O’Shea felt suddenly tongue-tied. Clearly this was BB’s mother, and what did one say to the matriarch when it looked as if she’d spent the night banging the woman’s son?

The truth, O’Shea, she told herself. Just not all of it. There was no way she’d admit to her crush on Billboard, and that she trulywouldhave loved to be underneath his huge body all night. That would open up an awkward chasm between them.

“I’m O’Shea, a friend of Brigid’s actually. From Louisianna,” she fumbled. “You know Brigid, right?”

“I do,” the woman answered, her grin still firmly in place. “I know all George’s colleagues. I just haven’t come across any mention of you before.”

George.

O’Shea had never heard anybody call Billboard by his given name, and wondered if it was because he didn’t like it. O’Shea certainly didn’t like hers.

Maybe his mother was the only one allowed to use it. And that mother was right now clearly waiting for information.

O’Shea cleared her throat.

“Umm, that’s because we only knew each other briefly when he came south to help Brigid. I wasn’t planning on staying with him when I came to visit. Not at all. I was actually checked into a hotel, but then I found a stray cat in an alley and smuggled her into my room. Zoe cried too much which I thought mightdisturb the other guests, and which would have been bad since my brother paid for my stay and I didn’t want him penalized, so I called Billboard and he came to pick me and Zoe up.”

Yeah, that was the ramble of all rambles, but O’Shea felt like she had to get it all out, to try and make Mrs. Seingold understand that prancing about on her son’s doorstep at dawn was unplanned and innocent.

“That’s nice, dear,” the woman answered, her smirk firmly in place. “I’m glad you and my son arefriends.”

Shit.She’d emphasized “friends”.

“Can I make you some breakfast?” the woman continued. “We won’t see George for another hour at least. He tends to sleep as late as possible, and when his alarm rings he only has time for a quick shower before he heads off to grab a fast-food breakfast sandwich on his way to the office.”

“Uh, sure,” O’Shea said.Huh.Billboard was a late sleeper. And a junk-food eater. Who knew?

O’Shea glanced down at the detritus she still held in her hand. “I was actually looking for the outdoor bins, because Zoe is really smelly.”

Mrs. Seingold peered at the tin O’Shea was holding, and wrinkled her nose. “It might be the food. That brand is notorious for its pungency. Especially the fish flavor.” She straightened. “The trash and recycling are right around the corner of the house.” She pointed. “Why don’t you drop them in, then come join me. Will scrambled eggs and toast be okay?”

O’Shea couldn’t remember the last time anyone had made her breakfast. Certainly, neither of her self-absorbed parents nor her grandmother had ever managed to do more than throw a box of cereal on the table when she’d been young. And her brother, as wonderful as he was, couldn’t cook worth a damn, even though they’d mostly been tasked with feeding themselves.“Creative” was the word that came to mind each time she thought back to those dark days.

“Scrambled is fine. But don’t go to any trouble,” O’Shea assured her. “I’m good with grabbing a breakfast bar.”

The woman rolled her eyes. “That’s not how one should start the day.” She turned to enter the house. “Now hurry along and get rid of that stuff. I can’t wait to find out all about you.”

O’Shea bit back a laugh. She’d heard from Brigid that Billboard’s specialty in the Marines—other than piloting a helicopter—had been interrogation. She had a feeling she was about to find out where he’d picked up his skills.

Making quick tracks across the yard and around the house, she easily spotted the bins, deposited the can in the recycling and the poop in the trash. The only thing that concerned her as she moved back toward the partially opened door, was whether Zoe would be okay without O’Shea for a while, or whether she’d take it upon herself to wake Billboard up.

She shrugged. The big man had signed on for the two of them when he’d picked them up, and if Zoe slid under his covers…

Damn. Lucky cat.

“Mrs. Seingold?” O’Shea shook off her insta-lust, and called out the woman’s name as she poked her head in the door.

“Come on in, O’Shea. I’m at the stove. And please call me Celia.”

“Uh, okay.” O’Shea walked into a spotless kitchen that was just starting to brighten as the sun rose outside; light flooding in through the oversized windows that sat open behind a well-worn kitchen table. “Is there anything I can do to help?” She took it upon herself to wash her hands. O’Shea wasn’t the best cook in the world—mostly because she didn’t have the patience for it—but she could manage rudimentary recipes, and sometimes even surprised herself when she really paid attention.

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