She came out of his mother’s room, one hand still hidden behind the doorframe. She wasn’t naked, but she was wearing a short denim skirt and tooled cowboy boots with turquoise flames up the sides, plus a silky little tank top. That outfit was definitely the next best thing to nothing at all.

LJ gave her his best smile, trying to coax her a little farther away from the door so he could see what she was hiding. “I really will go out and come back in, and I’ll look real surprised when I do it, too.”

She shook her head and laughed. “No, it’s okay. I was going to—but it’s fine. Just sit down. And close your eyes.”

He pulled one of the chairs away from the table and sat, clasping his hands over his belt, then changing his mind and propping them on his armrests. Just in case this was the kind of surprise she might need to sit on his lap for.

Andra’s surprises had become a constant in the last two years, one of the things that stayed the same no matter whether they were in Louisiana or Montana. She said she liked surprising him because he gave the most satisfying reactions. Other than the time with the live lobster, he supposed that was probably true.

The piano bench scraped, and he worked to keep from looking disappointed that she was still so far away. “Any chance I can get a kiss before my surprise?”

“I—just let me do this, LJ, okay? I didn’t think I’d be this nervous.”

His eyebrows ticked up a bit. Nervous? When it was just the two of them in the house? He listened sharply for any kind of clue, a little tempted to sneak a peek. But he didn’t have to listen long before he heard the first four chords of “The House of the Rising Sun.”

His eyes popped open, and Andra grinned at him, her long black hair brushing the curved body of Ty’s acoustic guitar. Her fingers stuttered, but she looked down and picked up the chord progression again, only a little halting.

“Hot damn.” He draped his wrists over his knees, unable to stop grinning. “I didn’t think there was a thing in the world that could make you any sexier, Andie-girl, but that guitar . . .”

“Don’t go getting hard over the guitar. It’s Ty’s, and I don’t think he’d appreciate that.”

She slowed down a touch but managed to keep up the chords even when she was talking, and his chest swelled with pride.

She beamed at him. “Do you recognize the song?” She sang, “There is a house in New Orleans . . .”

“I get you,” he said, his voice a little hoarse. How long must it have taken her to practice this, all for him?