Joceline exclaimed. “You idiot! You scared me to death!” He strode down the steps, his hands in his pockets, whistling. He was tall and lean and muscular, with long blond hair in a ponytail down his back. He had one light brown eye. The other was hidden under a rakish black eye patch. “Now, darlin’, if I hadn’t come along when I did, you’d have had a very bad shock when you opened that front door. Hi, little feller. How are you?” he asked the small boy in the backseat in a very pronounced South African accent. “I’m good,” Markie said. “Who are you?” “Rourke,” was the amused reply. “You only got one eye.” “I noticed,” Rourke told him, not taking offense. “I’m sorry.” The man looked at the boy with a visible softening. “Nice of you to say that.” “Did some mean man hurt you?” “You might say that,” Rourke replied. “I like your eye patch. You could be a pirate on Halloween.” Rourke burst out laughing. “You know, I’ve been called a pirate a time or two.”
