Anything for You (Blue Heron #5)(51)

Colleen had made her peace with their father. Connor had not. After what Pete put Mom through, Connor saw absolutely no reason to invite the slick bastard back into his life.

He certainly wasn’t going to give him the chance to invest in a business.

Well, he could sit here all day, or he could get out and do something. Go for a run, hit the boxing gym, see if Tom Barlow was around and up for a few rounds.

Running won.

He went home to change. He owned a two-family Victorian a couple blocks off the green. Until recently, Colleen had lived upstairs, and though he wouldn’t admit it, he missed having her there. Missed Rufus, her giant Irish Wolfhound mutt.

The downstairs apartment had always seemed too big. Three bedrooms, a living room, den and kitchen. Colleen called his style “Generic American Male,” but he didn’t see anything wrong with that. He’d bought his furniture in one fell swoop, basically ordering page 21 of the Pottery Barn catalog. He had three framed photos: one of him and Colleen the day they opened the bar; one of him, Mom and Colleen at Collie’s wedding last year; and a photo of Savannah at bat.

Not one of him and Jess.

Yeah. The place was too quiet. Too big, too quiet, too empty.

Then again, it was supposed to have been for a family.

“You’re an idiot,” he said aloud.

Maybe he’d get a dog. A new girlfriend seemed like too much work. Bryce Campbell, a former classmate, ran the local shelter; maybe he could hook Connor up with a new best friend.

He changed into running shorts and an O’Rourke’s baseball team T-shirt. Their slogan for this year was O’Rourke’s: Manningsport’s Reigning Champions. As Usual.

It was a perfect spring day in the Finger Lakes. Trees were in full flower, the sun was shining, the town bustling with tourists and townies alike. He waved to Julianne, the librarian, and Emmaline flashed her patrol car lights at him as she passed. He headed out of the Village—someone was cooking pork, and it smelled fantastic—then headed up to the Hill, where the vineyards sat like crown jewels of the area, the fields green against the bright blue sky, clouds slipping past.

Three miles of hard, uphill running cleared his mind. He’d get some investors and start the brewery, a place that would almost be a spin-off of the bar. Five or eight varieties to start with, a tasting counter, a few little tables. Maybe he could hire Faith Holland to design a little outdoor terrace. He had to finalize the loan from Sherry at the bank. Needed to investigate the real estate market and see about an old barn that could house the brewery, which would be the perfect building for such a place.

He was coming up to the top of the hill, where the air smelled like grapes; the farmers used the crushed skins as fertilizer. There was Prudence Vanderbeek on a big John Deere tractor. He raised a hand, and on impulse, turned into the drive of Blue Heron Vineyard. The Hollands’ place, where Jess worked.

He’d never visited her at work before; having a secret relationship meant he couldn’t drop by with flowers or just to kiss her.

But his mother worked at the vineyard, too, as a pourer in the tasting room. The perfect excuse.

Inside, several couples were taking down notes, chatting with Mom, smiling. And why not? The Blue Heron tasting room was one of the prettiest around, and chances were high that one of the Holland family had come out to schmooze, which customers loved, according to his mom. Mom herself was good at her job, none of the Debbie Downer stuff she saved for her children.

One couple wore matching sweatshirts with pictures of mustangs running across a desert. You had to wonder where those were sold. Connor sat next to them. “Hi, Mom.”

“My son is here!” Mom announced. “Hello, sweetheart! How nice to see you! I called you yesterday, but you didn’t call me back.” It wouldn’t be a visit with his mother without a guilt trip, but she looked pleased nonetheless, and Connor knew he scored points by stopping by.

“My son and daughter own O’Rourke’s,” Mom told the drinkers. “It’s the best restaurant in town.”

“Thanks, Mom. You’ll get your cut later.” He winked at the patrons, who smiled back.

“What are you doing here?” Mom asked. “Is something wrong?”

“Nope. I was out for a run. Thought I’d stop by and say hi.”

His mom beamed. “The best son in the world.”

“Why stop at son? How about best child?”

“You know I don’t have favorites.” She smiled at him. He was her favorite, of course.

“So how are you, Mom?”

“Excellent.” She poured a taste of pinot gris for the mustang couple, then answered a question for someone else. She came back and ran a hand through her hair. Repeated the gesture.

“Notice anything different about me?” she asked.

Oh, crap. “Your hair looks great,” he said. She’d let it go gray recently, and it did look nice.

“My hair is the same.”

“Um...well. You look nice.”

“Don’t I?” She clasped her hands in front of her chin. “Anything different?”

Connor stifled a sigh. What was it? A facelift? New lipstick? He had no idea. “Uh...are you wearing makeup?”

“No.”

The door behind the tasting room opened, and in came Jess. She halted at the sight of him, and his stupid heart slammed against his sternum. “Hey, Connor,” she said, her voice perfectly normal.