Anything for You (Blue Heron #5)(91)

“More what?” Pru asked over lunch. They were eating outside, sitting on a blanket in front of the Barn, enjoying the view and the enormous sandwiches from Lorelei’s. “More sex?”

“Well...no, we’re good on that front.”

“High five, sister.”

Jess laughed and obliged. “I just feel like he’s...waiting. For something. And I know what it is, but I don’t think I can pull it off.”

“What is it?” Pru offered her some chips.

She took a few. Barbecue, the best kind. “It’s this sort of...happy wife kind of thing.”

“Do you want to be a miserable wife?”

“No, Pru.” She shrugged. “Maybe not a wife at all.”

“Why? I would crawl all over that man if Carl would kindly make me a widow.”

“Uh-oh. You guys having trouble?”

“No. I just fantasize about being alone sometimes. It’s part of being married a long time.” Pru balled up her sandwich wrapper and started in on Lorelei’s amazing white chocolate macadamia cookies. “You know. No more husband farting in the chair next to me, someone new, someone who looks like Thor. Anyway, back to you. You afraid he’ll leave you? That if he’s not chasing you down like he’s been doing for the past decade, he’ll get bored?”

It sounded stupid when Pru said it so baldly. “A little. Maybe.”

Pru stared ahead, chewing contentedly. The wind blew, and the clouds slipped across the blue, blue sky. “You see that tree there?” Pru asked. “The big maple?” She pointed to a giant tree with a near-perfect canopy. Brides often got their photos taken in front of it, especially in the fall, when it turned a deep, glorious gold.

“It’s a beauty.”

“We call that the Liberty maple. The first Holland who settled this land planted it in 1780.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah. We don’t advertise it, even though it’s big enough to get on the state registry of champion trees. You know how it is. People can be ass-hats, and we didn’t want some dopey couple carving their initials into it on their wedding day, you know? So it’s a little family secret, but hey. You’re my best friend.”

Such a little sentence, said so effortlessly. Jessica’s throat tightened. Pru was her friend because she just crashed through whatever reservations Jess had about friends. Pals were one thing; friends were...harder.

Except Prudence.

“Anyway, Great-Great-Grandpa What’s-His-Name planted the Liberty maple when it was a seedling. It says so in his journal, which Honor has under glass somewhere. And he also said that this tree was to show his faith in the future. He’d never live long enough to see it come into its glory, but he liked thinking that his descendants would. And we have. We’ve all climbed in it and slept under it and all that. He did good, that guy.”

“Is this somehow advice for my love life?” Jessica asked.

Prudence’s trademark big, booming laugh echoed out over the hill. “Yes, dummy. Have faith in the future. Maybe you can’t see it now, but if you don’t water your little seedling with Connor, you’re not gonna see it grow into something great.”

“You’re such a farmer. Want to come for dinner this week?”

“Sure.” Pru stood up and stretched. “Ow. I pulled a muscle during sexy time with Carl last night. Thought I could lift him. I was wrong.” She brushed off the seat of her jeans. “Gotta get back to the fields, kid. The grapes are calling my name.”

* * *

CONNOR CAME OVER for dinner, right on time. She opened the door as he came up the walk, a six-pack of root beer for Davey in one hand, a bouquet of roses for her—she presumed. Lady Fluffy trotted at his side, no bigger than a squirrel.

“Yo, Jess, is he a regular thing?” called Ricky, who was in the yard, waxing his beloved Camaro.

“Seems that way,” she said.

“I am,” Connor said, raising an eyebrow at her. He kissed her, and her insides tugged.

“You could do worse,” Ricky said.

“Thanks.”

They went inside, Chico pouncing joyfully on Fluffy, then racing into the living room to get her a chew toy to share. “Hey, Dave,” Connor said. “Brought you some root beer.”

The two men in her life were getting along surprisingly well. Not at all what she’d expected. Maybe it was the dog.

“Can I have root beer now?”

“Say thank-you, Davey.”

“Thank you. Can I?”

“Half a glass,” she said. Connor stood there a second, looking at her.

“Your hair looks pretty,” he said, and Davey cracked up. Connor shot him a look and a half smile, and she could swear they had an inside joke.

“What smells so good?” Connor asked.

“Chicken oregano, roasted potatoes and spinach salad.”

“I hate spinach,” Davey said.

“No, you hate cooked spinach,” she answered. “This is salad.”

“Oh.”

“Thank you for inviting me,” Connor said. “I hardly ever get a home-cooked meal unless I make it.”

“Is Colleen a good cook?” Jess asked.

“Is that a joke?”

“How about your mom?”