Waiting On You (Blue Heron #3)(37)

She was still his. He was still hers. He wasn’t sure why she kept him, but she did.

And then, one weekend when he had scored a plane fare that let him fly to Buffalo-Niagara for seventy-nine dollars, the shit hit the fan.

Because he hadn’t been sure he could get the time off from work, he hadn’t told Colleen he was coming. Figured it’d be fun to surprise her; she was going to Ithaca College, not wanting to be too far from home, from her elderly grandfather, specifically. Connor was at the Culinary Institute, which was a few hours’ drive, and Faith was all the way in Virginia. Colleen put on a cheery front, but Lucas knew she was lonely. She’d told him she’d be home this weekend, and the stars had fallen into alignment with that flight.

He stopped for a cup of coffee at an airport kiosk, tore open two sugar packets, glanced up and saw a familiar figure.

Colleen’s father was kissing someone who was definitely not Colleen’s mother. Who was, in fact, a redhead dressed in a tiny white dress that just cleared her (admittedly great) ass and who wore high heeled shoes and was wrapped around Pete O’Rourke.

Both of them had suitcases.

Both appeared to be doing a tonsil swab of the other with their tongues.

Mr. O’Rourke broke the kiss, looked up with the smug expression of exactly what he was: an older man with a very hot, much younger girlfriend. Then he saw Lucas. He froze for a second, and—horribly—smiled. “Lucas. How are you, son?”

He’d never called Lucas that before, that was for damn sure.

He took the hot chick’s hand and towed her over to where Lucas was standing, sugar packets still not emptied into the coffee. “This is Gail,” he said.

“Hi there,” she purred.

She was a knockout, Lucas would give her that. Long red hair, creamy skin, and a look in her green eyes that said she knew it.

Lucas didn’t say anything.

“Gail, babe, give us a second,” Pete said, and Gail gave both men a sultry look and cruised away, ass swinging in a blatant advertisement. Pete folded his arms. “So this is awkward,” he said. He gave Lucas a fake smile, his eyes completely uninvolved, like a snake’s.

“Yes,” Lucas said.

“I think it’s obvious what’s going on here, so I won’t bother saying it’s not what it seems. It’s exactly what it seems. But it would obviously hurt my family—Colleen especially—to hear about this.”

He kept talking. More of the same. I’m not terribly proud of it...Colleen’s mother...haven’t been right for a while...just happened...wouldn’t understand.

He made Lucas’s skin crawl. The kind of man who thought he was smarter than everyone else, who endured conversation from his wife. Slick, that was the word.

But Lucas knew how much Colleen loved him. She was a daddy’s girl, but not in a bad way. Just in maybe a typical way, a girl who thought her father was the smartest, funniest, greatest guy around. Steph had felt the same way about their dad. And yeah, with Colleen, Lucas would admit, Pete was okay.

“So I hope I can count on your discretion, son. No reason for anyone to get hurt here.”

Lucas gave him a long look. “I’m not your son,” he said.

Mr. O’Rourke’s eyes narrowed. “True enough. Well, you probably have to get going. I gather you’re visiting my daughter.”

Lucas didn’t bother answering. Glanced over at Gail, who was putting on lipstick to the fascination of a security guard, then back at Pete. Without another word, he hefted up his backpack and walked away.

When he arrived in Manningsport a few hours later, he stopped at the Black Cat, the scummy little bar where Colleen occasionally filled in. Her face lit up when she saw him, and he smiled as she launched herself into his arms.

“I was just thinking about you!” she exclaimed, her eyes bright. “You’re a sight for sore eyes, Spaniard. Kiss me! Do it!”

He obeyed, and the unclean feeling from the airport faded.

Colleen took him home for a late dinner, and they sat at the kitchen table. Jeanette cut him a slab of cake before helping herself to one, and said how Pete was in Mexico...a conference for commercial property owners.

“You didn’t want to go?” he asked carefully.

“Oh, well,” Mrs. O’Rourke said, waving her hand demurely. “Pete said it wouldn’t be any fun. Just a hotel with a lot of drunk people.”

“Dad hates those things. Wouldn’t want to drag Mom there and make her suffer, too,” Colleen said.

Yeah. What a champ.

All weekend long, it throbbed like a rotten tooth, and every once in a while, he’d reach out and touch the thought. Framed how he’d bring it up to Colleen. Hey, mía, I ran into your dad and his lover at the airport or Hey, Colleen, how are things with your parents? or This conference of your dad’s, Colleen—it’s no conference.

A hundred times over the weekend, he started to tell her, and stopped. It wasn’t his place. Maybe it would blow over. Maybe Pete and Jeanette O’Rourke had an arrangement, an open marriage, whatever.

Colleen drove him to the airport Sunday night, waited with him as she always did, every minute together precious. She lay with her head on his lap, her long black hair glistening under the lights, a smile on her face, eyes closed.

She looked so happy.

“Things are good with your family?” he finally asked.