Waiting On You (Blue Heron #3)(53)

They spent the summer gutting the place, and the hard work enabled Colleen to fall into a near-coma each night. The noise of saws and hammers (and the jukebox, one of their first purchases) kept other thoughts at bay. She’d be in charge of management and the bar, Connor the king of the kitchen.

And though she’d never thought she’d end up as a full-time bartender, Colleen loved it. People opened up to her; Connor said there was something about her face that made people spill their guts, and it was an honor, really. And yeah, sure, mixing drinks was kind of fun, too. Tasting wines from the local vineyards, beer from the breweries...before they’d been open six months, O’Rourke’s already had a reputation as being the place for the best spirits, best beer and best wine list. And the best nachos, too.

Dad and Gail were ensconced in their swanky new house. Mom was a wreck. Connor was clenched and angry and working sixteen hours a day. Gramp lost the ability to speak, and only Colleen seemed to be able to make him seem content. So she stayed in town, the cheerful one, the fun one. She knew everyone, liked everyone (more or less), remembered baby names and boyfriends, advised on romances, recommended people for jobs, and gave the lonely a place where someone, at least, would be a friend.

Then Savannah Joy O’Rourke was born, and it was love at first sight.

“Why are you still bartending?” Dad asked one night when Gail had gone to put the baby to bed.

“I like it,” Colleen answered. She was only here to see the baby and already had her keys in hand.

“You’re smarter than that,” he said, and the words caused a starburst of anger in her chest. His old mantra, how smart the two of them were. Guess I wasn’t smart enough to see who you really were, Dad.

“I’m half owner of a successful restaurant,” she said coolly. “And yes, a bartender. An excellent bartender.”

“I thought you were going to be a doctor,” he said.

“Wrong.”

“I wish you were a doctor, hon,” Gail said, slapping on her doe-eyed stepmother smile. “We sure could use a pediatrician in this family! Savannah’s not even sleeping through the night yet! I get so tired out carrying her. I think she weighs half of what I do! Babe, maybe I need to start lifting weights, what do you think?” She held up her arm to be admired and fluttered her eyelashes, lest Dad forget that his wife was a Hot Young Thing, or, God forbid, have him focus his attention on his grown daughter.

Colleen kept working at the nursing home, just eight hours a week. She liked the old folks and was glad to be able to help her grandfather. Rushing Creek had several levels of care, and Colleen was one of the few who preferred the sickest patients.

Gramp didn’t seem to know who she was anymore, but sometimes when she held his hand, his fingers would curl around hers as if he was telling her he was still in there, and glad for her company, her love. That hurt her heart almost more than the days when he didn’t even open his eyes.

Bartending was a nice balance.

Eventually, Colleen always thought, she’d meet the guy who would make her forget Lucas Damien Campbell. She tried. She really did. Sort of. Okay, she didn’t try much.

A couple times a year, she’d go out with someone, only to find that he was married or weird or just meh. And every once in a while, she’d fool around with some guy, let him kiss her, maybe allow a little groping. Even more rarely, she’d sleep with someone, hoping there, too, that maybe sex would be a great revelation, and the two of them would realize, Hell’s to the yes, we are in love, baby!

It didn’t happen. Her reputation was hugely inflated, but hey. If people wanted to think she was some sort of siren, let them. Better than them knowing she’d never recovered from her first love...like her mom.

“Do you want to go out with me sometime?” Bobby McIntosh asked her one night when Lucas had been back for two weeks. He sipped his O’Doul’s (proof that he stashed bodies in his cellar, Colleen always thought).

“I don’t, Bobby. Sorry, pal.”

“I really like you. You’re nice.”

“I’m not that nice.”

“But you have great boobs.”

“That’s true. Don’t wait for me in the parking lot, okay? I’ll have to knee you in the groin if you do.”

She pulled a Cooper’s Cave for Chris Eckbert, who always left a huge tip (as he should, perpetually guilty for that prom night so long ago when he hadn’t stuck up for her), then turned to Levi, who was sitting with Honor Holland’s fiancé, Tom, a sheaf of papers in front of them. Blueprints.

“Hallo, Colleen,” Tom said with a smile.

“Hallo, Tom,” she returned. Loved that accent. “How are the wedding plans?”

“I’ve no idea, really. Girly stuff, don’t you think? I’ll just be glad to be married.”

“I don’t know. Levi here obsessed over napkin colors for his wedding, didn’t you, bub?” Levi gave her a tolerant look, and she messed up his hair fondly. “What can I get you, boys?”

“I’ll have a beer,” Levi said.

“We have seventeen different microbrews,” she said. “You’ll have to be more specific.”

“Dazzle me.”

“Will do. Whiskey for you, mate?” She winked at Tom.

“I’ll have a beer as well, Colleen, and you’ve already dazzled me.”