Waiting On You (Blue Heron #3)(64)

At least, she hadn’t been. She’d been in it with her whole heart, and it came back to him like a tidal wave, what it had been like to be loved by Colleen O’Rourke.

“Stop looking at me like that,” she whispered, then cleared her throat. “The whole Heathcliff thing doesn’t work anymore.”

“You seeing anyone?” he asked.

“Oh, shut up.”

Bryce dropped the tire, laughing. It seemed like Paulie’s arms were shaking.

“She’s gonna drop that on his head any minute now,” Lucas observed.

Colleen sighed. “So go help. Be manly and heroic, Lucas. You do it so well.”

“You’re right,” he murmured. “Nice to see you, hotshot. Stop throwing rocks through windows, okay?”

With that, he walked toward the front yard.

“Dude, thank God!” Bryce said.

“Hey, Paulie,” he said. “You can put the car down now. I got this.”

A minute later, he heard a car start and looked down the street. There was Colleen, behind the wheel of a MINI Cooper convertible.

Hot girl in a red car.

Worked every time.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

“IT’S GOOD TO see you, Lucas. Even if you did break my baby girl’s heart all those years ago.”

“Oh, snap,” said Bryce, grinning. Mrs. O’Rourke smiled fondly at him.

Lucas nodded. “Good to see you, too, Mrs. O’Rourke.” It was strange to see Colleen’s mother, that’s what it was, and even weirder to be back in the house he’d visited when he was Colleen’s boyfriend. It hadn’t changed much.

“Call me Jeanette. I’m thinking of going back to my maiden name anyway. Come on, I’ll show you what I’m thinking.” She led the way to the back of the house. “This was his study. Where he called That Whore for phone sex, no doubt. I’d like you to rip it down. Burn it, if possible.”

“Better late than never?” Bryce suggested.

“Exactly, sweetheart. It’s been ten years. Men. They really suck.”

“Not me, of course,” Bryce said.

“Well, not yet,” Jeanette murmured. “I’m sure you have it in you. Are you seeing anyone, Bryce, dear?”

“Why? You wanna go out sometime?”

Colleen’s mother smiled and slapped Bryce’s arm.

Jeanette O’Rourke had tracked Lucas down and said she had a project for him. Given that he was trying to train Bryce, and construction hadn’t started on the public safety building yet, he agreed to come over and take a look.

The study was typical of 1970s architecture; a long room with a few small windows and some built-in cabinets on one end, and still a shrine to Pete O’Rourke—a picture of him with some minor politician on a golf course, a trophy from high school, a slew of Robert Ludlum novels. A picture of a college-age Colleen, her cheeky smile, gray eyes soft, hair gleaming in the sun.

Seemed like he was staring.

“Maybe you could remodel, rather than rip it down and burn it,” he said, turning to Colleen’s mother. “Seems a shame to waste the whole room.”

“Good point. I could have an art studio, maybe. I’m taking classes.”

“What kind of classes?” Bryce asked.

“I paint nudes,” she said, giving him a speculative glance. “They pay the models, you know. We’re always looking for new talent.”

“Cool!” Bryce asked. “How much?”

“Not enough,” Lucas said. “Anyway, we could put in some skylights, since you need a new roof anyway, and bigger windows. You’d have great light. French doors on that wall, maybe a little deck.”

“Wonderful! When can you start?” she asked.

He turned to look at her. “Are you sure you want me to do this, Mrs. O’Rourke?”

“Jeanette.”

“Given my history with Colleen, Jeanette?”

“I’m sure,” she said, so smoothly that he was immediately suspicious. “So it’d be you both? You and Bryce?”

“Yes.”

She smiled. “I could probably sell tickets. Can you work up some plans? I don’t care how much it costs. My cheating bastard husband had to give me a metric ton of money in the divorce. Blood money. Guilt money. Whore money.”

An hour later, he’d drawn a rough plan and given her a ballpark estimate. He and Bryce got into the pickup truck Lucas had rented for the duration.

Joe would be glad about this. It was a start, at the very least, and hopefully Bryce would have some kind of aptitude for construction.

They passed a dirt road. He and Colleen had parked there one night, before they’d both gone off to college. He could still remember the impossible silkiness of her skin, the way her eyes went so big and soft when she—

“Did you see my dad yesterday?” Bryce asked. “He’s feeling a lot better.”

Lucas glanced over at his cousin. “Glad to hear that.” Yes, he’d seen Joe yesterday. He’d been asleep, looking smaller somehow.

Bryce had had a cat when they were teenagers, a scruffy old thing he’d found abandoned near the school. He brought it home and kept it in the spare room over the garage, an unfinished space that held only some boxes of old toys. Didi hated cats. But eventually, Bryce had worn her down; the woman didn’t refuse him much, and the cat was no exception. It was old and battered, but it had a rusty purr that rattled in its throat. Bryce named it Harley, and the cat loved Bryce. Slept on his bed every night. If Bryce wasn’t around, the cat might give Lucas a few head butts, but it was clear he knew where his bread was buttered.