Waiting On You (Blue Heron #3)(67)

“I broke your fall.”

“Not good enough.”

“Did she faint?” Carol Robinson asked as the three women bustled into the kitchen like a flock of purposeful chickens. “My daughter fainted once. She hadn’t eaten breakfast, it was hot, and I said, ‘Beth, why didn’t you eat breakfast?’ but no one ever listens to me.”

“Bryce Campbell, whatever did you do to your hand?” Mrs. Johnson said. “Come here, child.”

“Don’t you two look adorable sitting there,” Jeanette said. “Is it wrong to hope for grandchildren?”

“Mom, I’m injured. Be nice to me.”

Jeanette sighed and rustled around in the freezer for a minute, then handed Colleen a pack of frozen Brussels sprouts. Coll went to hold it against her head, but Lucas took it out of her hand and did it for her. She started to protest, but he made that little tsk noise that worked with his nieces, and she settled back against him.

He pushed her hair to one side—she had a lot of hair. And it smelled really good. And she felt...perfect. His arms were around her, his back to the cabinet, his woman in his arms.

Dangerous thinking, that. Especially after her little speech.

“What do I have to do to get that nine to a ten?” he whispered against her ear, and she shivered.

“You always hit on injured women?”

“You’re the first.” He smiled.

“They’re adorable together,” Carol said. “Are you Spanish, Lucas? You look like a pirate.”

“I’m half–Puerto Rican.”

“Ooh. That’s so exotic,” Carol said, and he had to smile. Manningsport wasn’t exactly a melting pot.

Mrs. O’Rourke was standing in front of the freezer, flapping her shirt. “Colleen, you didn’t turn on the heat, did you?”

“No, Mom. I didn’t turn on the heat.” She sighed, the movement sweet against his chest.

“Now hold still, Bryce my darling,” Mrs. Johnson said, grabbing his hand.

“What are you gonna do?” he asked. “Oh, dude! A little warning next time.”

Mrs. Johnson held up the nail. “You children today. So careless. Now hold on, this might sting a little.” They watched as she poured hydrogen peroxide on Bryce’s hand. He took it like a man.

“You’re brave, Bryce,” Colleen said, earning a smile from his cousin.

“He has a high pain tolerance,” Lucas murmured against the sweet spot just behind her ear. “Comes from being dropped on his head as a baby.”

“You know who else has a high pain tolerance?” she asked, still talking to Bryce. “Paulie Petrosinsky. She’s totally badass.”

“Oh, yeah?” Bryce said. “Did you know she can pick up a car?”

“I do know,” Colleen said. “That is hot, my friend.”

“Stop matchmaking,” Lucas whispered, his lips touching her soft little earlobe. Good enough to bite.

She turned her head a little. “Can you stop nuzzling me?” she whispered. “I realize you don’t get this close to many women, but it’s getting pervy. You, me, the Brussels sprouts, Team Menopause watching.”

He nuzzled her again, smiling as her breath hitched.

Mrs. Johnson wrapped up Bryce’s hand in gauze. “Is your tetanus shot up to date?” she asked. “You don’t want to come down with lockjaw.”

Actually, Lucas wouldn’t mind Bryce coming down with lockjaw. His cousin had not once paused for breath this entire day. Reluctantly, he disentangled himself from Colleen and stood up, then offered his hand and pulled her to her feet. “You good?” he asked.

“I’m fine,” she said. Her cheeks were pink.

“Eat something,” he said. “Come on, Bryce, let me take you to the doctor. I’ll be back tomorrow, Mrs. O’Rourke.”

“Jeanette,” she said, rubbing an ice cube on her chest. “Bye, boys.”

Colleen walked them to the front door, the Brussels sprouts still in place. “See you, Coll!” Bryce said happily, loping to the pickup truck.

Lucas turned to Colleen. “See you around, hotshot.”

“Don’t play with me, Lucas,” she said tightly.

His smile evaporated.

“You’re not back in Manningsport for me, and I’m betting that as soon as Joe dies, you’ll be back to your life in Chicago. And that’s fine. But the kissing and the flirting and the nuzzling...it has to stop. I don’t have a problem with you, I really don’t. You’re a good guy. I know that. You’re very welcome at O’Rourke’s. You’re welcome at my mom’s house. But you left me.”

“Actually, you left me, mía.”

“Yeah, right. I didn’t marry someone two months after our first fight. And don’t call me mía.” She seemed to realize she still had the bag of vegetables on her head and lowered her arm. “You broke my heart, Lucas,” she said. “It was a long time ago. But I’m not dumb enough to let history repeat itself. So don’t mess with me. Are we clear?”

He looked at her a long minute, the noise of the chattering women in the background, the birds twittering in the bushes outside. And as much as he would’ve liked to tell her yes, sure, he’d leave her alone, he couldn’t.