Waiting On You - Kristan Higgins Mills & Boon M&B

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and remind Joe that he had a son, a wonderful son, a real son.

      And the thing was, it generally worked. Joe was a nice guy, but he was no match for Didi. There were other terms for it, meaner terms, but it was clear that Joe generally did what Didi told him to do.

      “Give me a few minutes with my uncle,” Lucas said, and without waiting for an answer, got up and closed the door in her face.

      The door flew open again immediately. “Just because you breeze into town whenever you like, I’m still the one who has to take care of him. My whole life is doctor’s appointments and hospital visits these days. I don’t have a minute to breathe—”

      “Then breathe now,” he said, and closed the door again.

      Apparently Didi couldn’t find a way to argue that. After a second, her heels tapped away down the hall, though Lucas would bet she’d tiptoe back and eavesdrop.

      “What can I do for you, Uncle Joe?” he asked, taking his seat again.

      Joe sighed. “Here’s the thing, Lucas. Bryce...well, he’s just not really grown up yet, you know what I mean?”

      He nodded, his hand on his uncle’s. Joe’s arm looked odd, courtesy of the fistula he needed for dialysis.

      “I’d like to leave this world knowing he had a plan, at least. I don’t want him—” Joe glanced at the closed door and dropped his voice to a whisper. “I don’t want her to have her hooks in him forever. You know what I mean?”

      “I do.”

      “So maybe you could hang around for...well, till the day comes. I know he’s gonna take this hard.” Joe’s eyes filled with tears.

      Yes. Last night, Bryce had acknowledged that his dad was sick, but he also talked about how much better Joe was looking these days. Dialysis was amazing! And besides, a kidney would come along any minute.

      The fact that Joe wasn’t on the organ registry—and indeed, wasn’t eligible for a transplant, thanks to the tumor in his lung—was not something Bryce would admit.

      “I’ll stay however long you need,” Lucas said. He owed it to Joe, after all.

      “You can get off work that long?”

      “Yep. I’m leaving the company, remember?”

      “Right, right.” Joe paused. “Where will you stay when you’re here?”

      “I’m at the Black Swan right now,” he said. “Just called the Realtor about a short-term rental.”

      “You’re welcome to stay here,” Joe offered, but they both knew that he wasn’t. Didi would hate having him here, and if Didi wasn’t happy, no one was allowed to be happy.

      “That’s okay.”

      “So you think you could help Bryce? Maybe help him find work? He hasn’t ever had a job he really loved, aside from the dog shelter stuff.”

      “I’ll see what I can do.”

      “Just having you here is going to be great. He’s always worshipped you. Always wanted to do what you did, whatever that might’ve been.”

      Lucas nodded. That was certainly true; from baseball cards to a paper route, if Lucas had it, Bryce wanted it. And Didi made sure he got it.

      “There’s another thing I need you to help me with,” Joe whispered, and Lucas felt a flash of anger that the man had to whisper in his own home.

      “What’s that?” he asked, adjusting Joe’s blanket. It was meat-locker cold in here. Another thing he remembered too well.

      Joe glanced at the door, then picked up a notepad and pen. Wrote something down and passed it to Lucas.

      I want a divorce before I die.

      Lucas looked at his uncle. Back at the notepad. Back to his uncle. “Well, holy shit, unc,” he said, then grinned. “I’ll get right on that.”

      “Thanks, Lucas.” Joe smiled, but his eyes closed. “I’m glad you’re here,” Joe said, his voice fading into sleep. Then his eyes opened. “Maybe you can see some old friends while you’re here.” He winked, the ghost of his old self, then fell asleep, just like that.

       CHAPTER SIX

      “OH. COLLEEN. IT’S you.” Carol Robinson, one of the local Realtors, gave Colleen a jaundiced stare. “Fine, come in. I’m not showing you around, though. I know you won’t be buying.”

      “Lovely to see you, too, Carol.” Piña colada, very old-school, Carol was. “Bursitis flaring up again?”

      “No. I just don’t want to waste my time. Hi, Jeanette, how are you?”

      Colleen’s mother pulled her shirt away from her chest. “It’s so hot in here, Carol! How do you stand it?”

      “You’re having a hot flash. I still get them,” Carol said. “It’s ridiculous.”

      “Satan’s barbecue,” Mom said. “Don’t make that face, Colleen. You’ll see.”

      “I can’t wait. Carol, do you have a fact sheet on the house?” Carol handed her one with a sigh. “By the way, do you have to walk in the middle of the road every morning? I almost hit you the other day.”

      “Oh, that’s right, I saw you speeding by. Jeanette, your daughter and that red car of hers...”

      Colleen had brought her mother to an open house, and yeah, fine, she had a bit of a reputation with the real estate people. It wasn’t her fault. Yes, she wanted to buy a house, very much, in fact. She was thirty-one, for heaven’s sake. She didn’t want to live above her brother forever. Their house was adorable; it was just that it was their house, and she wanted a place of her own. A place where, yeah, she’d have those adorable tots and Rufus could frisk and frolic, and her husband and she would have lots and lots of great sex.

      And since Lucas Damien Campbell had walked into her bar the other night, she felt considerably more motivated to find that husband and bear those children.

      Today, she’d taken her mom with her, because (a) she was a saint, and (b) it was one of Mom’s many Significant Dates, of which there were many, 99 percent of them marking some dire event relating to Dad.

      This house was a white farmhouse with a porch, a horseshoe driveway and big, beautiful yard. Not too big, not too small, not too new, not too old. Remodeled kitchen with white cabinets and glass fronts, lots of counter space, should she take up cooking (which she wouldn’t but it could happen, if hell froze over). The living room had lots of windows and a really pretty fireplace.

      Colleen and her mother went upstairs as Carol went back to reading her fat spy novel.

      Coll felt a tingle of hope. If she was busy moving into a new place, painting and shopping for a new couch and plates, she’d have less time to lie in bed and think about a certain tall, dark un-stranger. “Black-haired boy, work of the devil,” her grandmother used to say, and it was flippin’ true. Lucas had black hair and had broken her heart. Jeremy Lyon had black hair, and he’d broken Faith’s heart by coming out of the closet on their wedding day. Dad had black hair and broke Mom’s heart.

      Connor, on the other hand, had brown hair, taking after Mom’s side of the family, with no broken hearts in his past. Levi Cooper, police chief and decorated veteran—dark blond, making Faith very happy these days. Gerard Chartier: bald, a cheerful man-whore and very well liked. Grandma had known what she was talking about.

      The master bedroom was at the end of the hall and utterly gorgeous. Slanted ceiling, a long window seat, built-in bookshelves. Even space on the wall for a TV, if she was so inclined. Not that she approved of watching TV in bed; in her mind’s eye, Tom Hardy would

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