Anything for You

by Kristan Higgins

  Her eyes were dry. No. Jessica Dunn never cried, but that copper wire connection between them flared with heat.

  "I'm fine," she lied. She squeezed his hand and pulled it free. "Just lost my temper a little bit."

  "As you should have," Pru said. "I would've broken the damn glass over his head."

  "Me, too," Honor said.

  "Let me take you home," he said, standing up and offering his hand.

  "Good idea," Pru said. "Jess, let him drive you home. It's been an upsetting night."

  "I'm really fine. But thank you." Her eyes met his, and the wire lit up. She wasn't fine. She needed him, damn it. But she didn't take his hand. He let it drop.

  "What have we here?" Shit, it was Marcy, and she cozied right up to him. "Wow, it's my boss! Hey, Honor! Hi, Prudence! Food must be great here! Connor and I were just having dinner, and then I was like, whoa, they're actually kicking someone out! Kind of exciting! Does that sort of thing happen a lot around here? But everything seems to be under control now. Can Connor and I do anything, Jessie?"

  Jessica looked up at her. "I go by Jessica or Jess," she said, and her voice shook the tiniest bit. "Please don't call me Jessie."

  "I'd be more than happy to take you home," Connor said. The urge to take her home, to his home, to take care of her, made him want to just toss her over his shoulder and carry her out.

  Tom Barlow came back in. "All right, then, Jess?" he asked.

  "Yes. Thank you so much, Tom." She smiled at him, and though Connor liked Tom Barlow quite a bit, he had the sudden urge to punch him.

  There were too many people here.

  But Jessica needed people. Especially with her father back in town.

  "We can definitely give you a ride, Jessica." Marcy reached out and gave her a pat on the shoulder. "Listen, we all have crappy dates. You wouldn't believe some of the idiots I've been out with."

  "Why don't you have dinner with us, Jess?" Honor suggested. "We'd love that."

  "You guys are the best," she said. "But I think I'll go home. Ned's missing the fire department meeting, watching Davey, so I'll get back and he can go."

  "I'll drive you," Connor said.

  She put her hand on his arm for the briefest second, and he caught the faint smell of lemons. "I'm good, Con. But thank you. Thanks, everybody. Sorry for the drama."

  "I totally wish I'd seen it!" Marcy said. "You go home, pour yourself a nice big drink and relax, okay? Poor kid."

  "Have a good night, gang. Thank you again. I...I really appreciate it." She walked gracefully through the dining room. Hugo stopped her and gave her a hug, and Felicia touched her hair.

  "Well, let's get back to our date!" Marcy said brightly. "Too bad about poor Jessie--whoops, Jessica--because we were having a super time! Ah ha! Ah ha! Ah ha ha ha!"

  Prudence rolled her eyes.

  Because he couldn't figure out a way around it, he went back to the bar with Marcy.

  "So am I wrong in thinking there's some history there?" she said, beaming brightly. "Between you and Jess?"

  Connor looked at her a few beats. "We're old friends."

  "Is that what the kids are calling it these days?" Another hairball laugh.

  "Listen, thanks for meeting me," he said. "I'm afraid I have to get back to O'Rourke's. It was very nice talking to you."

  "Oh, definitely! And we didn't even get to talk about you being a caterer for the Barn events! We'll have to get together again, won't we?"

  He hated catering. "That's not a service O'Rourke's offers," Connor said. "But I appreciate your asking."

  "You bet! Well, maybe we'll see each other around, of course we will, tiny town and all that, so until next time! Whoops, I have to race off, so busy these days, not that I'm complaining, I thrive on this schedule. Maybe I'll go check in with Honor."

  Poor Honor. Well, she hired the woman, after all. "Good night," he said, and left a twenty for their drinks.

  *

  BY TEN O'CLOCK that night, Jessica's heart had stopped thudding erratically, and her hands had stopped shaking. A pint of Ben & Jerry's Red Velvet Cake had taken the place of dinner, and rather than the big drink Marcy had suggested, she was self-soothing with a Love It or List It marathon on HGTV. Ned and Davey had been at the gym when she'd met her father, and Davey had crashed at about 8:30, thanks to maniacally running on the treadmill, which was one of his great joys in life. Ned was in his room, talking on the phone to Sarah Cooper, which seemed to be his ritual before bed.

  She shouldn't have been surprised that her father had minimized the way things had been. That was nothing new.

  But good God, the words had been like a kick in the stomach.

  She wasn't sorry she'd thrown the beer. A horrible, hard part of her hoped the taste and smell of it had knocked him right off the wagon, because it would be a lot easier if he'd just crawl back into his hole and stay there. She didn't want the New & Improved Sober Keith, doling out apologies like breath mints.

  There was a soft knock at the door. Chico Three lifted his head and wagged his tail, but the dopey thing was the type of dog who'd offer a serial killer a chew toy, rather than protect her and Davey. She got up and went to the door.

  If it was her father, she'd call the police.

  It wasn't.

  It was Connor, holding a foil pan. "Lasagna," he said with a half smile.

  God. It would be so easy to love him.

  Chico Three raced to the door and went straight for Connor's crotch. "Would you keep your dog from molesting me?" Connor asked, his voice quiet, the smile still on his face.

  "Sorry." Jess grabbed Chico's collar. "Be polite, Chico."

  "Can I set this down?" Connor asked.

  "Of course."

  He went into the kitchen, and he looked so natural there, so familiar. Maybe he'd ask her to come over to his place. She could ask Ned if he'd mind her leaving for a little while.

  And she could use that. She could use Connor's arms around her, his mouth, his callused, strong hands. She could use some naked time with this beautiful man.

  Instead, he put the pan down on the stove. "Is there anything I can do?" he asked.

  She didn't answer for a second, her throat tight. "No, I'm fine," she answered.

  He looked at her for a few heartbeats. "Okay." Then he leaned in and kissed her cheek. "See you around."

  With that, he left, closing the door quietly behind him, leaving Jessica alone in the dark and orderly kitchen.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  "COME ON, CONNOR! Work that arm! What are you, a six-year-old girl?"

  "Easy, Yogi. I'm just warming up." Connor stared down from the pitching mound at his little sister, who was giving him the sign for a fastball. Savannah was a catcher--a good one, and she didn't like him throwing what she called "kitten pitches."

  However, his fastball was somewhere around 80 miles per hour, and he didn't want to hurt her.

  "Come on, wuss!" she taunted.

  "You've been hanging around Colleen too much," he answered, and let the pitch fly. She caught it without visible movement, her glove just closing around the ball.

  "Is that the best you can do? Because my mother can throw that hard." She threw the ball back to him. Hard.

  "Okay, smart-ass," he said. "Don't go crying if you can't handle the heat."

  He let loose. Another perfect catch.

  She was good, all right.

  She gave him a three and pointed to her left thigh. Curveball. Not a problem.

  They threw for about a half hour, swapping mild insults, Con occasionally giving her a little advice, Savannah occasionally returning the favor. When they were done, Savannah took off her catcher's gear and they started running, part of her fitness regime. Her goal was to play on the Little League team with the boys, rather than on the girls' softball team, and speed wasn't her thing. Since Connor had always been a pretty decent athlete, he'd appointed himself her coach. Better that than having their father give it a try, and dropping dead of a he
art attack in front of her.

  "So how are things at home?" he asked, jogging backward to see her face.

  "Fine, I guess. Mom's been sick."

  "Is she okay?"

  "I guess so."

  Connor turned back around and didn't ask any more. If there was something to be worried about, Colleen would ferret out the news and tell him. The most he'd said to Gail these past ten years were essentially, "Hi, how are you?" and "I'll bring her back by nine."

  But Savannah was a good kid. His father and Gail were doing something right. Certainly, Pete was better at the second round of family life than the first, which saved Connor the trouble of beating him up.

  "Connor, do you have a girlfriend?" his sister asked as they rounded the last corner of the block.

  He glanced down at her strawberry-blond head. "No."

  "Why not?"

  "Oh, God. I thought you were the nice sister."

  She giggled at that, her face flushed but not too red. "Is there someone you like?"

  "No. I don't like anyone. Especially little sisters who interrogate me." Another giggle. "Is there someone you like?"

  She stopped running as they came back onto the field. "Yes."

  Well, shit. "You're ten. I forbid you to like anyone."

  "Don't tell anyone," she said. "It's an older man."

  Connor was suddenly drenched in a cold sweat that had nothing to do with running. And I will kill that older man. "Who, honey?"

  "He's in seventh grade. Sawyer Bickman."

  So that made him fourteen to Savvie's ten. Predator material. Clearly, this Sawyer person needed to have a six-foot-two adult scare the living shit out of him.

  "He told me I made a fantastic play last week," Savannah said, looking down. Connor didn't miss her smile. "The big kids came to our game."

  "Is that it?"

  "I thought it was pretty great, Connor." She cut him a mildly hurt look.

  "I mean, that was all he said? Did he...do anything?"

  "Ew, Connor. Yes, that was all he said."

  "And have you talked since?"

  "No." She flopped down on the grass and stared at the sky, which was a perfect, clear blue today. "He probably has a girlfriend."

  "Honey, you're--"

  "Don't tell me I'm only ten years old. I know how old I am. And my mom has already told me, in case I forgot."

  Connor lay down next to her.

  He'd been twelve the first time he'd fallen for Jess. The only time, really, since it never went away. "So you like him."

  "I think it's more than that."

  Savannah had an old soul that didn't match her slight (and adorable) lisp. "Young love can really pack a punch," he said.

  "You're telling me." She was quiet for a minute. "He's really nice to people. Not just me, but everyone."

  Connor nodded. "That's a good sign."

  She turned to face him, her little round face earnest. "Should I do anything? Write him a note or something?"

  "Maybe you should ask Colleen. She's pretty good at this stuff."

  "But you're a boy. What would you think if you got a note from a girl who liked you?"

  Crap. "Uh...well, what would this note say?"

  She sat up straight. "'Dear Sawyer, when you told me I did a good job tagging out Aidan Priestley, it was the greatest moment of my life. My chest was burning and I was so, so happy, it felt like birds were flying inside me. I think about you all the time. I know I am only ten, but if you wait for me, I will love you forever. Respectfully, Savannah Joy O'Rourke.'"

  Quite the recitation. And respectfully? Connor ran a hand over his jaw, hiding his smile.

  "That's...uh, very poetic. I liked the part about the birds flying. But here's the thing, Savvie. If he's fourteen, it's a pretty big age gap. But when he's... I don't know--forty, it won't be." Yes. Forty. He could see his little sister dating when she was thirty-six. That felt about right.

  "Forty?"

  He gave a conciliatory shrug. "Or maybe even sooner than that. But right now, I think the best-case scenario is that he'd be really flattered that you liked him, and he'd admire the guts it took to send the note."

  "Great!"

  "On the other hand, though, if he did have a girlfriend, or if, say, the girl who was writing was a little young, he might feel...uncomfortable. He might worry if it was appropriate, if she was only ten. He might think, 'Doesn't that girl have a big brother who's really scary?'"

  "You're not scary, Connor." She smiled at him. She'd lost another tooth, he noted.

  "Everyone knows I'm extremely scary. But do you know what I mean? You might put this nice guy in a tough spot. He might want to be friends with you, but if it's romantic, he can't be."

  Savannah pondered, then sighed. "This is probably good advice."

  "Well, sure. I'm your big brother. I'd just keep playing good baseball, maybe focus on that. Keep it at a level where you guys could talk about sports without anything being misinterpreted."

  She nodded. "Got it. Keep him in the friend zone."

  "How do you know that phrase?"

  "Everyone knows that phrase. Wanna throw some more? Or are you too weak and exhausted?"

  He stood up and grabbed her as a response, tossed her over his shoulder like she was a sack of rice and ran around the bases, her happy shrieks filling the air.

  *

  WHEN HE TOOK Savannah back home that day, he waited as he usually did until she was inside the house. Usually, she'd just open the door, turn and wave, then run inside.

  Today, however, the door was locked. She rang the bell, then stood there a minute. When no one came to answer the door, he joined her on the porch.

  His father's house was, unsurprisingly, huge, showy and soulless. It was the last house in the cul-de-sac, the biggest house in the development, which was cloyingly called Whisper Winds Way. He'd been inside for Savannah's birthday parties, and it was the same on the inside as it was on the outside.

  "My mom said she'd be home," Savannah said.

  Connor knocked. Loudly.

  No one answered.

  Savvie had said Gail had been sick.

  "Well, come back to the restaurant with me," Connor said. "I'll put you to work, how's that?" He'd have to call his father.

  Just then the door opened, and there was Gail. "Hi, baby girl!" she said. "Did you have fun?"

  She looked awful. White-faced, her hair dull and disheveled.

  "You okay, Gail?" he asked.

  "Yeah. Just a little under the weather."

  "I'm starving," Savannah said. "Bye, Con! See you later!" She darted inside the house.

  Gail shaded her eyes and looked at him. "How was she?"

  "Great."

  She really looked like hell. Usually, she wore tight, tight clothes, low cut on top, high cut on the bottom, not a fan of the less is more philosophy. Today, she was wearing yoga pants and a sweatshirt. Connor was actually surprised she owned a sweatshirt.

  "I was napping." She lowered her hand. "Your father would love to speak to you," she said. "He's out right now, but maybe you could call him."

  "Maybe. Feel better."

  "Maybe we could talk sometime, too."

  "Why would we do that, Gail? Are you really sick? Is there something I should know?"

  "No, no, it's just..." She sighed. "I've always felt a little bad about...you know."

  "About what?"

  "Dating your father right after our...thing."

  "We didn't have a thing. We met twice." He didn't really mean to sound like such an asshole. Honestly, he had no problem with Gail, except that she made him want to take a shower.

  "Well, I just hate thinking that it's partly because of me that you and your father are...distant."

  "You weren't his first mistress, Gail. You were just the woman who stuck. My father and I were distant long before you graduated from high school, not to worry."

  "I do worry."

  "Don't. Get some rest. Feel better."

  H
e went back to his truck.

  Well, shit. If Gail was sick--really sick--what would happen then? If she had cancer or something? He'd bet his father would hire a nurse and spend as little time as possible with her, then get married before the dirt had settled over her grave.

  Savannah could always come live with Connor.

  Shit. He'd have to report to Colleen so she could figure out what was wrong.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  IT HAD BEEN a quiet week since the debacle at Hugo's. Even Davey had been subdued, though they'd had a nice half hour the day before, watching the tulips grow. Well, staring at the tulips she'd planted in the tiny scrap of front yard they had. But Davey was convinced that the sunshine was warm enough that they'd open, so they'd sat there together, Chico Three lying motionless on his back as Davey scratched his belly, all three of them looking at the flowers.

  It was moments like these that she loved most of all with Davey--the way he could appreciate the smallest thing, that, when you stopped to look with him, turned out to be pretty remarkable.

  Their mother had been like that, a little. Every time a butterfly drifted into their grubby little yard at the trailer park, Jolene would call everyone over to see, each time as delighted as if she'd never seen a butterfly before.

  But Davey wasn't talking much, and this bothered her. She'd have to watch Iron Man with him tonight. That always perked him up, though she could recite the movie by now. Still. Robert Downey, Jr. It could be worse.

  Davey hadn't mentioned their father again. Keith had sent her two emails at work, finding her through the Blue Heron website. Both were full of the expected AA lingo. Make amends. Powerless over addiction. Take full responsibility. He understood that dealing with him was her choice, and he would respect that.

  And then the killer--But Davey will always be a child, and I'm praying you'll give me the chance to be a better father to him than I was to you.

  Three years sober. If he was telling the truth, that was. There was no reason to trust him. He'd lied, cheated and stolen all her life.

  Give me the chance to be a better father to him than I was to you.

  A father figure was one thing she really couldn't be to her brother.

  Well. She had work to do--show Connor the marketing plan for his microbrewery.

  As always, O'Rourke's was cheerful, immaculate and happy. "Jessica!" Colleen said from behind the bar, where she stood with a pretty girl. "My idiot brother is expecting you." She turned toward the kitchen. "Connor!"

  "Colleen, inside voice," he muttered, coming through the swinging doors in his chef's whites, two days of stubble, his thick hair slightly mussed.