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CHAPTER TWO

ANDY HESITATED JUST inside the kitchen door and suddenly reached for the counter to steady herself. Her breath caught in her throat as her brain kicked in, making the question she was about to ask Cris entirely unnecessary.

“Are you saying—?” Andy blew out a breath and tried again, this time hoping to be able to form a coherent, complete sentence. “You want me to be the new baby’s godmother?”

“Only if you promise to learn how to speak English and not garbled gibberish,” Cris qualified, doing her best to maintain a straight face.

“Absolutely!” Andy grabbed Cris’s hands, as if that would somehow help her discern if her sister was just having fun with her or on the level. “Is Shane okay with this? I mean, did you ask him? Maybe he’d rather have someone else, or—”

Cris pulled her hands free from Andy’s and placed her fingers against Andy’s lips in an effort to, at least for the moment, stop the torrent of words.

“Shane is fine with this,” Cris assured her. “In case you hadn’t noticed, he’s really crazy about this family.” Resting her hand on the baby, who must have been once more attempting to kick its way out of her belly—a rather regular occurrence recently—the smile on Cris’s lips widened. “I am an exceedingly lucky woman. To have two good men love me in one lifetime, well, it just doesn’t get any better than that.”

Andy saw that there were tears shimmering in Cris’s eyes. Happy tears.

“No, it doesn’t,” Andy agreed quietly.

The next moment, Andy felt a wave of guilt wash over her. Guilt because she caught herself being envious of Cris.

Her tall, willowy, gentle older sister had had two men pledge to love her forever. Two men who vowed to be there for her so she would have someone to lean on. Not that she didn’t think Cris deserved the love of both her late husband and Shane, the man she’d married last Christmas. She did.

But was it too much to ask to have someone like that come her way?

Apparently, Andy decided, it was. She struggled to suppress a deep sigh.

Cris pressed her lips together, knitting her eyebrows into one very thoughtful line. “For a second there, you seemed like the old Andy,” she told her sister. “But then this new Andy 2.0 version popped out again.” Cris gave her a penetrating stare—and a warning. “You might as well resign yourself to the fact that you’re not coming out of this kitchen until you get it all off your chest.”

Andy just looked at her.

Cris shook her head. “And sorry, I’m not a sucker for that sad, little girl lost face you just put on. Now talk to me, kid. Let it all out. You’ll feel better.”

Andy shrugged, watching Jorge, Cris’s sous-chef, move about the kitchen on what seemed like automatic pilot. Cris was the creative one in the kitchen. These days, as she was getting closer to her due date, Jorge had gone so far as to insist that he wouldn’t listen to a thing she said unless she was sitting down when she said it.

As independent as her sisters, but less vocal about it, Cris had no choice but to comply.

Apparently Jorge’s stubbornness was on the same level as Alex’s. Cris had lamented that she was outnumbered, but Andy believed her sister was secretly grateful for all the help she was getting. It was to the point where everyone was anticipating—correctly—her next order.

Andy blew out a breath, surrendering. “All right, if you really want to know...”

“I do,” Cris replied firmly.

It took Andy a second to gather her courage. She wasn’t one given to whining or complaining. “For the first time in my life, I feel like I’m the odd girl out.”

“Well, there’s no arguing that you’re a little odd,” Cris allowed, then she laughed, her eyes crinkling with unabashed humor. “In comparison to the rest of us, you’ve always been the one on an even keel, the one who was always happy. You’re the one who always makes the world seem a little brighter, a little happier because of your attitude.”

Cris grew more serious as she made her way to the industrial-sized refrigerator that her father had had installed two renovations ago, at the time it became clear that the one they had could no longer accommodate all the food they needed to feed their increased number of guests.

“Go on. Don’t stop,” Cris urged. “There’s got to be more to it than that.” She took out one of the potpies she’d made earlier that morning and popped it into the microwave. Hitting the appropriate numbers, Cris turned around to look at her sister. “You were saying—?” she coaxed.

Andy wet her very dry lips before continuing. “You and Alex and Stevi, you’ve got your men. You’re set for life, for having your own families.”

This wasn’t coming out right. It was making her seem petty and small, and she wasn’t, she thought, annoyed with herself. She would have gladly laid her life down for any of her sisters or her father. That list also included her brothers-in-law as well as her nephew.

She was feeling this way because she wanted to be just like them, to have the promise of love and a family—her own family.

“And me,” she continued out loud, “I’m going to be your kids’ crazy old Aunt Andy.”

“Wait,” Cris said. “Shouldn’t there be violins for this part? And a blizzard? Definitely need a blizzard to sell this.”

Andy flushed. “You’re making fun of me,” she complained dejectedly.

“Damn straight I am,” Cris answered, crossing back to her for a moment. “Andy, love doesn’t punch a clock or have some kind of a mysterious, preset timetable. Some people find the person they were meant to be with early on, others don’t until years later—”

“And some never do,” Andy pointed out. And she was certain that she belonged to that group.

“Granted, some never do. But that’s not going to be you, kid,” Cris said with complete conviction.

“There’s no guarantee on that,” Andy protested.

“Yes, there is. I guarantee that there’ll be someone for you soon enough,” Cris told her fiercely.

But Andy shook her head. She wasn’t a kid anymore. She didn’t believe in fairy tales.

“Don’t argue with a pregnant woman, Andy. Don’t you know that aggravation might make me go into premature labor?”

“No, it can’t.” Then Andy considered Cris nervously. “Can it?” she asked in a far less certain voice.

“She is pulling your legs,” Jorge interjected, taking pity on the youngest Roman sister.

“Leave my legs alone, Cris,” Andy said, picking up on Jorge’s slight mangling of the saying.

“Okay, I will,” Cris agreed. “But only if you cease and desist feeling sorry for yourself for no reason. Part of the fun in life, Andy, is the journey.” She patted her cheek. “Enjoy the journey and don’t be so impatient—”

“Said the woman who’s been staring impatiently at her belly. Don’t you know that a watched belly doesn’t go into labor?” Stevi asked with a grin, crossing over to the long worktable. She’d come into the kitchen in time to hear the last exchange and quickly made her own judgment on the nature of the discussion.

Looking at Stevi, Cris shook her head. “There’s so much wrong with that, I don’t even know where to begin. There you go,” she declared, momentarily changing the subject as she put a steaming, individual serving of chicken potpie in front of Andy, who was already seated on a stool at the long table. Turning back to Stevi, she asked, “And just what brings you here, invading my kitchen?”

“Other than the wonderful aroma of one of your chicken potpies?” Stevi asked, a deliberately innocent expression on her face.

“Other than that,” Cris conceded. “By the way, if you want one—”

“I do,” Stevi assured her with feeling.

“There just happens to be another one in the refrigerator. I’ll heat it up for you.” Moving slowly toward the fridge, Cris asked, “You were saying, Stevi?”

Her mind on lunch, Stevi had temporarily lost her train of thought. “I was?”

Cris turned to fix Stevi with a look. “About what drew you over here,” she prompted.

“Oh, right.” Stevi nodded. “Now I remember. Alex sent me in here, told me to tell Andy to get her sorry little behind out to the reception area pronto like she was supposed to.”

Andy began to rise, but Cris waved her back into her seat. “Tell our illustrious pregnant Napoleon that Andy will come out after she’s had her lunch.”

“Sure thing,” Stevi agreed, then added with a grin, “After I have mine.”

Cris exchanged glances with Stevi. They were all aware of what was going to happen next. “You do know that she’s going to come waddling in here, throwing her weight around and issuing orders.”

Stevi shrugged that off. For the most part, it was a given. Alex had a tendency to take on the role of team leader as well as unofficial mother ever since their mom had died. She frequently overstepped her boundaries, but her heart, the others reluctantly agreed, was in the right place.

“She’s not as fierce now that she’s eight and a half months pregnant,” Stevi commented with a laugh.

“Oh yes, she is,” Andy replied, rolling her eyes as she blew on her forkful of food.

Cris laughed and took out the second potpie. She gave it to Stevi, who happily dug in.

“Since when has the kitchen turned into a black hole?” Alex demanded as she stormed into the kitchen half a second after Stevi took her first bite.

Instinctively Cris put herself between Alex and their two younger sisters. “Black hole? What are you talking about?”

“Well, what would you call it?” Alex shot back. She gestured impatiently at Stevi and Andy. “People go in, but they don’t come out.”

“Offhand, I’d call it trying to get away from Alex’s mini reign of terror,” Cris answered, her eyes meeting Alex’s. The latter raised her chin as if bracing for another go-round.

Andy smiled to herself. She’d missed this, missed the bantering, the pseudo-bravado where each of them tried to outdo the others. But underneath it all, they didn’t really mean anything that was said.

Still, anyone listening in might be hard pressed to believe how quickly they could all be galvanized into a united front if one of them happened to be threatened from the outside.

Like the time Cris’s former in-laws wanted to take legal custody of Ricky, their late son’s child. The entire family, including Wyatt, had banded together to keep that from happening. They’d won, too.

Cris cast an eye toward Andy, aware that she’d fallen silent. Silent, but not sullen, Cris noted, pleased. Alex’s flare-up was temporarily placed on the back burner.

“I see that you’re smiling again,” Cris noted triumphantly.

Alex looked over at Andy, then made a dismissive noise. “That’s not a smile, that’s a grimace,” she said, correcting Cris. “She must have found a chicken bone in that pie you’re always making.”

“There are no bones in my chicken potpies,” Cris replied calmly and authoritatively.

Alex gazed down at the pies her sisters were systematically consuming. “I guess I’d better eat one to make sure.” She looked around. “If I can find a stool in here that’s built to accommodate someone larger than a Smurf.”

“Make that ten Smurfs,” Stevi murmured, under her breath but deliberately loud enough to be overheard.

Alex glared at Stevi. “Are you saying I’m fat?”

“No, I’m saying that you’re a little bigger than ten Smurfs. You are, you know,” Stevi pointed out with a straight face. “Can’t argue that.”

“Whereas you would give arguing with the devil a shot,” Andy said.

“Quiet, pipsqueak. Eat your pie,” Stevi ordered, gesturing to her plate. She turned her attention back to Alex, who was about to savor the first forkful of her own pie. “What about the reception desk?”

Alex raised one shoulder in a half shrug. “It’s not unattended.”

Cris glanced at the long worktable, although it wasn’t really necessary. All four of them were present and accounted for. That brought up a very logical question. “So who’s minding the reception desk?” The next second, the answer hit her. She glared at Alex. “You didn’t drag out poor Dad and tell him to do it, did you?”

“Of course not,” Alex said, taking offense. “Dorothy volunteered.” The inn’s head housekeeper had been with them for years. “Speaking of Dad,” Alex went on, “does anyone else think he’s looking rather pale lately?”

“Yes, but you know Dad. He always pushes himself too hard around this time of year,” Cris reminded them.

“I think keeping busy helps him cope with not having Mom around at Christmas,” Stevi’s face lit up as memories began to crowd her head. “Remember how special she always made the holidays? Even the little things. When she did them, they became almost magical,” she recalled fondly.

“I hope you’re right about Dad,” Alex murmured.

She worried about him a great deal. After their mother had died, there was a period of time when he’d fallen ill and they were all afraid that they would lose him, as well. He’d rallied, but the image of a frail man was never far from any of their minds.

“Still,” Alex continued, “I think we should all gang up on him and make Dad get a physical—just in case.”

“You know him,” Andy pointed out. “He’ll just tell us not to worry, that everything’s fine and that’ll be the end of it.”

“That used to be the end of it,” Alex said, then added with a touch of smugness, “but we’ve got muscle now.”

“What are you talking about?” Stevi asked, staring at Alex as if she had just gone off the deep end.

Alex gave her a look that all but said keep up.

“We could actually physically carry Dad to the doctor’s office.” Alex could tell she’d lost her sisters. “Don’t you see? We’ve got Wyatt, Shane and Mike. That’s three against one. They could certainly get Dad over to Dr. Donnelly’s office for a thorough check up.”

“You’re talking about kidnapping the man,” Cris said, shaking her head. “That’s a last resort,” she said, “using the guys to get Dad to the doctor’s office. You have to leave the man some dignity.”

“Dignity’s the last thing a person thinks about if they land in a hospital bed,” Alex insisted. “And I’m trying to prevent that.”

Stevi shook her head. “God, I hope the baby doesn’t get your optimism.”

Alex drew herself up a little taller. “I’m being realistic.”

“What you’re being,” Stevi countered, “is a dark cloud.”

Andy shook her head at that and laughed. “So what else is new?”

Instead of a defensive remark, or a put down from Alex the way she expected, Andy saw her oldest sister grow perfectly still, almost like a deer caught in the headlights.

“Alex?” Andy leaned in closer as she studied her sister’s tense face and rigid body. Alex was never this still for this long. “Talk to me. Is something wrong?”

“Is it the baby?” Stevi asked with a note of panic.

Jorge had abandoned the giant salad he was preparing to hurry over to the worktable. A father himself three times over, he watched Alex solicitously, ready to be of assistance.

“Say something,” Cris pleaded, taking her hand.

Alex squeezed back—hard—but only made a strange, unidentifiable noise. After another several seconds had passed, she let out a long, shaky breath. Her free hand was still possessively covering her belly.

She waited, but the pain didn’t return. Her relief was unimaginable.

“False alarm,” she told her sisters and Jorge, offering them a rather weak, tired smile to accompany the words. And then she added in a smaller, equally hopeful voice, “I think.”