Christmas at Bravo Ridge. Christine Rimmer

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      “What’s it?”

      “My dad claims Luz never told him about Elena. I don’t think my mom believes him. And it was always a big deal between them, the whole total honesty thing.”

      Corrine poured herself more wine. “So you think maybe your dad actually knew the whole time that he had another daughter?”

      “No, I don’t think he did.”

      “But you’re not sure?”

      He ate another cracker. “I’m sure.”

      “Why?”

      “Corrie, damn it. I just am.”

      “Okay, so. He busted himself all those years ago when he had the affair. At that time, they worked it out and your mom accepted that it was better if he didn’t tell her who the woman was. You say you’re sure your dad didn’t know that Luz had had his kid.”

      He gave her a look. “And the point you’re making is…?”

      “That I still don’t get it. It was more than twenty years ago. Your parents got past it then. Why won’t your mom get past it and go back to him now?”

      “She will. Eventually. We’re all sure of that.”

      “All?”

      “That’s right. All. My dad. My brothers. Me. My sisters.” Aleta had given Davis seven sons and two daughters.

      Corrine asked softly, “What makes all of you so sure?”

      “We just are.”

      “Please.”

      “Don’t roll your eyes at me, Corrie. I know my own mother.”

      “I’m only saying, even given that she still loves him, it is possible that this time she’s finally had it with him.”

      His brows drew together. “Had it? How?”

      “Come on, Matt. You know what I mean. Maybe there’s more going on here than we realize. Maybe she’s fed up with him on more levels than just the affair he had so long ago. Maybe she’s decided she’s not going to take it anymore.”

      “Take it? Take what?”

      “You know. Him. Your dad. The way he is, like he thinks he runs the world or something. Maybe she’s left him for good this time.”

      He gaped. “You mean divorce?”

      “I do, yeah.”

      “Hell, no.” He said it fast. Too fast.

      “But, Matt—”

      He put up a hand. “Uh-uh. No way—yeah, okay. They’re living apart. Temporarily. But making it permanent? Never going to happen. Divorce is…not who they are. They’re solid, married more than thirty years. They would never split up for good.”

      Although she thought he was in serious denial, Corrine resisted the urge to keep arguing the point. Really, what did she know about marriage and how a good one works? Her dad had abandoned her and her mother when Corrine was nine. Her mom had never remarried.

      And Corrine herself had yet to take the plunge. Although she was about to, with Bob.

      Bob…

      Corrine smiled to herself. Sometimes she could hardly believe it was really happening. She was getting married at last. To a minister, of all people—a very special kind of minister. The kind who never judged or acted superior.

      Bob’s church, the New Life Unification Church, was open to people of all beliefs and faiths. Corrine, never much of a churchgoer before, had gone to New Life after her mom died in search of comfort mostly. A girlfriend had sworn she would love it there. And she had. Slowly, she’d gotten to know the pastor, never guessing at the time that Bob would turn out to be the man for her.

      She glanced down at the diamond on her finger. It wasn’t big or flashy. But it gave off a nice sparkle in the light from the fire. And Bob was such a good man, generous, sweet and true…

      Matt shifted in his chair. She looked up into his gray eyes and they shared a smile.

      “So what else you got here?” He gestured at the bottles between them.

      “You’ll end up drunk if you don’t watch it.”

      “It’ll do me good to loosen up a little.” He held out his empty glass. “I’m a stick-up-the-ass corporate guy, remember?”

      She winced. “Did I call you that?”

      “To my face. More than once.”

      “I’m sorry.”

      “Forgiven. You know that. More wine.”

      “A modest little cabernet, maybe?”

      “Pour.”

      

      Matt could have sat in that chair across from Corrie forever.

      They tried more of the wines. A pinot noir and something Spanish. They talked and laughed. An hour went by.

      Two.

      Three…

      Matt was having a good time. A great time—but then, except for a while there after she told him she was pregnant, he always did have a good time with Corrie. Sometimes lately, when he brought Kira home at the end of the weekend, he would find himself wishing he didn’t have to leave.

      Corrie’s house was in an older neighborhood with lots of big, mature oaks. It had been her mom’s house before Kathleen Lonnigan died and left it to her only daughter. It was nothing fancy, but it sure was comfortable, cheery and cozy, the furniture a little worn. Lived-in. In the past couple of years, since she lost her mom, Corrie had put her own stamp on it, things like fifties-style lamps and bright, geometrical-patterned rugs on the scuffed hardwood floors.

      Tonight, with the fire going and too much wine making him feel all sentimental and pleasantly fuzzy, he kept thinking of that first night he met Corrie. It was almost six years ago now.

      He’d been twenty-four. It was the night he came home from the University of Chicago with an MBA in finance. He went out clubbing to celebrate the milestone and ended up at Armadillo Rose, where he went crazy for the bartender. Until then, he’d never gone crazy over anyone. He wasn’t the crazy type.

      If he closed his eyes now, he could almost see her, the way she looked that night. Her blue eyes inviting him, that blond hair their daughter had inherited hanging over one eye. In painted-on jeans and a skimpy tube top that showed her navel ring. She’d danced on the bar that night. And he’d known he had to have her…

      “Matt?”

      “Um?”

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