Saving Home. Marie Ferrarella

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СКАЧАТЬ 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 СКАЧАТЬ