As far as Cris was concerned, the inn took the place of home for guests. In this she and their father were of like mind.
Catching Cris’s eye, Alex beckoned her over. She watched with a touch of envy as Cris seemed to maneuver with what appeared to be far less effort than she’d had to expend to cover the same ground.
This baby had her completely out of shape, Alex thought, frustrated.
When would this ordeal finally end so that she could have her life—not to mention her body—back? At this point, she was starting to feel as if she’d always been pregnant and there was no other way to be—no matter how much she wished there was.
“Hey, Cris,” Alex began before the latter reached her. “You’ve been through this before, right?”
Where was this going? Cris wondered.
Of course she’d been through this before. She’d given birth to a son six years ago. Ricky. Named him after his grandfather. It still hurt her that Ricky’s father had died halfway around the world, fighting for freedom, before he had ever set eyes on his son.
What was Alex getting at?
“I believe you know my son, your nephew,” she replied, waiting for Alex to continue.
“If you’ve already been through this once,” Alex said, underscoring the point, “how could you have willingly let it happen again? It’s like being possessed by some alien life form that makes you go to the bathroom every ten and a half minutes. Why would you want to go through all this a second time?”
Andy bent over and addressed the very large bump that was to be her future niece or nephew. “She doesn’t really mean it, Baby. Your mother’s just a very grumpy lady at times.”
Glaring at her, Alex shifted her stomach away from Andy.
“Because,” Cris told her older sister, acting as if the question was a perfectly logical one rather than something Alex’s haywire hormones had made her spit out, “there is nothing in the world to equal the feeling of holding a baby in your arms for the very first time.”
Alex was clearly not sold. “If that’s all it is, you could get a part-time job volunteering on the maternity ward at the local hospital,” she retorted.
Cris remained undaunted. “Talk to me after you’ve given birth to little whose-its-what’s-it and see if you feel the same way,” she told her older sister.
“I will,” Alex promised.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have special lunch orders to oversee,” Cris told them.
As she turned to continue to the kitchen, Cris glanced at the Christmas tree that the entire family—not to mention a number of the inn’s paying guests—had spent the better part of the weekend putting up and decorating. Her eyes narrowed as she weighed its appearance.
“That side seems a little barren,” she finally assessed, pointing toward a section that faced the kitchen rather than the front desk. She looked over her shoulder toward the only one of the three of them who could safely negotiate a ladder at this point. “Andy, could you do the honors?”
Andy was always one eager jump ahead of everything and everyone. So when she replied with a less than enthusiastic, “Sure, why not?” the response—more to the point, the tone of her sister’s voice—made Cris immediately halt in her tracks.
She gave her younger sister a lengthy scrutiny. “Is there something wrong, Andy?”
Before Andy had a chance to reply, Alex spoke up for her, summarizing what she viewed was the problem.
“Apparently our little sister is battling a case of the doldrums.”
Cris, her mothering instincts hardwired into her from birth, retraced her steps to Andy. She paused to press her lips against her younger sister’s forehead.
“You don’t feel unduly warm,” she judged, stepping back.
“That’s because I’m not running a fever,” Andy retorted, pulling her head back.
Cris stareded at her for what seemed like an eternity before she said, “No, you’re not. You’re also not smiling—or behaving anything like Andy.” She tried a little humor to alleviate the situation. “Okay, who are you and what have you done with our little sister?”
“She’s feeling sorry for herself,” Alex said matter-of-factly.
For one of the few times in her life, Andy felt her temper flare. She banked it down successfully. However, she wasn’t about to let the accusation go unanswered. “No, I’m not,” Andy firmly denied.
Cris put her arm around Andy’s shoulders in a move that fairly shouted camaraderie and protectiveness.
“Don’t worry, honey, we all feel a little sorry for ourselves once in a while. It comes with the territory.” Cris smiled broadly, glancing over in Alex’s direction. “After all, we’re related to Alex, which is enough of a reason for anyone to feel sorry for themselves.” She winked at Andy.
The wink was not lost on Alex.
“Great, two against one,” she complained to the world at large. Her eyes swept over the other two. “I can still take you on, you know.”
“No one’s taking anyone on,” Cris told her calmly. “Especially not around Christmas.”
Alex did her best to hide the knowing grin that was threatening to come out. “You’re just saying that because I’d win.”
Cris merely smiled the knowing smile that had always driven Alex crazy.
“If you say so,” Cris replied accommodatingly. Then she turned toward Andy. “You want to come help me in the kitchen?”
Alex suddenly came to life. It was one thing to banter, but business was business and she wasn’t in the mood to allow that to just slide. “Hey, Andy’s supposed to be taking over for me at the front desk, remember?” The last of her question was directed toward Andy.
“Wyatt got you that extra-wide stool. Use it,” Cris told her, nodding toward where it was parked beneath the reception desk.
Threading her arm around Andy’s shoulders again, Cris gently guided her in the direction of the kitchen.
“It is not extra-wide,” Alex cried defensively, raising her voice slightly. “It’s just extra-comfortable, that’s all.”
“Either way,” Cris answered without turning around this time, “use it. I need Andy. C’mon, I’ve got a chicken potpie in the refrigerator with your name on it.” She knew it was Andy’s favorite comfort food. “I’ll heat it up and you can tell me what’s bothering you.”
Andy sighed as she walked into the kitchen beside her sister. “I don’t really know what’s bothering me.”
That was, more or less, a lie. But she was not about to tell Cris that she was envious of her and the others, that she felt left out because she was a single to their doubles.
“Then we’ll figure it out together,” Cris proposed cheerfully. “Can’t have my baby’s godmother moping around like this, you know.”
Andy frowned, confused. “I’m not Ricky’s godmother.”
There was a mischievous glimmer in Cris’s eyes as she smiled and said, “No, you’re not.”
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