92 Pacific Boulevard. Debbie Macomber

the lock. Her head ached, her eyes stung. What she really needed was a cup of strong, hot coffee. The stronger the better, and it couldn’t come any too soon. Waking with a mouth so dry it felt as though it was stuffed with cotton, she’d brushed her teeth first. Coffee was going to be her next step.

      The moment she opened the apartment door, her sister pushed past her.

      Christie groaned. She’d tried to avoid Teri. Her sister’s persistent phone calls had gone unanswered. Christie had torn up the note Teri had slipped under her door without bothering to read it. No need; she knew what it said. She should’ve realized that Teri didn’t know how to take a hint.

      “What do you want?” Christie winced again at the pain that felt like a spear going through her head.

      Teri, five months pregnant with triplets, glared at her indignantly. “You look like hell.”

      “Thanks.” Christie walked into the kitchen and reached for the coffeepot. “Don’t mince words or anything.”

      “I never have and I’m not about to start now.” Teri followed her into the room, and without waiting for an invitation pulled out a chair and sat down. “Put some water on for tea if you would,” she said. Her hands automatically went to rest on her protruding belly, and she raised her feet to the seat of the opposite chair, as if she intended to stay a while.

      Great. Just great. Not only did Christie have a headache to contend with, she was stuck with Teri, too. In a minor act of rebellion, she started the coffee before filling a cup with water and slamming it into the microwave. She hit the timer button savagely.

      “What are you doing here?” she ventured to ask, although she could easily guess. This visit had to do with James Wilbur, Teri and Bobby’s former chauffeur. Even mentally saying his name brought a flash of pain.

      The scum.

      The rat.

      Christie had been convinced she was in love. Deeply, truly in love. Oh, she’d loved before, always unwisely as it turned out. She’d been married and divorced and had gone through a succession of men who all said they loved her … and fool that she was, Christie had believed them.

      With James it’d been different; this time everything seemed right. But then he did what every man had done to her. He’d dumped her. He’d left her a cryptic message and taken off, and in the process broken her already wounded heart.

      Well, no more. Never again.

      Christie was finished with men.

      Done.

      She meant it this time. Loving someone, loving a man, simply hurt too much.

      “Your car’s parked outside The Pink Poodle,” Teri announced, watching her closely as she moved about the kitchen.

      “So?” Christie returned flippantly. Where she chose to leave her car was none of her sister’s business. The microwave made a beeping noise but she ignored it.

      “So,” Teri echoed in the same sarcastic tone, “you’ve been drinking again.”

      “What about it? My friends are there.” It wasn’t any big deal if she chose to have a couple of beers with the guys after work. A few hours at the Poodle helped break the monotony and fend off loneliness. Going back to an empty apartment and spending the night in front of the tube wasn’t much incentive to rush home.

      “These guys are your friends? Yeah, right.”

      “Listen, if you’re here to lecture me, then save your breath. I don’t want to hear it.”

      Teri scowled. The way they were snapping at each other was reminiscent of the relationship they used to have. Over the past year that had improved, thanks in large part to James and to Bobby Polgar, Teri’s chess-playing husband.

      Teri broke eye contact, lowered her head and sighed. She sounded either hurt or offended, Christie wasn’t sure which. But this reaction was so unlike her bossy forthright sister that Christie was immediately concerned.

      “What’s wrong?” Various possibilities raced through her head. A complication with the pregnancy, or trouble with Bobby, or maybe the problem, whatever it was, concerned their younger brother, Johnny. Or—

      “It’s the pregnancy,” Teri blurted out. She closed her eyes. “I get light-headed from time to time. I’m fine. It’s just that carrying three babies is taking its toll.”

      Christie felt a jolt of alarm. “Something’s wrong with the babies?”

      “No,” Teri said, gesturing dismissively with her hand. “It’s me.”

      “You’re—”

      “The doctor said my blood pressure would fluctuate and I’d have off days. Apparently this is one of those days and the kidlets are making sure I know they’re there. But it’s nothing to worry about.”

      Despite her sister’s reassurances, Christie was worried. She shouldn’t have ignored Teri’s attempts to reach her. As a result, her sister had come in search of her. In every likel-ihood Teri had gone against doctor’s orders by leaving the house, and all because Christie refused to pick up the phone.

      The coffeemaker made a gurgling noise, signaling that the brewing was complete. Christie grabbed a mug, inspecting it to be sure it was clean before filling it to the brim. She pulled Teri’s tea water out of the microwave and brought both to the table, along with a decaffeinated herbal tea bag, and sat across from her sister.

      “All right, talk to me,” Christie said and sipped her coffee, gasping as it burned her lips.

      Teri slowly breathed in and out, her eyes closed. “I blame you for this.”

      “Me? What’d I do?” She did blame herself but wasn’t prepared to admit it.

      “All … all you think about is yourself.” For a moment it sounded as if Teri was about to break into tears. Her voice quavered and her lower lip started to tremble.

      Christie blinked. Teri was the strong, determined one in the family, and not usually given to emotional outbursts. Christie was the volatile sister—and this role reversal made her uncomfortable.

      Whatever was bothering Teri, she couldn’t seem to get the words out.

      “What did I do?” Christie repeated.

      Teri fumbled for a tissue and blew her nose with an inelegant honk before stuffing the tissue back into her purse. “You never thought about Bobby’s feelings or mine.”

      “What do you mean?”

      “We miss James, too. Bobby hardly knows what to do with himself. You’re not the only one who’s hurting!”

      Her sister was right. Christie hadn’t stopped to consider what James’s leaving had meant to Bobby and her sister. James had been Bobby’s closest friend for many years. He was Bobby’s confidant as well as his driver.

      Recently an enterprising reporter had revealed that James was once a chess prodigy himself, and that he’d suffered an emotional collapse in his early teens and spent time in a mental institution. Afterward he’d disappeared from the chess world. When the news story broke, Bobby’s friend had panicked and run.

      The fact that James had deserted her and Bobby and Teri was cruel enough. And Christie knew she hadn’t been much comfort to them because she was too devastated by what he’d done. She’d tried not to fall in love with him; again and again she’d rebuffed him, and still he’d pursued her.

      James was unlike any man she’d ever known. He hadn’t rushed her into bed, although she would’ve gone willingly if he’d asked. He didn’t. Instead, he’d broken down her resistance, bit by bit, ever patient, undemanding and kind. No woman, no matter how emotionally strong, could resist such tender persuasion. Christie certainly couldn’t.

      Just before he disappeared, she’d laid out her past to him