Christmas at Bravo Ridge. Christine Rimmer

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?”

      “You falling asleep on me?”

      He scrubbed his hands down his face, shook his head to clear the fuzziness and dragged himself up straighter in the chair. “What time is it?”

      “After two.”

      “Impossible.”

      “But true.”

      “I should get going.” He ordered his body to drag itself upright. But before he could actually make that happen, she got up and circled the coffee table to stand above him. He squinted up at her. “Huh?”

      She leaned down and put her hands on his shoulders. Those blue eyes were so serious and she was frowning. “No way you’re driving anywhere tonight.” She captured his hand. “Come on. You can have the spare room.”

      He liked the feel of her hand in his and also the way the firelight made her hair shine like spun gold. “Naw.”

      She tugged on his fingers. “Get up, Matt.”

      “I’m fine here. Really. You go ahead to bed, I’ll just sit here and…enjoy the fire.”

      “Uh-uh. I know you. You’ll snooze for a while and then get up and go. It’s not a good idea.” She pulled on his hand some more. “Come on with me now. You can make it up the stairs.”

      “Acourse I can make it. The question is do I want to make it?”

      “You’re going.” She spoke flatly, bracing her free hand on her hip.

      He opened his mouth to tell her he wasn’t. But then he shut it without a word. He could see that she’d made up her mind. Corrie’s mind was one thing a man had no hope of changing. Not once it was made up anyway.

      “Come on, I’ll help you.” She yanked on his hand for the third time.

      “Corrie.”

      “What?”

      “I’m a little high, yeah, but I’m not totally whacked. I can get up and walk up those stairs just fine on my own.”

      “Well, all right. Let’s go.”

      He let her pull him up. Then, gently, he extricated his hand from her grip. “I’m going, all right?”

      “So go.”

      He went. Halfway up the stairs, he realized she wasn’t behind him. He glanced back. She was turning off the fireplace and switching out the lamps. He waited until she started coming up and then he went the rest of the way to the top and down the upstairs hall into the guest room, where she caught up with him. She flipped the switch by the door and the room became blindingly bright.

      He blinked against the glare. “Ouch. Do we really need that light?” He aimed himself at the bed.

      She grabbed his arm and pushed him down into a chair. “Stay there. I’ll change the sheets.” She started stripping the bed.