LITMIR.BIZ

      HAD STACY’S BOYFRIEND arrived? Chantel stepped out of the shower and listened for voices in the living room as she pulled on the jeans and long-sleeved T-shirt she’d had her sister toss in the dryer, but heard nothing beyond the distant drone of the television.

      “Stace?” she called out.

      A light step sounded in the hall, and her sister poked her head into the bedroom just as Chantel began to work the snarls out of her long hair. “You done?”

      “Yeah. It felt great. Is your friend here?”

      “Not yet. He called to say he stopped off for a late breakfast. He’ll be here any minute.”

      Chantel smiled at her sister’s barely concealed excitement. “You still want to get married, Stace?”

      “If I want kids, I don’t have a lot of time to waste. I’m already thirty-two.” She fingered Chantel’s expensive leather luggage.

      “That’s only three years older than me.” Only, I don’t have to worry about getting married…or having kids. Instinctively Chantel pressed a hand to her stomach. The ultimate price. She wondered if Stacy would more easily forgive her if she knew, then rejected the idea. She wouldn’t play on her sister’s sympathy. That was cowardly. She’d gotten what she deserved. Wasn’t that what Wade had said the last time she’d seen him?

      For once in his life he’d been right.

      “After age thirty, three years counts for a lot,” Stacy said, plopping down on the bed while Chantel applied lotion to her face.

      “While the rest of us were dreaming of having careers, you always wanted to marry and settle down,” Chantel murmured.

      “Ever since I graduated from high school, but all too often I made the mistake of bringing them home. Then they’d see you.”

      And what had stopped her from finding a husband during the past ten years, while Chantel was in New York?

      Chantel stifled the defensive retort. She didn’t want to start a fight. She was here to rebuild her relationship with Stacy, not destroy it. “I’m sorry, Stace. I can’t understand why anyone would rather be with me than you.”

      Her sister sighed. “Look in the mirror, Chantel. That explains everything.”

      Chantel gazed into the mirror that contrasted her tall lean form with her sister’s short slightly stocky build, her light eyes with her sister’s chocolate-colored irises.

      “We’re as opposite as night and day, aren’t we?” Stacy said.

      “My father was tall and blond, yours short and dark. Mother loved them both. We didn’t get to place an order. I certainly never asked to be six feet tall.”

      “And I never asked for saddlebags. Them’s the breaks, I guess.”

      Chantel glanced at her sister’s curvy figure. “You don’t have saddlebags. I’ve always wanted to be petite, like you.”

      A knock from the front of the cabin interrupted them, and Stacy jumped to her feet. “He’s here!”

      Waving her out of the room, Chantel said, “You go enjoy him. I’m pretty tired after last night. I think I’ll lie down for a while. Which bunk is mine?”

      There were two unmade beds and two that hadn’t been touched. “Take your pick of those,” Stacy said, already on her way out. At the door she turned back. “On second thought, why don’t you meet him before your nap? We may as well get it over with.”

      Chantel cringed at the tone of Stacy’s voice. She sounded as if she’d rather have root-canal work than introduce her sister to her boyfriend, but Chantel threw her shoulders back and took a deep breath.

      Stacy was in love. It was time to meet her sister’s Mr. Right—and to let him know he’d better not so much as throw a friendly smile in her direction.

      Following her sister, she headed into the small cluttered living room, filled with a half-dozen pieces of mismatched furniture surrounding a black fireplace insert. Through the front window overlooking the drive, she caught a glimpse of a white sports utility vehicle. But the sight struck no chord in her until Stacy opened the door, and she saw Dillon Broderick standing on the front porch.

      CHAPTER FIVE

      “CHANTEL! WHAT ARE YOU doing here?” Dillon looked from Stacy to Chantel and back again. There were hundreds of cabins in the Tahoe area, and thousands of people came up on any given weekend to ski. What were the chances of running into her again? Not that he was unhappy about it. He’d been thinking about the new woman in his life ever since they’d parted, missing her, already looking forward to calling her. It just wasn’t a pleasant surprise to find Chantel in company with the woman he’d been dating for the past few weeks.

      Stacy’s brows knitted together. “You two know each other?”

      Dillon smiled uncomfortably. “Actually we—”

      “Got in a car accident coming up here,” Chantel cut in, her voice brisk. “We don’t really know each other, just met briefly out in the storm to exchange insurance information.” She shrugged. “I’m sorry about our little fender bender, by the way.”

      Just met briefly out in the storm? After what happened last night? Dillon wasn’t sure how to react. The time he’d spent with Chantel meant something to him. She meant something to him. At the same time, he’d been dating Stacy for the past few weeks, and while they hadn’t become serious or exclusive or anything, he wasn’t sure exactly what she expected of him.

      “I’m sure the insurance will take care of the Landcruiser,” he said shortly. “How do you two know each other?”

      “Chantel’s my sister,” Stacy replied.

      Dillon wished he could step back into his truck until his head stopped reeling and he could catch his breath. Stacy’s sister? He’d just slept with Stacy’s sister? His gaze flew from Chantel’s elegant fine-boned face, now devoid of color, to Stacy’s pixie cuteness, and he wondered where the family resemblance was. He and Stacy had been friends for two years, but he couldn’t remember her ever having mentioned a sister.

      “It’s cold outside. Come on in and tell me about last night,” Stacy said with a quick welcoming hug.

      Dillon glanced helplessly over Stacy’s head to Chantel, but she wouldn’t meet his eyes. Jamming

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