“You never know,” she teased. After having grown up in a houseful of older half-brothers Katie was overjoyed to discover she had not one, but two half-sisters. For most of her life she hadn’t known that Tiffany was her sister; it was only after her husband died that Tiffany had decided to move to Bittersweet where her grandmother, Octavia Nesbitt, had spent most of her life.

The boys took off for the house at a dead run and by the time Katie, Tiffany and J.D. had crossed the shaded backyard and climbed the few steps to the back porch, the wail of an electric guitar screamed through the open window of Stephen’s room. “My son, the rock star,” Tiffany said with a laugh.

“I wanna see!” Christina wriggled unsteadily on J.D.’s shoulders until he helped her down to the floor. She scurried ahead of them through the open door of the house and clambered up the stairs. The airy kitchen smelled of dried herbs and wildflowers that were bunched and hung from the exposed beams overhead. Artwork, schedules and old report cards decorated the refrigerator while a rack of copper pans was suspended over a center cooking island.

“I’ll bet the boys are gonna love her wanting to get in on the action.” Tiffany opened the refrigerator and hauled out a pitcher of iced tea.

“If they’re like my brothers,” Katie said, “they’ll lock the door and tell her that because she’s a girl she’s not allowed inside. It’s a plot by all older brothers to mess up their younger sisters’ self-esteem.”

“Didn’t seem to take in your case,” J.D. observed as Tiffany poured them each a glass.

“Careful, Santini, you’re outnumbered here,” Tiffany warned him as she sliced a lemon and dropped wedges into the drinks. She handed Katie her glass and waved her into a chair at the table. Leaning thoughtfully against the counter she asked, “So, are you ready for the wedding this weekend?”

“Can’t wait.” Katie took a long sip of tea. “How about you?” She pressed the cool glass to her forehead as Tiffany settled into a chair.

“I’ll be okay, I guess. I’m thrilled for Bliss and Mason, but . . .” She let her voice trail off as she took a swallow of cold tea.

“Don’t tell me,” Katie guessed. “You’re still having trouble dealing with dear old Dad.”

Small lines of concern appeared between Tiffany’s eyebrows. “Let’s just call him John.”

“Okay, so the fact that John Cawthorne is going to be there is bothering you.”

“Not only that he’s there, but that he’s giving the bride away.” Tiffany sighed and, resting her chin on her open palm, stared through the window. “It . . . it brings it all out in the open again.”