Nevada dutifully sipped the water until her drink arrived and then carefully gulped about half the contents. Now it was just a waiting game, she thought. Waiting for the vodka to cloud her brain and make her awful afternoon fade away.
As a rule, she was a big believer in facing her problems head-on. Figure out what was wrong, come up with several solutions, pick the best one and act. She’d always been a doer. She did her best to keep her complaining to a minimum and to be a team player. That meant exactly jack shit when it came to Tucker Janack.
She couldn’t fix the past. There was no game plan for going back in time and undoing a bad decision. The reality was, she’d been crazy in love with the man and she’d acted rashly. The fault was hers. She could accept that. What really fried her was having to pay for it now.
She finished her drink and motioned for another. Before it arrived, the door to the bar opened and her sisters walked in. A quick glance at her watch told her that less than fifteen minutes had passed since she’d sat down in the booth.
“Impressive,” she called to Jo.
Her friend shrugged. “You know how I feel about people drinking alone.”
“It’s medicinal.”
“If I had a nickel for every time I heard that.”
Nevada turned her attention to the two women walking toward her. They were exactly her height, with the same blond hair and brown eyes. Hardly a surprise, considering they were identical triplets.
When they’d been kids, telling them apart had been a nightmare for nearly everyone, including family. But they’d since cultivated distinct differences, including how they dressed and their personal style. Montana wore her hair long and curly, favored flowy dresses and all things soft. Dakota went the more tailored route, although the fact that she was currently pregnant would make identification even easier.
Nevada had always considered herself the more sensible sister—her present condition notwithstanding. She spent much of her days on job sites, where jeans and work boots were a requirement rather than a fashion choice. She made smart decisions, thought things through and did her best to avoid having regrets. Tucker was the biggest bump on the otherwise smooth, slightly lonely course that was her life.
“Hey,” Dakota said, sliding into the booth across from her. “Jo called.”
Montana slid next to Dakota and tilted her head. “She said you were drinking.”
Nevada waved her empty glass toward Jo. “Maybe a quesadilla, too,” she called.
“I thought you didn’t want to eat.”
“I changed my mind.”
“Good.” Jo walked toward her and grabbed the empty glass, then took orders from Dakota and Montana. “If only you were smart enough to stop while you could still avoid a hangover.”
“Sorry, not happening.” Nevada waited until Jo had left, then looked at her sisters. “You two got here faster than I expected.”
“It’s this new invention called a phone,” Montana told her. “It speeds up communication.”
Dakota placed both her hands on the table. “What’s going on? This isn’t like you. You don’t drink in the middle of the day.”
“Technically, it’s past the middle.” Nevada squinted. Ah, there it was. The faintest of buzzes moving through the back of her brain.
“Fine. Normally you would be at the office, but instead…” Dakota sighed. “Your interview. That was today.”
“Uh-huh.” She glanced toward the bar, wishing Jo would hurry.
“It had to have gone well,” Montana said, loyal as always. “Didn’t Mr. Janack realize how qualified you are? He needs someone with your experience to deal with the local factor. Plus, you look really nice.”
Nevada inhaled the scent of grilling tortillas and cheese. Her stomach growled. She hadn’t eaten lunch—nerves about her interview had caused her to work instead.
“What happened?” Dakota asked, apparently less interested in Nevada’s appearance than her sister was. “Why do you think the interview didn’t go well?”
“What makes you think I believe that?” Nevada asked, the buzz getting stronger by the second. Even so, when Jo brought the second drink, she took a big gulp.
“The drinking was my first clue.”
Having a trained psychologist as a sister was a double-edged sword, Nevada thought. “I don’t want to talk about it. If I did, I would have come to see you both. But I didn’t. I’m here, getting drunk. Leave me alone.”
Her sisters exchanged a glance. If Nevada put her mind to it, she could probably figure out what they were thinking. After all, they were genetically the same. But right now all that concerned her were the smells drifting back from Jo’s small kitchen.
“Nevada,” Montana began, her voice gentle.
That was all it took. A single word. Nevada shook her head. Why couldn’t she be like other people and hate her family? At the moment, a good estrangement sounded like the perfect plan.