Charity and Mason were sitting at the edge of a crystal lake watching the water lap against a lacy edge of early snow when she finally told him that she was pregnant.
"Oh, my God," he said, turning on her almost fiercely. "How did that happen?"
She smiled faintly. "The usual way." She blinked at his disapproving face and went on defensively. "I'm sure you must have run across this problem from time to time with your wild past."
"Never," he said, frowning darkly and not a bit amused. "I'm always very careful."
"Well," she said, looking down at her hands in their black leather gloves, "we weren't."
There was a long silence. Finally Mason spoke again. "Are you going to have it?"
Her eyes flashed. "Of course."
He nodded as though he'd known that all along. "And Ross?"
She shivered. "He doesn't know."
They were both silent again. Something jumped in the water of the lake. There was a splash, then ripples. The air smelled fresh.
Mason turned to her again. "Charity, I'm here for you, but you're going to have to tell me what it is you want me to do. Do you want me to go make him marry you?"
"I don't want to marry him."
He shrugged helplessly. "Do you want me to go beat him up?"
"Don't be silly."
His dark eyes had a haunted expression. "Then what can I do for you?"
Her lower lip trembled. "Just love me and be my big brother while I go through this."
He took her hand, but his expression was still troubled. "Are you going to tell him?"
"No." She shook her head firmly. "I don't want him to know."
Mason sighed. "He has a right to know."
"What?" She pulled her hand back.
"He's the father of this baby, just like you're the mother. You can't deny him his fatherhood."
She stared at her brother. "Since when did you become such a moralist?" she snapped.
He grimaced. "I'm not being a moralist, Char. I'm just facing facts. You've got to do what's right."
This from her wandering playboy of a brother. She was stunned, and she didn't want to listen to him. Facing his kind of facts meant making decisions she didn't want to make.
"But don't you see?" she argued. "If he knows, he'll feel he has to do something about it." She shuddered. "I don't want him to marry me because he thinks he must."
Mason frowned. "Would you marry him if it weren't for this?"
She felt small and miserable. "He's never asked me," she said simply.
Mason didn't say any more. They went to the condo minium, and then she went to work at her new restaurant, the Dutch Kitchen, where she was busy making improve ments and keeping her mind off her condition. But Ma son obviously thought a lot about their conversation, because a week later he brought it up again.