Charity's days were pleasantly full. She was up early in order to get to the restaurant by four. The Dutch Kitchen opened for business at six. Hours ran until two in the afternoon. She was back at the condominium by four. Usually she changed and went out for a long walk through town, or into the woods. Mason fixed dinner and the two of them had heart-to-heart talks before she went to bed and started the cycle over again.
She didn't allow herself to think about Ross. She held him safe in a far corner of her heart, but she didn't dare feel anything. It was as though she knew instinctively that once the floodgates were opened, she might be swept away in a wild tangle of emotion that she wouldn't be able to handle.
Her body was changing. Her sense of balance had shifted, and her focus had centered on the child growing inside her. Carefully and systematically she blocked out everything else. Every minute away from work was filled to the brim with plans for the baby.
One December afternoon, she walked through one set of condominiums and wandered into another, admiring the Christmas decorations people had been putting up. An early morning snowfall had blanketed the mountains with a sparkling cover of freshness. Even the air tasted minty. Her cheeks were bright from exercise in the frosty air. Her knee-length parka was buttoned up to her chin with the fur-lined hood fitting snugly over her head.
It was the height of the ski season and there were people everywhere. But as she turned the corner that would take her home, one figure emerged from the crowd, and the way the man moved was alarmingly familiar, despite the split-leather ranch coat he was wearing. She stopped, paralyzed, wanting to run but unable to move.
"Charity."
He came closer. His blue eyes glittered in the bright afternoon light. He was gorgeous, huge and wonderful, and she had to bite back the cry of joy she felt in seeing him. But the joy was mixed with despair, because she knew she had to be strong.
"Ross." Her hand went involuntarily to her parka to make sure it was closed over her rounded evidence of pregnancy. "How are you?" Her voice sounded remark ably unemotional.
"Not so good." He shoved hands deep into the pockets of his fur-lined jacket. His eyes were cold and wary. "I've missed you."
She avoided his eyes. What was there to say? "Have you?" she murmured.
"Why did you run from me, Charity?"
She shook her head. She hadn't worked out what she would say to him, because she'd hoped that he wouldn't come looking for her. What on earth could she say now that he'd found her?