She shook his hand off, moving quickly so that he couldn't touch her. "Here you go," she said with forced cheer, handing out a plate of ice cream. "Sorry I don't have any whipped cream to put on top."
Aunt Doris frowned, not quite comprehending the new tension in the air. But before she had a chance to make discreet inquiries, the sound of raised voices came from the living room.
"Oh, dear," she muttered. "They're at it again. Ross, would you come on out and help me? This sounds like it's going to need muscle power behind the threats."
She hurried out of the kitchen to serve as referee.
Ross hesitated. He didn't want to leave Charity now, but he didn't want to ignore Aunt Doris, either.
"I'll be right back," he told Charity.
Charity stared after him, then looked back at the pic ture in the newspaper. Why hadn't she realized the truth? She'd been so willing to go blindly on with this masquerade, never questioning why a man like Ross would have agreed to it in the first place. How could she have been so naive?
His name wasn't Bennington at all. He was Ross Carrington, the man who'd been hounding her for months, trying to get her to join his stupid consortium.
She grimaced, re membering when the other business owners on the Dos Pueblos Pier had met and she'd been the only one to dis sent from the general consensus to go along with Ross and his plans. They'd said Ross Carrington always got what he wanted, that she might as well give in at once. She'd said no. She wanted independence, and there was no way he could take that from her without her consent. They'd warned her that he'd find a way.
He'd found a way, all right, a very original way. You had to hand it to the man. He was ready to try anything.
She stared at the melting ice cream. There was a lump rising in her throat. Pulling herself together, she quickly filled the remaining bowls, put the lid on the container and returned it to the freezer. She placed all the bowls on a tray, grabbed up some silverware and carried the lot out to the living room, setting it down on the coffee table.
The place looked like an armed camp. Anger filled the room, but Charity couldn't deal with that right now. She had her own problems.
"If you'll excuse me," she said to the group at large, carefully avoiding Ross's gaze, "I'm not feeling very well. I'd like to lie down for a while." She started for the bed room.