*   *   *

The sun was slipping toward the glowing green horizon as the convertible bumped slowly down the dirt road, washboarded by rains and tree roots. Overgrown branches slapped at the sides of the car and kudzu vines scratched Annajane’s bare arm. She knew, of course, where they were headed as soon as they passed through the wrought-iron gates at Cherry Hill.

Annajane glanced at Mason’s profile. He seemed more relaxed, steering with his left hand, his right arm slung casually over the seat back.

“I need to get out here with a sling-blade and cut back some of this stuff before it completely blocks off the road,” he said. “I had to stop the car twice the other night to drag fallen trees out of the way. And, I swear, I think I saw a glimpse of a coyote.”

She shivered and tucked her legs beneath her and turned toward him. “When was the last time you were out here before that?”

He looked chagrined. “Probably the day I moved the last of my stuff out. How about you?”

“The second anniversary of our breakup,” she said. “I was in a particularly melancholy mood. Guess I just wanted to torture myself. I was shocked by how fast everything went to seed.”

A moment or two went by, and then they turned a curve in the road and the stone cottage came into view. Annajane gasped.

Vines completely covered the stone façade, with the exception of the doorway, where Mason had obviously cut a path through the growth. Part of the chimney had tumbled down, and the camellia bushes had reached nearly roof height, completely obscuring the front windows.

“This is so sad,” she said softly. “Much sadder than when I was here last.”

He pulled to the side of the house, driving as far forward as he could, until the nose of the Chevelle protruded from a thicket of privet and they could see the glint of the lake in the fading daylight.

Mason got out of the car, went around to the trunk, brought out a long-handled pair of loppers, and proceeded to spend ten minutes shearing off enough of the privet until they had an unobstructed view of the water.

“It’s a start,” he said, wiping his hands on the seat of his jeans before climbing back into the driver’s seat.

“Looks like you’d need a backhoe and probably a bulldozer, too, to get all the way to the edge,” Annajane observed. She half-stood in the seat, trying to get a better look.

“It’s getting so dark, I can’t see the dock and the boathouse,” she said. “Is it even still there?”

“It’s there, but it’s gotten so rickety it’s not safe to walk out onto it,” Mason said. “Guess I need to post warning signs. Now that the weather’s warming up, I’d hate for somebody to come over here by boat and try to explore—and wind up getting killed when the dock collapses under them.”

Annajane shivered involuntarily at the idea. Mason reached into the back seat of the car and handed her a blanket. “Here,” he said, drawing it around her shoulders. “I’d forgotten how quickly it cools down out here after dark.”

“What, no flask?” Annajane asked.

He reached under the seat and produced a leather-wrapped thermos. Uncapping it, he poured a drink into the cup-shaped top, and the sound of crushed ice chinked against the worn silver. “I wasn’t sure you’d come tonight,” he said. “But I thought if you did, considering what happened last time, maybe I should mix up a proper drink.”

Annajane took a tentative sip and laughed. It was Quixie and bourbon. “Very nice. So. What did you want to discuss?”

“I have a proposal I’d like you to consider,” Mason said, turning toward her. “And I know I have no right to ask. But I have to anyway. I came so close today to ruining my life, it scared me. Pokey was trying to talk me out of marrying Celia, and she said something that hit home. She said Celia would ruin my life if I went through with the wedding. But I knew, as soon as she said it, that I’d already damned near ruined it myself. Worrying about what other people think. About my mother, about people in town. I was so concerned with my image, my responsibilities. All I could think about was my big, selfless sacrifice. And how noble I was. Marrying a woman I’d come to detest, just because I thought she was having my child.”

“Go on,” Annajane said, taking another sip of bourbon and handing it over to him.

Mason took a long drink. He looked at Annajane. Her cheeks were pink, and her pinned-up hair had come undone. He reached out and touched a tendril of windblown hair. “You didn’t listen to any of your voice-mail messages today?”

“No,” she said. “I decided to just shut out the whole world, since the world seemed such an unfriendly place to be in. I was determined to get the Quixie promotion plans nailed down. I think I’ve got the radio and television ads figured out…”

Mason put his fingertips across her lips. “There isn’t any baby,” he said. “Celia faked the pregnancy.”

Annajane’s eyes widened. “How did you figure it out?”

He rolled his eyes. “When Pokey came over to pick up Sophie before the wedding today, we just happened to see a necklace that had slipped out of her pink purse.”

Annajane nodded.

“You know how Sophie does. She’s a little magpie, always picking up shiny stuff and hiding her treasures in that purse. Anyway, the necklace somehow fell out, just as they were about to leave, and it was an expensive thing I’d given Celia for Christmas last year. So we checked out the rest of the contents. Low and behold, we found a half-empty package of birth control pills, with a prescription label that said they were Celia’s.”

“I don’t understand,” Annajane said.

“I wouldn’t have either,” Mason said with a chuckle. “Celia told me she’d been on the patch—that’s how she got pregnant, because she’d been taking antibiotics, and they’d counteracted the hormones in the patch. But as Pokey helpfully pointed out, the drugstore label said the prescription had been filled just two weeks ago, and it looked like Celia had been taking the pills—right up until the day she claimed she was pregnant.”

“Ohhhhh,” Annajane said.

“When Celia showed up at the house, I confronted her with the pills,” Mason said. “She tried to lie her way out of it. It wasn’t very pretty.”

“What was her explanation?” Annajane asked.

He shrugged. “She tried to say it was an old prescription and that anybody could have had it refilled. She even suggested that you and Pokey had gotten the pills and planted them on Sophie.”

“Me!” Annajane said indignantly.

“Doesn’t matter,” Mason said. “She’s an expert liar, but this time, she really couldn’t talk around the truth. And so … it looks like I’m not going to be a father again. Anytime soon.” His lips twisted into a sardonic grin.

“Not a very convincing smile,” Annajane observed.

He ran his fingers through his hair. “I never said I didn’t want more children,” Mason said. “I do want more. Sophie needs brothers and sisters. I’d almost convinced myself that everything would be okay with another child, as long as I was around to make up for Celia’s shortcomings.”

“But you changed your mind?”

“It’s not enough to have a husband and wife living in the same house,” Mason said. “If those people don’t really love each other, it’s not a family; it’s a fraud, with or without a marriage license. And a child will eventually see through that. I don’t want that for Sophie. Or any child.”

“That’s pretty deep stuff there, Mason,” Annajane said.

“Jesus,” he said. “I came so close to blowing it. You’ll never know how close.”

Annajane was almost tempted to tell him the full extent of Celia’s deception. But she knew she wouldn’t. It was a hurt he didn’t need.

“What happens next? With Celia, I mean?”

He glanced at his watch. “She and her stuff should be gone by now. And her contract with Quixie has been terminated. I’ll pay out the rest of the money she’s due. And hopefully, that will be the end of it.”