Dead End by Stella Cameron

drank the champagne down and coughed. “You, you, you,” she said and sounded furious. “There you go again. Someone else doesn’t feel so hot and it has to be because of you. Well, it isn’t, Marc Girard.”
    “Then open up and tell me what it is.”
    “It’s none of your business.”
    “I’m a good listener, and I’ll help if I can.”
    She stood up, still cradling Gaston in one arm, and replaced each dish cover firmly. The pager grabbed her attention, and she quickly located her cell phone in her purse. “Hi, Peggy. Everything okay? Did you rest like I told you to?”
    For some time Reb only listened. He admired how much she cared for her patients, but she took it too far.
    “I’ll write all that down when I’m back in my office. Now listen;
then
I want you to lie down and get some sleep. No, no argument, or I’ll have to call George at the mill and have him go home to you.”
    She listened again.
    “Well, do as I tell you, then, Peggy. I won’t let anything happen to you. Yes, I heard what’s bothering you, and no, it is not necessary for you to make special emergency plans in case it snows when it’s time for you to deliver. I think we’re going to be okay there. Can you trust me on this? I know you’re glad I’m here for you, and I’m not going anywhere.”
    The call ended and she put the phone away without comment. He guessed that was his cue to keep his mouth shut about doctor-patient business.
    “Reb, like I said, I listen real well.”
    “I don’t need help.”
    “I think you do. And I think you’re just as pigheaded as you were when you were a kid, only now you’re a doctor and you think that makes it okay to be a pain in the ass. You don’t need help? Fine, but I do, and I’m not giving up till I get it.”
    “Some things don’t change,” she said, and he saw how she shivered. “You’re still pushing me around and deciding what I have to do, what I have to accept. Just like you always did. Any decision involving you and me was always made by you.”
    He wasn’t touching that. “I have a responsibility to my family. I take those things seriously.”
    “I don’t have a family,” she told him. “I only have me and Gaston, and today someone tried to kill him to make a point with me.” She paused with her mouth open, then turned away from him.
    “Reb?”
    She shook her head.
    Marc gripped her arm and spun her to face him. “I’m not giving an inch until you explain what you just said. Are you serious? Someone did that?”
    “No. I don’t know why I said it.” When she brought her lips together they trembled. She was upset, but she was also one angry woman.
    “Don’t treat me like an idiot. Of course you know why you said it. Now tell me about it, or we’re going to get real tired of standing in this conservatory.”
    “That’s a new twist.” Her voice rose. “I know you’re overbearing and opinionated; I didn’t know you’d turned violent.”
    “Violent? That’s rich.” He laughed but was far from amused. “I’m holding your arm, so now I’m violent?”
    “You’re threatening me. If I don’t do what you want, you won’t let me leave. Don’t you think I’m going through enough?” Her breasts rose and fell with each breath. “You let me go right now. I’ll find my own way home.”
    “Reb, I want—”
    “
Just let me go.
I don’t care what you want. When are you going to get that through your thick head?”
    “Dammit!” Blood hammered at his temples, and he pulled her close. “You’re bein’ weird and scarin’ me to death. Either you’re frightened, or sick. Which is it?”
    She let Gaston jump from her arms and amazed Marc by taking a swing at him with an open hand. He caught it before she could slap him.
    For seconds she stared up at him, her eyes unblinking and her lips parted. When she started to slump, he gathered her against him.
    She clung there, drove her fingers into his arms. “This isn’t your problem.”
    So there was a real