“Meet men when I’m nude? No!”

  He laughed outright at that, relieved. “I guessed as much.” Carefully he lifted up the tissue sheet at her waist and placed his fingers on her abdomen, suspecting he would find rigidity and tenderness at McBurney’s point, halfway between the navel and the crest of the hipbone.

  “Actually, I’ve been feeling better the last couple hours,” Marjorie said hurriedly, hoping to suggest that whatever was wrong was curing itself. His hand felt cool and soothing against her heated flesh, and she closed her eyes. However, the instant he glided his fingers to her side and pressed down, her eyes shot open at the excruciating pain searing through her like red-hot needles.

  She swore loudly and jumped from the examination table. “What do you think you’re doing?” she shouted, her hands crossed protectively over her stomach. The agony lingered, and she nearly doubled over with the force of it.

  “Miss Majors—”

  “And what were all those platitudes about not needing to suffer?”

  “Miss Majors, if you’d kindly return to the table…”

  “Are you crazy? So you can do that again? Forget it, buddy.”

  “I may be able to forget it,” he said solemnly, with a hint of chastisement, “but you won’t. The pain isn’t going to go away. In fact, it will get worse. Much worse. You should have seen a doctor days ago.”

  “It’s already worse, thanks to you.”

  “Miss Majors—”

  “For heaven’s sake, call me Marjorie.”

  “Marjorie, then. Running out of here like a terrified rabbit isn’t going to make everything all right.”

  So he’d noticed the way she was eyeing the neat pile of her folded clothes. She wouldn’t run, because that would be silly and stupid, but she couldn’t keep from looking at the door longingly.

  “You have an inflamed appendix.”

  She swallowed past the tightness in her throat. The shooting pain hadn’t ebbed; if anything, it had gotten steadily worse from the moment he had touched her tender abdomen. Oh dear heaven, her appendix. She didn’t need a fortune-teller to explain what would happen next. Surgery. The sound of the word was as ominous as that of a trumpet in a funeral march.

  “Your temperature is rising, and my guess is that your white cell count is sky-high,” he continued. “A blood test will confirm that easily enough.”

  A weak smile wobbled at the corners of her mouth. “My appendix,” she repeated.

  Sam nodded. “Go ahead and get dressed. When you’ve finished, I’ll have my nurse draw some blood and escort you into my office. That’ll give me a few minutes to make the necessary arrangements. We’ll talk, and I’ll explain where we go from here.”

  “Okay.” Her voice sounded scratchy and thin, like an ailing frog’s.

  He eyed her again, his gaze tender and concerned. He regretted having hurt her. The look of suppressed pain in her eyes bothered him more than he’d expected, and he tried to lend her some of his own confidence. “Don’t look so worried—everything’s going to be fine.”

  “Everything’s going to be fine?” Marjorie echoed, unable to disguise her sarcasm. “Sure it is.” The minute he left the room, she snapped her teeth over her bottom lip and bit down unmercifully. Her hand trembled as she brushed a thick strand of hair away from her face, and the room appeared to sway slightly. The last time she’d felt this shaky had been at her parents’ funeral.

  As if on cue, the nurse reappeared the minute Marjorie had completed dressing, and led her into another room, where she drew blood from her arm.

  * * *

  —

  While he waited for Marjorie, Sam contacted Cal Johnson, a surgeon and good friend. His instincts told him the sooner they had her in the hospital, the better. When he explained her symptoms to Cal, his friend concurred and agreed to take the case. His second telephone conversation was with a member of the staff at Tacoma General.

  When Marjorie appeared in the doorway of his office, Sam saw her from the corner of his eye. She hesitated, and he motioned for her to come inside and take a seat.

  “I don’t think we should wait any longer,” he said into the receiver. “Good. Good. Yes, I can have her over there in a half-hour. I’ll assist.”

  In an effort to keep from looking as though she were listening in on his conversation, Marjorie scanned the walls. Certificates, diplomas, and service awards decorated every available spot. His desk was neat and orderly. The sure sign of a twisted mind, she mused darkly. She glanced his way again and sighed. Heavens, she hoped he wasn’t discussing her! He must have been. If he felt surgery was necessary, then she would at least like a couple days to mentally prepare herself. A week would be even better.

  Marjorie’s soft, expressive eyes pleaded with him, but Sam’s gaze just missed meeting hers, and she realized that although he hadn’t mentioned her name, he wasn’t likely to be talking about another patient.

  “Sorry to keep you waiting,” he said, when he’d hung up.

  “No problem.” She smiled, and her fingers curved around her purse in her lap.

  “I was just talking to Tacoma General.”

  Marjorie pointed her finger over her shoulder. “Did you know that you have a dying houseplant in your waiting room?” she asked, in an effort to delay the bad news she knew was coming.

  “I wasn’t aware of that.”

  “You want to operate on me, don’t you?”

  “We don’t have a lot of options here, Marjorie. I’ve contacted a friend of mine. He’ll be doing the actual surgery, but I’ll be there as well. Your appendix is at a dangerous stage and could burst at any time.”

  He said her name in a soft, caressing way that she knew would have made another woman’s knees turn to tapioca pudding. Not Marjorie’s. Not now. Panic was overwhelming her, dominating her thoughts and actions.

  “Where’s your family?” he asked in a low, reassuring voice.

  “I don’t have one.”

  The memory of the orphaned kitten returned to Sam’s mind. Cold. Lost. Frightened. And vulnerable.

  At his look of surprise, Marjorie hurried to explain. “No parents, that is…One sister, but she doesn’t live in Washington State. Jody’s attending the University of Portland.”

  “What about a boyfriend?”

  With effort she held her head high, her chin jutting out proudly. “I’ve only been in Washington a few months.” She was about to add that she didn’t have time to date much, not when she had to earn enough money to support herself and keep her sister in school. She managed to stop in the nick of time. This man was almost a complete stranger, yet she had been about to spill her guts to him. He had a strange effect on her, and Marjorie found that oddly intimidating.

  “Is there anyone you can call?”

  “No.” No one she felt she could trouble. She’d made it on her own this far; she could get through the operation and a lot more if necessary. “When do you want to do the surgery?”

  “Soon. Cal Johnson will make that decision.”

  A lump worked its way up her throat. The battle to hold back the fear was nearly overwhelming. Even breathing normally had become a difficult task as she labored to appear unaffected and calm.

  “So you won’t be doing the surgery?” This was a man she could trust. Like the others, she had known that instinctively. Now he was pawning her off on another physician, and the thought was almost as terrifying as the actual operation would be.

  “Do you think you should trust a doctor with a dying houseplant?”

  “I…don’t know.” Marjorie realized he was attempting to help her relax, and she appreciated the effort. He really was a nice man. Lydia and the others were right about that. She envisioned him with other women, offering security and assurance. He’d chosen his profession well.

  “The truth is, I may not have a green thumb, but when it comes to surgery you don’t have any worries.”

  “Then why won’t you operate on me?”

  “The appendix isn’t my area of expertise. Dr. Johnson has done countless appendectomies, whereas I’ve only done a few. I’ll assist.”

  “But I know you.” As soon as the words ran over her tongue, Marjorie realized how ridiculous they sounded. They’d met less than a half-hour earlier.

  “You’ll do fine with Dr. Johnson.”

  “I suppose I will,” she said, without much confidence.

  “I can honestly say that you’re the first woman who’s jumped off the examination table, ready to swing at me.” His smiling eyes studied her.

  “Hey, that poke hurt.”

  “I know, and I apologize,” he answered sincerely. “I don’t want you to worry about this surgery. I’ll be there with you. Cal Johnson’s an excellent surgeon, and there shouldn’t be any problems, since we’ve caught this in time.”

  Marjorie nodded.

  “I’m not going to let you down.”

  “You say that to all your patients, don’t you?”

  His eyes widened briefly. “No.” He opened the top drawer and took out a single sheet of paper. “Here. Let me show you what we’re going to do.”

  Marjorie wasn’t sure she wanted to know. He must have read the doubt in her eyes, because he added, “I learned long ago that my patients aren’t nearly as nervous if they have an idea of what’s going to happen.”

  She nodded and cocked her head so that she could see the picture he had started drawing.

  “As you’re probably aware, the appendix is a small pocket, from one to six inches in size.” He illustrated it, dexterously moving his pencil across the sheet of paper.

  Marjorie understood only a little about what he was telling her, but she nodded as though she had recently graduated from medical school and knew it all.

  He talked for several minutes more, explaining where Dr. Johnson would be making the incision and what he would be doing. “Once you’re admitted to the hospital, you’ll undergo a series of tests, including several X-rays.”

  “X-rays? Why?”

  “We want to be sure that your lungs aren’t congested. No need to borrow trouble.”

  “I see,” Marjorie commented, although she didn’t really. Whatever he and the other doctors thought was fine with her.

  “You’ll only be in the hospital a couple days, depending on how you feel, and you’ll be back to work within three weeks.”

  “Three weeks,” Marjorie echoed. “I can’t take off that much time!”

  “You don’t have any choice.”

  “Wanna bet?” Defiantly, she slapped the challenge at him. “In case you don’t realize it, a car salesperson works solely on commission. If I don’t sell cars, I don’t eat.”

  His mouth tightened momentarily. “Let’s play that part by ear. No doubt you’ll surprise me.”

  “No doubt,” she echoed.

  Sam rubbed the pencil between his palms. “How’d you get into car sales?”

  Marjorie shrugged. “The usual way, I suppose. I started out working in a computer store four or five years back. We worked on commission, and I did well.”

  “That figures. So where did you go from there?”

  “Boats.”

  “Do you know a lot about them?”

  She crossed her knees, winced in an effort to hide the pain, then grinned sheepishly. Naturally, he noticed, but he was kind enough not to comment. “At the time I didn’t know a thing, but before long I learned everything there was to know.”

  “And from there it was a natural progression to cars?”

  “More or less. I like selling a top-of-the-line product, so selling Mercedes sedans and sports cars was a natural next step.”

  He continued working the pencil back and forth across his palms. He didn’t normally spend this much time with a patient, but he wanted her to feel comfortable with him. She was alone and scared to death, and it was his job to do what he could to reassure her. Success in health care had a lot to do with attitude, and he wanted Marjorie Majors to feel confident and secure about whatever lay ahead.

  “I’ve always wanted a Mercedes,” he said.

  Marjorie realized he was doing everything he could to ease her fears and help her relax. It was working; the tense terror that had gripped her only moments before was slipping away.

  He placed his hands against the edge of the desk and rolled back his chair. “I’ll see you at Tacoma General,” he said, his gaze holding hers.

  “I wasn’t planning to run away.”

  “I didn’t honestly think you were.”

  The smile that curved his mouth did funny things to her heart rate, but Marjorie quickly dismissed the effect as having anything to do with attraction. She was grateful, that was all. Grateful—nothing less, nothing more.

  Two

  Marjorie felt strange. She lay on her back, staring above her as the dotted white tile loomed closer and closer, then gradually faded back into place. Her eyes narrowed, and she tried to tell herself that the ceiling wasn’t actually closing in on her. This phenomenon was the result of the shot the nurse had given her a few minutes earlier to help her relax before they came to roll her into the operating room.

  “How are you feeling?” Sam Bretton moved beside her gurney and placed his hand over hers.

  Again Marjorie was struck by how gentle his dark eyes were. A man shouldn’t possess sensitive eyes like that. In her drugged condition her imagination was running away with her, suggesting thoughts she had no right to think. She stared back at him, then blinked twice, because it seemed as though she could see straight into his heart. It was large and full, and his capacity to care and love seemed boundless.

  “Marjorie?”

  She pulled her gaze past the IV drip to Sam and lightly shook her head in a futile effort to clear her befuddled mind. “You wouldn’t believe the treatment I got,” she said, trying to disregard the strange effect of the medication.

  “You met Cal Johnson?”

  She nodded. He wasn’t another Sam Bretton, but he would do, especially if Sam felt he was the right man for the job.

  “So they put you through the mill?”

  His smile dazzled Marjorie, and she reminded herself anew that at the moment her senses couldn’t be trusted. “Your call must have done the trick, because there was a whole crew just waiting to get their hands on me the minute I walked in the door.”

  “You can thank Cal for that.”

  “Oh sure! If you think I believe that, then there’s some swampland in Nevada that might interest me, right?”

  “Are you saying you don’t trust me?” Sam’s eyes widened with feigned outrage. He liked Marjorie. Even now, when she was dopey from the effects of medication, he found her sense of humor stimulating. Her ready smile had wrapped itself around him the moment he’d walked into the room. She was fresh and alive; her mind was active, her wit lively, and her courage in difficult circumstances was admirable.

  “I’ll have you know that in the last hour I’ve been poked, pinched, prodded, and a bunch of other disgusting things I don’t even want to discuss.”

  His lips trembled with suppressed mirth, and he squeezed her fingers reassuringly. “Is there anything I can get you?”

  Marjorie tried to smile, but her mouth refused to cooperate. “That sounds suspiciously like a last request.”

  The dark eyes that studied her crinkled at the corners as he revealed his amusement. “It wasn’t.”

  “You mean I don’t need to ask for a priest?”

  “Not this time around. Anything else?”

  The inside of her mouth felt thick and dry. “Something to drink. Please.”

  He reached behind him and took a chip of ice from a water jug. Again, the urge to reassure her, to stay with her, was strong. Her hair spilled out across the pillow, and the red highlights suggested that her temper would be as quick as her smile. “This will have to do for now. Suck on it and make it last.”

  Obediently, she opened her mouth, and he slipped the ice chip inside, then paused to wipe a drop of moisture from her chin. It wasn’t until then that Marjorie noticed he was dressed entirely in green. A cap covered his head, and a surgical mask hung free around his neck.

  “Green surgical gowns?” she asked, holding the ice chip against the back side of her mouth so she could speak clearly. “Is that because red stains are so difficult to remove from white fabric?” She sucked in her breath and closed her eyes. “Don’t answer that—I don’t want to know.”

  “Don’t let your courage fail you now, Marjorie. You’re doing fine.”

  Her eyes shot open. “It’s not you who’s going under the knife. I’ll be scared if I want, and I don’t mind telling you, I’d rather be anyplace else in the world but right here.” Shot or no shot, sedative or no sedative, she’d never been more unsure about anything. More than that, she was astonished that she had admitted how afraid she was to Sam. It wasn’t like her. That shot must have contained a truth serum.

  “Everything’s going to work out,” he said in that calm, confident voice of his.

  Without much effort Marjorie could envision him talking someone out of jumping off the Tacoma Narrows Bridge. He had the kind of voice a salesperson would kill for—low-pitched, confident, effortless, sincere.

  “Don’t worry,” she said with feigned composure, seeing herself standing on the edge of the steel precipice, looking into the swirling waters far below. “I’m not going to jump.”

  He gave her a funny look but made no comment.

  “That didn’t make any sense, did it?” She tossed her head from side to side in an effort to clear her thoughts. It didn’t work. Everything scrambled together until she wasn’t sure of anything.