Justin nodded. "And you think you're going over the falls."

  "Yes. My mother died at age thirty-two. Her mother and two of her sisters have all died young from breast cancer. I have my mother's eyes, her smile, her hair. Her hips. In another few years, I'll have her cancer, too. If we married, you would be just like my dad. One day you would wake up and I wouldn't be there anymore. It was awful, Justin. My dad was such a mess for so long. Losing Mom all but destroyed him. He's never recovered from loving and losing her. I don't want that for you. Maybe if you weren't so much like him, I wouldn't worry about you as much. But you are like him and that's one of the reasons I love you so much."

  "Oh, Holly." Justin kissed the back of her hand. "That's why you turned me down?"

  "Yes. This is my destiny, Justin, but it need not be yours. It's why I told you from the beginning I wouldn't get serious. I had good intentions, but I wasn't strong enough. I fell in love with you and I couldn't bear to let you go. I talked myself into thinking we could go along the way we were. Then you proposed and..." Holly shrugged.

  "Ah, hell, Holly. For a mathematician, you don't know jack about statistics. Don't you know that—"

  She hushed him by placing her index finger against his lips. "What I know, what I've recently come to realize, is that it probably wasn't fair of me to make the decision for you."

  "Damned right it wasn't." He sighed, loud and long. He shoved to his feet, then stalked away for five steps before halting abruptly. Turning around, he marched back. "I'm sorry. You've finally opened up to me and that's good. I know I should remain calm and be understanding, but the fact is I'm annoyed as hell."

  This came as no surprise to Holly. She'd known he wouldn't like what she had to say. But he'd wanted honesty. Wanted revelations. It reminded her of the old adage about watching what you wished for because you just might get it.

  "How could you do that to me?" he demanded. "To us? Have you that little faith in me? Do you really think I'm the kind of jerk who would turn tail and run if you got sick?"

  "No, I don't think that at all. I think you're the kind of man who would stick right by my side throughout the whole thing and probably suffer more than I. You're so much like my dad, Justin. You're already taking Saturday-Sunday drives, although it's my opinion that a Jeep suits you better than a rebuilt sports car."

  He muttered a curse beneath his breath, then sank back into his seat and sulked. Holly eyed his hands, his talented, healing hands, and said, "I've seen firsthand how much he suffered. I heard him those nights when he broke down and sobbed, cursing God for taking her, asking why it couldn't have been him instead. He wanted to die, Justin. I heard him say it more than once. I don't want you to suffer the same way, too. And you would, Justin. That's the kind of person you are."

  He raked his fingers through his hair and grimaced. "Maggie told me to figure out why you turned me down. You wouldn't believe some of the wild ideas I came up with. This one... shoot, Holly. You should have known better."

  He looked her straight in the eyes. "I'm a doctor in love with a woman who has a strong family history of breast cancer. You think I didn't consider this possibility months ago? You think I didn't investigate current research? You think I didn't spend some time thinking about it, weighing the risks, deciding what was right for me? I went into our relationship with my eyes wide open, Holly."

  "Did you really?" Holly didn't know how she felt about that. It was one thing for her to decide she wasn't good enough for Justin. Had he reached a similar conclusion... well... that would have been something else entirely. "Why didn't you say anything about your concerns?"

  "I did. At least, I attempted to on any number of occasions. Each time, you dodged the subject like a pro. Dammit, Holly. You're a brick wall when it comes to your mother's disease. I couldn't even tell if you realized you might be high-risk."

  "High-risk. That's me," she said bitterly. "Me and my mutant gene."

  Justin winced. "So you've confirmed it? You've been tested?"

  She turned her head away. "No."

  "No?"

  "No!"

  "All right, then. But you have gone for risk counseling."

  "No."

  Scowling now, he visibly summoned his patience. "You've talked to your doctor about your risks?"

  She shook her head.

  "You've researched it yourself, then. Books. Medical journals. The Internet."

  Holly didn't want to see the incredulous stare that went with his tone. She turned away. "I don't need to do special research, Justin. A woman picks up plenty of information during the daily course of life. Newspapers, television, magazines do plenty of breast cancer awareness stories, especially during October. I know what I need to know, and I don't like to think about it. I'd rather spend my time thinking about ways to live, not how I'm going to die."

  Frustration bubbled over. "I can't believe this. I know from personal experience that some patients prefer to bury their heads in the sand and hide from reality. I know that a percentage of patients would rather run away from the truth than seek ways to help themselves. But I have to tell you, Holly, I never figured you’d be one of those. Not Miz Bungee Jumper. Not Miz Skydiver."

  His charge stung, but Holly ignored it. It seemed the safest thing to do at the moment. She simply wasn't ready to check her reflection for a yellow stripe down her back.

  "Why?" she wondered aloud, her gaze lifted toward the sky. "Why does everyone insist on throwing my Life List in my face today?"

  "Oh, baby." Justin visibly relaxed. He pulled her, resisting, into his arms. "How can you be so brave and so filled with fear at the same time? Did any of those articles or TV segments mention the fact that sharing a family history of breast cancer does not mean you're fated to develop the disease yourself? That even if your mother did have one of the BRCA gene mutations, odds are only fifty-fifty that she passed it along to you? Did a twenty-second public service spot during Breast Cancer Awareness Month happen to explain how your chance of developing the disease may be no worse than that of the average American woman?" When she didn't respond, he gave her a little shake. "Well, did it?"

  Holly ceased her struggles. "I know that. It’s simple statistics. I'm a math teacher."

  "Exactly."

  She rested her head against his shoulder and tried to find a way to articulate her feelings. They weren’t all logical. Weren’t all rational. She recognized that. But her feelings were real. How did that quote go? Just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they’re not after you?

  "When my mother died, I wanted to die, too. I miss her every day of my life."

  "I'm sure you do. You loved her. I know if I lost you, I'd miss you until the day I died. I'd remember you and mourn you, but, honey, I'd move forward. That's what you need to do now. I understand that as an adolescent, as a teenager, you probably needed to insulate yourself from the whole idea of breast cancer. You're an adult now. You need to quit running away and face your fears. That's the only way you'll conquer them. Right now, they're conquering you."

  Holly was tired of people accusing her of running away. Then maybe you should stop doing it, whispered a voice in her mind.

  She blinked. It was true. Justin's thinly veiled accusations were correct. "You think I should get tested?"

  "I can't make that decision for you. That's something only you can choose. What I do strongly believe, both as a physician and as the man who loves you, is that you need to educate yourself about breast cancer and your risk factors. Your true risk, not your perceived risk."

  "But I don't want to know about it.”

  "Then you'll always be afraid."

  Jeeze Louise. "I hate it when you're right."

  "I know." He patted her hand. "It's why you're always in a bad mood. I'm always right."

  She opened her mouth to protest, but he wasn't through. "Something else I want you to think about, Holly. Don't take this the wrong way, but have you ever considered the notion that in addition to protecting my heart, you're also trying to protect your own?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "Life comes without guarantees. I could get hit by a truck on my way home, and you could be the one mourning me. Maybe part of the problem here is that you're unable to make a commitment out of fear of losing someone else whom you love."

  She pulled back. "What? Did you give up pediatrics to become a shrink? That's a terrible thing to say."

  His smile was wry. "Honey, we're all gonna die. It's a question of when. I'm simply suggesting—"

  "I don't want to hear your suggestions."

  "All right."

  They passed a moment in silence. Holly kept the glider swinging with a push of her foot against the ground. "Grace's husband said the same thing. About dying being a question of when for everyone."

  "Smart man."

  It's not the memories that crush your soul, it's the regrets. "Yeah, very smart."

  "Holly?"

  "Hmm?"

  He took her hands in his, squeezed them tight. "Let's take this back to your waterfall metaphor. We all have a waterfall. Every one of us. But what if your waterfall is a long way away?"

  Sudden tears swelled in her eyes. She blinked them back.

  "Think about it, Holly. What if you've reached a bend in that river of yours where the current has slowed? Picture it. See that scruffy old oak tree growing alongside the riverbank?"

  She closed her eyes and nodded.

  "That tree is me. I have deep roots and strong branches, and one of them hangs low to the water. It's close enough that you could pull yourself to safety. If you reached up for it. Reached out to me."

  Tenderly, he cupped her face in his hands. "Do it, honey. Pull yourself from the current. You can count on me to shelter you, to support you. My wood is strong; I won't crack. I'll give you footholds to the sky. Marry me, Holly. Be my wife."

  Yearning melted through her. "Oh, Justin, you're breaking my heart. I'm too afraid to tell you yes, but I don't want to say no. I really, really don't want to say... no."

  His hands fell away from her and he put some space between them. Solemnly, he asked, "What do you need, Holly?"

  "A shrink."

  He smiled tenderly. "No shame in that. Do you want me to get you a name?"

  She sighed. Actually, she'd already gone to counseling. About a year ago, she'd seen a doctor twice before chickening out on showing up a third time. She hadn’t clicked with the therapist and she hadn’t had the mental energy to look for someone else. "Maybe, but first I think what I need is a library card and a few hours on the Internet. I need answers. You're right, Justin. I need to learn not to be afraid."

  "Afraid? You?" He showed her a crooked smile. "The woman who bungee jumps for fun? Who wants to jump from a perfectly good airplane just for the hell of it?"

  "But I am afraid. Marriage frightens me, but the thought of living without you scares me just as much. The idea of dying with regrets rather than memories chills me to the bone."

  "Then don't let it happen. No regrets. That much you can control. Marry me, Holly. We'll make those memories together."

  She wanted to say yes. With every fiber of her being she wanted to say yes. But she couldn't. Not now.

  Not yet.

  "Maybe you could get me a name. Not a therapist, but a genetic testing center. It wouldn't hurt anything for me to look into getting tested, would it? Looking into something isn't a commitment to go through with it."

  His smile warmed her clear to the bone. "I'll get that name tomorrow."

  Chapter 13

  The repeated ringing of her doorbell wrenched Maggie from the oblivion of her afternoon nap. Sluggish, mushy-headed, and weary to the bone, she lifted her head off the couch pillow and peered at the clock on the VCR. Red numerals reading twelve o'clock flashed on and off and didn't come close to telling her the time. Following a power outage two weeks ago, the clock needed to be reset but Maggie hadn't a clue how to go about it. The men in her house had always taken care of such tasks.

  Ring. Ring. Knock. Knock. Knock. "All right, already," she called, rolling off the couch. Must be UPS. The driver for her neighborhood had always been heavy-fisted.

  Maggie was almost afraid to see what he had for her today. One night last week, unable to sleep and feeling desperate around three A.M., she'd gone a bit crazy and tried something she'd never done before. With her TV remote in one hand and a phone in the other, knowing her Visa number by heart, she'd spent almost an hour surfing the home shopping channels, ordering whatever product happened to appeal at the moment. Afterward, she didn't have a clue as to what she had bought. So far she'd received a carrot juicer, a set of red silk sheets, and a metal detector. No telling what would show up today.

  Padding barefoot toward her front door, she passed the grandfather clock in the entry hall. Ten minutes to two. She'd stretched out on the couch just before the noon news. Her fifteen-minute power nap had turned into a two-hour siesta. Funny how often that happened these days.

  Of course, today she had an excuse to sleep. She'd been up since before dawn, hadn't she? And upon her return home, she'd spent an hour in the pool swimming laps. She'd earned her two hours of sleep. Still, it was a good thing she'd taken her nap inside instead of by the pool. She'd be burned to a crisp by now.

  Thinking about sunburned skin made her realize she was about to answer the door wearing only her swimsuit. The white tank suit was flattering and comfortable, but she never wore it in public because the top part wasn't lined and her nipples showed through the Lycra. That was more than she was comfortable showing the UPS driver, so she detoured into the front bathroom, grabbed a towel, and draped it over her shoulders.

  Knock knock knock.

  "Just set it down and go," she grumbled, a little worried as to why he didn't do just that. What had she purchased that required a signature? Diamonds? A vague recollection of a sparkling bangle bracelet left her wincing as she opened the door.

  Oh, spit. Mike.

  At first glance, he appeared calm and collected, a weekend boater in khaki shorts, golf shirt, and deck shoes. Taking a second, closer look Maggie noted the gleam in his eyes, the aggressive jut of his chin, the drum of fingers against his thigh. A sailor spoiling for a fight.

  "What... I thought... you're back in town early." She swallowed hard. She wasn't ready. Not now, like this. The confrontation about the boat was supposed to be fun. She'd had it all planned, imagined it all the way home from Lake Texoma. He'd be ranting and raving and she'd calmly buff her fingernails until suddenly, he'd fall silent. He'd rake his fingers through his hair, tremble a little, then tell her it was all a mistake, that he didn't really want to leave her and sail off to St. Thomas with a woman half Maggie's age. He'd tell her he loved her, he'd always loved her, and he would love her until the day he died. Then, big, strong, proud Mike Prescott would fall to his knees and beg for her forgiveness.

  That's how this was supposed to happen. Instead, he'd caught her napping. Literally. And after getting a good look at him, she didn't think he'd hit his knees begging anytime soon. "Why are you at the front door? Why didn't you use your key?"

  "Because I don't live here anymore," he snapped. "That would be trespassing. Same as if somebody boarded the Second Wind without permission."

  As always, the name of that dad-blasted boat stirred her anger. She was tempted to shut the door in his face. Instead, she turned and walked away, leaving him to follow, or not, whatever he chose. In that moment, Maggie honestly didn't care.

  Seconds later, Mike slammed the front door shut. From the inside.

  Ordinarily, she and Mike conducted their arguments in their bedroom and that's where he headed first thing. For today's event, Maggie decided a new venue was in order. She padded to the kitchen, where she opened the refrigerator door and browsed, finally choosing carrot sticks for her snack. Opening the plastic container, she stuck a carrot into her mouth before setting the plastic box on the counter behind her. Next, she bent over to peer into the back of the fridge in search of the ranch dressing.

  She caught Mike staring at her butt when she straightened and turned around. Then his gaze fell to her breasts and his mouth settled into a grim line. "Are you alone?"

  Beneath the transparent Lycra, Maggie's nipples drew into tight little beads. Oh, great. Just wonderful. Wasn't this just what she needed? One little lusty look and her headlights went on for the first time in months. "Alone?"

  "No boyfriend around?"

  It took her a moment to make sense of what he was asking, but when she did, her temper flared. She considered shooting a stream of salad dressing at his face. "No. I gave them all the afternoon off. They need rest to keep up their strength."

  "Bitch."

  Maggie blinked as the word sank into her like a knife. In all their years together, Mike had never, ever used that sort of language with her. That he would now offered a clear signal of just how far their marriage had sunk.

  Defeat rolled over her. She closed her eyes and sighed. "Fine. Let's get this over with. What is it you want to say?"

  Mike, it seemed, wasn't in the mood to cut to the chase. "I returned to Texas today and discovered my home had been vandalized in my absence. I called the cops to report the crime. I thought kids had done it. Imagine my surprise when I learned that the responsible party was not a gang of teenage hoodlums, but my wife. My wife who had told the police she'd decided to redecorate our boat."

  Feeling vulnerable, Maggie casually reached up to readjust the towel.

  "Why did you do it, Maggie?" he asked, his tone soft and menacing as he stepped toward her. "Was it fun, Maggie?"

  Brazenly, she lifted her chin and exaggerated her natural drawl. "All that black and white. You know that particular color scheme has never appealed to me. It cried out for color."

  Mike stopped mere inches away. He reached for a carrot stick and she smelled his aftershave. Eternity. Oh, my. Eternity was her favorite.

  "I read the police report. It was a good plan. I bet you enjoyed putting it together." He dipped the carrot into the dressing. "Did your girlfriends have a good time with the spray paint? Bet you hated to miss that part."