“Don’t be so dramatic. You’re a long way from that. Most women look forward to dropping a few pounds during their hospital stay.” The moment the words slipped from Sam’s mouth, he recognized his terrible mistake. It was too late to retract his statement; his only hope was that she would let it slide. He tried smiling, praying the action would take any sting from his words. It didn’t.

Marjorie’s face grew as red as a California pepper, and her anger was just as hot. “Are you insinuating Tacoma General is a fat farm and that I’m overweight?”

“No, you misunderstood—”

“Your meaning was more than clear,” she said coldly, and reached for the buzzer to call the nurse. Immediately, the red light above her bed flashed on.

“Marjorie…I didn’t mean to be so tactless. You’re not the least bit plump…I’m doing a poor job of this.” Sam wiped a hand around the back of his neck and sighed. He regretted getting trapped in this no-win conversation. When it came to dealing with his patients, he usually had more finesse than this.

She ignored him and tossed aside the sheet, sticking her bare leg out in an ungraceful effort to climb down from the high hospital bed. “Nurse,” she cried, but her voice was weak and wobbly.

“Marjorie, you have to stay where you are and eat your breakfast,” Sam said.

Their eyes met and clashed. Marjorie was hurting and hungry, a lethal combination that resulted in the most embarrassing reaction. Tears. Embarrassed, she turned her face away from him and motioned toward the door, wordlessly asking him to leave.

Sam hesitated. Once again his heart went out to her, and he had to force himself to walk out of the room. In the few days since he’d met Marjorie, she’d touched him in ways few women ever had. He had been a silent witness to her courage and realized that she possessed a rare personal strength. Her laughter was a sweet melody, her movements innately graceful. Several times over the past twenty-four hours he’d found his thoughts drifting to her, and he smiled at the memory of her waking from the operation to ask if she was in the morgue. At each meeting he realized all the more how proud she was. Proud. Fiery. Straightforward. He found it utterly astonishing that she wasn’t married. And he was grateful. He wanted to get to know her better—a whole lot better.

Sam knew he’d made a mess of this and was angry with himself. He patted her shoulder and turned to leave the room.

The nurse’s aide met him outside her door and raised questioning eyes to him. “Doctor?”

“I believe she’ll eat her breakfast now,” Sam answered, his thoughts distracted.