“And you thought you were going to get fired.” Lydia flashed her a triumphant smile and shook her head knowingly. “What did I tell you?”

“Not to worry,” Marjorie quoted back to her friend in a monotone, and rolled her eyes toward the ceiling.

Lydia was obviously pleased that her words had proven to be prophetic. “Now all I have to do is straighten out this mess between you and Dr. Sam.”

Marjorie stiffened at the mention of his name. “Don’t even try,” she said forcefully. “As far as I’m concerned, the subject of Sam Bretton is off-limits.”

“What did he do, for heaven’s sake?”

“Lydia, I already told you, I refuse to discuss the matter!” Purposeful strides carried her across the showroom floor. Once again she was running away, doing anything she could to escape the emotional pain that blossomed when anyone asked her about Sam. Before she’d met him, she had prided herself on her ability to confront unpleasantness. Since her last evening with him, she found it easier to hide than to deal with her feelings.

Undeterred, Lydia followed her friend. “Hey, we’re talking about the man who had you waltzing around here with your head in the clouds not more than a week ago. Something happened, and I want to know what it was.”

“Lydia, please, just drop it.” The pain was so fresh that even hearing someone casually mention him produced an ache that came all the way from her soul.

She walked into her office and braced her hands against the side of her desk, inhaling deeply, praying the action would alleviate the surge of emotional pain. She’d done a great deal of thinking since the last time she’d seen Sam. As much as she hated to admit it, she needed him. The realization that she depended on him hadn’t been easy to swallow. She loved him, but she hated to think she was nothing but the subject of his charity.

Following close on Marjorie’s heels, Lydia came into the office and shut the door. “Listen, I’ve tried to be a good friend and—”

“I know,” Marjorie said, cutting her off. “And I appreciate that, but there are some things that are better left alone.” She couldn’t deal with Lydia’s questions and answer her own. She whirled around to confront her friend. “And this is one of them.”

Lydia hesitated then. “If you’d just tell me what he did that was so terrible, then I could hate him, too.”

Marjorie could deal with any multitude of problems—irate customers, unreasonable loan officers, cheating salesmen—but her friend’s persistent inquisitiveness had finally worn her down.

She crossed her arms over her chest and exhaled a slow, laborious breath. “He called me Kitten.”

Before she could go on, Lydia’s mouth fell open in astonished disbelief. “That was it?”

“No. He asked me to marry him, too.”