“Marjorie, this craziness has got to stop. I talked to Mary, Dr. Sam’s receptionist, and she told me he hasn’t been the same from the moment you two split up. He’s melancholy and moody, and everyone knows that’s not the least bit like him.”

“He’ll get over it,” Marjorie said flippantly.

“Maybe,” Lydia returned, with barely controlled skepticism. “But will you?”

Her friend’s words echoed in her mind for the remainder of the afternoon. Lydia was right. Her world was crumbling at her feet, and she was too proud, too stubborn, to do anything about it. Just seeing Sam again had proven that. She was ruining her life over something incredibly silly. She’d overreacted and behaved stupidly, and the time had come to own up to that.

Filled with determination, she marched over to the service department.

“What time did you tell Dr. Bretton his car would be ready?”

Pete, the head mechanic, who had been with Dixon Motors for ten years, flipped the pages of the service book. “After three. As I recall, he told me he wouldn’t be in to pick it up until six.”

Marjorie nodded, pleased. “Have you finished with it?”

“Yeah. It seemed pointless to change the oil on a vehicle that doesn’t even have a thousand miles on it. But we did it—couldn’t see the point in arguing with him.”

That small bit of information sent Marjorie’s spirits soaring. Sam must have used the Mercedes as an excuse to see her. Her relief felt like a thirst-quenching rain after a long August drought. “Could I have his keys, please?”

The mechanic gave her an odd look. “You want Dr. Bretton’s car keys?”

“Right. When he comes in, send him to my office.”

The barrel-chested mechanic scratched the side of his head. “If that’s the way you want it, Ms. Majors.”

“I do. Thanks, Pete.”

The remainder of the afternoon crept by. At precisely six, Marjorie was waiting in her office. Sam didn’t keep her in suspense long.

He knocked once and stepped inside. “What’s this about you having my car keys?” he demanded, his temper showing. He’d been a fool to think that coming to the car dealership would solve anything between them. She wanted blood, and he wasn’t about to give it to her. The more he reviewed their earlier conversation, the angrier he became. That wounded, hurt look in her eyes had accused him of greatly wronging her. All he’d ever wanted was to marry her and make her happy, and she’d reacted as though he’d insulted her.

Marjorie blinked. “Yes, I have your keys.”

He held out his open palm. “I’d like them back.”

“Of course.” She remained outwardly calm, but adrenaline was racing through her system as though she were running the Boston Marathon. “I have a couple questions first, if you don’t mind answering them.”