“That’s just it—you can’t tell me!” She jerked away from him, and the sleepiness in her eyes had turned to fire. “Jerry told me we were getting married, and I went along because it seemed like the thing to do. He was my best friend. He’d helped me get over the death of my parents, encouraged me to write again. He wanted to take care of me.” Maggie dragged a hand through her hair. “And I let him, until things started going downhill and he couldn’t even take care of himself. I couldn’t help him then. The pattern had been set, and I couldn’t help him. Not again, Cliff. I won’t be put in that glass cage again.”

“This has nothing to do with your first marriage and nothing to do with cages,” Cliff tossed back. “You can damn well take care of yourself, but you’re going to marry me.”

Her eyes narrowed into slits as she held down her own uncertain temper. “Why?”

“Because I’m telling you.”

“Wrong answer.” With a toss of her head, she was out of the truck and had slammed the door. “You can go cool off or go sleep it off or whatever you want,” she told him coldly. “I’m going to bed.” Turning on her heel, she strode up the shaky front steps to the door. As she turned the handle, she heard the sound of his truck descending the hill. Let him go, Maggie told herself before she could turn around and call him back. You can’t let yourself be pushed around that way. When a man thinks he can order a woman to marry him, he deserves exactly what she’d given him, Maggie decided. A good swift kick in the ego. Imagine bringing up marriage out of the blue that way, she thought as she shoved open the front door. Marriage, not love. He dangled marriage at her as though it were a carrot at the end of a stick. She wasn’t biting. If he wanted her, really wanted her, he’d have to do a hell of a lot better.

I love you. She leaned her head against the door and told herself she wouldn’t cry. That’s all it would’ve taken; that’s all he’d needed to say. Understanding. No, she decided as she straightened again, they were still a long way from understanding each other.

Why wasn’t the dog barking, she wondered grumpily as she pushed the door shut again. Terrific watchdog he’d turned out to be. Annoyed, she turned toward the steps, planning on a hot bath and a long sleep, when a scent stopped her. Candle wax, Maggie thought, puzzled. Roses? Odd, she thought. Her imagination was good, but not good enough to conjure up scents. She crossed toward the living room and stopped in the doorway.