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Mary sat for a while on the kitchen counter, staring at the floor while her head whirled madly.

She noticed the two full glasses of wine, picked one up and drained it then drank the other. Two

proposals in one week. She hiccupped. And a fist fight. She squinted. Well, almost.

It hadn't happened. None of it had. Her alarm clock was going to go off in a minute, and she

would be late for work. She pressed her fingers against her lips, which still throbbed, and

hiccupped again. Not quite the same as pinching. She fell off the counter, lurched over to the

phone, and dialled. The desk nurse at the E.R. answered, and Mary demanded, "Am I late for

work?"

"Dr. Newman?"

"Y-yes. Is this Paula?"

"Yes, are you all right?"

"I'm-" Hic! "-fine. How are you? Am I late?"

A rustle of paper. "No, Doctor. You're due in at three tomorrow afternoon." The nurse's voice had

turned amused. "Have a good time."

"Thank you," Mary slurred with dignity. "I shall. Good night."

She replaced the receiver slowly and hung on to it. That settled one question: she wasn't late.

But was she dreaming? She pinched herself hard and winced. Ow! It was real; everything that

had happened that night was real. Chance was in love with her; she was in love with him. They

were going to get married and have babies and spend the rest of their lives together.

Her eyes grew heavy-lidded, and one hand came up to cup her own breast. He'd held her there so

exquisitely, and he'd pressed against the cradle between her-legs as-if he'd come home.

She left the kitchen to waltz serenely up the stairs to her bedroom. Things weren't exactly settled

between them; as long as he'd asked her to think about things, there would always be that

question in his eyes, something vital he held back from her. So she would think about things.

And what did she think about things? Why, she thought things were fine. She thought she'd never

seen such a pretty. bedroom like hers, and she was sure she'd never felt so wonderful in her life.

She felt loved and desirable and wanted. She felt ... beautiful.

She still didn't know much about him. That was all right. They could get to know each other

better while they were engaged. Already she felt she could instinctively predict so much about

him. He would have-a horrible temper when roused, and it would be a frightening sight if he ever

lost control. But even in his worst temper, he would be careful, would take care. Protectiveness

was imbued in every part of him; he couldn't do anything else.

But he wanted her to quit her job. Shouldn't she be more concerned about that? I didn't like it

anyway, she told herself happily, as with languid, dreamy movements she stripped off her dirty

clothing and floated into her bathroom. I had all but decided to quit on my own, for reasons that

have nothing to do with how I feel about Chance. And besides, even if I quit now, it'll just give

me more time to decide what it is I really want to do. If I want to do anything besides keep house

and look after our children.

Our children.

I want to make you pregnant.

The memory of how he had said those powerful words rippled through her, causing another gush

of heated desire. She leaned against the tiled wall as the warm water from her shower washed

away the dirt from the fair.

He and Tim got along so well, and after just one meeting, her grandfather had already begun to

soften toward him. It seemed so perfect-wasn't it possible that everything would come together in

one miraculous moment of epiphany, where she could look around at all the definitions in her

life and see the pattern of her future as it was meant to-be?

Mary believed it was. After all her caution, after all the 'adult years of holding back, of doubt and

waiting, finally she believed. She shook herself alert, stepped out of the shower, towelled dry,

and quickly brushed her teeth. She had to hurry and go to bed. She had a lot to do in the morning.

She had to call Cassie, type her resignation for the hospital, and be ready for Chance when he

called. She had to decide the best method for being ready.

She climbed into bed, still so excited she was convinced she'd never go to sleep, and fell

effortlessly into a darkness as soft as feathers.

Chance didn't call the next morning.

Mary typed and retyped her resignation on the personal computer in the study. A good night's

sleep hadn't shifted her conviction that the residency just wasn't right for her. Finally she settled

on a draft that she felt comfortable with, printed it out, and signed her name to it with a flourish.

Tim asked her curiously how her evening with Chance had gone. Wonderful, she sang, as she

cooked him and her grandfather breakfast. Janice didn't come in on Sundays, and Mary loved to

cook for her family when she had the time. Soon she would have much more time on her hands

for all the things she loved and all the People she loved to do them with.

Wallis harrumphed grumpily and looked worried. It didn't stop him from polishing off five large

pancakes and several strips of bacon, however, though he did make a few comments about how

his eldest grandchild and cosseted baby girl was dancing and singing and carrying on. She patted

his cheek affectionately and told them she was quitting her job at the hospital.

“ That was enough of a bombshell to divert their attention. After answering their many questions

and concerns, she was both shaken and pleased to find how relieved Wallis was, while Tim was

frankly ecstatic.

"Been having a few doubts of my own about you slaving away your youth," her grandfather told

her.”

"I know, Grampa,' she said with a sigh. A thought had occurred to her: would she have listened to

her doubts earlier, and quit while she was still in medical school if she hadn't listened too much

to Victor? She put that aside for now; what was done was done. "It would have been different if

I'd had more sense of a vocation, but I don't. Maybe I will someday. Or maybe I'll look into

qualifications for setting up a day-care centre. I think I'd really enjoy that."

"You know you don't have to do anything if you don't want to," he said for perhaps the thousandth time. ''I've always just wanted what would make you happy."

"We'll see. There's time." And she drifted into the kitchen, humming, to help Tim with the dishes.

She still didn't hear from Chance by noon. Lunchtime came and went. She called Cassie, and

they had a long, involved, heart-to-heart about marriage and the future. Cassie promised to come

over for lunch the next week, and Mary hung up after the talk more convinced than ever that not

only was she ready for the engagement with Chance, but that she and Cassie were also going to

be the best of friends. Then she went into the study to read some of her medical textbooks.

'She made a few decisions about just what she wanted and planned to stop at the hospital

pharmacy sometime that day.

There was still no word from Chance by the time she had to get ready for work. She found his

number in the phone book and dialled it, but all she got was a busy signal. At two o'clock Mary

was starting to droop. At two-fifteen she decided there wasn't any reason to hang around at home

anymore and so she left. By the time she arrived at the hospital, she was positively wilting.

He forgot. He didn't forget; he changed his mind. But no, Cassie said he wouldn't do that. What

could have happened?

Victor had the day off on Sunday, and at least that was a relief. Since she'd arrived early, she

handed in her resignation, stopped at the pharmacy, then went down to put her purse in her

locker and got to work.

After a long, intense afternoon, she finally managed to get a. coffee break and went to relax for a

few precious moments in the doctor's lounge.

And stopped in the doorway. There on the rectangular table in the middle of the room were three

long, shiny boxes tied with wide pink ribbons. She walked over slowly, saw the envelope on top

with her name on it, and tore it open.

The card inside read: "Got tied up on the phone. Something I couldn't get out of. Am frustrated

as hell, and I miss you. All my love, Chance."

Inside the boxes were three dozen long-stemmed red roses, their petals lush, perfect, heavy with

fragrance. She held them to her nose and breathed in their scent for a long time. Then she tucked

her note carefully away, asked one of the nurses on duty to get her something to put the flowers

in, and waltzed back to work.

"Do I look all right?" Mary asked, nose-to-nose with her reflection in her bathroom mirror as she

checked her makeup for-any minuscule signs of unevenness. There were none, for what she wore

was subtle and painstakingly applied. A light application of peach blusher along her high,

delicate cheekbones, the merest-touch of dark blue eye shadow making her eyes gleam like

aquamarines, one coating of mascara and lip gloss.

"You look great." Tim lounged against the open doorway, lanky arms folded across his chest as

he studied her. "Big date, huh?"

Mary fluffed tawny bangs anxiously and inspected her small, even white teeth, then sighed. She

wasn't going to make her appearance any better by fretting. This was as good as it got. "You

could say that."

It was early Tuesday evening. Chance was picking her up in a few minutes to take her to dinner

with his parents at their restaurant. Caught in the whirlwind of working out her notice at the

hospital, she hadn't had time to see him since their explosive date on Saturday night, although

she had talked with him on the phone Monday and earlier that day. Both conversations had been

long and warm, and had left her filled with longing. Both times he had told her he loved her. She

needed to look into his eyes and see that it was true.

"You've really fallen for him, haven't you?" Tim said

Mary smoothed the skirt of her ankle-length, red shirtwaist dress, checked her matching low-

heeled pumps, then glanced at Tim as she turned away from the mirror. What should she say to

him? Chance had not brought up marriage since Saturday; true to his word, he was giving her

time to think. They had nothing agreed upon between them, and Tim liked him so much that if

anything went wrong and they didn't get together, she knew he would be much more

disappointed than he had been about Victor.

She didn't want to raise his hopes, but she didn't want to lie, either. She said simply, "Yes."

His eyes lit up and he grinned happily. "That's so cool," he said. "And he likes you an awful lot.

He asked all sorts of questions about you when we went to the fair. You two could really be

something."

There was no way to keep his hopes from being raised. He was busy doing that all on his own.

She sighed, "Oh, Timmy, I-I guess we'll just have to wait and see."

He scooped up her purse from the foot of the bed and handed it to her. "Sure." He paused, then

said awkwardly, "Don't mind what happened on Saturday. I think Grampa does like him, too.

He's just being careful, you know?"

"We all need to be careful, Timmy."

Fifteen minutes-later she opened the front door to greet Chance, and that wise admonition flew

right out of her head. The sight of him hit her like a blow to her middle. Dressed in a tailored

navy blue suit, cream shirt and dark tie, his blond hair smooth and gleaming, he radiated

masculinity and elegance. The suit was unexpectedly sober, conservative, the classic lines

highlighting the corded grace in the bones of his wrists, hands and the chiselled planes of his

face. It was such a definitive change from the tough, teasing man she had come to know, she felt

her perspective on him shift again. He was a man with so many facets, a man who had struggled

to come to terms with himself and had won, it would take a lifetime to get to know him properly.

He looked at her, compulsively down the entire length of her body, and his hazel gaze lit with a

fierce, smoky flame. The bones of his face seemed to compress and sharpen, and suddenly the

conservative elegance of the suit became just what it was: a camouflage for other people in a

civilized setting.

Somehow without even speaking he managed to strip himself of the veneer and reveal to her

what lay hidden underneath. For her sake it was leashed for the moment, that predator that had

slept for so long and had only now stirred slumberously back to life, and it was ravenous.

Mary clung to the doorknob as his dark voice, melted chocolate and gravel, curled into her.

"Mary, you are beautiful. Do I need to come in and make polite noises to your family?"

She shook her head dumbly; she had no words.

He held out his hand to her. "Then we should go."

Only then did she truly understand. He was magnificent and he was terrifying. He would take her

outside of the self she had known and make her into something new. She could refuse. She could

back into her house, shut the door on him, and hide in the shell of her tidy, comfortable life.

Then she smiled, an odd, helpless smile. The only way she could refuse was if she could

somehow journey out of the vast labyrinth that was him, for she knew she was inside him.