Unfinished Business

agreed. “But short of dosing her with morphine and dragging her in, I think this is the cleanest way to treat it.”
    “Let me think about the morphine,” Brady grumbled, and made his father chuckle.
    “I’m going to write you a prescription,” he told Vanessa. “You get it filled tonight. You have twenty minutes before the pharmacy in Boonsboro closes.”
    “I’m not sick,” she said, pouting.
    “Just humor your soon-to-be-stepfather. I’ve got my bag downstairs. Brady, why don’t you come along with me?”
    Outside the door, Ham took his son’s arm and pulled him to the head of the stairs. “If the medication doesn’t clear it up within three or four days, we’ll put some pressure on her to have the tests. Meanwhile, I think the less stress the better.”
    “I want to know what caused it.” Fury vibrated through his voice as he stared at the closed bedroom door.
    “So do I. She’ll talk to you,” Ham said quietly. “Just give her some room. I’m going to tell Loretta. Vanessa won’t like that, but I’m going to do it. See that she gets the first dose in her tonight.”
    “I will. Dad, I’m going to take care of her.”
    “You always meant to.” Ham put a hand on Brady’s shoulder. “Just don’t push too hard too fast. She’s like her mother in that way, tends to pull back when you get close.” He hesitated, and though he reminded himself that his son was a grown man, he could only think that the grown man was his son. “Are you still in love with her?”

    “I don’t know. But this time I’m not going to let her get away until I do.”
    “Just remember, when a man holds on to something too tight, it slips right through his fingers.” He gave Brady’s shoulder a final squeeze. “I’ll go write that prescription.”
    When Brady walked back into the bedroom, Vanessa was sitting on the edge of the bed, embarrassed, humiliated, furious.
    “Come on.” His voice was brisk and unsympathetic. “We can just get to the pharmacy before it closes.”
    “I don’t want your damn pills.”
    Because he was tempted to throttle her, he dipped his hands into his pockets. “Do you want me to carry you out of here, or do you want to walk?”
    She wanted to cry. Instead, she rose stiffly. “I’ll walk, thank you.”
    “Fine. We’ll take the back stairs.”
    She didn’t want to be grateful that he was sparing her the explanations and sympathy. She walked with her chin up and her shoulders squared. He didn’t speak until he slammed the car door.
    “Somebody ought to give you a swift right hook.” His engine roared into life. Gravel spit from under the tires.
    “I wish you’d just leave me alone.”
    “So do I,” he said fervently. He turned off the lane onto asphalt. By the time he’d hit fifth gear, he was calmer. “Are you still having pain?”
    “No.”
    “Don’t lie to me, Van. If you can’t think of me as a friend, think of me as a doctor.”
    She turned to stare out the darkened window. “I’ve never seen your degree.”
    He wanted to gather her close then, rest her head on his shoulder. “I’ll show it to you tomorrow.” He slowed as they came to the next town. He said nothing until they pulled up at the pharmacy. “You can wait in the car. It won’t take long.”
    She sat, watching him stride under the lights through the big glass windows of the pharmacy. They were having a special on a popular brand of soft drink. There was a tower of two-liter bottles near the window. There were a few stragglers left inside, most of whom obviously knew Brady, as they stopped to chat while he stood by the drug counter. She hated the feeling of being trapped inside the car with the pain gnawing inside her.
    An ulcer, she thought. It wasn’t possible. She wasn’t a workaholic, a worrier, a power-mad executive. And yet, even as she denied it, the grinding ache dragged through her, mocking her.
    She just wanted to go home to lie down, to will the pain away into sleep. Oblivion. It would all be gone tomorrow. Hadn’t she been telling herself that for months and months?
    When he came back, he set the small white bag in her lap before he started the car. He said nothing as she sat back in the seat with her eyes closed. It gave him time to think.
    It didn’t do any good to snap at her. It did even less good to be angry with her for being sick. But it hurt and infuriated him that she hadn’t trusted him enough to tell him she was in trouble. That she hadn’t trusted herself