At long last, Robert coughed ... and, exhausted, Catherine sat back and looked at him. He opened his eyes, tried to smile, and blinked a few times.

"I haven't ever had that much pain from Murray's cooking ... even with the bad batch of shrimp last year," he whispered hoarsely.

"Still?" Catherine asked, worried.

"No." He closed his eyes and sighed. "Not as bad ..."

"Thank God," Catherine almost whispered herself. She ran her hand over his sweaty forehead, then bent and kissed it gently. "If you feel all right, I have to go phone the hospital. We need an ambulance."

"I don't need an ambulance. I'll be fine ..."

"Yes, once you're in the hospital."

"Catherine, please ... don't phone! Not yet!" he begged weakly, holding her hand to keep her beside him. "I'll be fine! Once the pain goes ... ooh, my jaw still hurts like hell! Feels like you slugged me. I hope I did something worthy of such a good punch! Or ..." he suddenly seemed to realize he was on the floor, "or maybe you whacked my head on the floor when you pulled me off the couch."

Catherine bit her lip. She had heard that heart attacks could cause pain unlike anything the victims had ever experienced before. One woman had told her that, speaking strictly of the pain, if she were given the choice between natural child birth and a heart attack, she would choose having a baby any day. She rolled him onto his side and, grabbing the pillow from the sofa, she slid it under his head, then covered him with the afghan.

"It's gradually getting better," Robert mumbled. "No need for the ambulance ... or hospital. I just ... there's pressure ..."

"You've had a heart attack, Robert," Catherine said. "You almost DIED. You HAVE to get to the hospital!"

He stared at her incredulously, then his eyes swept down her body before he shut them tightly and groaned. "Tell me I made love to you first ... God, you're beautiful ..."

That was when Catherine realized she had been working on him half naked all this time. Flushing brilliantly, she looked around for her clothes, and grimaced when she saw where she had put her sweater.

"Catherine?"

Looking back at him, she saw him wink at her before he said, "You're beautiful. Will you marry me if I live through this?"

"We'll talk about that later," Catherine had to smile, even though she was worried sick.

"I want to talk about it NOW!" he insisted.

"God, Robert, this is not the time to discuss this!"

"I know my wife died just a month ago, and I DID wait for a while ... but Catherine, life is short ... you and I can BOTH attest to that. Don't we deserve as much time as possible together?" His eyes frankly admired her again, and she crossed her arms over her bare chest and frowned at him.

"I have to phone for an ambulance." she said.

"First, just tell me we made love ..." he begged.

"You are impossible!" she frowned at him, and rummaged in her coat pocket for her cell phone. When she flipped it open, however, she saw that there was no service in the area. How had she forgotten? "DAMN! No cell!"

"You're killing me, Catherine ... the suspense! Did we make love?"

Catherine sat beside him, and her hand smoothed over his face again. Then she bent and touched her lips to his cheek briefly. "We were making love, Robert ... we weren't finished. We still aren't. I promise. You'll be all right in a few days. I just need to figure out how to get you to the damn hospital!"

"Can't you just drive me ...? Damn. The Suburban's in the ditch." He groaned again. Then he winced as he moved a little. "So ... something wrong with the land line?"

Catherine's eyes widened. "You mean the phone here WORKS now?" Without waiting for his answer, she scrambled to her feet and ran over to the telephone on the wall. Within moments, she was speaking to the hospital and ordering an ambulance, giving the directions to the cabin succinctly. When she came back, she picked up her bra and the matching cardigan to the now-unuseable sweater and put them on, saying, "They'll be right here. How are you?"

"I'm fine, I told you! I hope your sense of direction is better today than it was the last month when you said you were trying to find this place again and couldn't," he grumbled, but the faint trace of teasing in his voice assured her that he wasn't serious.

"I should phone Lori ... before they release her ..." Catherine remembered suddenly, and got to her feet again. "They may as well stay at the hospital until we get there!"

"Do you have to?" The words were out of his mouth before he could call them back. At her surprised look, Robert tried to shrug, but it hurt too much. "It's just ... well, it's Christmas. They lost their mother from a heart attack on Thanksgiving weekend. I don't want them to think they're losing me now."

"They're not losing you now," Catherine said, almost fiercely. She had been badly frightened, though. "And they deserve to know."

"I suppose."

"Tell you what. I'll just ask the nurse not to release Lori and the baby until we get there ... and we can talk to them all in person."

"Thanks. You're a pal. A beautiful, sexy pal ..." He winked, then grimaced. "Damn, this still hurts!"

Catherine checked his pulse and tried to tamp down on her worry. There was nothing more she could do until the ambulance arrived as long as Robert remained still and didn't get worse again. She hated feeling so helpless. This was nothing at all like the feeling of helplessness when in Robert's embrace!

"How about another kiss?" Robert begged. "One more before I die."

"Don't be silly, you're not going to die!" she said sharply. "You're too ornery."

"Ornery? Have you been watching ... westerns lately?" His breath hitched, but she pretended not to notice.

Checking her watch, she put her hand on his wrist again, pretending that she wasn't concerned about the wait for the ambulance. His fingers covered hers. "I'm sorry. I know I'll be fine, Catherine. I'm in good hands – YOUR hands. Just because I got all excited at the thought of ... making love with you ... damn ... I knew I should have ... taken you by the door while I still could stand!"

In spite of her anxiety, Catherine couldn't help letting some of her nervous laughter bubble out of her at his words. "Now you're talking ..." she smiled. "Personally, I don't believe it's anatomically possible to do that standing."

"Who the hell have YOU been making love to? Trust me, it's possible, and I will bet you one thousand dollars we can do it ... and that's NOT a metaphor!"

She bit her lip, but said nothing. She knew Robert really wasn't responsible for what he was saying. Robert watched her quietly, then asked huskily, "You're not going to phone the girls?"

"Yes, I will." She went and made the phone call, leaving a message with the nurse, then busied herself cleaning up the mess from the floor, tossing the soiled clothes into a pail and setting the pail outside the back door. Finding the piece of plywood Robert had fit in the window he had broken the last time as well, she pushed it in place once more, and locked the back door before returning to Robert after one last glance out the window. "I can't think what is taking that ambulance!"

"What does it matter? I'm fine now. It was probably just indigestion or something." He didn't move, however, from where she had placed him on the floor.

"Robert, I'm a cardiologist." Catherine refrained from rolling her eyes.

"Jaclyn has been making noises about moving back here, quitting her job in New York." Robert said suddenly. "At one point, she said she would move in with me. If I moved in with you, she and Lori and the children could keep my place."

"If you moved in with ME?"

"Mmmhmm. You have that big house ... or we could buy another ... or we could live here ... in OUR house ... with memories only of each other ... Catherine, I want to make love with you. I really, really do!"

Finally the ambulance was there. Catherine threw on her coat and beckoned them in. In no time, Robert was wrapped in blankets on the stretcher and being wheeled out. Catherine was invited to ride in the back of the ambulance, being a doctor. As they drove past Robert's vehicle on the side of the road, the ambulance attendant asked if that was their Suburban in the ditch.

Catherine smirked a little as she said, "It's Robert's. HE was driving this time!"

"I'll have you know, woman ... that I drove in the Indianapolis 500 ... THREE TIMES!"

"Another metaphor?" Catherine asked absently, checking his vitals once more, then looking out the window to see how close they were to the hospital.

The attendant was impressed however. "Cool, man!"

"It was just the pace car ..." Robert admitted sheepishly. Then he caught his breath and his hand tightened on Catherine's suddenly.

"Robert? Robert!" The monitors suddenly went off again. "Damn it, Robert! If you die, I will KILL you, and that's no metaphor!"

To be continued