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and I both know there’s a big difference between a man’s mind at twenty-
    seven and a man’s mind at forty. And you’re the type of person who runs in circles most of us around here only see on TV.”
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    “Are you saying he’s not good enough for me?” He delivered it with sarcasm,
    knowing being a wiseass was not going to help the situation, but he wasn’t in a peacemaking mood. Not even close.
    “No. I’d never say that.” She lifted her chin, stared him down. “I’m saying that’s not what will make him happy.”
    Marcus had to swallow the urge to swing open the door and knock her off her
    sturdy and hideously ugly garden clogs, but she continued, her voice cold. “My son is special, a pure soul. But I can see your soul, Marcus Stanton. You’re the kind of man who won’t look past your own selfish interests to see what he really wants and needs.”
    “Well to borrow one of your quaint country sayings, isn’t that the pot calling the kettle black?” he snapped. “Have you looked at him lately?”
    At her blank look, his control broke. Marcus unbuckled the seat belt and came out of the car, abruptly enough she started back. He slammed the door behind him, making the vehicle rock from the impact.
    “He’s dropped thirty pounds since I last saw him. He’s got pits under his eyes, so he’s not sleeping, and what the fuck is this nervous tic he’s got going?” He took his hand, rested the heel of it on his hipbone and pressed his thumb into his abdomen above the navel area, below the rib cage. “He did this four times while I was talking to him. His stomach is bothering him.”
    “You don’t realize what this family has been through, what—”
    “We all go through shit,” Marcus said bluntly. “None of it gives any of us the right to crush the dreams of the people we love.”
    “He’s lost his father. His brother is crippled. He has a lot of responsibility—”
    “All of which you’ve dropped on him and made him turn his back on what he was
    meant to be. An artist.”
    “His art celebrates a lifestyle damned in the eyes of God. If he has to give that up, it’s the sacrifice he must make to save his soul. You dragged him into that lifestyle.”
    “Oh, for Christ’s sake. Nothing is going to make your boy straight, Elaine. I didn’t drag him into anything. But you’re absolutely right. This is a battle for his soul, and while you may think I’m Lucifer, you sure as hell aren’t God. This isn’t about you or me. It’s about the gift that defines his soul more than you or I will ever hope to do. If he doesn’t have that for himself, neither of us will have anything.”
    She opened her mouth to retort and he took another step forward, shamelessly
    using his height to intimidate her. To her credit, she planted her feet this time and clenched her fists, but he pressed on.
    “And while we’re on the whole God thing, would you like to know what an
    ignored ulcer is? It’s a suicide.”
    Being a Catholic, she snapped to attention, as he expected her to. “What are you—”
    “When a person who is torn between who he is and who everyone wants him to be
    gets an ulcer, and then ignores it, it’s because some part of him hopes for the day it 27
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    explodes into something that allows him to escape the frigging Prometheus’ rock he’s chained on.”
    “You’re talking nonsense. He just needs to get his mind straight here, marry
    Daralyn…”
    “What?” Marcus’ eyes narrowed. Apparently his expression became cold enough to
    make her hesitate. “What the hell are you talking about?”
    The profanity snapped her spine straight. “Daralyn. He’s been seeing a girl while he’s down here. They’ve talked about being engaged.”
    “Really?” He lifted a brow. “Poor girl, if you actually screw up Thomas’ head
    enough to get him to go along with that.”
    “Before he came to New York, he never showed any inclinations—”
    “Oh, bullshit,” he