“What did you say?” He walked into the room to find her at the computer.
“I can’t think straight!” She slumped against the back of the chair. Computer open to a word document, cursor blinking on the blank page.
“And why is that?” He sat down beside her.
“Too much stuff going on. Paperwork, interviews, people calling, not calling, changing their minds, and half a dozen things.”
He put his hand under her chin. “I think it’s time for bed.”
“Bed? But I’ve got stuff to do!”
“Don’t whine. Get to bed.” He stood, reached over and turned off her computer.
“Wait! No! I…” She had lunged to stop him, but he grabbed her wrist and held tight while he finished the sequence. The screen went dark.
“You will head for bed. Now. I know life has been twenty pounds of dreck in a half pound bag, but you need sleep.”
“I need to write a story! It’s been ages! And I’ve got other things to do!”
“Yes, you do. Sleep first. You can do dishes, write, got to that hellacious meeting tomorrow night and make lots of phone calls afterwards. In the mean time, you will get in bed and you will sleep. I will not have you making yourself sick.”
He stood up and with a hand still on her wrist, pulled. She followed. When they got to the bedroom, he moved so that her only choice was to sit on the bed. “But nothing. You can’t think, so you can’t write. If you can’t write, you are stressed or tired. Therefore the cure is going to bed. I’ll be back in ten minutes. I want to find you in bed and trying to go to sleep. Understand?” The growl in his voice vibrated the air.
He walked into the room thirty minutes later. She was asleep in bed, curled up on his pillow. He carefully crawled in next to her and cradled her in his arms.