Six-Week Marriage Miracle. Jessica Matthews

med-surg wing and into a patient room. She expected him to protest at the obvious implication, but he was too intent on his prize and didn’t.

      While he brushed his teeth with the spare toiletry kit she’d commandeered from their supply cabinet, she located towels and soap so he could finally indulge in his much-wanted and much-needed shower in the wheelchair-accessible bathroom.

      After removing his splint—the X-ray had shown the bones in his arm and shoulder weren’t broken—she covered his IV site with plastic so it wouldn’t get wet.

      “I’ll be out here if you need me,” she told him. “Be careful with your leg and when you’re finished, I’ll dress it.”

      While he hobbled into the shower, she turned down his bed and double-checked the medications that Jane had delivered. When she had everything in place except for her patient, she returned to the bathroom and stood in the doorway.

      “How are you doing in there?” She raised her voice over the rushing water, noting he’d had at least a seven-minute shower.

      “Fine.” A groan came from behind the curtain.

      That didn’t sound good. Instantly worried, she straightened, ready to invade his privacy. “Are you okay?”

      “Yeah. God, this feels so good.”

      The awe in his voice reminded her of other times when he’d said the same, under more intimate circumstances. She quickly stuffed those thoughts inside her mental box labeled “to be opened at a later date”. “I’m sure it does, but Jeff wants those antibiotics started ASAP.”

      “Just a few more minutes.”

      “The shower will still be here, waiting for you, tomorrow,” she coaxed.

      “I know, but five more minutes. Please.”

      It seemed cruel to deny him this simple pleasure when those extra minutes probably wouldn’t affect his treatment outcome. “Okay, but I’m timing you.”

      “You’re the boss.”

       If that were only true.

      “I’d get done faster if you scrubbed my back for me,” he added.

      He sounded so hopeful and so like the old Gabe—the Gabe before their lives had drifted apart—that she flashed back to those happier times when they had shared a shower. The memory of the subsequent lovemaking burst into her head, but it was more than simple recall. She replayed how it had felt—from the sensation of his rough skin against hers, the tickle of his breath and his lips on sensitive areas, his clean, sandalwood scent teasing her nose.

      His suggestion was so very tempting … especially when she reflected on their stolen moments during the early days of their relationship. In his position as a surgical resident and hers as a newly minted ED nurse, as long as a deadbolt guarded their privacy, they’d been happy.

      Unfortunately, they didn’t have a locked door and Gabe had become a celebrity, which meant privacy was impossible. Although those details didn’t present an insurmountable problem, making love at this point implied that their personal life was fine and dandy.

      And it wasn’t.

      “Not a good idea,” she pointed out.

      “Why not?”

      “You mean, other than that you’re barely able to stand?”

      “Yeah.”

      “This place will be like Grand Central Station before long,” she reminded him. “Everyone wants to drop by and give you a personal welcome.”

      “They can wait. Besides, people will understand if we have a quiet, intimate reunion. They’re probably expecting it, which means no one will interrupt us unless there’s a fire.”

      The sad fact was he was probably right. Most people knew they were separated, but no one, other than Jane, knew the D-word had been floated between them. Everyone loved a happy ending, which meant everyone would speculate—if not hope—that Gabe’s return would be the turning point in their relationship. Perhaps under other circumstances, it would have been, but their differences were more deep-seated than a conversation or a few promises could fix.

      “They can expect all they want, but it isn’t going to happen.”

      His sigh was audible. “I suppose not, but I really would like you to wash my back. I can’t reach.”

      Instantly, she felt ashamed for not realizing how his bruised ribs and stiff shoulder made his request completely valid. Irritated at herself for jumping to the wrong conclusion, she shoved the curtain aside to see her dripping husband struggling to touch those hard-to-reach places.

      “Turn around,” she ordered, determined to handle her task with clinical detachment. Yet, as she ignored the spray of water on her scrub suit to run a soapy washcloth down his spine and over the lean muscles of his back before moving around to his front, her concern over what he’d endured grew. This wasn’t the body of the man she’d last seen a month ago. Oh, the birthmark in the small of his back was the same, as was the general shape of his torso, but while he’d once reminded her of a lean mountain lion with rock-hard muscles and sinew, now he resembled a starving wolf.

      “If you keep that up,” he said dryly, “our private reunion will be extremely one-sided.”

      Realizing she’d come dangerously close to an area of his body where she hadn’t intended to go, she froze.

      “Although,” he added softly, “there’s always later.”

      The promise in his voice sent an unexpected tingle through her body but, then, a mere glance, a simple touch, or a softly spoken word from Gabe had always carried enough power to melt her into a puddle. What truly surprised her was how she could respond so easily in spite of the issues that had driven them apart. Was she so starved for attention and affection that when he showered her with both, she would greedily accept it?

      Disliking what her response suggested, she dropped the washcloth over the handrail. “Rinse off. I’ll be waiting.” Suddenly realizing what she’d said, she clarified. “Outside. I’ll be waiting outside.”

      As he laughed, she flung the curtain closed and counted to twenty so Gabe could finish and she could recover her composure.

      “Time’s up,” she called.

      He didn’t respond.

      “Gabe?” she repeated. “Your time is up.”

      Still no answer.

      “Gabe?” Although she hadn’t heard a thump or other worrisome noise, his silence raised her concern. She flung back the curtain once again to find him leaning against the tiled wall, his eyes closed, his dark hair dripping.

      “I knew it,” she scolded as she cranked the taps until the water stopped. “You’ve stayed in here too long. You’re about to fall on your face.”

      “Maybe, but being clean would be worth it.”

      CHAPTER THREE

      GABE hated feeling weak. For a man whose body had never failed him before, it was a humbling experience to be at less than peak condition. However, if his injuries convinced Leah to give him another chance, he wouldn’t complain too loudly.

      Although, in spite of his aches and pains, he’d been relieved to discover one part of his body still worked quite well. If he hadn’t stopped her from toweling him off like a child, he would have needed a second shower—an ice-cold one.

      “I don’t suppose I can wear a scrub suit instead of that,” he said, eyeing the hospital gown she held out.

      “We’d never be able to take care of your leg if you were wearing trousers.”

      “I could wear a pair of