My Secret Wife. Cathy Gillen Thacker

a specialist to diagnose her medical problems.

      “Well, I could use your medical knowledge,” Maggie reluctantly conceded, after a moment.

      Gabe looked satisfied. “Then let’s go through the books together,” he said.

      A few minutes later, they were in a cozy room, with a round table and two chairs. They sat shoulder to shoulder, elbows on the table, as they pored over each page. “Here’s a good one,” Maggie said. “The guy is six-four, 220 pounds, with blond hair and blue eyes.”

      “He also has a history of arthritis in his extended family,” Gabe pointed out.

      “Okay, what about this one?” Maggie moved on to the next possibility. “Five-eleven, brown hair, green eyes. College-educated.”

      “He has an aunt on his mother’s side who died of breast cancer.”

      Maggie threw her hands up in exasperation. “Well, everyone is going to have relatives who died of something!”

      Gabe leaned back in his chair and folded his arms against his chest. “It would be different if you were talking about marrying someone you were in love with,” he explained patiently. “Of course then you would just take your chances and hope for the best. But since you are doing this methodically and you do have a choice, you want to steer away from anyone who has a history of illnesses that can be inherited.”

      “Fine.” Maggie flipped through more pages, wishing she could disagree with him, knowing she couldn’t, because everything he said made too much sense. Eventually, she sighed, leaned back and said, “How do we even know these people are being truthful, anyway?”

      “Beats me.” Gabe shrugged his broad shoulders restively as his gaze meshed with hers. “I suppose you’re taking it on faith that they fill out the forms accurately. I mean, as conscientious as the people here at the fertility clinic are, they can’t personally look into the family health backgrounds of each donor.”

      “There would be privacy concerns—”

      “As well as prohibitive costs.”

      “So there could be things that aren’t on the list,” Maggie theorized, worried.

      “Probably,” Gabe agreed seriously. “Either because a candidate doesn’t know about a relative’s medical history. Or because he feels he would be disqualified from being a donor if the truth were known.”

      Maggie swallowed as the implications of that sank in, beginning to feel a little sick at the idea that she might be trying to bring a child into the world who was destined—because of heredity—to suffer from some terrible disease. “You’re not making me feel any better here, Gabe,” she said.

      Gabe refused to back down, despite her nervousness. “You brought it up. Besides,” he regarded her steadily, “I thought you wanted me here to assess the situation—medically speaking.”

      Actually, Maggie thought, she hadn’t wanted him here at all, because his presence was making her have doubts. And yet, because of the seriousness of the situation, she couldn’t ignore what he was saying, either. Not when the fate of her as-yet-to-be-conceived child hung in the balance.

      The nurse knocked and popped her head in. “Settle on one yet?” she asked with a smile.

      “No,” Maggie said.

      “Not even close,” Gabe added.

      “Well, that’s too bad,” the nurse said, glancing at her watch. “Because we were supposed to close up five minutes ago. I hate to ask you to come back, but—my son is playing in a soccer game at five-thirty and I’m in a hurry to close up.”

      “No problem,” Gabe said, already rising.

      Easy for you to say, Maggie thought darkly, as she closed the book and stood.

      “You can make another appointment on the way out,” the nurse hastened to add.

      With Gabe watching her, Maggie did.

      They walked out into the parking lot. “Where to now?” Gabe asked casually, looking once again as if he were about to ask her out on another date.

      Deciding that that was the last thing they needed after the unsatisfactory appointment she had just suffered through, Maggie focused on her old standby: her work. “I don’t know about you,” Maggie said with a smile, “but I’m going out to your beach house. I want to see how the debris removal is coming.”

      Gabe followed her in his sports car. It was nearly six by the time they arrived. Luis, Manuel and Enrico had already knocked off for the day. But their work was complete. All the burned material and the damaged cabinets had been torn out. The kitchen was ready for rebuilding.

      “It looks like they even took out all the wiring,” Gabe said.

      Maggie propped both hands on her hips as she continued to look around. “They have to, for safety’s sake.” She slanted Gabe a glance over her shoulder. “I assume you want everything built back pretty much the way it was.”

      Gabe strolled the length of the downstairs, stroking the rugged line of his jaw, with the backs of his fingers as he moved. “Actually I thought I’d like to take the opportunity to tear down the wall between the kitchen and the living room and just open it up.”

      That was a pretty expensive and time-consuming change, more than Maggie had bargained on. She frowned. “It’ll take a lot longer and be a lot more expensive,” Maggie warned, hoping he’d change his mind.

      No such luck.

      Gabe drifted near. “I don’t mind,” he told her lazily, studying her upturned face.

      “Spending time with me?” Maggie tilted her head back and sized him up with a considering look of her own, wondering what the ultimate Good Samaritan was up to now. Had he planned this extra request, or was he just winging it, asking to make things much more complicated, on a whim? “Or the extra construction mess?”

      “Both,” Gabe said curtly.

      Maggie fell silent as she studied the half-hidden apology in his eyes.

      She turned away from him, trying not to think about how handsome he looked in his sage-green shirt, coordinating tie and khaki slacks. “You don’t owe me anything, Gabe.” Least of all this.

      “Maybe I think I do.”

      Maggie turned back in time to see the flicker of guilt in Gabe’s expression. It didn’t take a genius to know where it had originated. “You’ve been talking to Enrico, Luis and Manuel, haven’t you?” She had known better than to leave the four men alone. Especially since the three Chavez brothers had never forgiven Gabe for his part in her breakup with Chase.

      Gabe shrugged, obviously respecting her too much to try and tell her otherwise. “The guys are right,” he said quietly. “If not for me, you would be married and have a baby by now.”

      Maggie rolled her eyes and thrust her hands in the pockets of her jeans. “They’re hopelessly overprotective of me. They always have been, and it’s gotten worse since my mom and dad died.”

      “They want you to have it all.” Gabe closed the distance between them in three long strides. “Not just a child.”

      Maggie studied the scuffed toes of her dark-brown work boots. “Suppose that’s not possible?”

      “Suppose it is?” Gabe put his hands on her shoulders and kept them there. “At least take another few days to think about this.”

      Heart racing, mouth dry, Maggie looked up at him. “I can’t,” she said, doing her best not to tremble at his touch.

      “Why not?” Gabe asked, so gently she wanted to cry.

      Maggie drew a deep breath, extricated herself gracefully from his light, detaining grip and wheeled away. “Because my monthly ovulation window is in three to five days,”