Dad By Choice. Marie Ferrarella

power button.

      “Only if your sense of humor has suddenly turned bizarre.”

      From the sound of it, her mother was struggling to keep a tight rein on her emotions. Concern took a firmer hold on Abby.

      The color on the set came into focus. Flipping quickly, she found Channel 8 and the program that had prompted her mother to call her.

      “Son of a gun.”

      There, smiling up into the camera, was Chelsea Markum—the reporter Abby had taken the baby from this morning. Along the bottom of the screen scrolled the teaser: “Which of the Maitland Men Sired This Baby?” Beside the reporter was a fuzzy photograph of the baby, obviously lifted and freeze-framed from the video taken earlier.

      Stifling an exasperated sigh, Abby leaned forward and turned up the sound.

      “…Just as the Maitlands’ PR department released word of a silver anniversary party in the works to celebrate the clinic’s twenty-five years of service, we finally learn that there are skeletons in the very proper Maitland closet, after all. No matter how well respected the family, they obviously have something to hide. Something they’re not proud of. So the question still remains—”

      Annoyed, Abby turned off the television set. “Ignore it, Mother.”

      Her mother’s voice was calmly logical. “How do I ignore the baby?”

      The tension headache that had been building all day now threatened to take Abby’s head off. She pressed her fingers to both temples and massaged, knowing it wouldn’t help. “Good point.”

      “I’m calling a family conference tonight.” Megan had always been in tune with her children, so her next words came as no surprise to Abby. “If you’re too tired…”

      She was, but she also knew that she had to be there. This was serious and it affected them all. Abby pushed away from the desk. “No, I’ll be there.” With effort, she tried to sound brighter. “I just saw my last patient a few minutes ago and I’m free for the evening. I can be at the house in about twenty minutes.”

      “I appreciate it.”

      Abby could hear the relief in her mother’s voice. “See you.”

      She hung up, then suddenly remembered that despite what she’d said to her mother, she wasn’t free. Marcie McDermott’s brother was coming to try to browbeat her into doing heaven only knew what.

      “Not tonight, McDermott,” she murmured.

      But as she reached for the telephone, Abby realized that she had no idea what his number was. He’d failed to give her his card. Probably to avoid having the appointment called off, she thought, getting to her feet.

      Maybe the number was in Marcie’s file. Lisa had been too busy today to take care of the filing. That meant the files were still stacked on the side of her desk in the order the patients had been seen. Marcie’s would be on the bottom.

      As she went into the outer office, now dim and eerily still after all the life that had crossed its floors today, a knock on the door startled Abby.

      Crossing to it, she saw the outline of someone tall and broad-shouldered through the frosted glass.

      McDermott.

      “Speak of the devil,” she murmured to herself.

      CHAPTER THREE

      SHE LOOKED HARRIED, Kyle thought, when Abby opened the door to admit him. And her eyes looked tired. The kind of tired that came from juggling too many balls at the same time.

      He’d seen the same look staring back at him from the mirror.

      Would that work to his benefit or not? Would she give in quickly because she was tired, or would it make her irritable and resistant? He was hoping for the former. The argument he’d had with Marcie on the way home nearly nine hours ago was still fresh in his mind. That about filled his quota for the day. Lately, all Marcie did was argue with him, if she spoke to him at all.

      He noticed that Abby wasn’t moving aside to let him enter. Behind her, the office was in semidarkness.

      “I’m early,” he told her.

      That was probably meant to be another crack about her arriving late this morning, Abby figured. The smile she forced to her lips was as fake as the Monopoly money she used to play with as a child. “I’m sorry but I’m fresh out of roses to pin on you.”

      So it was going to be like that, was it? “I’m not interested in roses, Doctor, I’m interested in your support.”

      “So I gather.” Abby leaned against the door she was holding ajar. “Listen, Mr. McDermott—” She paused a second, pressing her lips together. There was a pithy way to phrase this, but for the life of her, she couldn’t summon the energy to think of it. She just wanted him to go away. “I know I said that I would see you after hours, but I’m afraid something’s come up.”

      Kyle hadn’t gotten where he was in life by allowing himself to be summarily brushed aside. “What?”

      His question took Abby by surprise. Someone else would have told him it was none of his business, or hidden behind the convenient excuse that there was a baby on the way and she had to rush off to deliver it.

      But Abby didn’t like evasion and she liked lying even less. Living by the “do unto others” edict that had been so firmly impressed upon her as a child, she had no option but to tell him the truth.

      She didn’t have to be friendly about it, though.

      “If you must know, I’ve been called to the house for a family meeting.”

      “You hold meetings?” He didn’t know all that much about the Maitlands, only what he read in passing, and by reputation. He wondered if they were all cold, passionless people who were emotionally distant from one another. It would seem logical that they would be, if family get-togethers were referred to as “meetings.”

      Though normally easygoing, Abby felt herself taking offense at the tone he used. What right did he have to question her or her family? “We do when there are babies dropped on our doorstep and fingers pointed at us.”

      Kyle stared at her. “You lost me.” He’d had no opportunity to listen to the radio on his way over; he’d been dictating a letter. He had no idea what she meant.

      “No, but I’m trying to.” With a toss of her head, she turned on her heel. Walking back to her office, she shed her lab coat as she went.

      Kyle followed. She wasn’t wearing the suit jacket he’d seen her in earlier, he thought. And she’d done something to her hair. Let it down. It made her look younger. Softer.

      He couldn’t help noticing, when she swung around again to face him, that the beige turtleneck sweater she had on clung very appealingly to her breasts. Especially as she drew in a deep breath. He realized that he was staring and raised his eyes to her face again.

      She should have just politely shut the door on him, Abby thought. She wasn’t any good at excuses. “I know that this must seem like I’m trying to brush you off—”

      “Good call.”

      Kyle knew she was going to try to make it a done deal if he didn’t say something to stop her. He needed this woman backing him up if he was going to have a prayer of convincing Marcie to be sensible. It wasn’t hard to see that his sister thought the world of Abby Maitland. The woman was the first role model Marcie had turned to since…he couldn’t remember when.

      Sensing that she was a person who could be appealed to on an emotional level, he went that way. “Look, Doctor, it might not seem like it to you, but I really love my sister and I only want what’s best for her.”

      Given her track record as far as men went, Abby knew that she wasn’t always the best judge of character when it came to the opposite sex. But