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www.millsandboon.co.uk
Table of Contents
Cover Page
Title Page
About the Author
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Copyright
Born in New Zealand, Sharon Archer now lives in county Victoria, Australia, with her husband Glenn, one lame horse and five pensionable hens. Always an avid reader, she discovered Mills & Boon as a teenager through Lucy Walker’s fabulous Outback Australia stories. Now, she lives in a gorgeous bush setting and loves the native fauna that visits regularly…Well, maybe not the possum which coughs outside the bedroom window in the middle of the night.
The move to acreage brought a keen interest in bushfire management (she runs the fireguard group in her area) as well as free time to dabble in woodwork, genealogy (her advice is…don’t get her started!), horse-riding and motorcycling—as a pillion or in charge of the handlebars.
Free time turned into words on paper! And the dream to be a writer gathered momentum. With a background in a medical laboratory, what better line to write for than Mills & Boon® Medical™ Romance?
I’d like to especially thank my editor, Lucy Gilmour,
for her suggestions, encouragement and belief
in my manuscripts.
Thank you always to Anna Campbell,
Rachel Bailey and Marion Lennox.
You are the best!
Thank you, too, to Judy Griffiths and Serena Tatti
for your input on this book.
And especially thanks to my husband, Glenn,
for his unstinting support with everything!
CHAPTER ONE
JACK CAMPBELL slipped into the hospital room and closed the door. Muted sounds of the emergency department filtered through to him, the jingle of an instrument trolley, the squeak of a rubber-soled shoe.
The pungent smell of antiseptic. A decades-old aversion leaped across the years to roll nausea through his stomach. For a split second, he was thirteen years old again—wretched, angry, useless—listening to nurses discuss the rapidly failing infant that had just come in. His sister, his family.
He blew out a breath, made a conscious effort to push down the unwelcome, unhelpful recollection.
He was here to see Liz.
Dr Elizabeth Campbell…his wife…He clenched his jaw. Soon-to-be ex-wife if she had anything to do with it.
She lay on a gurney, her back towards him. A grey blanket skimmed the curves of her shoulder and hip. Dark curls tumbled across a small, flat pillow. His fingers curled involuntarily with the memory of the silky strands slipping across his skin. They had a lot of talking, a lot of healing to do before he could look forward to that intimacy.
A louder clatter came from outside the door. So used to the background noise of the hospital, Liz still didn’t wake, didn’t even stir. She always slept serenely, such a contrast to the snapping vitality she radiated when she was awake.
The duty nurse said Liz had been up for most of the night treating the victims of a nasty car accident.
He suddenly realised the nurse’s welcome had been much warmer than he deserved. Hadn’t Liz told her colleagues that her marriage—their marriage—was on shaky ground? His spirits lifted briefly, then plunged as he wondered if the state of their relationship was simply an insignificant detail to her, not worth mentioning.
He leaned back against the door and ran a tired hand over his face. Whiskers scraped his palm, reminding him that he should have showered and shaved at the airport after the long flight from the States. Instead, he’d hired a car and driven more hours to be here.
To see the woman who slept so soundly just a few steps away.
So why was he delaying the moment of confrontation?
Dread spasmed in his gut. Because he didn’t know how she was going to handle his return. Now that he was here, his five months away with minimal communication felt unreasonable—even given their mutual separation. Stilted phone calls, always with the unspoken knowledge that once their marriage was dissolved, they had no claim on each other.
How would she take the decisions he’d made without consulting her? Accepting the position of captain in Dustin’s fire brigade.
Not giving her the easy divorce he’d promised before he’d left.
Somewhere in the last few months of battling fires in California, he’d realised how important Liz was to him. What a fool he’d been to think it would be easy to move on.
He’d even come to the conclusion he could handle discussing parenthood. He tried to imagine Liz heavy with pregnancy—and failed. Tried to picture himself holding a baby—and an icy chill speared out of his heart. He swallowed hard. All he had to do was overcome that instinctive rejection. That was all.
He wanted to fight for his marriage, to tackle their problems. And when they were done, if she still wanted him out of her life, then he’d go.
He touched the pocket that held two open airline tickets to New Zealand. Tickets to the place they’d begun their marriage. Tickets to paradise. An inspiration…or a crazy idea born of desperation.
Squaring his shoulders, he pushed away from the door. Long strides took him to the gurney.
He reached out to touch Liz, his hand hovering over her shoulder before slowly dropping to his side. His eyes lingered on her profile, the curve of her cheek, eyelashes curled in smudgy purple shadows that spoke of tiredness. She took on so much responsibility, worked too hard. But there was no telling her to slow down. A bitter-sweet longing pierced his heart to see her looking so young and vulnerable.
On impulse, he leaned down and pressed his lips to her cheek just in front of her ear. Her skin was warm and soft. She sighed. He inhaled the heady fragrance of the woman he loved, intended to love for the rest of his life. If he could find a way to turn things around, if he could find a way to overcome his fear. He had to believe it was possible.
She rolled slightly, reaching up to hook a hand around his neck. Her fingers threaded through his hair, tugging his head closer as she offered him her mouth.
He wrestled with his conscience. Her invitation was hard to resist. But she still seemed half-asleep, which was unusual since she was used to waking instantly. ‘Liz?’
‘Jack,’ she murmured, her hand stroking across the nape of his neck.
His heart swelled. She knew who he was. He stopped questioning, touched his mouth to hers, sinking into the welcome taste and texture. He was home.
Lips moved on hers. The wonderful, clever, knowing lips of her husband, her lover. At once familiar and unbelievably exciting, flooding her body with sensual need. Kissing her, nibbling and rubbing sensitive nerve endings to life. The familiar feel, a haven conjured up by a dream.
She parted her lips in invitation, wanting more and after a moment the light kiss became more demanding, firm and masterful. The taste of him, the feel of him, so infinitely beloved. Something she never wanted to lose. The thought brought a lump of emotion to her throat. Hot tears pushed at her eyelids before seeping out to trickle down her temple into her ears.
The lips drifted away to work their magic along her jaw.
‘Jack.’
Arching slightly, she gave him access to her throat and the delicious caress was instantly there to please her. Bliss. She ached for his touch everywhere.
Stubble rasped across her chin as he moved back to her mouth, a mixture of pleasure and discomfort. Why couldn’t she have dreamed him up after he’d shaved? She tried to push the fretful thought away, not wanting to spoil the precious moment.
‘Liz,’ groaned her dream lover. Her eyes flew open as the word smashed away the last vestiges of sleep.
‘What the—? Jack!’ The rhythm of her heart bounded, painful and erratic with panic. She sat up abruptly, her head connecting with something hard.
‘Hell, Liz!’ The muffled protest behind her registered as she swung her feet to the floor and stood up. She put a hand on the gurney’s metal frame and gulped down the slide of queasiness crawling up her throat.
Steadier, she took a deep breath and folded her arms protectively across her body. She turned slowly to stare at the man on the other side of the narrow mattress.
‘Just what do you think you’re doing?’ She’d meant the words to come out strong, determined. Outraged. Instead, she sounded almost husky, breathless.
Jack’s hand stopped moving his lower jaw and fell to his side. The room seemed to lurch again as he gave her a lopsided smile.
‘Kissing my wife?’ The sexy voice stroked along her auditory nerves. So much more potent when he was in the room with her than on the other end of a phone line.
She scowled as his answer drew her attention to his mouth. The gorgeous shape with its full bottom lip still tilted up at one corner. In her semi-conscious state, her lips had recognised him, welcomed his much-loved caress, responded to him. And if she was honest, she’d known on some level that her dream was too good, too real. But in the ultimate selfbetrayal, she’d resisted the push to full awareness.
‘I’m not your wife.’ Her lips felt swollen, tremulous. Her traitorous body still hummed with the need his kiss had created.
‘Yeah, you are.’
Muscles tightened around her chest. She wasn’t prepared for this scene. ‘Technically, yes. In reality, no.’
‘Technically is what we’ve got, babe.’ He watched her through narrowed eyes as though trying to gauge the emotion underlying her negative response. ‘And what we have to talk about.’
‘We did all our talking before you left.’ She frowned at him. ‘And don’t call me babe.’
Why did he have to look so damned good? Big and rugged and fit. Tussled spikes of dark hair above a lean, angular face. She had to remember that underneath the stunning exterior he was cold, contained.
Untouchable. Her vulnerable heart squeezed. Common sense hadn’t stopped her from falling for a man just like her distant, unresponsive father.
She and Jack were separated. Had agreed on it before he’d gone on secondment to the States. His months away fighting summer wildfires had given her a chance to get used to him not being around. There was no going back. She couldn’t. Too much was at stake now.
She wasn’t going to settle for a half-life, the way her mother had. Two years was more than enough time to invest in a mistake.
Of course, the marriage wasn’t their only mistake.
She buttoned her lab coat, carefully holding the fabric away from her body. Thank goodness for the large, shapeless garment. And the light in here was fairly subdued. If she could just get out of the room…
‘You can’t just walk away from me, Liz. I’m not going anywhere until we’ve worked this through.’
‘Please yourself.’ With shaking fingers, she looped the stethoscope around her neck then stuffed her fists into the large coat pockets. ‘Unlike you, I have work to do.’
She wasn’t being fair to him. He’d been away, risking his life. But fair didn’t matter right now.
Escape! That was all that mattered. Making a show of checking her watch, she went to walk past him.
At the last moment, he moved to stop her. Dumb luck had his hand land on the one thing she didn’t want to discuss with him right now. She froze as an energetic thud bounced out of her abdomen to greet his touch.
His mouth dropped open as he snatched his hand away and looked down at her distended belly. She could still feel the imprint of his fingers through the heavy fabric of the coat.
‘You’re…’ His eyes, dark blue and stunned, blinked back up to meet hers. He was so close that, despite the dimness, she could see the shock in the sudden pallor of his face. ‘You’re pregnant.’
‘Yes.’ She watched creases form at the edges of his eyes, could almost see the cogs turning over in his mind.
Was he doing the arithmetic? Their last attempt at talking about reconciliation had been a doozey. And she’d been incubating the results of their discussion for nearly six months now.
‘Is it mine?’
Pain washed over her, snatching the breath from her lungs. Such cruelty from the mouth that had just kissed her so sweetly, so lovingly.
‘Charming, Jack,’ she said, squaring her shoulders and refusing to let him see how much he’d hurt her. ‘Are you judging me by your own behaviour?’
She pushed past him and walked towards the door on rubbery knees. She hated scenes, but for five months she’d known this one was unavoidable.
‘Liz!’
She blinked blurriness out of her vision and kept walking. Whatever he had to say could wait. But Jack was too quick for her. His hand on her arm stopped her before she could reach the door.
‘I’m sorry.’
Her jaw dropped at the gruff words. An apology. That was new. She looked up at him.
‘Yes, well…I am sorry. That was out of line.’ He released her to run his hand through his hair, leaving tufts standing in its wake. His eyes, when they met hers, were wary. She could see his mouth working as though he was having trouble speaking, forming words. ‘That last time we…?’ The partial sentence was little more than a croak.
‘I would think so, yes.’
‘So you’re about five months along?’
‘Closer to six, actually.’ She stroked a protective hand over her stomach. Given the bizarre gymnastics the rest of her system was doing at the moment, she was vaguely surprised that her womb wasn’t being used for somersault practice. Couldn’t the baby sense her mother’s distress? Or perhaps that’s why she was so still.
Jack’s eyes followed the movement of her hand, a dazed look on his face. ‘We’re going to be parents in, what, three months?’ His throat moved in a convulsive swallow. ‘Twelve weeks?’
Her heart swooped, a dozen answers trembling on her tongue. But the last thing she wanted right now was to prolong this discussion. Liz settled for a simple, ‘Close enough.’ They could argue the semantics of parenthood another time.
‘We’ve got more to talk about than I’d realised.’ His eyes held a solemn appeal when they met hers.
‘Perhaps, but not now.’ She hardened her heart against the treacherous impulse to believe he could change. He’d just been caught off guard, his apology was evidence of how much. ‘I really do have work to do. Are you…? Where are you…?’ The words dried up on her tongue.
‘Staying?’ An eyebrow quirked as his dark eyes watched her quizzically. ‘At home. Unless there’s a reason why I shouldn’t.’
‘No. I…suppose it’ll be okay…for a while…It’s just that…’ She trailed off again. She couldn’t go back to the peculiar segregated life they’d been living before. Sharing a house, but not themselves. A half-life masquerading as a marriage. She’d used long hours at work to escape the house before Jack had gone overseas. That wasn’t an option these days because she was too tired.
‘Damn, Liz…What do you think I’m going to do?’ He grimaced, his eyes shuttered. She was left with the fleeting impression that she’d hurt him. ‘I’m still house-trained.’ His lopsided smile was meant to disarm. ‘And I haven’t jumped on an unwilling woman for at least a month. Let alone one who’s pregnant and unwilling.’
Did that mean he had jumped on a willing woman while he was away? She lifted her chin in rejection of the picture his words conjured up. What did it matter to her if he had been with someone? Once they were divorced, he could be with any damned woman he fancied.
She wanted a divorce…didn’t she?
Suddenly, hot moisture burned beneath her eyelids, threatened to spill over. Bending her head for a few moments, she pulled at the wrinkled front of her coat as though straightening it was the most important thing in her life.
She heard him take a deep breath.
‘Look, Liz, I’m tired. Can we have this discussion later, too? I’ll use the spare bed if it’ll make you happier.’
‘I’m using it.’ Her voice sounded hoarse with the ache in her throat.
‘I see.’ He looked away and she could see a muscle twitching along his jaw.
‘It’s the only bed made up so use it. I haven’t been home to sleep in it since I changed the sheets yesterday.’ As soon as the words were out she wished she could take them back. His eyes held hers for a long moment. She tensed, waiting for a derisive comment.
‘Thanks,’ he said.
She nodded briefly. On muscles wobbly with relief, she turned towards the door.
‘Liz?’
She looked back at him.
‘Could I borrow your keys, please?’
‘My keys? Haven’t you got yours?’
‘The airline lost my luggage in California. I didn’t want to risk missing my connecting flight home while someone tracked it down.’
He sounded exhausted, almost defeated, and she realised for the first time that there were dark circles under his eyes. Her heart ached with sympathy she didn’t want to feel.
‘Mine are in my locker, but there’s a front-door key in the old pot-belly on the veranda.’ She shrugged slightly at the patent surprise on his face. ‘Pregnancy seems to have scrambled the thought processes that keep track of my keys. After I locked myself out of the house a couple of times, I put a spare set outside.’
He regarded her in silence. ‘Have you…been okay otherwise?’
‘Mostly.’ His question touched her to the core. He sounded like he cared. Foolish, foolish woman to let herself be affected by a few kind words. She forced her lips into a smile. No way was she going to tell him about the weeks of morning sickness when she’d wanted to curl up in a ball and have someone care for her. The days when she’d had to drag herself out of bed to come to work. Or the times she’d desperately needed a hug—his hug. ‘Can you make sure you put the key back, please?’
‘Sure.’
‘Well…I’ll see you later, then.’
Jack pulled into the driveway, a mantle of lethargy settling on his shoulders as he switched off the ignition of the rental car. He sat for a minute or two, noting the overgrown garden, the bush-covered hills of the Victorian high country that formed a familiar backdrop.
A mower droned soporifically in the distance. The sound of a dog barking in the neighbour’s yard snapped him out of a daze. If he didn’t move soon, he’d fall asleep right here.
Coming back had been the right thing. More right than he’d realised when he’d made the decision. Living in Dustin was the closest he’d come to having roots. The town was large enough to provide great services, small enough to be a real community. A great place to raise a family.
A lead weight dropped through his gut.
A family. Oh, God. He wasn’t ready, he’d never be ready. A thin film of perspiration popped out of his pores, chilling his forehead and upper lip. He recognised his body’s fight-or-flight response. Pointless trying to deal with this when he was punchy with jet-lag.
Grabbing his carry-on bag, he forced his tired legs up the veranda steps. He scrupulously returned the key to the old potbelly stove after he’d used it. Inside the house, he tapped the door with his heel, listening to the latch snick behind him as he let the familiar smells soak in. Delicate, delicious scents with tones of lavender and fresh pine cones. And a trace of Liz’s favourite soap.
This house and Liz were home, where he belonged, where he wanted to stay. He rubbed his sternum as he took inventory of the wide central hallway and the living areas off to each side. His heart felt too big for his chest. The months away had given him a poignant appreciation of things he’d taken for granted. The colours, soft, welcoming terracotta and greens, had been Liz’s choice. He’d provided the brawn for the preparation and painting. And they’d both chosen the eclectic collection of new and second-hand furniture. Everything had been picked for comfort and appeal, not because it matched another item.
Liz had joked that she was exorcising the polished, regimented perfection of her childhood. If only all demons could be so easily disposed of. Not that he had a problem with his past. He’d simply used it as a blueprint of what to avoid. Growing up as the son of a drug addict had left him utterly clear about one aspect of his life. No dabbling, no social indulging. No chemical crutches needed to get him through each day. Not for any reason.
Not ever.
He tossed his car keys on the small hall desk and walked slowly through the house, pausing again in the doorway of the main bedroom. A vivid vision of Liz tumbled across the queen-sized mattress beneath his weight had heat scorching to his groin. He blinked the memory away.
Now the luxurious brocade spread hid the fact that the bed it covered was stripped and unused. A façade.
Like their marriage? His heart kicked painfully.
Not if he could help it.
He strode through to the spare room and dumped his carryon bag onto the bed’s pristine quilt cover. His mouth tightened.
Fresh sheets. The small domestic detail epitomised their estrangement. That and the question about where he was staying. Realistically, he hadn’t expected to leap back into bed with her. But since when did they need fresh sheets between them?
Perhaps this was Liz’s way of distancing herself from him even further. Things had been bad when he’d left, but at least they’d shared a bed right up until the final few weeks.
Or had they? Both their jobs meant nights away. He’d volunteered to do more than his fair share at the fire station. With a sinking feeling, he realised that Liz had probably been doing the same thing at the hospital.
He smiled grimly as he stripped off his shirt. The crackle of the airline tickets seemed to mock him. A second honeymoon to rekindle their relationship seemed laughably simplistic in the face of Liz’s pregnancy. He threw his clothes on the chair in the corner before padding naked across the hall to the bathroom.
Leaning on the vanity unit, he stared at his reflection critically, rubbing a hand over his stubbled jaw. The hours of travelling had left him tired, dishevelled and desperately in need of a shave.
It was not the face of a father.
But he was going to be one, whether his marriage survived or not. A cold thrill swept over him, part dread, part some other emotion he didn’t recognise.
Poor Liz. They’d been discussing separation, divorce before he’d left. Not parenthood. How had she felt when she discovered she was pregnant? Shocked? Or secretly pleased? She’d been off the Pill, but they’d used protection…though obviously not enough. He grinned wryly.
His smile faded as he remembered the spasm of hurt, quickly hidden, that had flashed across her face when he’d asked if the child was his. The question had risen from some deep, fortressed corner of his soul and emerged before he could think better of it.
‘You really are a prize bastard, Campbell.’ His voice sounded croaky, unnaturally loud in the silent house. He blew out a long breath. Liz didn’t deserve to be measured by the women in his past. She wasn’t the sort to betray him with another man. Cerebrally, he knew that…but how did he turn that into a gut-level, instinctive trust? One thing was for sure—if he couldn’t, he would lose her.