Marriage
Reunited:
Baby on the Way
Sharon Archer

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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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.

Lose them.

He looked down at his hand, curled his fingers over the palm as he remembered the solid push he’d felt from Liz’s stomach…from the baby. His baby.

He was going to be a father. His stomach swooped in another quick dive.

Hell, what did he know about family?

CHAPTER TWO

SIX hours later, rested and showered, Jack stood at the ward desk. On the other side, Liz leaned forward, her hands braced on either side of a stack of patient records.

‘I’m working. I can’t just leave.’ Each word was enunciated with a frigid clarity that should have blistered his ears.

‘Yes, you can.’ For the first time he began to appreciate just how difficult the task he’d set himself was going to be. He took a slow deep breath. ‘I’ve spoken to Tony Costello—’

‘What? You’ve spoken to my boss?’ Her voice was still pitched low in deference to the patients in the ward, but her intensity rammed into him. ‘How dare you?’

‘Easily.’ He’d come too far to back down now. ‘You’re not to darken the hospital doors before tomorrow.’

If she had any idea of the scope of the discussions with Tony she’d be even angrier. He’d cross that bridge when he had to. Leaning on the counter, he willed his body to relax. The smile he forced to his mouth felt stiff with tension.

‘I’ve got things to do.’ Liz wore a hunted look as her eyes slid away from him to a pile of neatly stacked patient notes.

‘Yes, you sure do. You have to come home with me.’

Her gaze, dark and revealing, darted back to his. She was afraid. Of him? The notion punched his breath away. His Liz was fearless. Surely, he was mistaken.

‘Do I have to throw you over my shoulder, darlin’?’ He was relieved there was no trace of his turmoil in his voice.

‘In case you haven’t noticed, I don’t bend that way any more,’ she grated out. Any hint of fear was burned away as her eyes glowed gold with anger.

He allowed his gaze to drift down to the mound of her abdomen. His chest tightened in an unexpected rush of possessiveness. His woman. His baby. ‘No, I guess not. Okay, fireman’s lift is out. How about I sweep you up and carry you out in my arms? Should cause quite a stir.’

‘You wouldn’t.’ She scowled, pulling the edges of her white coat over her stomach and folding her arms.

‘Try me.’

He held her gaze for a long moment before she huffed out a breath and looked down at the desk, her lips clamped in a firm line. A pang of sympathy tweaked at his conscience. She was no match for him now that he’d had a solid five hours sleep.

Since he’d been up, he’d returned the rental car to the depot and shopped for groceries. On the back seat of Liz’s car sat half a dozen bags of necessities to stock the woefully depleted refrigerator he’d found at the house, at their home. He straightened, flexing his shoulders. Pregnant women needed to look after themselves. Or be looked after.

‘Very well.’ She straightened a pile of forms. ‘But I need to check on one of the patients before I go. So you’ll just have to wait.’

‘Don’t be long, sweetheart, or I’ll come and find you,’ he said softly as she rounded the desk to move past him.

The look she flashed him should have fried him on the spot. ‘I’ll be as long as I need to be.’

As he watched her moving down the corridor, her steps slower than normal, he knew he was doing the right thing whether she liked it or not. A peculiar mixture of emotions—exasperation, love, and maybe just a touch of anger?—churned in his gut as she disappeared into one of the rooms.

He expelled a long sigh. They’d had so many arguments about starting a family in the six months before he’d gone overseas. He’d finally faced the fact that he didn’t want to be a father. That the remnants of his paternal instinct had died more than a decade ago.

With Kylie’s betrayal. Kylie. He hadn’t thought about his teenage crush for years. The girl who’d told him he was going to be a father—only to dump him when she miscarried. And dump him hard, trashing his love and his fervent promises of marriage, support, fidelity. Even stripping him of his right to grieve for the lost baby with her confession that it wasn’t his.

Perhaps his past wasn’t as buried as he believed.

He rubbed a hand over his face and thought back to his last confrontation with Liz, on the day before he’d left. It’d been very cold, very civilised after the preceding months of hot words and hotter, hope-filled reconciliations.

But regardless of the physical passion that flared between them, he hadn’t been able to overcome the obstacle of Liz’s desire to have a family. His argument, that they had something special and didn’t need children to complete their relationship, hadn’t swayed her at all. He’d agreed to give Liz a divorce. He smiled grimly. Looking at it from Liz’s perspective, though, she’d been unable to overcome his entrenched resistance to becoming a father.

Stalemate.

Not that it mattered now. A moment’s careless pleasure and they were going to be parents. Though, in fairness to both of them, they hadn’t been careless, just unlucky. Their usual contraceptive regimen had failed.

Or had Liz been deliberately careless? The muscles of his scalp contracted, pulling at his already tense forehead. He shifted, paced a few steps, trying to shake the unwelcome thought away.

It was irrelevant. He preferred to deal with reality, with the present. And the pregnancy, deliberate or accidental, was a fact that had to be faced squarely. Besides, she wouldn’t have gone to such lengths…would she?

Liz ignored the faint tremor in her fingers as she studied Bob Smyth’s chart. His temperature had stabilised during the day. The new antibiotics were obviously doing the job, clearing his lungs, easing his breathing. Microbiology results on the sputum still weren’t back, but there was no sign now of the respiratory distress he’d been admitted with the day before yesterday.

She looked at the patient propped up on the pillows, his face relaxed in sleep, and toyed briefly with the thought of disturbing him. Hard plastic dug into her flesh as she pressed her palms on either side of the chart board. Why couldn’t Bob have been awake? She could have asked him a question, chatted for a few minutes about something, anything. Then she might have felt as though she was here for some purpose.

Instead, she had to admit to herself that she was avoiding the moment when she had to face Jack. Her husband…the father of her baby. Her heart squeezed painfully as she smoothed a hand over her stomach.

The unwilling father of her baby.

She hooked the chart on the end of the bed, her fingers fiddling with the clip for a moment longer. She was hiding, trying to delay the inevitable. Stupid because there was nothing she’d like more than to be able to go home and put her feet up, or perhaps wallow in a bath. If it weren’t for Jack being at the house, she’d probably have left the hospital hours ago.

With a small sigh of defeat, she turned to leave the room. Back at the front desk, she wrote up a request for physiotherapy for Bob and slipped it into a wire basket at the end of the desk.

She felt Jack’s gaze follow her as she went through to hang up her white coat and retrieve her bag from the locker.

‘I need to go to the supermarket on the way home,’ she said when she returned.

Jack fell into step with her. ‘What for?’

His hand came to rest in the curve of her back as he guided her down the corridor. The small, almost protective gesture sent her pulse into overdrive, scattering her thoughts. ‘I’m sorry?’

‘What do you need to go to the supermarket for?’

‘Oh. Um, yes.’ With an effort she pulled her mind back to the conversation. ‘You didn’t let me know you were coming home so I haven’t done any shopping.’

‘Hmm.’

The noncommittal response, coupled with her reaction to his touch, irritated her. ‘I’m assuming you do want to eat?’

‘Yeah, I do. I’ve got it under control.’

A short time later and they were on the road. Going home…together. Liz’s heart thumped with an upsurge of poignant emotion.

‘Congratulations, by the way.’ She clasped her palms together in her lap, interlaced fingers pressing hard into her knuckles. With her peripheral vision, she saw Jack give her a quick glance before returning his eyes to the road.

‘For?’ He sounded wary.

‘Being appointed brigade captain.’ She caught her breath in the short, tense silence. ‘Why? Is there something else you haven’t you bothered to tell me?’

‘Liz—’

‘Of course, I’d heard rumours. But nobody thought to tell me because they naturally assumed I already knew.’ She stared at his profile, hating the bitterness she could hear in her voice. ‘How do you think that made me feel, Jack?’

He sighed. ‘I thought I’d be home to tell you before the details got out. I should have known better. I’m sorry.’

A muscle jumped along the line of his now clean-shaven jaw. He looked disgustingly fresh and well rested.

And utterly desirable.

While she felt frumpy and unattractive. She wrenched her gaze away, sealing her lips to stop herself from saying anything more.

As soon as the car stopped in the driveway, she scrambled out and opened the back door of the car.

‘Leave those,’ Jack said from the driver’s side as she reached for one of the grocery bags on the back seat.

‘I’m here so I might as well carry something.’ She leaned in and grasped a calico handle.

Moments later, hands clamped around her hips and she was gently but firmly tugged out of the vehicle. The bag she held was removed. Off balance from his touch, she looked up to find hard blue eyes boring into hers. ‘I said leave them. Just…go inside and put your feet up. Do whatever you like, but let someone else be in charge for a while.’

‘Fine, carry them all yourself, then.’ With Jack’s arms spread, one hand on the car door, the other on the roof, his solidly muscled body effectively corralled her. Her heart ricocheted around in her chest cavity. He’d touched her through layers of clothing, but the imprint of his strong hands still lingered on her flesh. Even worse was her body’s wicked yearning to press against him. She curled her fingers around her handbag to stop any possibility of reaching out.

Her eyes fixed on the navy rib of his neckband, she forced her mind to form a coherent sentence. ‘If you’ll get out of my way, I’ll leave you to it.’

Letting go of the car door, he shifted enough for her to brush past.

Not trusting her voice while he was still so close, she shot a tight smile in his direction. Then, mustering all the dignity she could, she walked towards the house.

‘I put the key back in the pot-belly if you need it.’ His voice followed her up the path.

A few moments later he joined her on the veranda, shopping bags in hand. ‘Dinner will be in an hour or so. I’ll call you.’

‘Fine,’ she mumbled, fumbling through the contents of her bag for her keys. She should have just retrieved the spare from the wretched stove. That way she’d have been inside already and out of his disturbing radius.

He shifted his weight, hefting the bags. Out of the corner of her eye she could see his biceps bulging slightly, filling the short sleeve of his T-shirt. ‘Do you want me to get the spare?’

She started at the sound of his voice as her fingers closed around her keyring.

‘No.’ Picking one, she stabbed it into the lock, relieved when it turned smoothly.

‘After you.’ She pushed the door open and stood back to hold the screen. The tang of his aftershave stayed with her as she stood on the doorstep, staring after him.

The thin cotton knit shirt moulded to his long back. She’d always loved his broad shoulders, loved the strength in them. With snug jeans clinging to narrow hips, he was heart-throb material. A hot spear of lust twisted in her abdomen. Her shoulders slumped and she closed her eyes on a wave of despair. Even after their years together, even after the bitter arguments that had punctuated their relationship before he’d gone away, she wasn’t immune to his masculine appeal. In fact, she wondered if she’d become even more sensitised to him in his absence. For the sake of her sanity she hoped familiarity would breed its contempt—and quickly.

‘Are you all right?’ Jack’s voice jolted her out of her miserable reverie. ‘Do you need a hand?’

‘Yes. No.’ She drew herself up. The last thing she needed right now was for him to touch her again. ‘I’m fine, thank you. It’s…I’ll go and, um, have a bath. Now. In the en suite.’

She fled, feeling his gaze follow her into the house, only releasing her when she turned into the main bedroom.

An hour later, more pampered than she’d felt in a long time, she wandered through to the kitchen.

‘Good timing.’ He looked up from the bench where he was putting the finishing touches on a colourful tossed salad. She fidgeted beneath his scrutiny. ‘You look better. Less exhausted.’

She grimaced wryly. ‘Thanks, I guess.’

‘You always look beautiful, Liz.’ A small smile curled the edges of his lips. She dragged her eyes away to focus on the chunks of tomato dotted over the lettuce.

‘I wasn’t fishing for a compliment.’ But in her heart she wondered if she was telling the entire truth. Some small, stubborn core lapped up the words, wanting more. Really dumb. They’d soon be going their separate ways…They had to. The marriage was over. She couldn’t use the pregnancy to hold him. Wanting more of anything from him was pointless.

He shrugged. ‘I’ve set the table on the deck and poured you a drink.’ He nodded at a wineglass filled with golden liquid. ‘Why don’t you take that outside and sit down while I put the salmon on?’

‘I can’t drink alcohol.’

‘I know.’ He opened the sliding door with his elbow while balancing the salad in one hand and plates in the other. ‘It’s apple cider. Non-alcoholic.’

‘Oh. Then…thanks.’ She picked up the chilled glass and stood awkwardly.

‘Coming out?’ He was waiting at the door.

‘Can I do anything?’

‘Yep. Grab the salad.’ He held out the bowl. As soon as she’d taken it, he turned away to the barbecue. ‘Sit. Relax.’

The smell of salmon sizzling on the hot barbecue plate made Liz acutely aware of how hungry she was. She rearranged the table to make room for the things she carried then slid onto the seat. A jaw-cracking yawn caught her by surprise. She hastily smothered the last of it when she realised Jack was watching.

‘Excuse me.’

‘Early night for you tonight.’

‘Yes.’ She sighed, lounging back on her chair and stretching out her legs. ‘I must. I’m on call.’

‘No. You’re not.’

His response didn’t make sense. She frowned. ‘I’m rostered on.’

‘Tony changed it.’

‘Tony changed it?’ Perplexed, she sat for a long moment until the implications sank in. She bolted upright, her hands fisted. ‘Tony changed it! After you talked to him?’

‘Mmm. But all I—’

‘I can’t believe you would do that. What made you think you have the right? If you think you can come back here after all that time away and pull this heavy-handed husband rubbish then you can think again. I won’t tolerate it. You…you…’ She threw her hands up. ‘Words fail me.’

‘Not noticeably, darlin’,’ he drawled, his expression shuttered as he walked past her back into the house.

She marched after him. ‘You’ve never been the nannying sort, Jack, and I don’t appreciate you starting now.’

Heat wafted over her as Jack opened the oven and used mitts to retrieve two baked potatoes.

‘Don’t you?’ A muscle flexed in his jaw. ‘If you’re not going to be more sensible with your health, you’ll have to get used to it.’

She gaped at his profile for long seconds. ‘That’s a stupid thing to say. I am sensible with my health. I’m a doctor, for goodness’ sake.’

‘The two things don’t necessarily go hand in hand, sweetheart.’ He swiped off the mitts and dropped them on the bench. With his hands on his hips, he slanted a dark, brooding look at her. ‘I’ve been back in the country for half a day and I know that you’ve worked hours that would stop a normal person in their tracks. And the contents of our fridge would only have kept a dieting rabbit happy for a couple of hours.’

He picked up the plate with the potatoes and she was left with a view of his back as he walked away from her again. Even with frustration stampeding through her, she couldn’t help an involuntary scan down his lean length. Abruptly, the anger turned to a visceral tug of desire. How she used to delight in running her hands over his body, the swimmer’s shoulders, the narrow waist, hard, muscular buttocks.

She took a deep breath, desperately channelling her energy to a more appropriate avenue. They were arguing about food. She followed him out to the barbecue where he turned the salmon.

‘Like I said before, if you’d seen fit to let me know you were coming, I might have had a chance to lay in supplies for a whole bloody warren.’ She sounded inadequate and defensive while he looked so big and gorgeous and in control. It wasn’t fair. He was the interloper here.

The corners of his mouth twitched. If he laughed at her she was going to dump the salad over his head.

‘I know. The point is there wasn’t enough in our fridge to feed one overworked doctor. Which confirms that you’ve been working long hours as you haven’t had time to restock.’ He flipped the browned fillets onto the serving plate. ‘Dinner’s ready.’

‘It’s not that. I’ve been tired.’ Aware she sounded more like a petulant child than an adult, she slipped into her seat. She knew if she’d been home alone there was a good chance she’d have opened a tin of baked beans and then gone to bed.

‘I rest my case.’ He picked up the bottle of red wine and topped up his glass before giving her an old-fashioned look over the rim.

She fumed silently for a long moment. ‘Anyway, that’s beside the point. You have no right to interfere in my professional life. I’ve a good mind to ring Tony and insist he reinstate the roster.’

Jack sighed. ‘I didn’t ask him to change it, Liz. It was his call. His professional decision. And one I happen to agree with.’

‘Why would he do it without telling me?’

‘I was there when he made the decision and I said I’d let you know. We were talking about last night’s accident, as new fire chief to hospital superintendent. It prompted him to remember you’d been on duty. There are four other doctors at the hospital.’

‘Two. Barbara’s on holiday and Tim’s just broken his leg,’ she muttered.

‘Nevertheless, someone else is doing tonight’s shift.’ He pushed the salad bowl towards her before reaching across to add a piece of fish and baked potato to her plate. ‘Now, can we eat?’

The meal looked perfect. Perfect. She’d had the workday from hell. All her personal relationships were a disaster. Her brother, Mark, was angry because she’d tried to talk him out of his latest hare-brained stunt. Her mother was disappointed in her because she hadn’t succeeded with her brother. She was pregnant, married to a man who didn’t want to be a father. And now the man wanted to play happy families as though nothing out of the ordinary was happening.

The perfection in front of her seemed to underline the wretched state of everything else.

She stared at tiny brown granules of pepper showering over the food on Jack’s plate as he twisted the top of the grinder.

His eyes met hers as he slowly placed the unit back on the table. ‘Is there a problem? I never thought to ask you if there’s anything you can’t eat.’

‘The salmon’s fine. It’s not that…it’s you.’ She swallowed, trying to subdue the undulation in her stomach. ‘It’s this whole weird thing. We agreed to a divorce. Why are you behaving as though you’re trying out for husband of the year when we both know our marriage is in the ditch?’

‘I know what we agreed on. But we’re not divorced yet and maybe we don’t have to be.’ He leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table, his eyes guarded as they held hers. ‘But if we’re going to fix our marriage, someone has to start somewhere.’

‘And you think you’re that someone?’ A year, even six months ago, his stand would have been the sweetest offer he could have made. But the fact remained he’d been adamant about their marriage remaining child-free back then. All that had changed was her pregnancy. If he stayed now, it smacked of selfsacrifice. She didn’t want that for her baby. Or herself. ‘What if I don’t believe it can be fixed? What if…I don’t want you back?’ she finished in a rush so the words wouldn’t choke her.

If she hadn’t been looking at him, she’d have missed any sign her words had registered. As it was, there was just the suggestion of stillness in his face, a tightening around the eyes, his throat moving in a quick swallow. She had an urge to push harder, see what it took to make him feel the turmoil she was feeling.

‘But you’re not sure.’ He picked up his napkin and laid it on his lap.

‘W-why do you say that?’

He gave her a bland look. ‘You haven’t told anyone we’re separated.’

‘How do you know?’

‘Among other things, I ran into your mother at the supermarket this afternoon. If she knew my days were numbered I don’t think she’d have been able to resist some small barb to let me know.’

She stared at him, unable to refute the claim. Her mother’s antipathy towards Jack had caused difficulty from the beginning of their marriage. Any sign that the union was over and her mother wouldn’t hesitate to voice her pleasure.

‘So why haven’t you?’ Jack interrupted her thoughts.

‘Because…Because…’ She searched for a reason that would set him back on his heels. Instead, her shoulders slumped as the anger seeped out of her. ‘Because an opportunity never seemed to present itself. And then I found out I was pregnant and it seemed even less appropriate.’

She reached for the base of her glass, the liquid sloshing slightly as she pushed it to and fro.

‘It’s hardly the sort of thing I could share without making some sort of explanation, is it? What was I supposed to say? Hey, everyone! Guess what? Jack and I have decided to get a divorce. Oh, and by the way, in case you hadn’t noticed, I’m pregnant. Isn’t it just peachy?’ She grimaced. ‘Hell, Jack, I’m a doctor. If I can’t get birth control right, what sort of example am I to my patients?’

‘Must have been tough for you.’ Jack gave her an understanding smile, which slowly faded when she frowned at him.

He reached for her hand, stopping the restless movement of the glass. His thumb caressed her wedding ring, rubbing her skin lightly on either side. The warmth of his touch felt good, made her realise how chilled her fingers were.

‘Liz, let’s leave this for another time.’

‘I won’t change my mind.’ Her voice sounded wobbly, hoarse. She had to be strong. Hers wasn’t the only life affected by her decisions any more.

‘I know.’

She sucked her lips between her teeth to quell their trembling. ‘Then what’s the point?’

‘The point is you’re tired, I’m still jet-lagged.’ He smiled in appeal. ‘I promise we can resume hostilities after a good night’s sleep. Scalpels at dawn. Cross my heart.’

A snorting half-laugh escaped before she could stop it. ‘I hate that you can make me see the absurdity of this when I’m still mad as hell with you.’

‘I know.’ He grinned.

‘There’re a lot of things that need to be said.’ Still reluctant to be charmed by him, she said, ‘Serious things that you can’t smooth over with a bit of a joke, Jack.’

‘Yes, but there’s no rule that says we have to say all those things tonight, is there?’ He stroked her knuckles, his blue eyes held an engaging appeal. ‘Truce?’

She contemplated him in silence, common sense and exhaustion waging a short war with her need to settle her future—their future—one way or the other. ‘All right. Until tomorrow.’

‘I’ll consider myself on notice.’ He gave her hand a quick squeeze before releasing it and lifting his glass to chink it lightly on the edge of hers. ‘Until tomorrow.’

The uneasy peace held until the end of the meal. Jack seemed to put himself out to enchant her in a way that he hadn’t since the very early days of their whirlwind courtship and spur-of-the-moment marriage.

She pushed her plate away and sat back. The spring evening was chilling slightly, but she felt too lethargic to bother getting a cardigan. Moving might somehow break the spell that kept them in this civilised cocoon. And she was enjoying this reminder of her romance with Jack, a brief interlude before reality intruded again. She smiled slightly as the baby kicked against the hand she’d just rested in her lap. Not all reality was content to be ignored.

‘I spoke to Danny McIntyre,’ said Jack, breaking the companionable silence.

‘Did you?’ The lovely warm glow from her thoughts winked out abruptly. She met his eyes as she rubbed her stomach gently, trying to soothe the little being within.

‘The accident this morning sounded bad.’

‘Yes. I thought you didn’t want to argue,’ she said in a vain effort to stop the discussion. Might as well ask her unborn babe to stop using her bladder for football practice.

‘I don’t. We’re not.’

She wasn’t fooled by his conversational tone. ‘So you get to choose a topic but I don’t? Maybe I don’t want to discuss this topic.’

‘Is that because you broke the first rule of first aid at the accident scene?’

‘Did Danny say that?’

‘No.’ He smiled slightly. ‘What Danny did was give me a glowing description of your courage as the car teetered on the bridge.’

‘Hardly teetering. By the time I got there they had the car stabilised. They were just waiting for the jaws-of-life.’ She frowned. ‘You didn’t give Danny a hard time about this, did you?’

He ignored her question. ‘But it was still on the edge of the bridge. You shouldn’t have put yourself at risk.’

‘I made a judgement call. The woman was making her injuries worse by moving around,’ said Liz, her heart pounding. She’d been so afraid for the young victim. No force on earth could have prevented her from getting into that car. ‘What was I supposed to do? Leave her alone there until she severed something vital on a jagged edge? She was pregnant and afraid she was losing her baby, Jack.’

‘Is that why you did it?’ he asked softly after a moment. His eyes were dark, hard to read. ‘Because she was pregnant? Because you were viewing the situation as a fellow mother-to-be rather than a doctor?’

‘Yes. Is that so bad?’ But she already knew the rational answer. A responder putting themselves at risk at an accident could very well end up becoming another victim, making more work for others at the scene.

‘It could have been if something had gone wrong.’

‘Nothing did.’ His criticism of her actions hurt more than she’d thought possible. That he was right didn’t help. ‘You always say there’s no point dealing in could-have-beens.’

‘I also believe in reviewing ops afterwards and seeing where we could have been more effective.’

‘I was effective and I didn’t get hurt.’ Unable to sit any longer, she stood, picking up her plate and reaching for his, only to find both of them whisked out of her hands.

‘I’ll look after the dishes.’

‘I’m capable of carrying a few plates.’ She loitered beside her chair, heaviness dragging at her limbs.

‘Sure, but you don’t need to tonight. Go and sit down.’ He stacked the plates and scooped up the empty glasses before glancing up to find her standing in the same spot. ‘Are you still here?’

‘I—I think I’ll go to bed.’

‘Good idea. Take the master bedroom. I’ve put fresh sheets on the bed.’

Quick heat burned her cheeks as she remembered their exchange of words earlier. ‘Thanks.’

‘Hell, Liz. I didn’t mean that the way it must have sounded.’

‘It doesn’t matter.’ She waved a hand in dismissal and forced her leaden legs to move. ‘Goodnight.’

It did matter.

Jack blew out a breath of frustration and guilt after she’d gone. He’d seen her face fall, a tell-tale blush briefly hiding the pallor of fatigue. The quip about the sheets had been unintentional. Sure, he’d had some harsh thoughts while he’d been making the bed up. But common sense told him, as much as he burned to sleep with his wife, it wasn’t going to happen while they had so much unresolved. Though he’d have been happy to put forward an argument on how it might help them resolve their problems…But then, that was how Liz had ended up pregnant in the first place, so perhaps not. Sharing a bed with Liz was probably a long way down the track.

He dropped the dishes in the sink and looked out at the gathering twilight. His sanity might be in question before this was over. The thought of her in bed on the other side of the house made him ache.

He’d come home to save his marriage, prepared to talk about having a family if that’s what it took. There should have been discussions, reconciliations—he’d especially been looking forward to those. But they were supposed to ease into it, approach the problem like mature adults, set a timetable that they could both be happy with. There should have been a decision to stop using contraception, the fun of trying to conceive and, eventually—maybe—Liz falling pregnant. Not this headlong pitch into impending parenthood.

He wasn’t ready.

Which made him realise that the problem with his imaginary future was that he’d never truly envisaged a pregnant Liz, the birth of a child.

Himself as a father.

And yet once his younger self had wanted that role fervently until grief and betrayal had crushed the naive joy in his heart.

Suds filled the sink as he squirted detergent under the running tap. Could he resurrect an echo of that anticipation for Liz, for the child they were going to have together? If anyone deserved his best efforts, it was his wife. But contemplating their future as parents left him cold and empty.

He sighed and began methodically washing the plates. After his experiences with his manipulative mother and then with his unfaithful fiancée’s pregnancy, he’d vowed to squash every nurturing instinct he possessed. For the first time he understood how thoroughly successful he’d been. Poor Liz. She’d never agree to take him back if she realised what an appalling candidate for fatherhood he really was. He’d have to work hard to make sure she never found out.

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