Escape for New Year. Shirley Jump

sunshine, they glittered like a pair of cut jewels. “We’ll do some research.”

      The urge overtook her. She threw her arms around him and kissed his bristled cheek. She loved his weekend shadow, the sexy roughness against her lips, the graze when he gifted her one of his delectable morning kisses.

      “For some reason I thought you’d say no.”

      “What will you call him?” he asked, slipping his hands into his trouser pockets as they continued down the sweet-smelling path that led to the gazebo. The white lattice was patterned with a riot of cardinal creeper blooms, deep vibrant scarlet in color. Beautifully fragrant, too.

      “I’d have to see him, or her, first,” she told him. “I’ve never thought you could name a member of the family until it arrived.”

      On their way up to the gazebo platform, his step faltered and Laura gnawed her lip. As lead-ins went, it’d been a clumsy one, but they had to talk about it sometime.

      When he sat down on the surrounding bench, she positioned herself close beside him and folded a fallen lock away from his brow.

      “I don’t want us to be afraid of what might go wrong,” she said, “when it has to be better to think about everything that can go right.”

      When he only looked away, Laura chewed her bottom lip again. After considering her next words, she delivered them as carefully as she could.

      “I know it must have been hard when your brother died.”

      “We were newborns,” he said, his brow creasing as he found her gaze. “And that has nothing to do with us.”

      “I was only trying to talk—” But the line of his jaw was drawn so tight, his eyes suddenly looked so shuttered. Knowing when to back off, she ordered her locked muscles to relax. “I know you don’t like talking about it. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

      Bishop drove a hand through his hair and groaned. She was dead-on. He didn’t like discussing his twin. It dredged up feelings he’d rather not entertain. Feelings of guilt and helplessness and, the real kicker, loss.

      But looking at Laura and her bowed head now, Bishop felt something inside of him shift. They’d never really talked about it during their marriage. If she wanted to discuss it now, hell, maybe he ought to. Perhaps something would tip off her memory and he would be on his way—out of the damnable bittersweet mess.

      “We were identical,” he began, letting his threaded hands fall between his open thighs. “I got most of the nourishment before we were born. The other twin—”

      “Your brother.”

      “—died four days later.”

      “And you feel bad about that.”

      He felt an urge to explain that it wasn’t his fault. That was life and his parents had never held it against him. But they had been the half truths he’d told her the first time.

      Hell, his parents had made him live through that time every birthday, every Christmas, first day of school, on Easter egg hunts, at graduation. If only your brother were here. How sad your twin isn’t at your side today.

      Okay. He got it. He respected their regrets and dedication to the son they’d lost. But just for once in his life he’d have liked to achieve and be noticed without mention of that incident.

      He blew out a breath and admitted, “Yeah. If ever I think about it, I feel … bad.”

      Laura was nodding. “My mother felt bad about passing on her heart condition. Until I told her I was so grateful she had me and if the price was having a metal bit in my chest and taking some medication, that wasn’t too high.”

      “But when you were conceived your mother didn’t know the risk.” He and Laura had been aware. Therefore they’d had a duty to act responsibly.

      “I’m glad my mother didn’t know about her condition,” Laura said. “And she admitted she was glad she didn’t, either. She always said her children were her life.”

      A smile tugged at his mouth. What mother wouldn’t be proud to have such a beautiful daughter? And Grace? Well, Grace might be a witch but, after her comment yesterday about second chances, the vote was out. Even if it was too little too late. He wished they’d had her support when it mattered.

      “And all this,” he said, getting to the heart of the matter, “is leading up to the fact that you want to have a family the old-fashioned way.”

      Her eyes glistened with innocent hope. “I really do.”

      The last time they’d had this conversation almost two years ago, he’d agreed. Laura had been thrilled and within weeks had confirmed her pregnancy. It should have been all rainbows and happy families from there on in.

      Far from it.

      He didn’t know which had been worse. Watching his mother trying to hide her pain for years after his brother had died, or going through Laura’s pain after her miscarriage. If he’d stuck to his guns and had said it was adoption or nothing, would she have told him to go? Or would they be happy now with a healthy baby, a healthy past, present and, hopefully, future?

      “So … what do you think?” she asked.

      He opened his mouth to shut down the conversation once and for all, but then he saw the hope swimming in her eyes and the steam went out of his argument. He held his breath, considered the options.

      There weren’t any.

      “I think …”

      Her lips curved up. “Yes?”

      “I think we need to think about it more,” he ended.

      Her smile wavered and her eyes dulled over, but then the disappointment faded from her expression, replaced by the inherent optimism he’d always loved.

      She pointed her white-sandaled toes out and flipped them prettily in the air.

      “The Nutcracker’s playing in town,” she said, changing the subject. “Tonight would be sold out but I wonder if we could get tickets for tomorrow.”

      The ballet?

      The last time they’d gone they’d had an argument. One of his more notable clients and his wife had witnessed the scene. Bishop wasn’t a fan of tutus and tights at the best of times. After that night he’d sworn never to sit through another Fouetté en tournant as long as he lived.

      Sensing his reluctance, Laura let her toes drift down. “I know ballet’s not your thing …”

      “No, it’s not. But it is yours,” he added.

      Going to Sydney tomorrow evening would leave them with another twenty-four hours in this environment. If a few lightbulbs went off … if he were lucky … Hell, they might not get to the ballet at all.

      Five

      Before Bishop drove off to the nearest shops to get a few provisions, Laura had sussed out whether he needed condoms. She’d already checked the bedside drawer where he always kept them, and he didn’t need to stock up. There was plenty of contraception on hand.

      That was okay. She’d only broached the subject of them falling pregnant yesterday. Getting her husband to come around to her way of thinking—the way that put faith ahead of doom and gloom—might take a little doing. She could wait. She and Bishop had too much going for them to let this difference get in the way.

      She baked some pastries and had sat down at her laptop in her office when Bishop returned. She swung around in her high-backed chair as he moved up and lifted her face to him, waiting for a kiss hello. He searched her eyes for a long, heartfelt moment, then lowered his head and dropped a chaste kiss on her cheek.

      A band around her chest pulled tight. He’d avoided kissing yesterday, last night. But for that peck, he hadn’t