Marriage Reunited: Baby on the Way. Sharon Archer

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.