Bride on the Children's Ward / Marriage Reunited: Baby on the Way (23 page)

L
IZ
had gone. Taking her demands with her. Leaving blessed silence in her wake. Jack picked up a screwdriver and waited to feel the relief.

But it didn’t come. Instead, he felt…shame.

He’d hurt Liz. Pain had been raw in her voice. She’d begged.
Begged.
And, coward that he was, he still hadn’t found the courage to speak.

He threw the tool back on the bench in disgust. Frustration sent him pacing across the concrete towards the house. What the hell was he going to do? He halted, spun around and took the half a dozen steps back to the fire pump. Then stopped again.

He had to find the gumption to talk to Liz. Because of his silence their marriage was combusting, a conflagration that threatened to destroy everything that was good in his life. The only tools he had to save it were words, facts about the past. He took a deep breath.

He had to lay them out for Liz. Ugly as they were. Just give them to her. Trust that she would know what to do with them,
with him
, after they’d been spoken.

He didn’t know what he’d do if she found him less worthy once she knew the whole sordid story. The other important women in his life, his mother and his fiancée, hadn’t found anything about him worth staying around for.

But he had to take the chance. If he didn’t, he was going to lose her anyway.

Before he could change his mind, he strode out of the garage and crossed to the house. His romantic table setting mocked him as he walked through to the hallway.

The door to the main bedroom was closed. He lifted his hand to knock and saw the smears of grease and dirt on his skin. His fingers curling into his palm, he stepped back and huffed out a breath. Now that he’d made the decision, he was almost impatient to get on with the talking—half-afraid his courage would desert him. Still, he couldn’t go to Liz like this.

A few minutes later he’d stripped and stepped into the shower. The water jet played directly on the tense muscles of his neck, sluicing down over his shoulders to rinse away the suds as he soaped. If only he could wash away the grime in his past as efficiently as he rinsed the dirt off his body.

He’d always thought of himself as a straightforward sort of a person, someone who had put the past behind, moved on, not dwelled on old pain.

But now he had to face the fact that coping with his mother’s vagaries had left its mark, a deeply buried anger about the way she’d treated him and her negligence with her own daughter, his little sister.

Emma.

He squeezed his eyes shut as he remembered the way the two-year old used to toddle towards him, her chubby arms out wide, asking to be picked up. She’d always turned to him rather than Janet if he was around. It hadn’t taken her long to learn he was the one most likely to soothe her hurts, clean her up, feed her. That little life had depended on him and he hadn’t been there when it had really counted.

She’d been sick when he’d gone to school, but Janet had promised to take her to the doctor. She’d
promised
. By the time he’d got home his little sister had been gravely ill and their mother had been as high as a kite. He’d called an ambulance. The paramedics had given Janet an injection to reverse the effects of the drugs, much to her disgust. Jack had sat in the casualty department of the hospital. Breathing the sickly smell of antiseptic. Listening to his mother’s muttered curses behind the cubicle curtain. He’d prayed that the doctors could help his sister. But nothing had pulled little Emma back from the brink of death.

And then there was Kylie. Another memory he hadn’t dredged up for years. Teenage lover, mother-to-be, fiancée. She’d been right, or rather her mother had. They’d been way too young to marry and start a family.

Kylie’s angry words echoed down the years. She’d thrown her infidelity at him, taunted him with the fact that the baby she’d just miscarried hadn’t been his.

But he’d wanted that baby so much, been utterly stricken by its loss. And then he’d had to struggle with grief that didn’t go away just because he’d found out that his best friend was the father. One minute he’d nearly been a husband and father and the next…nothing.

For the first time he wondered if he’d been so determined to look after his pregnant fiancée as a way of atoning for not saving Emma.

Once Kylie had dumped him, he’d put it out of his mind, determined to move on.

No looking back.

Ever.

But now that was exactly what Liz wanted him to do. What he had to do to save his marriage.

God knew why people thought it helped to talk about the past. He was only contemplating talking to Liz and he felt sick to his stomach. If thinking about it made him feel this bad, how would actually speaking make him feel?

Facing a large going fire with nothing but his bare hands seemed an easier option. He turned off the water and reached for the towel.

Dressed and back at Liz’s door, Jack rapped lightly on the wood.

No answer. He hesitated a moment, then reached for the handle, pushed the door open. She was curled up on the bed, her back to him. The gentle curves of her body’s profile reminded him how he used to love running his hand over her smooth skin, across her ribs, down into the valley at her waist and up onto the bone of her hip.

He walked quietly around the bed, savouring the sight of his sleeping wife for a few precious moments.

The bump of her pregnant belly was only slightly less astounding than it had been that morning. Almost as though she’d been taken over and shaped by something alien. He smiled slightly, thinking that Liz might not appreciate the analogy. In a way, her body had been taken over…by his baby.
His baby.
He moved his tongue in a suddenly dry mouth.

Maybe if he’d been here from the beginning, it wouldn’t seem so strange. The changes, the growing, would have been gradual. Pregnancy obviously made her more tired. Napping like this, so easily and particularly when she was upset, was completely out of character.

He frowned. Was it just the pregnancy or should she be taking vitamins or something? Had she had all the proper prenatal checks? Did she have backache? Headaches? Swelling feet? Had she suffered with morning sickness? He didn’t like to think of her here alone struggling with the symptoms while he was away.

Not that he’d have been able to do anything useful. Janet had taught him that he wasn’t much good in a sickroom. His mother had turned into a semi-invalid during her pregnancy with Emma and his bumbling efforts to help her hadn’t been appreciated. Though he wasn’t completely useless because he’d often looked after his baby sister. But the toddler had been easy to please, a joy to care for.

His heart squeezed uncomfortably. The urge to cherish Liz, wrap her in cotton wool, protect her, was incredibly strong. But maybe the protection she needed most was from him, from his past and his latent anger about those distant events.

Moving closer, he could see she’d been crying. Lashes clumped in spikes by moisture. A couple of wadded tissues sat on the bedside table.

The coward in him was tempted to tiptoe out, leave her to sleep longer. Quashing the impulse, he crouched beside her, his gaze following the delicate line of her jaw. With the back of his knuckle, he stroked the soft skin of her cheek gently until her eyes opened.

She rolled her head to look at him.

‘Hey.’ His voice was husky.

‘Hey.’ She regarded him solemnly.

‘I’m sorry, Liz.’ He took her hand, ran his thumb over the back of her long, slender fingers. ‘I don’t mean to hurt you.’

She sighed softly. ‘I know.’

Her uncomplicated acceptance of his apology was a boon. She seemed sad, but she wasn’t judging him. It was more than he deserved and her generosity freed him in an odd way. He traced the gold band of her wedding ring. ‘No one’s ever wanted to know about me, really know about me or my feelings, the way you do.’

‘What about your grandmother?’

‘Yeah, well, she did. In her way.’ He squeezed her hand then released it as he stood up. Preparing to talk like this made him want to move, to pace, but there was nowhere to go. Holding himself still was an effort. He ran his hand around the back of his neck. ‘Nanna was from a different generation. She was in her late seventies by the time I went to live with her permanently. By then I was thirteen with chips on both shoulders.’

‘Thirteen? But…I thought your grandmother brought you up.’ Her eyes were full of questions.

‘I let you.’ He rolled one shoulder, tilted his head, felt the tightness in his muscles. ‘Nanna did her best for me when she could. When Janet and I lived with her on and off.’

‘Janet?’

No wonder she sounded confused. He was making such a hash of this.

‘My mother.’ He turned, took a couple of steps to the window seat, subsided onto the cushion and pressed his fingers into the padded edge as he eyed Liz warily.

‘You called your mother Janet?’

‘She preferred it. I don’t think she thought of herself as a mother.’ He leaned forward, put his elbows on his thighs and clasped his hands. ‘Maybe being called by her name made her feel less responsible.’ He clenched his jaw then continued, ‘I went to live with my grandmother after Janet died.’

There was a small silence. ‘And she died when you were thirteen?’

He nodded once then looked down at his hands. A faint oil stain was still trapped in the crease of one thumb knuckle. He rubbed hard at it with the other thumb. ‘From a drug overdose.’

‘Jack—’

‘I found her after school. But it was too late. That time.’

‘That time?’ Liz’s voice wobbled but he couldn’t look at her. ‘It—it happened more than once?’

‘Yes. Janet was an addict. She lived in the moment. If it felt good, she tried it.’

‘Oh, Jack.’ In his peripheral vision he saw Liz sit up and swing her feet off the bed. For a moment he was afraid she was going to come to him. If she touched him now, he’d disintegrate.

‘Where was your father while all this was happening to you?’ She sounded like she would cheerfully go into battle for him. His heart swelled, leaving his chest agonisingly full.

‘I don’t remember him. He was killed. Car accident. I was three.’ His voice rasped out the short, stark sentences. But for the life of him he couldn’t seem to form a nice flowing prose to soften the bald facts.

‘Oh, Jack,’ she said again. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘Yeah. Well.’ He shrugged. This time he glanced at her in time to see a tear slip down her cheek. He tried for a reassuring smile, but his face was stiff and uncooperative. ‘I didn’t lack male roll models if that’s what you’re worried about. I had uncles.’

‘U-uncles?’ She swiped the moisture off her cheek.

‘Whichever man Janet was involved with at the time. She thought having me call them uncle made us more like a family.’ Now that he’d told her the worst, the words were coming more easily. But he’d still be glad when this was over. ‘She never found anyone who was prepared to take on someone else’s kid long-term.’

‘That’s what you meant this morning with that comment about uncles?’

‘Yeah,’ he said flatly. He glanced at her belly then met her eyes. ‘I don’t want that for any child of mine.’

‘No. No, I can see that you wouldn’t.’ Her voice was little more than a whisper. She licked pale lips. ‘Is this the reason why you don’t want to have children? Because of the way your mother treated you? Because of the way the
uncles
treated you both?’

He nodded. ‘Part of it.’

‘But not all of it?’ She looked at him shrewdly. ‘You must see you would never be the sort of parent that your mother was, Jack. You have choices. You hate drugs. You never lose control. You are honourable and trustworthy and you never take the easy way out. That’s not going to change.’

Her staunch support made him uncomfortable, almost claustrophobic.

‘Perhaps I can come to you for a reference,’ he quipped, hoping to lighten the atmosphere.

‘Any time, any time at all.’ She sounded as though she meant it. Her eyes were warm and expressive as they clung to his. ‘Thank you for telling me this, Jack. I know how hard it was for you.’

‘Yeah…well…’ He fought the urge to squirm. She was thanking him and he’d only told her part of the story. Just like she’d said—he filtered the facts about his life, fed her titbits. He didn’t want to keep her at a distance, but it was too much to expect him to be able to bare every single thing tonight.

He’d tell her…but for now it had to be enough that he’d made a start.

‘D
INNER
will be ready.’ Jack stood, feeling the relief flow through his body at the movement. He was strangely exhausted. Talking was damned hard work.

‘Yes. It smells delicious.’ Liz shifted, bracing herself to rise.

‘Here.’ He stepped to the edge of the bed, held out his hands and pulled her easily to her feet.

‘Jack?’ She stopped him from turning away with a hand on his forearm. The muscles that had eased with the end of their conversation suddenly tightened again as he waited. ‘I’m sorry about some of the things I said last night.’ She reached up with her other hand and cupped his jaw. The warmth seeped through to his heart. He missed her touch when her fingers dropped to her side after softly stroking down his cheek. ‘You’ve always done more than your fair share of the cooking and I want you to know I appreciate it.’ Her smile turned cheeky. ‘Especially as you’re so much better at it than I am.’

Relieved and embarrassed in equal parts, he gave a small grin. ‘It’s no hardship. I’ve always enjoyed it.’

‘How did…?’ The words trailed off as though she’d thought better of her question. Perhaps she sensed his reluctance to be drawn back into more revelations.

‘How did I learn?’ He could tell her that much. Turning his arm, he captured her hand in his. ‘One of the uncles was Italian. Used to cook enormous feasts. Nick was the only uncle I was sorry to see go. He was the one that lasted the longest.’

‘What happened to him?’

He moved restlessly. ‘He got tired of Janet’s promises to stop the drugs so he left.’

‘Leaving you with your…with Janet? On your own?’

‘More or less.’ Nick had been Emma’s father and, for the three years he’d been around, the closest thing to a father that Jack had ever had. He could remember hoping the baby would mean that Nick would stay around. The exuberant Italian had been suing for the custody of his daughter when she’d died of meningitis. Too bad he hadn’t been quicker. At least that would have been one less burden for Jack’s conscience.

‘Are you okay?’

He blinked, pulling himself out of his thoughts. Liz’s eyes were searching his face, concern in the soft gold depths. Her beauty took his breath away.

‘Jack?’ A tiny frown formed on her face when he didn’t answer. With her face tilted up to his, her mouth was in a perfect position for kissing. All he had to do was bend slightly, dip his head—

‘Yes.’ His voice was little more than a murmur. Her tongue flicked out to moisten her lips.

‘Oh.’ Liz’s grip tightened with her sudden gasp, her strength almost vice-like. Alarmed, Jack reared back as she puffed small gasps of air, her eyes suddenly wide.

‘What?’ he demanded. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘A contraction.’ Puff. Puff.

‘What?’ Icy fingers clutched at his heart. ‘You’re delivering? I thought you weren’t due for months.’

Liz’s hold kept him still even though every instinct yelled for him to act, take charge. Do something
immediately
.

Except he had no idea what to do.

‘No. No.’ Puff, puff. ‘It’s a Braxton-Hicks. I—I didn’t realise they could be so strong.’

‘What the hell does it matter what it’s called?’ He took a deep breath. Yelling wasn’t going to help. ‘I’m taking you to hospital right now.’

‘No. Wait a minute.’

An eternity later, she smiled at him. ‘You can let go now.’

He looked down to where their hands were still linked, her fingers wriggling slightly in protest at his tight grasp. He chafed her hands, trying to rub away the red and white marks he’d left. ‘Sorry. I’m sorry. I still think I should take you to the hospital for a check-up.’

‘I’m fine now.’ She retrieved one hand to rub her lower abdomen. ‘And I’ve no intention of missing out on dinner.’

He frowned down at her. She was smiling as though nothing was wrong, as though she hadn’t just given him the biggest bloody fright of his life.

‘You’re so damned small,’ he said abruptly. ‘How the hell are you going to give birth to a baby?’

‘The way women have since the beginning of time.’ She sounded so happy, so complacent about her ability that he wanted to shake her. ‘I’m not giving birth in the middle of nowhere. The hospital’s birthing unit has the best care in the world.’

‘The best care in the world can’t save you if the baby’s too big. You should ask for a Caesarean.’

‘I will not.’ She looked up, her eyes dark with outrage. What was wrong with her? His suggestion was perfectly reasonable. ‘I want to have a natural birth.’

‘No.’

‘Yes. Jack, this isn’t all baby.’ She patted the mound affectionately. ‘There’s a lot of amniotic fluid in here, too.’

‘But you’re only two-thirds through the pregnancy. Look at the size of you already. And there’s still how many more months to go? Three? The baby’s going to be growing all that time.’ He glared at her. ‘Have you had tests?’

Her hands settled over her belly. ‘Yes, I’ve had all the necessary tests. I told you this morning everything is proceeding just as it should be. There’s no need to worry, Jack.’

‘It’s easy for you to say,’ he muttered. ‘You’re a doctor. You’ve been through this before.’

‘Not from this side I haven’t.’

‘Yeah, but you know what’s going on.’

‘Why are you so worried about this? There’s no sign that there’s going to be a problem.’

‘But—’ He stopped, swallowing the rest of his words. He couldn’t dump his fears onto Liz when she seemed so full of confidence in her body, in her ability to do this enormous job. He’d never send a probie out into the field to fight a fire with a head filled with horror stories. How could he undermine Liz about this?

‘But what? Jack?’

‘Nothing.’ He couldn’t tell her about Janet’s experiences with pregnancy. Or Kylie’s. Besides, they were topics he wasn’t ready to broach. ‘Nothing. Just don’t take any risks, okay?’

‘I won’t. I’m not.’

‘No, of course not.’ He ran a hand over his face, wishing he could wipe away his doubts.

‘Why do I get the feeling I’m not really reaching you?’ she said softly.

‘You are. You are, Liz. Just…if the doctor tells you that you need a Caesarean, don’t fight it. Promise me that much. Please.’

‘I will, if it’s necessary. But it won’t be.’

‘But I’ve got your promise?’

‘Yes.’

‘Good.’ He nodded. ‘Let’s eat.’

The following week, Liz said goodbye to the last patient for the Saturday-morning clinic. Juggling a bundle of records on her hip, she turned to lock the office door.

‘Should you be carrying those, Dr Campbell?’

‘Jack!’ She brought the folders around and clutched them to her chest, mortified to feel the rush of heat in her face. Her husband had caught her unawares and she was blushing? What was wrong with her?

‘Hand them over.’

‘What?’ Her scattered wits fumbled to understand. ‘Oh, the files? They’re not heavy.’

‘All the same.’ He scooped them out of her arms. The sensation of his skin skimming across hers and then the briefest contact of his arm on her breast sent a swirl of excitement through her stomach. She suppressed a yelp and hoped he couldn’t see how flummoxed she was.

‘Where are you taking them?’ he asked.

She looked at him blankly.

‘The files.’ With the stack balanced easily under his arm, he took her elbow. His fingers were warm on her bare flesh.

‘B-back down to the main desk.’

‘Lead on.’

She set off towards the lift, immediately missing his touch when his hand dropped from her arm. But at least her brain started functioning again.

‘What are you doing here?’ she asked.

‘I’ve come to whisk you away from all this.’

‘Have you?’ Her footsteps slowed as she looked up into his eyes. Merriment twinkled in the blue depths. She couldn’t help but be charmed by him. ‘I’ll come with you on the condition you’re whisking me away to somewhere I won’t have to move a muscle for twenty-four hours.’

‘Tired?’ His face creased in concern. ‘Are you working too hard?’

‘Yes, I am tired. And, no, I’m not working too hard.’ Surreptitiously rubbing a twinge along her side, she turned into the lift corridor. ‘You know, our maternal ancestors probably gathered berries all day and only stepped out of the briars to give birth.’

Jack pressed the down arrow then turned to look at her, his head cocked to one side. ‘I hope that doesn’t mean you intend to step out of the operating theatre to drop our baby in the hospital corridor.’

Amusement bubbled up at the picture his words painted. At the same time his easy use of
our baby
made her breath hitch. Did that mean he was coming to accept the thought of being a parent? Surely that was elation she was feeling…wasn’t it? The odd brew of contrary emotion caught her by surprise. She pushed it aside to think about later.

‘No, of course not.’ She stepped into the lift and pressed the button for the lower floor. ‘My point is that pregnancy is a normal function of the female body. I’m tired, not ill.’ And she’d be a darned sight less tired if she could sleep properly. Insomnia plagued her with Jack sleeping in the spare room. But she wasn’t going to tell him that. ‘So where are you whisking me to?’

‘Not far. I’ve got something to show you.’

‘What is it?’

‘Uh-uh, not telling. It’s a surprise.’ He ushered her out when the doors slid open. ‘You’ll like it. I promise.’

‘I am tempted.’ She sighed. ‘But there’s a mountain of washing waiting for me at home.’

‘All done.’ He grinned when she blinked at him. ‘And don’t worry, I colour coordinated. The whites are still white. It’s drying as we speak. It’ll be ready to bring in while you have a rest.’

‘Mmm. A domesticated man. Every woman’s favourite fantasy. You’ll have my head filling with all sorts of ideas,’ she teased.

‘Really? What sort?’ His voice lowered to a husky rumble and the world seemed to rock in response.

Her heart lurched into an alarming rhythm as she cast around for a safe response. ‘How about you with a broom in one hand and a feather duster in the other?’

‘Not quite what I’d envisaged,’ he drawled.

She forced the muscles of her throat to swallow. For a fleeting moment she was tempted to say something that would deepen the unexpected intimacy. But she felt strangely shy, unable to take the step. They had so much still to work through.

And then there was the pregnancy. Her hand lifted of its own accord to smooth her baby bump. She loved her growing body, all the changes that were happening. But it was dramatically different from her trim pre-pregnancy self. The changes that so delighted her might turn him off. She wasn’t ready to risk that level of exposure.

Liz walked the remaining distance to the main desk in tongue-tied silence.

‘Hi, Hilda,’ she said to the nurse on duty. ‘We’re returning this morning’s clinic files.’

She stood aside so Jack could put them on the bench.

‘Thanks, Liz. You’re a dear.’ Hilda winked at Jack. ‘Enjoy the rest of your day.’

‘We will. See you Monday.’ Liz felt Jack’s fingers stroke across the sensitive skin of her upper arm to close around her elbow again. ‘S-so…where is this surprise of yours?’

‘You’ll see. Let’s go.’

A few minutes later she was seated beside Jack in the fourwheel drive. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him turn to her. His hand rested on the edge of her seat. If she moved those few inches, she could lay her cheek on his fingers, invite his touch.

Suggest that he take her home…

And not to rest.

‘Are you feeling up to this? Just say the word and I’ll take you home.’ His words dovetailed straight into her thoughts.

‘I’m fine. Fine.’ Liz straightened, grabbing the seat belt and pulling it across her body. If she got it shut fast enough, maybe it could somehow contain the treacherous images in her head. Her fingers fumbled on the catch then finally snicked it into place. ‘Besides, I want to see this surprise you’ve promised.’

A short time later he turned into a nearly full car park. They were at Lake Dustin.

Liz bit her lip to stop herself from groaning aloud. Of all the places he could bring her while she was in danger of ambushing herself with unfulfillable lust…

Did he remember their first real kiss had been here? He’d spun her into his arms, his mouth capturing hers in an exquisite caress. She’d been as malleable as freshly wetted plaster of Paris in his hands. And just as hot. By the time he’d finished she hadn’t needed to walk the rest of the lakeside track—she’d floated beside him in a daze. He could have seduced her that day—if he’d tried. But he’d been more subtle than that.

‘I’ll never make the walk around the lake,’ she said as he opened the passenger door so she could climb out.

‘I know.’ The slow, wicked curve of his lips suggested that he remembered that kiss as well as she did. ‘We’re going to be very sedate, very…restrained today.’

She gulped in a breath and turned to pick up her handbag.

‘Come on.’ He dropped his arm around her waist and propelled her gently towards the gravel path. A small grey fantail darted and swooped in the shrubs to the side, completely unconcerned by their presence. ‘I’ve booked for lunch.’

In the cosy little restaurant they were greeted by the waiter. He took them out to the lakeshore seating and left them with menus to peruse, promising to return soon for their order.

‘Ah, perfect timing,’ said Jack, when they were alone. ‘Hear that?’

Liz became aware of a series of musical notes from across the water.

‘It’s our floor show. Look.’ Jack pointed out to the island near the edge of the lake.

An elegant black swan stood at the waterline with three downy grey chicks.

‘Oh, how gorgeous.’

‘See Mama farther up the bank? That’s her we can hear calling. She’s chivvying junior to hurry up and join the rest of the family.’

Liz searched and soon spotted the second swan. Another grey fluff ball was struggling to navigate tangled growth. The slender black neck dipped and stretched as the adult swan continued her scolding.

‘Tsk,’ she said, smiling. ‘There’s always someone who needs that last-minute bathroom stop when everyone else is ready to go.’