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
