Chapter TEN
LIZ blinked at the rapidly blurring sight of Jack’s fingers intertwined with hers. How stupid to ask if he was disappointed. The man didn’t want to be a father—why would he care if they had a boy or a girl? Though most men had a gut reaction about wanting a son. Someone to carry on the family name.
Would Jack have been happier if she’d been carrying his son? Not that it’d made any difference with her own father—he’d ignored both her and her brother with cold impartiality.
Jack’s answer was the very best she could hope for. He’d been more accepting of his position as a father-to-be than she’d expected. She shouldn’t want more. And yet part of her wanted much, much more.
Jack’s thumb began to rub slowly along her index finger. The tiny caress was mesmerising, almost unbearably sensual. She’d always loved his hands. So strong and intrinsically masculine. She sealed her lips against an avalanche of silly, need-filled questions that pushed to be spoken.
Did he still love her? He hadn’t said it since he’d been back. He’d never been a man who spoke of his feelings often. And she hadn’t found it necessary to hear it before. But now…Pregnancy stripped her emotions to a raw dependency, shaking her usual confidence. An unsolicited declaration of love would be a balm.
Did he want to hold her or was her rounded body repulsive to him? She longed for a hug, for some physical contact from him with a desperation that frightened her. How could she ask for his touch? Asking would diminish the gift.
‘Liz?’
She turned her head slowly to find him watching her intently through brooding, half-closed eyes. Her heart turned over as his gaze slipped down to her mouth and lingered there. The urge to slide her tongue out to moisten her lips, to leave them parted provocatively, was overwhelming.
‘Yes?’ she managed, her voice rough. She swallowed, waited, hardly daring to breathe.
After a long, charged moment he leaned forward, his midnight-blue eyes still holding hers as he touched his lips to her mouth. So gentle, so undemanding that she could feel emotion welling in her chest again. His lips rubbed hers softly and her eyelids fluttered closed with the delicious sensations. She could feel his breath on her cheek and a faint rasp of his five-o’clock shadow. His teeth grazed her bottom lip lightly.
When he would have broken the contact, she leaned towards him, holding his mouth with hers. Would she have to beg for more of his kiss, for his touch? She sensed his hesitation. A reluctance. Fear and humiliation trickled into her stomach. Had she disgusted him with her hunger?
Just as she was about to pull away, his arm curved across her back, drawing her closer until her head was cradled on his shoulder. His other hand curled around her neck, tilting her chin, holding her as he deepened the kiss. His lips were firm and commanding on her mouth. She twisted towards him, running her hand across his nape, spearing her fingers into his hair.
He groaned softly, scooping her onto his lap, his arm resting on her belly as his hand splayed over her lower back. Her right breast was pressed to his chest and her body revelled in the contact as the kiss went on.
How had she ever thought she could live without this?
She murmured a protest as a frantic flurry of kicks erupted in her belly.
‘Uh-oh.’ Jack broke off the kiss slowly and rested his forehead on hers. She could hear his uneven breathing and delight blossomed in her chest. He wasn’t immune to her. ‘Someone’s not impressed.’
His hand moved from her spine and began rubbing her stomach in soothing circles, spreading warmth across her tight skin.
Liz sighed. ‘She’s the only one, though.’
‘Yeah. I’ve been wanting to do that since I got home,’ he murmured. ‘You’re a mean kisser, Mrs Campbell.’
She swallowed hard. His words had her teetering on the verge of weeping again.
He chuckled. ‘Our daughter has very bad timing.’
Her answering laugh was more of a small hiccup. But her urge to cry evaporated and she was grateful to him for dispelling the tension.
‘Yes, she does, doesn’t she?’ She drew back and looked into his face.
His slow smile made her heart lurch.
A muffled beep sounded impatiently from her bag where it hung over the back of a dining chair. She sighed. ‘I’d better get that.’
‘You’re not on call, are you?’ he said as he helped her to her feet, his hands warm on her hips as he steadied her.
She straightened her clothing self-consciously, her skin hyper-sensitive to the movement of the fabric.
‘No. I’m hoping it’ll be the OB in Melbourne returning my call about Sarah.’ Aware of Jack just a pace behind her, Liz walked across to the table and rummaged in her bag for the beeper. ‘He wasn’t available when I called earlier.’
‘I’ll get dinner started while you make the call.’
‘Thanks.’ She shivered as he brushed her hair aside to press a small kiss on the nape of her neck. It took a moment to focus her mind on the workings of the little device in her hands so she could retrieve the number she needed to ring.
Jack listened to the murmur of Liz’s voice on the telephone. Felt the tension built by their embrace begin to ease out of his body. His wife was one very sexy woman. He had to remind himself she was nearly seven months pregnant and wouldn’t be interested in fooling around.
Just as well she had her own on-board sentry to keep him in line. He grinned as he looked down at his arm, remembering the fluttery feeling of the baby’s objection to having her mother manhandled.
The baby. His baby. A girl. He was going to be the father of a little girl. The magnitude of it hit him again. A daughter who was going to depend on him to make wise decisions, to provide guidance, a good example.
A peculiar uncertainty held him motionless at the sink for a long minute.
Had his mother felt this dilemma, this almost paralysing doubt about her ability to make the right decisions? Her usual approach to life had seemed to be to make no decision rather than take charge. But, thinking about it now, he realised that was a decision of sorts. He’d been filled with impotent rage after his sister had died. His mother had done nothing to care for the toddler that fateful day. Back then, he’d been certain he’d have done better.
And again at eighteen, when Kylie told him she was pregnant, he’d been so sure of his ability to handle things.
Now, sixteen years later, instead of feeling wiser and even more sure of himself he felt…terrified.
But he wasn’t going to falter. Not when Liz and his daughter needed him. He was going to take charge and if his decisions weren’t always But he wasn’t going to falter. Not when Liz and his daughter needed him. He was going to take charge and if his decisions weren’t always right, at least he’d know he’d done the best he could.
He ran a hand around the base of his neck. Oh, God. One day his daughter was going to be a teenager—full of righteousness and confidence and attitude.
Knowing everything.
Knowing nothing.
Just like he had.
And the world was a different place now, so much faster, so many more reasons to be cautious. Today’s pitfalls had potentially catastrophic consequences. Drugs, mobile phones that doubled as spy cameras, creeps on the Internet. And what would be around in another eighteen years when his daughter was ready to date?
She wasn’t setting foot outside the house until he had to let her out to vote. He smiled wryly at his first decision—a knee-jerk, unrealistic pledge that didn’t have a hope.
But somebody had to protect her from testosterone-ridden youths. Like he’d been. Lord, why on earth had Kylie’s mother let him anywhere near her daughter?
Not that he’d done anything sleazy. Not like some of the males around these days with the party drugs that seemed to be a part of the kids’
social scene. And date-rape drugs. What sort of pervert resorted to those measures to get laid?
If anyone did that to his daughter they’d have him to answer to.
Liz was home early again. The thought gave Jack a quiet sense of satisfaction as he pulled into the garage and parked beside her car. Good.
She’d been more relaxed the last couple of days. Even resting until he got home without him having to nag. Since Sunday. Since their embrace, in fact. As though something had shifted mentally for her and she accepted that he was in this family for the long haul.
He ran a hand over his face, feeling the grit on his skin. He wrinkled his nose at the acrid smell embedded in the material of his overalls.
Smoke and ash. House fire, the type he least enjoyed fighting. The elderly owner must have collected every newspaper since the Dustin Courier had started printing a century earlier and stored them in the hallway and near exits. The woman was now safely tucked into hospital suffering from mild smoke inhalation. She’d been lucky. They’d all been lucky. It could have ended very differently. None of the crew liked going to fires that involved a fatality.
Jack decided he’d have a shower and then wake Liz.
He crossed the patio, frowning when he realised the sliding security door was unlocked. In the dining room two large rubbish bags sat bulging on the floor and kitchen paraphernalia bristled from a box on the table. What was going on?
Muffled sounds came from down the hall. He walked through the house and realised that each room was getting the same treatment.
Overflowing bags and boxes were scattered about on the floor.
For a weird, suspended moment he wondered if Liz had decided he had to go after all. He peered into one of the bags standing in the main bedroom door and was relieved to see some of her old clothes packed in there.
‘Liz?’
‘I’m in here. In the nursery.’
He strode down the hall to the room and stopped, stock still, in the doorway, his mouth hanging open.
‘Bloody hell!’
She looked around and gave him a brief, tight smile before turning her attention back to the flippers and goggles in her hands. ‘Thank goodness you’re here. Look, do you think you’re going to want this diving gear again? If you do, it’s really going to have to go out in the shed.’
‘What are you doing?’
‘Organising things for when the baby arrives.’ She tossed the gear into an open box at her feet and looked back into the wardrobe.
‘Does it have to be done tonight?’
‘Yes.’ She sounded determined, hearty, but he noticed her hand was shaking when she lifted it to her brow. ‘We haven’t done anything. Nothing at all. Our little girl hasn’t got anywhere to live, has she?’
‘Liz…’
He watched her reach into the cupboard to tug on the straps of a leather bag. He recognised his ten-pin bowling ball carrier. He stepped forward and took it out of her hands. ‘Stop it, sweetheart. You shouldn’t be lifting all this stuff in your condition. What’s got into you?’
‘Someone has to do something. I have to do something. I got a lovely carry-cot for the baby from the nurses at the hospital today and the nursery’s a mess. Look at it.’ Her voice rose a notch and wobbled slightly as she waved her hand around in an expansive arc. ‘It’s just a giant junk room.’
‘Yes, but why does it have to be done right this minute, darlin’?’ he said, using his most soothing tones. ‘Can’t it wait until we’ve had dinner? At least until I’ve had a shower?’
She focussed on him properly then and he saw her expression change to horror. ‘Oh, God. Look at you. You’re filthy, Jack. Get out of the nursery. Get out.’ She made shooing motions with her hands. ‘You’re probably dropping all sorts of horrid dust and debris and you smell like an old fireplace.’
He sighed and retreated to the door. ‘I’ll have a quick shower. In the meantime, try not to throw out all my old stuff, will you?’
She smiled weakly.
‘Why don’t you sit down until I come back?’ He sighed when she gave him the expected negative response. ‘Just promise me you won’t lift anything heavy, okay? I haven’t been to any of those prenatal classes yet so I don’t know what to do if you decide to give birth right here on the floor.’ He’d meant the words to lighten the moment, but the look she sent him was stark with horror. ‘Hey, I’m joking, darling.’
In the bathroom, he stripped off his overalls and turned on the water. What had changed? Something must have for Liz’s behaviour to have done such an about-face. They’d made great strides, but now everything seemed to have gone sour. He stepped under the stream of water, racking his brain to no avail for something he might have done to upset her. This morning they’d had a very friendly breakfast together before going their separate ways.
He soaped himself quickly, his mind on the expression on her face. Liz was afraid. His heart stumbled. Was there something wrong with her?
She didn’t look ill. She looked gorgeous, radiant and…worried.
He finished his shower in record time and dragged on a pair of comfortable old jeans and a T-shirt.
Back at the nursery, he found Liz staring into a half-filled box on the rocking chair, her arms wrapped tightly around her body.
‘Liz?’
She started at the sound of his voice, her hands jerking into action as though someone was pulling an invisible string. She grabbed something out of the box and held it up. One of his old shirts. ‘What about this? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you wearing it.’
‘Stop for a minute.’ He reached for her, turning her so he could tug the shirt from her grasp. He tossed it back in the box and held her hands until her reluctant gaze came up to meet his. ‘Speak to me, sweetheart. What’s the urgency here? What’s changed since this morning?’
Tears welled in her eyes and spilled onto her cheeks. She seemed to wilt before his eyes. ‘It’s the baby.’
Dread clutched his stomach with cold fingers.
‘What about the baby? Is there something wrong with her?’
‘No, she’s. Fine. But she’s…c-coming four w-weeks earlier.’ She spoke haltingly, the words struggling out, almost incoherent around huge sobs.
Jack swore softly and scooped her up into his arms, feeling the quiver running through her slight frame. Her arms came up to cling to him and she pressed her face into his neck. He hugged her to him for a moment then looked around for somewhere to sit. The clearest surface was an old blanket chest beneath the window so he carefully picked a course to that and settled her on his lap.
He held her while she cried, rocking slightly, waiting until the worst was over. ‘Any gentleman worth his salt would offer you a snowy white handkerchief about now.’ He shifted slightly, groping under his thigh and pulling out the lump that he’d been half sitting on. A peanut-shaped cushion. ‘I don’t suppose this will do?’
He was rewarded with a watery chuckle. ‘Thanks, but I’ve got my own.’ She blew her nose then settled back against his shoulder.
He laid his cheek against the top of her head and waited for her to speak.
‘Tony sent me for another scan and it confirmed that I was a month out.’ Her voice was low and steady.
‘Oh.’ He took in the words, turned them over. ‘But wouldn’t you know? I mean, what about…? Doesn’t your period stop when you’re pregnant?’
‘Usually, yes. And the due date is calculated by using the date of the last menstruation.’ She sighed. ‘But Tony thinks that I must have been pregnant even though I was still bleeding. He did query my dates after the first scan, but I didn’t really think it was possible.’
‘I see. Bit of a shock, huh?’
He felt her nod, her hair brushing under his chin.
‘But the baby’s okay, isn’t she?’
‘Yes.’ Her agitated fingers pleated and twisted one corner of the handkerchief.
‘Okay, then. We can deal with this.’ He did some mental calculations. ‘The baby’s still not due for…what? Six weeks?’
She nodded again.
‘Right. So this weekend, we can go shopping on Saturday morning. Splurge on all the things we need for her. You make the list.’ He looked around the room. ‘It doesn’t need painting in here. And I can organise the gear. Easy, darlin’. The job’s as good as done. We just have to wait for her ladyship to make her appearance.’
He felt her begin to shake, listened as another huge sob escaped.
‘Hey? What did I say wrong?’
‘Nothing.’ She sniffled and squeezed out words in small bursts. ‘You’re. Being. So good about this.’
‘And that’s why you’re crying?’ He stroked her back in circles, hoping to soothe her.
‘It’s not that.’ She gulped and blew her nose again. ‘It’s me. I’m ruining everything.’
‘Tell me how you’re ruining everything?’
‘You don’t want children and I’ve trapped you into staying because I’m pregnant. And I don’t know how to make it work.’ Her words tumbled out, running into each other in her hurry to get them said. ‘And I’m going to be a terrible mother.’
‘You’re going to be a fabulous mother,’ he said, latching onto the last thing she’d said while he tried to sort out the others.
‘And we haven’t got a name for her. We haven’t even discussed it.’
‘Emma.’ The name popped out, catching him by surprise. Had his subconscious been working on the idea since he’d found out their baby was going to be a girl? Now he’d said it aloud, there was a sense of rightness about it.
‘Emma?’
‘Hmm.’ He touched her stomach, stroked the taut fabric, feeling the hard warmth of the baby mound. ‘If you like it.’ This was the perfect opportunity to broach the subject of the toddler’s death, but the words felt as though they needed to be wrenched from some deep emotional well.
‘My sister’s name.’
‘You have a sister? You never told me.’
‘Had.’ His hand stilled and he meet her gaze. ‘She died when I was thirteen. Meningitis.’
‘Oh, Jack.’ Her green-gold eyes were filled with tenderness. ‘How awful.’
‘Yeah.’ He reached up to wipe the residue of teardrops from her cheeks with his thumb. ‘I felt responsible for a long time.’
‘But how could you? You were a child, too.’
‘I was thirteen. I knew Em was sick. She was vomiting and cranky when I tried to pick her up to comfort her. I could feel how feverish she was.’
He sighed. ‘And I left her with Janet.’
‘But you were a child yourself, darling. What choice did you have?’ He could hear her anger on his behalf.
‘I made Janet promise to take her to the hospital or I wouldn’t go to school. She promised because the school had been on her back about my truancy.’ He shrugged. ‘Maybe she meant it when she made the promise, but after I left she must have got into her stash instead.’
Liz’s arm came around his shoulder and she held him. Her support gave him the encouragement he needed to tell her the rest of it.
‘I went home at lunchtime and found them both unconscious. Em was covered in spots. The ambulance came and took them both to hospital.
Janet lived. Em died later that day.’ His mouth twisted, the taste of bitter grief as fresh as though it were yesterday. ‘And I wished it had been the other way around.’
‘Oh, darling. You must have been so angry.’
‘Yeah. And I made sure Janet knew how much. Not long after that she overdosed.’
‘You still feel guilty for what happened to them, don’t you?’ Tears welled in her eyes and he knew they were for him.
‘Don’t, sweetheart.’
‘Why not? Someone should weep for you and Emma. You were a little boy carrying an adult’s responsibility. And it wasn’t fair.’ She leaned forward and wrapped her arms around him. Her pregnant stomach pressed against him quietly as though even the baby appreciated the gravity of the moment. ‘It was Janet’s job to look after both of you. Not yours to look after everyone.’
He held her as tightly as she held him. And after a while he realised his pain wasn’t quite as sharp, wasn’t quite as poisonous.