Karen Rose - Montana Dreaming

“I can see how it would have been more convenient for everyone involved if they’d lived closer to the motel.”

“Yeah, well that was just another thing we argued about. And even though I think my mother agreed with me, she didn’t press him about it.”

“And so you’re holding all that over his head now?”

Mark tensed. “That and a few other things.”

“Like what?”

He fiddled with the keyboard of his computer, as though he hadn’t heard her. And she wondered if the discussion was over on his part.

Then, as if her question wasn’t still lingering in the air, he signed off the Internet and shut down the computer. “I’m starving. Are you ready for a bowl of cereal?”

“I guess so.”

“Good. Once I fix your breakfast, I’ll do the laundry. I’m running out of clothes, and I figure you are, too.”

“You’re not going to do my laundry,” she said without thinking. If Mark didn’t help her with it, who would? She was supposed to stay off her feet, and she didn’t think the doctor would approve of even a simple activity like throwing her clothes into a washer and dryer.

“What are you going to do?” he asked. “Wait until your clothes are all dirty and buy new ones?”

She couldn’t do that. But she felt funny about him washing her things, especially her bras and panties. Maybe she could set her undies aside and wash them in the bathroom sink. That wouldn’t be any more strenuous than washing her hands, would it?

“Now that we’ve got that settled,” he said, “do you want cornflakes again? Or the granola stuff?”

Apparently, he’d decided not to try and cook again. And she got the feeling he wasn’t comfortable in a kitchen. He probably ate all of his meals out. But she was getting tired of cereal every morning.

“A toasted bagel and cream cheese sounds good for a change.”

“Okay.”

She watched as he puttered around the kitchen, preparing breakfast.

He’d been so good to her. Just like Manny or her father would have been.

When the baby was here and life was back to normal, she’d cook for him. That is, if he was still in Thunder Canyon.

Maybe she shouldn’t hold back her thanks. “I appreciate what you’ve done for me, Mark.”

“No problem.” He pulled the jug of milk from the fridge. “You don’t have anyone else to look after you.”

And neither did he, which was sad, especially since his parents were still alive and nearby.

She realized he was avoiding them, something that didn’t feel right to her. She opened her mouth to quiz him again, but thought better of it. For now anyway.

In a day or so, she’d bring it up again, because she intended to learn more about that falling-out they’d had. And given the chance, she would encourage him to mend that rift.

Mark might balk at her interference, but she was only looking out for his own good.

Juliet and Manny might have loved each other and been close, but they hadn’t always seen eye to eye. But it was love that held a family together, in spite of the differences of opinion.

If anyone knew how to handle stubborn men when they were wrong, Juliet did. And she knew how to get her point across.

Especially when it was in a man’s best interests.

For the next couple of days, Juliet let the subject of Mark’s family ride. But on Saturday afternoon, after he’d gone across the street to the inn to check for telephone messages, she realized she couldn’t avoid it any longer.

When he entered the apartment, he wore a blue flannel shirt under a brown leather jacket, which he peeled off and hung on the coat tree by the door. “I never could get used to this unpredictable Montana weather. It’s supposed to be spring. But I swear we’re in for another storm.”

“Did you get what you needed at the inn?”

“Yeah.” He kicked off his shoes, then checked the thermostat.

“You know,” she began. “Something is puzzling me.”

“What’s that?”

“You told me that after that falling-out you’d made peace with your family.”

“We talk.” He strode toward the window and peered outside.

“Then why, if your folks own the Big Sky Motel, are you patronizing the Wander-On Inn?”

He turned and crossed his arms. “Because the inn is more convenient. It’s in the middle of town.”

That might be true. But she knew there was more to it than that. “Have you seen your parents yet?”

His movements slowed; his expression tensed. “No. I haven’t had time.”

But why had he been able to find time to come into The Hitching Post each evening and chill out at the bar first?

“Have you called them?” she asked.

He shrugged and headed for the kitchen. “I talked to my mother a week or so ago.”

“Maybe you ought to drop by the motel for a visit.”

“They’re pretty busy.” He opened the refrigerator and pulled out a can of soda.

“Do you know what I think? That the falling-out isn’t over at all.”

“So what if it’s not?” He pulled the tab and took a long, steady swig before setting the can on the countertop. “Not every family is close, Juliet. And some of us prefer it that way.”

“How about your sister? Do you talk to her?”

He stiffened, then touched the hole on the top on the aluminum can, his index finger circling the sharp edge. “My sister is dead.”

“I’m sorry. How did it happen?”

He caught her gaze, but didn’t speak. His eyes swept down to her lap, where her hands rested around the bulge of her tummy.

He finally said, “It doesn’t matter.”

“Why not?”

The muscles in his cheek twitched, and his jaw tensed, as though he was holding back.

“Were the two of you close?”

He shrugged again, but the tension didn’t leave his face. “I guess so.”

Juliet had told him about Manny’s death. Her dad’s, too. So it seemed only fair to ask. “Was it an accident?”

The question hung in the air, making it hard for Mark to breathe. “Yeah. It was an accident.”

And it had been. Sort of. Mark hadn’t meant to screw up. But he wasn’t going to go there, wasn’t going to discuss it with Juliet.

“That’s too bad,” she said.

Yeah. It was.

She probably figured it was a car accident or something like that. But Mark wouldn’t correct her. Hell, even if he felt like opening up, revealing his guilt and pain, an expectant mother sure as hell didn’t need to hear how his sister and her unborn baby died during labor.

“If you’re the only child your parents have left, I imagine they would welcome a reconciliation.”

How could she be so damn optimistic all the time? So naive?

“Things are more complicated than that,” he explained. “More complex. And I’d rather not talk about it.”

“Families are a blessing, Mark.”

Oh, for cripes sake. Why couldn’t she just let it go? Quit nagging at him?

He didn’t need a ration of guilt to upset his lunch. To ruin a quiet afternoon.

“Why don’t you approach them first? Maybe ask them out to dinner?”

Mark bristled. He’d kept his guilty secret bottled up inside for so long that he wasn’t going to relive it, not even in dialogue.

“You know what?” he asked her. “I’ve got cabin fever. Maybe I ought to take a walk before it starts snowing.” As he made his way to the door, she followed, grabbing him by the sleeve of his flannel shirt.

“I’m sorry, Mark. I’m just trying to help.”

“Well, don’t.” He raked a hand through his hair. “I need some fresh air.”

As he reached the doorknob, she sucked in a breath. His feet slowed, but he kept a forward motion.

“Oh, my God,” she said. “Wait.”

He turned to acknowledge her voice—not her command—but she was looking down, her lips parted, her eyes fixed on a dribble of water running down her legs.