Karen Rose - Montana Dreaming

Juliet flashed her a sincere smile.

Then the woman pushed her empty cart away.

Mark’s jaw locked, like the Tin Man’s after a heavy rain.

But Juliet had a feeling he might not be silent when they got back to the car.

Mark gripped the steering wheel and stared straight ahead. He didn’t want to fight with Juliet, but he didn’t want her getting chummy with his folks, either.

Not while he was still in town.

He wasn’t up for a family reunion. Not yet. And maybe not ever.

“I didn’t mean to put you on the spot,” Juliet said. “Are you angry with me?”

“No, not really.” He was just frustrated, especially since he refused to share enough of his past to make her understand.

Years ago, Susan had tried to push him to reconcile with his family before their wedding, since Mark had refused to invite his parents.

“I don’t want to chance ruining a day that’s supposed to be happy,” he’d told her.

Like Juliet, his fiancée hadn’t understood the falling-out and had thought the absence of the groom’s family would look weird to people. When Mark had finally leveled with her, opening his guts and explaining why he and his parents didn’t have a close relationship, she’d backed down.

It might have been his imagination, but she’d never seemed to look at him the same after that. So, from then on, he’d intensified his resolve to keep his shameful secret to himself.

Still, Mark didn’t want something from the past to affect his relationship—or rather his friendship—with Juliet. “It’s your apartment, and you can socialize with anyone you want. But I don’t appreciate you inviting my parents to dinner without talking to me first. That’s all.”

She nodded, as though she actually understood his feelings rather than the filtered half-truth.

“I’m sorry it bothered you.” Juliet turned in her seat, facing him. “I should have waited to say something. But your mother seems very nice. And since I’m a new resident of Thunder Canyon, I like meeting people who live in the community.”

He could understand that, but he still didn’t like being pushed. Forced to do something that chapped his hide. “Why don’t you invite my parents to dinner after I’m gone?”

She didn’t respond right away, which made him think the conversation had died a slow death. Thank God. But as they neared The Hitching Post, she brought it up again. “I wish you weren’t so stubborn.”

He bit back a hard-ass retort. It wasn’t Juliet’s fault that he didn’t want to be around his parents. Well, his father, anyway. And she had no inkling of the kind of cruel accusations that had been slung at Mark years ago, accusations that still hurt, that still echoed in his mind.

You no good rebellious bastard.

You son of a bitch.

You let your sister die.

You killed her.

Get the hell out of my house. And don’t ever come back.

To this day, he could still feel the grief, the guilt, the pain of rejection.

There probably weren’t too many sixteen-year-olds who, after an outburst like that, would’ve dropped their heads and plodded to their rooms with their tails between their legs.

Mark certainly hadn’t.

He’d thrown a few belongings into a knapsack, grabbed his jacket and stomped off into the stormy night, determined to either escape the godawful guilt or die in the process.

But he hadn’t done either.

Around midnight, the sheriff found him thumbing a ride out of Thunder Canyon, sopping-wet and chilled to the bone.

“I can’t believe you’d run off at a time when your family needs you,” the uniformed officer had said.

Mark clamped down his shivering teeth, refusing to say anything in his own defense. And after a speech about minors and curfews, the sheriff had taken him back home.

It didn’t take an honor student or an Eagle Scout to figure out his dad wasn’t particularly pleased to see him walk in the front door, even though he hadn’t said a damn thing. The hateful scowl his old man had worn was an image Mark would never forget.

“Sorry to hear about the loss of your daughter,” the sheriff had told his parents. “It’s a damn shame.”

Jess Anderson had merely grunted, then climbed into the old family station wagon and driven down the mountain to the motel, where he’d holed up until the funeral.

His mother had burst into tears again, leaving Mark to face the sheriff alone. He’d actually wished the police officer would have pressed charges against him. Manslaughter. Negligent homicide. Something.

But he hadn’t.

Still, every time his old man looked at him, each time his mother went into his sister’s empty room and cried, whenever someone in the community whispered behind Mark’s back, a gavel in his head pounded out his guilt.

And he couldn’t blame them. It had been a tragic, rebellious mistake that couldn’t be corrected.

Mark slid a glance at Juliet, and a jab of remorse struck him in the chest. She didn’t know the demons he wrestled with, and he damn sure wasn’t about to reveal them to her. But she didn’t deserve the harsh words he’d lashed out at her. “I’m sorry, but my dad made it clear years ago that I was a disappointment to him. That he wanted me out of his house and his life for good.”

“Maybe time has changed things.”

“Not my memory.”

“What about your sister’s memory?”

His heart pounded in his chest, and his hands grew clammy as they gripped the steering wheel. “What about it?”

“Did your sister find it hard to forgive and forget, too?”

Juliet had no idea how badly the past haunted him. But he wouldn’t let on. He couldn’t. “No, my sister always got along fine with my parents. They favored her.”

And he could now understand why. Prior to her wedding, she’d always done whatever they asked, whatever was necessary to keep the home fires burning while they worked at the motel from dawn to dark.

On the other hand, Mark had resented being stuck on the mountain, so far away from town, especially when his dad could have made life easier by living within city limits.

“I’m sure your parents miss her,” Juliet said.

No doubt about that. His mom had been looking forward to being a grandma, even if Kelly wasn’t too keen on being a mother. But Mark didn’t want to go there, didn’t want to encourage Juliet’s curiosity.

“And since you’re all they have left,” she continued, “I’m sure they’d welcome a reconciliation.”

“For cripes sake, Juliet. You don’t know them. You don’t know me. You don’t know anything about what tore our family apart.”

“You’re right,” she said. “But I’m just trying to help. Sometimes getting things out in the open gives a person a new perspective.”

He felt badly about snapping at her, but wouldn’t apologize. Why encourage her to push harder, to probe deeper? So he held his tongue, hoping to assuage the guilt. Hoping to end the conversation. But Juliet’s eyes drilled into him, lancing the wound and releasing a brand-new assault of pain, guilt. Regret.

“What did they do to hurt you like this?” she asked. “To make you hold a twenty-year grudge?”

“They didn’t do squat.”

“Then did you do something?”

The truth of her question pierced him to the bone, but he refused to answer. “I’d rather not talk about it.”

“Why not?”

“Dammit, Juliet. Would you get off my case?”

The words had no more than left his mouth, when he cringed at the sharp edge, at the bark, at the way he’d hurled them at her.

God, she wasn’t going to fall apart on him and start sniffling, was she? He hoped not. He didn’t deal well with tears—especially when he couldn’t tell if they were real or fake. Susan, his ex, had been able to shed tears on demand.