Karen Rose - Montana Dreaming

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By

JUDY DUARTE, an avid reader who enjoys a happy ending, always wanted to write books of her own. One day she decided to make that dream come true. Five years and six manuscripts later, she sold her first book to Special Edition.

Her unpublished stories have won the Emily and the Orange Rose and in 2001 she became a double Golden Heart finalist. Judy credits her success to Romance Writers of America and two wonderful critique partners, Sheri WhiteFeather and Crystal Green.

At times, when a stubborn hero and a headstrong heroine claim her undivided attention, she and her family are thankful for fast food, pizza delivery and video games. When she’s not at the keyboard or in a Walter Mitty-type world, she enjoys travelling, spending romantic evenings with her personal hero and playing board games with her kids.

Judy lives in Southern California and loves to hear from her readers. You may write to her at: PO Box 498, San Luis Rey, CA 92068-0498, USA. You can also visit her website at www.judyduarte.com.

To Emalee Rae Colwell, who made her appearance in time to give Grandma a refresher course on birthing rooms and the miracle of childbirth.

Welcome to the world, baby girl!

In addition, I’d like to thank Christine Rimmer, Allison

Leigh, Pamela Toth, Karen Rose Smith and Cheryl St John, the other authors in the MONTANA series, for making this book a pleasure to write.

Juliet Rivera had always favored the aroma of grilled onions and green peppers, but tonight, the kitchen smells of the busy bar and grill triggered a wave of nausea.

“Are those fries up yet?” she asked, arching her back and trailing her fingers along the contour of her distended womb.

God, she hoped everything was all right. The baby had been unusually quiet today, which increased her concern about working after Dr. Hart had recommended she take it easy. She didn’t want to risk triggering premature labor, but she needed to support herself and the child she was going to bear.

Buck Crowley, the burly cook who’d once practiced his culinary skills on navy seamen, slid the plate toward her and grumbled. “You tell that fortune hunter that I’m not making them any crisper than this. French fries aren’t supposed to be as hard as matchsticks.”

“Thanks, Buck.” Juliet made her way through the dining room of The Hitching Post and placed the well-done fries in front of the lanky customer who’d asked her to take them back to the kitchen.

She watched him poke a finger at the heaping platter of extra-crispy potato strips, apparently checking to see if they were made the way he’d requested.

He wasn’t going to send them back again, was he?

If he did, she could imagine Buck storming out of the kitchen and into the dining room. The retired military man wasn’t prone to confrontations with the customers, but he, along with some of the other Thunder Canyon locals, didn’t appreciate all the strangers who’d flocked to the charming Montana town with hopes of striking it rich.

Years ago, several other gold rushes had lured their share of prospectors into Thunder Canyon. But the Queen of Hearts mine had played out, and Buck believed the contemporary gold-seekers would end up disappointed.

Juliet crossed her arms over the shelf her belly made and shifted her weight to one foot, waiting for the customer’s approval.

Dios mio, señor. Cual es su problema? With just under six weeks to go until her due date, she’d probably give birth before he decided whether the fries were good enough.

Juliet was dead on her feet and ready to clock out, especially after her visit to the emergency room two days ago. But she couldn’t leave yet. The Hitching Post was hopping like a Saturday night, and it was only the middle of the week.

The persnickety customer finally shrugged his shoulders, then reached for a fry. When he popped a second one into his mouth, she turned to go, pausing as her boss approached.

Martha Tasker, a matronly woman who wore her silver-streaked hair pulled into a topknot, placed a hand on Juliet’s shoulder. “I’m worried about you. How’s it going?”

Other than sore feet and a twinge of nausea whenever she neared the kitchen? Juliet forced a smile. “I’m fine. Thanks.”

“No more fainting spells?”

“Not since Sunday afternoon.”

Mrs. Tasker studied her, as though trying to make her own assessment. “This is your just first night back on the job. We can try to handle the load without you. Why don’t you call it quits until tomorrow?”

Because Juliet’s small nest egg was only enough to see her through delivery and a few weeks after that. What would she do when it was gone? She’d been told there would be a workman’s compensation settlement that would go to her brother’s estate, but that could take years, and she wasn’t counting on it.

She flashed her employer another smile, one she hoped boasted more confidence than she felt. “As soon as the dinner crowd thins out, I’ll go home.”

“Good,” Mrs. Tasker said, as she began to wind her way back to the cash register she manned. “We don’t want that baby comin’ into the world too early. That fainting spell nearly gave me a heart attack.”

“What fainting spell?” a husky baritone voice asked.

Juliet glanced over her shoulder and spotted Mark Anderson, a reporter for a major news service who’d been sent to Thunder Canyon to cover the gold rush. Apparently, he’d just entered the dining room and had overheard her conversation with Mrs. Tasker.

She guessed him to be just shy of six feet, although he looked monstrously tall with his hands on his hips and glaring at her like a highway patrolman who’d just snagged a reckless driver. His dark hair, a bit long and unruly, bore a tinge of gray at the temples, so she judged him to be in his late thirties.

“It was nothing,” she told him, although the fainting spell and ambulance ride to the hospital had been pretty scary.

The reporter eyed her carefully. “Have you seen a doctor?”

Juliet wasn’t sure why he asked, why he cared. But she couldn’t see any reason not to answer honestly. There were too many people in this world who didn’t tell the truth, people who kept secrets. And she’d be darned if she’d be one of them. “I have a doctor. And I saw a resident obstetrician in the emergency room at Thunder Canyon General. Everything is fine, although I’m supposed to take it easy.”

“Then what are you doing here?” His husky voice, with the hint of a soft southern drawl, settled over her like a drizzle of melted chocolate. But his probing eyes weren’t nearly as sweet and comforting.

A strand of hair that had come loose from the gold clip she wore while at work tickled her cheek, and she swiped it away with the back of her hand. “What does it look like I’m doing?”