Judy Duarte - Montana Dreaming - Their Unexpected Family / Cabin Fever / Million-Dollar Makeover

What the hell was he doing? Juliet was in good hands. Competent hands. He didn’t need to go in there. They didn’t need him. Besides, he’d done his duty. His good deed for the day.

But when Juliet turned her head and looked at him, those misty, mahogany eyes locking on his, he saw the fear, the nervousness. The need.

He offered her a wimpy smile, and when she turned her head away, he ran a hand through his hair. He didn’t have any business going in there with her. He wasn’t the baby’s father. Or her husband.

But Juliet didn’t have a mother or a sister. She was new in town. And he doubted she’d made any friends, not with her schedule. Hell, none of her co-workers had jumped in to help.

Right now, she only had him.

The nurse pressed at the button that automatically swung open the doors, then pushed Juliet through.

Mark followed behind, like a clueless steer on its way to a slaughterhouse.

They plodded along the hall, his Italian loafers clicking on the spanking clean floor, the nurse’s rubber soles making a dull squeak with each step. They passed several open doorways Mark was afraid to peek into and continued along a glass-enclosed room that held incubators for the tiniest and sickest of patients. All of the little beds were empty, thank God.

Would Juliet’s baby be placed in one of them?

The possibility jolted his heart, jump-starting his pulse.

Oh, for cripes sake. Mark wasn’t a worrier. Not by nature. It was just the pregnancy, the vulnerability of both woman and child.

And his own fears brought back to life.

He swore under his breath. Juliet was just having a backache, right? From working too hard and carrying the extra weight of a baby. She hadn’t been especially worried until Martha Tasker popped up like a jack-in-the-box, with the tale of her own labor, stirring things up. Making something out of nothing.

Mark followed the bed into a room that looked more like a bedroom than a private hospital room. Pale green curtains graced the window that looked out into a frozen courtyard that was probably colorful and vibrant during the summer.

Decorated in pink, green and a touch of lavender, the color scheme and homey touch of the room probably helped ease the nerves of laboring expectant mothers. But it didn’t do a damn thing to ease Mark’s anxiety, not when he spotted medical gaskets and gizmos that reminded him of where they were, what they faced.

“Here’s a gown,” Beth Ann said. “As soon as you slip it on, I’ll examine you.”

An examination? Oh, cripes. Not an internal exam.

The nurse asked Juliet, “Would you like him to stay in here?”

Oh, hell no. Not on a bet. Mark cleared his throat, then started backing toward the door. “Why don’t I step out of the room for a little while. You can come and get me when it’s all over.”

When it was all over. Not just the exam.

The nurse nodded as she reached for a box of rubber gloves.

Mark couldn’t get out of the birthing room fast enough. If he ever had a kid of his own, he wouldn’t be hanging around and watching that kind of a procedure. No way.

He ran a finger under the collar of his shirt, then scanned the hospital corridor, where a floral wallpaper border softened the sterile white walls.

If there’d been anyone else who could be here for Juliet, he’d be out of here faster than a sopping-wet dog could shake its fur.

But she didn’t have anyone.

And that’s why he stayed.

Moments later, the nurse poked her head out the door. “You can come in now.”

He nodded, then stepped inside. But before he reached Juliet’s bed, an attractive woman dressed in medical garb approached and introduced herself as Dr. Hart.

“I think she’s in the early stages of labor,” the nurse told the obstetrician. “And she’s about two centimeters dilated.”

Dr. Hart nodded, then approached Juliet. “I’d feel better about delivering your baby a couple weeks from now. So I’d like to give you something to stop labor and another medication that will help the baby’s lungs develop quicker, in case your labor doesn’t respond to treatment.”

When the doctor and nurse left them alone, Juliet shot Mark a wobbly grin. “You don’t have to stick around. I’ll be okay.”

Hey, there was his out. His excuse to leave. But he couldn’t take it, couldn’t walk away knowing she was all alone. “What if you need a ride home?”

“I can take a cab.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Then he sat back in his chair, unsure of what the night would bring.

And hoping to hell he could step up to the plate.

This time.

Juliet stretched out in the hospital bed, wishing she could go back to sleep. The medication Dr. Hart had given her last night seemed to have worked. The backache had eased completely within the first hour of her arrival.

But that didn’t mean she’d rested well. And neither had Mark, who’d stayed by her side the entire night.

More than once she’d told him he could go back to the inn, but he’d refused. And she had to admit, she was glad he hadn’t left her alone.

She suspected hanging out with a pregnant woman at the hospital hadn’t been easy for him. A couple of times, he’d gotten a squeamish I’d-rather-be-any-where-but-here look on his face. But he’d persevered like a real trooper.

Now he dozed on a pale green recliner near the window, hands folded over the flat plain of his stomach, eyes closed, dark hair spiked and mussed. He lay there for a while, unaware of her interest. And then he stirred.

She watched him arch his back, twist, extend his arms, then cover a yawn with his fist. When his eyes opened, he caught her gaze. “Good morning. How are you feeling?”

“Tired, but the backache is gone.”

“That’s good news.” He gripped the armrests, manipulating the chair to an upright position, and stood like a knight in rumpled armor.

And that’s how she thought of him. Real hero material—in the rough.

With a wrinkled cotton dress shirt and tousled hair, the cynical reporter might not make another woman sit up and take notice this morning. But another woman hadn’t appreciated him pinch-hitting for the men she no longer had in her life.

Her brother Manny had been a macho guy, tough and gruff on the outside. But he’d also been a softy in the middle—at least, when it came to his little sister. And Mark appeared to be cut from the same bolt of cloth—a comparison made without any effort on her part.

There were men, as Juliet had learned the hard way, who wouldn’t stand by a pregnant woman.

Her baby’s father was one of them.

For a moment, as Juliet watched a sturdy, broadshouldered Mark walk toward the window, she pretended that she had someone in her corner. Someone who cared enough to stick by her.

And, at least for the past twelve hours, that had been true. Mark had been there for her when she needed a friend. And that was something she’d remember long after he’d taken another assignment and left Thunder Canyon.

She watched as he drew the floral curtains aside, allowing her to peer into the dawn-lit hospital courtyard. She wondered what the grounds looked like in the summer, when the patches of snow had all melted and the rose garden bloomed.

The door to the birthing room cracked open, and they both turned as Dr. Hart entered. The slender woman with light brown, shoulder-length hair approached the bed. As in the past, she exuded professionalism and concern. Yet last night Juliet had noticed something different about her. A happy glow that lingered this morning.

“Good morning,” the doctor said. “Did you have a restful night?”

“I didn’t sleep too well,” Juliet admitted, “but I’m feeling all right. No apparent labor.”