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

“Let’s make sure there hasn’t been any silent dilation going on,” the doctor said, as she headed for the sink.

As before, Mark left the room to give her privacy.

After washing her hands, Dr. Hart donned a pair of gloves and nodded toward the closed door. “That’s some friend you have.”

“It looks that way.” Juliet closed her eyes during the exam, whispering a prayer that all was well. That she hadn’t dilated any more, that her baby was safe in her womb for the time being.

“Good,” Dr. Hart said, removing the gloves and tossing them in the trash. “Nothing’s changed since last night.”

Juliet blew out the breath she’d been holding, as Dr. Hart opened the door to call Mark back into the room.

“I think we’re home free,” the obstetrician told him. “This time.”

“Thank goodness.” Mark blew out a little whistle and slid Juliet a smile, providing a sense of camaraderie. Teamwork. Something she hadn’t experienced since her brother’s accident.

The doctor made a note in the chart, then glanced at Juliet. “If you promise to stay off your feet, I’ll let you go home.”

“That’s great.” Juliet knew she’d feel better in the privacy of her own little apartment, close to her photographs and memories. “Thank you.”

“But I’m talking extreme bed rest,” the doctor stressed.

Mark cleared his throat. “Juliet doesn’t have anyone to look after her, so maybe she ought to stay here.”

For several weeks? Was he crazy? “That’s ridiculous, Mark. I’ll rest better and be happier at home.”

Dr. Hart glanced up from the chart. “I’m not sure how your insurance carrier will feel about you staying here for more than a day or so. Do you have someone who can stay with you?”

“No, I live alone. But I promise to take it easy.”

“Oh, yeah?” Mark made his way to Juliet’s bedside. He’d seen the way she’d been “taking it easy” at The Hitching Post. “Doctor, you can’t trust her not to get up and do the dishes or scrub floors or clean out closets or something like that.”

“Then maybe we’d better keep you here.” Dr. Hart, attractive even in green hospital scrubs, leaned her hip against the bed and crossed her arms.

Disappointment swept over Juliet’s face, and Mark felt like a real spoilsport. But she didn’t have anyone to look after her. He doubted Mrs. Tasker, who liked to park her butt by the cash register, would volunteer to help.

Juliet looked at him and frowned, tossing a guilt trip on him.

Mark supposed he could check on her. After all he was staying across the street.

“I can look after her.” The comment popped out before Mark could think about the ramifications. And when Juliet and the doctor faced him, he realized backpedaling would be next to impossible now. He was committed. And he’d taken a stand. But that didn’t mean his gut wasn’t twisting.

Juliet shot him a wide-eyed stare. “You can’t be serious about staying with me.”

“Why not?” The question couldn’t have surprised her any more than it had him. Hell, Mark had not only volunteered to babysit a woman who was on the verge of going into labor, but now he was trying to convince her—and maybe even himself—that it was a good idea.

“You can’t waste your time taking care of me.” Juliet pressed the control button that raised her up in bed. “You’ve got work to do.”

He shook his head. “I don’t have anything pressing to do.”

“That’s not true,” she countered. “You’ve got a news article to write.”

“The story, as I’ve told you before, is a joke. And the article can practically write itself.”

“So, what’s the verdict,” Dr. Hart asked. “Do I sign these release papers or not?”

Mark crossed his arms. “Sign them.”

“All right,” the doctor said. “I’ll have the paperwork processed. Then I’ll send an orderly to take you out in a wheelchair.”

When Dr. Hart left the room, Mark ran a hand through his hair. Juliet’s back might feel much better this morning, but his hurt like hell.

What he really needed to do was get out of here, shower and maybe take a nap.

He glanced at Juliet and saw reluctance in her expression. Resentment, too? He wasn’t sure. But she’d been overruled, and he had a feeling it didn’t sit well.

Strangely, for a guy who liked to come out on top himself, he wasn’t feeling too happy about winning this argument.

And he hoped to hell he hadn’t bitten off more than he could chew.

Thirty minutes later, Mark brought his rental car to the curb at the main entrance of the hospital. Then he helped Juliet into the passenger seat.

He was taking her home. And that fact brought on a flurry of other concerns, things he hadn’t considered when he’d volunteered to look after her.

There was no way around it. He would have to put in a significant amount of time with her. He’d told the doctor he’d take care of her, not pop in and out several times a day.

What if something went wrong in the middle of the night?

He’d have to stay there until she was no longer at risk for premature labor.

But how big was her place?

Where would he sleep?

On the sofa, he supposed.

The crick in his back, the one he’d woken up with, ached all the more, just thinking about being camped on her sofa for the next week or so. Damn. He was going to have to see a chiropractor when this stint in Thunder Canyon was over.

As they drove past the newly constructed Ranch View Estates, Juliet peered out the window, studying the pine tree-lined entrance, the bright, colorful flags and a sign announcing that Phase I was now available.

“That’s a nice housing development,” she said. “One afternoon, on my day off, I looked at the models.”

Mark nodded, but didn’t comment. He didn’t have any inclination to set down roots, to purchase a home and landscape a yard. Especially not in Thunder Canyon.

At thirty-eight, he’d yet to buy a place of his own. And why should he? He was always off on assignment, living in hotels that the news service paid for.

He turned left onto Main and followed it until they neared The Hitching Post.

“Can you drive around to the rear entrance?” Juliet asked. “I don’t feel like going through the dining room looking like this.”

“Sure.” He didn’t think she looked bad at all, not after what she’d been through. But he didn’t argue. He swung around to the back, where a black Chevy S-10 pickup with a vinyl cover on the bed was parked next to a trash bin.

Mark nodded toward the custom truck with a lowered chassis. “Whose is that?”

“It’s mine.”

“You drive a pickup?” He chuckled. The lady was full of surprises. “Somehow, I figured you would drive a racy red sports car or a flashy white convertible.”

“Hey, that little truck is special to me. It was my brother’s pride and joy.”

Was ?

She’d told him the baby was her only family.

Unable to quell his curiosity, he asked, “What happened to him?”

“He died about eighteen months ago, and since he’d listed me on the title, I inherited his truck.”

“I’m sorry,” Mark said, the words feeling inadequate but necessary.

“I’m sorry, too.”

A heavy silence filled the interior of the car, and Mark wanted it to end, wanted to lighten the mood. To make her feel better. But it was hard to know what to say to someone who’d lost a loved one. He knew how impotent sympathetic words could be. No one had been able to ease his grief after his sister died. Not when her death had been his fault.

His parents had never forgiven him for what had happened that stormy evening. But he supposed that was to be expected. He’d never forgiven himself, either.