Montana Dreaming. Karen Rose Smith
the kitchen, looking for bowls and a box of cornflakes, he tried to shake off the image of what would have made a hearty breakfast going up in smoke. Of course, with all the fast food he’d scarfed down in his travels, his body could probably use the fiber from the cereal. Better to flush those arteries than clog them.
“It was really sweet of you to try and cook for me,” she said.
Yeah, well, he didn’t feel sweet. Or funny. And if someone downstairs heard that damned alarm and called the fire department, he was going to feel stupid.
A few minutes later, after the smoke had begun to clear, he fixed her cereal, adding the sliced bananas on top. Then he placed her bowl on the coffee table so she wouldn’t need to get up and walk any more than necessary.
“Thanks.” She tugged at his sleeve, drawing his attention. “And I’m sorry for laughing.”
“No you aren’t.” He tossed her a laid-back grin, sliding back into the easy banter they shared.
“Okay, I’m not.” She giggled again. “You should have seen the look on your face when that alarm went off. And the way you frantically swung that dish towel around like a dime-store cowboy trying to lasso the horse that had thrown him.”
“I think you enjoyed seeing me screw up.”
“Let’s say I found it entertaining. I’m competitive by nature. Maybe it’s a little sister/big brother thing.”
Was she saying she thought of him as a big brother? He supposed that ought to be kind of nice. Or touching. But for some reason it irked him that she thought of him that way. As if he were too old for her to consider as a lover—well, if she weren’t having a baby and all.
Nah. She couldn’t have been thinking about him as lover material. Mother Nature probably disconnected all the sexual urges when a woman got pregnant. In fact, he doubted Juliet thought about making love at all—especially now.
So why had sex crossed his mind—even briefly?
Maybe because it had been a while since he’d had time to spend on a relationship—as noncommittal as his were.
She swung her feet around to the floor and sat up to eat, making room for him to take a seat beside her on the sofa.
Actually, when Mark put his frustration and embarrassment aside, he had to admit it was nice seeing her smile, hearing her laugh. He shot her a crooked grin. “I looked like a cowboy, huh?”
“Roy Rogers at his worst.” Her eyes glimmered and her lips twitched, as she used her spoon to snag a slice of banana and pop it in her mouth.
Although he enjoyed a good joke, a part of him didn’t like her laughing at him. But he chided himself for being sensitive about something so minor and took a sip of coffee. As he savored the rich brew, he realized he’d done something right this morning.
He glanced at the ceramic cup—white, with a pink carnation trim along the edge. The pattern was bright and cheery, unlike the other things in the house. And he wondered if she’d had a hand in choosing the dishes. “Was the kitchen furnished, too?”
“The dishes are mine. I packed Mrs. Tasker’s set in a box and put them in the closet.”
Mark looked at his cup. “I’ll bet these are nicer than the ones she had.”
“I think so. They’re not fancy, but they were my grandmother’s, so they’re special.”
Yeah, well he was beginning to think Juliet was special, too. Over the years, she’d lost her family. Yet she didn’t seem beaten.
His gaze dropped to her stomach, to where she carried her child. Why hadn’t the father of her baby stepped up to the plate? Why hadn’t he wanted a pretty woman like her? Maybe, over time, the guy would change his mind.
“Tell me something,” Mark said. “Does the baby’s father know where to find you?”
“No.” She dabbed her lips with the paper towel he’d given her to use as a napkin.
Mark might not have any desire to be a husband and father, but if Juliet—or rather some other woman—was having his baby, he’d want to know about it. And he’d want to know where she and his child lived. “Don’t you think you should tell him? In case he needs to see the baby or send money?”
She thought for a moment, as if trying to find the words to defend her move out of state. Or maybe she was trying to decide whether Mark had been right, whether she ought to let the baby’s father know where she was residing.
After studying the pattern on her cereal bowl, she caught his gaze. The bubbly smile that had seemed permanently fixed moments ago had drifted. “I grew up in the barrios of San Diego. But I was raised in a loving home, and we were happy.”
He didn’t know what that had to do with anything, but he’d been curious about her past. So he shifted in his seat, facing her, letting her know he was interested in what she had to say.
“I never knew my mother. She left home when I was just a baby. But my grandmother moved in to help raise my brother and me.”
Mark wasn’t sure where she was going with this. Why was she skirting his question?
“My father worked at a neighborhood tortilleria to support the family. It was a small, family-owned business that didn’t provide health insurance for the employees. And even though my dad insisted Manny and I visit the doctor whenever we were sick, he didn’t like spending the money for himself.” She paused for a moment, her gaze drifting back to the pink carnation trim on her bowl. “When I was fourteen, he died of cancer. It had been a treatable case that went undetected until it was too late.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Me, too. But Papa was a man of great faith. And I know he’s in Heaven.” She offered him a sincere smile, one that held feeling, conviction and victory over grief. “It was tough back then, but Manny and I did all right. We took care of each other. And we held on to the values we’d been taught.”
Manny was her older brother, Mark realized. The young man who’d died in an industrial accident. Without meaning to, Mark glanced at the bookshelf, at the silver frame that held a smiling boy in a red baseball uniform.
“About four years ago, after I graduated from high school, I got a job waiting tables in a San Diego suburb at a small Mexican restaurant called La Cocina. And Manny took a night job as a stock clerk in a discount superstore. We pooled our resources and moved out of the barrio, where we could create a home together and start a new life. We’d dreamed of buying a house. It had been a dream of our father’s, then it was ours. Now it’s mine.”
Juliet, he realized, was made of sturdier stuff than she seemed.
She leaned back into the sofa. “Manny’s death was a real blow.”
And not just because of his youth, Mark realized. They’d been close. And her brother had been the last family member she had.
Mark struggled not to take her hand, to pull her into his arms. To provide a hug. Something. But he’d never been a touchy-feely kind of guy.
“One of the regulars who frequented the restaurant where I worked, an older guy who was a lawyer, volunteered to help me. To take care of the legalities resulting from my brother’s estate and the workman’s comp lawsuit that’s still pending.”
A nice guy? Mark wondered. Or an attorney looking for a cut of a settlement she was bound to get?
Juliet ran a hand over her belly. Over her child. “I needed a friend. Someone to talk to. Someone who cared. And Erik Kramer was a charmer who promised to be there for me. I believed him, and before long, we became lovers.” At that point, she looked up, caught Mark’s eye. “He was my first.”
If the attorney had been in the room, Mark might have considered punching him. Charming a young virgin when she was grieving smacked of unethical behavior. And