by Judy Duarte
“I…uh…wanted to talk to you about something,” he said.
“All right.” She stepped aside, allowing him in the apartment.
He nodded at the sofa. “Can I sit down?”
“Sure.” She waited until he’d taken a seat, then, wanting to leave some distance between them without being obvious, she sat on another cushion.
“I’m going to be leaving Thunder Canyon soon,” he said, “but there’s something I want to tell you.”
For a moment, she wondered if he was going to apologize and tell her he’d been a stubborn fool. That he hadn’t realized how much he loved her, how impossible it would be to live without her. But she knew better than to give a loco fantasy like that the time of day.
“You’ve been open with me, Juliet. And I’ve kept secrets from you.”
She merely stared at him, letting him continue.
“I’m not sure who you spoke to, who told you I was married before, but it was to a woman who wanted something I couldn’t provide. A woman whose love began to die after I told her about the part I played in my sister’s death.”
“I’m not like other women. Not when I care about someone.” It was the closest Juliet came to actually admitting her feelings. Feelings, she realized, that hadn’t lessened just because Mark had disappointed her, hurt her.
“I hope you’re right about that, because I’ve had a hell of a time living with what I did. And I’d hate to lose your friendship over it.”
“Try trusting me,” she said.
“I will. Our friendship means a lot to me. And I should have trusted you before, but I’d been on my own for so long, it was hard to let go.” He looked at her with such a pained expression, it tugged at her heart.
Had he done something that unforgivable?
“My older sister, Kelly, married her high school sweetheart right after graduation. Daryl got a job selling cars, and they moved to Bozeman. We didn’t see much of them, and I assumed they were happy. But a year or so later, after Daryl left her for another woman, Kelly came home heartbroken and five months pregnant.”
Pregnant and betrayed.
Juliet knew the feeling well.
“My sister was miserable and cried all the time,” Mark said. “She spent day after day sulking in her bedroom, with the door shut and the drapes drawn.”
Juliet had been hurt, too, but she’d been able to cope with her situation. “It sounds as though your sister was suffering from some serious depression and needed professional help.”
“You’re right. Unfortunately, she didn’t get help.”
“Not even from her obstetrician?”
“I don’t think she saw a doctor after coming back home. My parents were so busy at work that they didn’t force the issue. In fact, I don’t think they knew how much time Kelly spent locked in her room.” Mark leaned forward, resting his arms on his thighs, his hands clasped together. “I knew, though. And I probably should have made a bigger deal out of it.”
“How old were you?” Juliet asked, wanting to touch him, to comfort him, but afraid to intrude.
“I was sixteen.”
“And at that age, you were supposed to have taken on more responsibility with your older sister than your parents did?”
He shrugged. “In retrospect, I wish I had.”
“What happened?”
“One afternoon, a week before she was due to have the baby, my friends were getting together at the bowling alley.” He looked at Juliet, his eyes begging to be understood. “You have no idea how boring it was at the house, especially with my sister holed up in her room.”
She nodded, wanting him to feel free to continue.
“Before my parents had left for work, they’d told me to stick close to home because there’d been a storm warning. But I didn’t plan to be in town that long and figured I’d be back before they got home.”
Juliet felt a chill in the room, one that had little to do with the weather and a lot to do with Mark’s tense demeanor, his pained expression.
“So I ignored their orders and took the family car into town. Shortly after that, the storm hit even harder than expected, creating a power outage and knocking down telephone lines.” He glanced at Juliet, pain etched across his brow. Remorse. Regret. Guilt.
Juliet wished she could soothe them all away, but feared they’d been hiding under the surface for so long that it wouldn’t be easy.
“At the time, I didn’t realize babies don’t always show up on the day they were supposed to. And Kelly went into labor when no one was home.”
Juliet had the urge to slide closer, but was afraid to move, afraid to stop the flow of his memory. Still, she reached for his hand, felt a cool chill to his skin.
“When the roads were clear, my parents returned home and found Kelly on the floor in a pool of blood. Dead. The baby was still inside her.”
Grief settled over Juliet’s heart—for the loss of the young mother she’d never met, the child struggling to be born, the parents who walked into their home and found unspeakable horror.
And for the man who felt responsible for it all.
“The autopsy said the placenta had attached to the cervix, rather than the uterine wall. Anyway, she hemorrhaged and died before the baby was born.”
“It’s called placenta previa,” Juliet explained. In her studies of pregnancy and labor, she’d read about the condition. In a case like that, dilation of the cervix caused the placenta to rip away too soon, leaving the baby without oxygen and the mother at risk for hemorrhage. “With proper medical care, the prognosis is good. A doctor can schedule a C-section.”
He nodded, processing her words. Or so she hoped.
Juliet gave his hand a squeeze, hoping to chase away the chill, the undeserved guilt he’d carried for years. “Your sister’s death wasn’t your fault. It was hers. And if she’d been too depressed to see to her own health and that of the baby, it was your parents’ fault for not insisting she get the help she needed.”
Just hearing Juliet absolve him from guilt helped, Mark supposed. But he still wished he would have done something, gotten Kelly to seek medical care, counseling. Something. And he wished he hadn’t left her alone.
“When I finally returned home, my parents lashed out at me, blaming me for leaving my sister alone, for being so selfish and irresponsible.” Mark didn’t tell her the rest, the words her father had shouted as he slammed his fist into the wall, leaving a knuckle-bruising hole. A hole his old man had refused to seal up for the next six months as a constant reminder of what he thought of his son.
You no good rebellious bastard. You son of a bitch. You let your sister die. You killed her.
I didn’t know she was in labor, Mark had tried to explain. I didn’t know she would need help.
You were told to stay home and look after her. Jess Anderson paced the floor, looking like a madman. Get the hell out of my house. And don’t ever come back.
“Kelly’s death wasn’t your fault,” Juliet repeated. “And your parents know that. Now.”
“I was devastated by my sister’s death. And wracked with guilt. And there wasn’t a damn person in the world to talk to.”
Juliet slid closer, then wrapped her arms around him.
Mark wanted so badly to lean into her embrace, to absorb her strength, her forgiveness.
For a moment, he gave in and clung to her. But that didn’t change the fact that he wasn’t a family man. That he was leaving on assignment soon.
And it was better that way. Really.
“Your parents are sorry about blaming you,” Juliet repeated.
Maybe they were. But Mark wasn’t sure he’d forgiven himself. Still, some of the things Juliet had said made sense. His sister’s depression had gone untreated, and she’d neglected to see an obstetrician, at least after she’d moved home.
When it came time to deal out the guilt, there seemed to be a lot of players to consider. He didn’t have to take the brunt of it alone.
“Y
ou’re a good man.” Juliet stroked his forearm, trying, he supposed, to soothe his conscience.
It worked. Her belief in him was like a healing balm.
She lifted her hand, placed it on his cheek. “I love you.”
Her words blindsided him, causing his heart to race and a response to lodge in his throat. He merely looked at her, amazed. Unsure. Unbelieving.
“I don’t expect anything from you,” she added, as her hand slowly lowered, leaving his cheek cold. Empty. “I appreciate all you did for me and the baby. And no matter where you are, no matter what the assignment, I want you to know that Marissa and I will always be in your corner.”
“Thanks.” His voice came out raw. Hoarse. Laden with all kinds of things he couldn’t put his finger on. Things her words had unleashed.
I love you.
What did she mean by that?
Did she love him like a friend?
Or was she in love with him?
He didn’t know. Nor could he figure out why it seemed to matter. In the past, if one of his lovers got starry-eyed, he knew it was time to skedaddle. To turn heart and run. And now seemed like that time.
“I’m going on a new assignment soon,” he said. “I’m just waiting to hear the details.”
There. He’d done it. Cut bait. All he had to do was go.
“I know how much your job means to you,” she said, her voice coming out soft and whispery. “And how much you disliked being in Thunder Canyon. I’m happy for you.”
Was she?
“Thanks,” he said. “I’m glad you understand. And that you’re okay with my leaving.”
She leaned toward him and placed a kiss on his cheek. “I wish you the best of luck.”
He nodded, not exactly sure what was happening.
She was letting him go? With her blessing?
He’d tried to set some boundaries. And she’d agreed to them without tears or an argument.
So why didn’t he feel like hightailing it out of her apartment and back to his place?
She stood, leaving him alone on the sofa. “Keep in touch, will you?”
Huh? Yeah. “Sure.”
Why did he feel as though there was something more for him to say?
Before he got in too deep, before he said something that might screw up a perfectly good retreat, he got to his feet and headed for the door.
“Take care,” she said, her voice whisper soft.
“You, too.” He let himself out and closed the door.
But instead of feeling relief or a sense of escape, he felt caught up in something. And as he ducked into the crisp, Montana night, hoping to break free from whatever held him, the snare only grew stronger.
Juliet loved him?
All night long, Mark struggled with Juliet’s admission of love, making sleep impossible.
He’d been afraid to ask what, exactly, she meant by “love.” Afraid that he would be backed into an emotional corner. Afraid he’d be faced with something he didn’t know how to deal with.
And now, as Saturday morning wore on, he regretted that he hadn’t asked.
Did she love him as a friend?
Maybe. But friends didn’t kiss the way they’d kissed. Didn’t reach star-bursting, mind-spinning orgasms in each other’s arms.
He stood before the bathroom mirror, looking at the unruly strands of hair that bore the brunt of his frustrated insomnia, and ran a hand over his bristled jaw.
Now that it was over—whatever it was—and now that he was able to get on with his life, he wasn’t so sure that he wanted to.
Juliet had grown on him. And leaving town didn’t seem nearly as appealing as it had last night—before his guilt-riddled confession. Before her unconditional acceptance.
Before she’d mentioned love.
Hell, they’d never even talked about the house he meant to buy. The house he’d planned to let her and Marissa live in.
There was a lot they hadn’t discussed, a lot that needed to be said. After all, he was leaving soon—maybe even today.
A political exposé, Tom had called it. An assignment worthy of excitement.
But instead of elation, that rush of adrenaline when a new story broke, Mark felt…
Dammit. He didn’t know what he felt, but it sure as hell wasn’t excitement. Or happiness.
He was going to miss Juliet.
And her daughter.
Hell, Mark had watched Marissa take her first breath, had cut the cord. Held her.
Held her mother.
And now, the two of them had a heck of a hold on him.
That was it.
The trap. The snare.
Mark’s heart did a death-defying loop-to-loop, soaring, pumping, thumping. Spinning.
But not on a quest to escape.
Oh, for cripes sake. He’d fallen hard for Juliet—head-over-sorry-ass in love.
Still, the realization wasn’t nearly as scary as it should have been.
The only scary thing was packing up and leaving town. Leaving her.
He grabbed his cell phone and called his boss.
“Tom, I’ve had second thoughts. I don’t want to pass the gold rush story on to another reporter. I want to write a scoop on the real owner of the Queen of Hearts mine. A story loaded with history and legend—poker hands, lost and stolen deeds. A story about a crazy old outlaw and a prospector with a gambling problem.”
“You sure about this?” Tom asked.
Yeah. Mark was growing surer by the minute. “I don’t believe that Caleb Douglas owns that gold mine.”
“What makes you say that?”
“I talked to him yesterday,” Mark said, pondering something the wealthy rancher and businessman had mentioned. “He’s contacting Vaughn & Associates, a P.I. firm, to find the deed and verify his ownership.”
“You might be on to something. Go for it. And keep me posted.”
“I will.” Then Mark disconnected the line. He really wasn’t sure who the owner was, but he would soon find out, even if he had to dog the trail of the investigator Caleb hired.
In the meantime, he had a few more calls to make. The first was to Roy Canfield, the editor of the Nugget. After all, if Mark was dead set to be a homeowner and a family man, he couldn’t very well be traipsing across the country on assignments.
When Roy answered, Mark introduced himself and said, “I’ve got a question for you.”
“Shoot.”
“How would you like a partner, someone who could help you make the paper all you want it to be and still allow you to take your wife on an occasional cruise?”
“You’ve got my ear,” Roy said.
“I’ve got a full day planned, but can we get together tomorrow morning at the newspaper office? Maybe around nine?”
“That works for me,” the older man said. “I’ll make a fresh pot of coffee.”
“Sounds great. I’ll see you then.” Mark disconnected the line.
Damn, that felt good. And it had been easy, too.
He just hoped his proposition to Juliet went over as well.
Just one more call to make—if he could find the number.
Fifteen minutes after getting off the phone, with his dreams soaring higher than they ever had, Mark headed for The Hitching Post to tell Juliet how he felt.
He sure hoped he hadn’t read her wrong, but if he had, he wasn’t going to take no for an answer. He’d just have to convince her that Marissa needed a father.
And that Juliet needed a husband.
But not just any husband. She needed him.
As Mark sauntered out of the lobby of the Wander-On Inn and prepared to cross Main Street, he was surprised to see how many cars were parked along the curb.
The diner didn’t open for lunch until eleven. What was going on?
Unable to quell a nose for news, Mark entered The Hitching Post, rather than slipping around the back. He found the eatery filled with women. Giggles, chatter and plenty of oohs and aahs filled the air.
&nb
sp; Juliet sat at a table in the middle of the room, a stack of presents and colorful gift bags surrounding her, while a rosy-cheeked, matronly woman held Marissa, swaying back and forth as though in an invisible rocking chair.
Oh, yeah. Her boss was throwing her a baby shower.
Mrs. Tasker met him near the door. “I’m afraid we’re not open yet. Not until eleven.”
“Do you mind if I interrupt for a minute?” His eyes locked on the woman he loved.
Yeah. The woman he loved.
His chest puffed up with emotions he hadn’t even allowed himself to dream about in years.
“Why, I suppose it’s okay,” the older woman said, stepping aside and letting him make his way through the throng of ladies sipping coffee and pink-colored punch.
In the center of the room, the woman he loved was knee-deep in torn wrapping paper and little baby things. He tossed her a smile.
Juliet studied Mark, his crooked grin, the glimmer of sunshine that lit his brown eyes.
What was so important it couldn’t wait? Was he leaving now, this very moment? Was this the only chance he had to tell her goodbye?
She’d managed not to cry last night, when she’d bravely let him go—but only until the door closed behind him. And since tears began to sting her eyes, she wasn’t sure she could pull it off again.
“Juliet,” he said in a voice loud enough to still the chatter and gain the attention of every woman in the diner. “I’ve got something to tell you.”
She crossed her arms, bracing herself, as she waited for him to drop a bomb.
“I love you.”
His words reverberated through the room, jarring the heart from her chest.
“And if you and Marissa will have me,” he added, “I want to marry you and be a part of your family.”
Emotion clogged her throat, making it hard to respond with more than tears. She swiped at the moisture under her eyes.
Was this real?
She blinked, hoping that, if this were a dream, she’d wake up.
But he continued to stand there, a hopeful look plastered on his face.
“You want to marry me?” she asked. “Are you sure?”
“Honey, since the first time you slid a menu in front of me, you grabbed a hold of my sorry heart and made me feel like someone special, someone worthy.”
