by Judy Duarte
She swallowed the lump in her throat, afraid to speak, afraid to break the spell.
“I love you, Juliet. I love your rose-colored view of the world, the Latin temper you hide so well. Even your interest in history got a hold of me. Lady, I love you—plain and simple. Marry me and make my life complete.”
Juliet couldn’t hold back the tears, couldn’t hold back the flood of happiness. She stood, wrapped her arms around Mark’s neck and sealed her agreement with a kiss.
She knew she should hold back, make the kiss brief and discreet. But she was too happy, too much in love. And amidst cheers and applause, she offered Mark all the love in her heart.
When they came up for air, Mrs. Tasker was the first to officially congratulate them. “When’s the wedding?”
“As soon as I can get the license,” Mark said. Then he looked at Juliet. “If that’s okay with you.”
“That’s fine.”
“And you’ll have to find another waitress to take Juliet’s place,” Mark told Mrs. Tasker. “My wife is going to take care of our daughter for a while.”
Mrs. Tasker grinned. “I figured as much.”
He scanned the crowded room, the half-opened gifts. “How soon will the party be over? I’d like to take you someplace.”
“We’ll need to clear out of the diner before eleven,” Juliet told him.
“Good. We’ve got an appointment at eleven-thirty.”
An appointment?
“Are you planning to go to the courthouse and find a justice of the peace?” She’d always wanted a church wedding. Just a small one, of course.
“We can decide on when and where we want the ceremony over dinner tonight. But I don’t want to wait very long, not when it feels as though I’ve been waiting my whole life. But you deserve more than a few words spoken by a county official in front of a couple of witnesses we don’t know. Besides, I thought it might be nice if we invited my parents.”
His eyes glistened with sincerity, and her heart nearly burst. Her little family was growing by the minute. “I don’t think you’ll be sorry about including your mom and dad.”
“I’m beginning to think you’ve been right about a lot of things.” He nodded at the seat she’d been sitting in. “I’ll let you get back to your baby shower.”
As she sat, he grabbed an empty chair and parked it next to hers, looking eager to make that appointment he’d mentioned.
Her curiosity piqued. “Where are we going at eleven-thirty?”
“It’s a surprise,” he told her, a grin boasting of his excitement, his happiness. His love.
Juliet didn’t know what he had planned, but it didn’t matter.
The future was an adventure on which she was eager to embark.
After the baby shower, Mark took Juliet and Marissa for a drive, pleased with the surprise he’d planned and unwilling to spoil it.
“Where are we going?” she asked again.
“Just wait and see.”
They drove to Ranch View Estates, but Mark didn’t stop at the sales office. Instead, he turned onto Wagon Wheel Drive and parked in front of the house Iris Grabowski and her late husband had purchased.
The woman’s Chevrolet was parked in the driveway.
As he slid from the rented sedan, Mark realized he’d need a new car—a family-style vehicle like an SUV or a minivan. But there was time for that.
He escorted Juliet and the baby to the front door and rang the bell.
Moments later, a beaming Mrs. Grabowski answered. Mark introduced the women, and Iris let them into a vast living room, just waiting for the furniture they’d need to buy. The focal point was a stone fireplace with a mantel for Juliet to display her pictures. At least, that’s what he figured she’d do.
“Honey,” Mark said, “Iris has agreed to sell her house to us. And while we’re waiting for probate and dealing with escrow, she’s going to rent it to us. We can start moving in this afternoon.”
“God works in mysterious ways,” the older woman told Juliet.
Mark wasn’t sure what the Ol’ Boy Upstairs had to do with anything. Mark was the one who’d come up with an idea that would help everyone out, but he didn’t want to shake the widow’s faith.
“My husband and I had put in a lot of upgrades,” Iris said, as she led them into a roomy kitchen with Corian countertops and state-of-the-art appliances.
“The house is absolutely beautiful,” Juliet said. “I love it.”
“Well, let me show you what was going to be my sewing room,” Iris said, as she led them down the hall and opened a door on the right.
Mark stepped into a room with pale pink walls and a white, built-in bookshelf near a window that looked into a sod-covered backyard.
“Pink is my favorite color,” Iris said. “But I’m sure you can repaint it white or another color.”
“Pink definitely works for us.” Mark slipped an arm around Juliet, pulling his wife and daughter close. “It will make a perfect nursery for our baby girl.”
“I’m so glad this has worked out for everyone,” Iris said. “And I hope you don’t mind if I leave you here. I’m meeting a friend for lunch.”
“No problem.” Mark was eager to take Juliet shopping for furniture, eager to hear what she thought about making this house their home. Eager to be alone with the woman he loved.
Iris handed him the key.
Just like that?
“We haven’t signed anything,” Mark told her. “But I’m good for the money.”
“I know you are,” Iris said.
The widow obviously didn’t have a mind for business. Mark could have been a flake, trying to take advantage of her.
“You’re more trusting than you ought to be,” he told her.
The silver-haired woman smiled sweetly. “God wouldn’t have sent you to me if I couldn’t trust you.”
Yeah, well her faith was a lot stronger than his. He took out a business card that had his cell phone number on it. “I’m looking forward to working with your son-in-law and the escrow officer he knows.”
When Iris left them, Mark turned to Juliet—the woman he loved—and the baby she held in her arms.
His wife.
His daughter.
His life.
Being part of a family never felt so right.
Chapter Fifteen
On Sunday evening, Mark and Juliet drove to his parents’ mountaintop home, ten miles up Turner Grade.
Mark had called his mother earlier in the day and asked whether a visit would be convenient, since he knew how much time his parents spent at the motel.
His mom’s happiness had been hard to ignore, and she’d asked if they would stay for dinner.
His first thought had been to decline, but when he’d spotted Juliet packing the last of the boxes for their move, he agreed.
Now, they stood on the front porch of the house he’d always considered a prison. A pot of pink geraniums offered a bit of color to the white exterior of what had once been painted a drab, winter-gray, telling him that a lot had changed. Somewhat bolstered by the woman at his side, he knocked on the newly lacquered door.
His mother answered, wearing a yellow apron and an awkward smile. She started to lift her arms, as though wanting to offer a hug, then dropped her hands to her sides and fingered the material of her apron. “Please come in.”
The aroma of pot roast filled the air, mingling with a hint of yeast and cinnamon. It wouldn’t surprise Mark if his mother had cooked all afternoon. And the fact that she had, pleased him.
“I’m so glad you brought the baby,” she told Juliet. “I’d love to hold her, if it’s all right.”
“Of course.” Juliet handed the precious bundle of pink and white flannel to the woman who’d longed to be a grandmother for years. Twenty or more, Mark suspected.
A look of awe swept across her face, erasing years of stress, as she studied the sleeping baby in her arms. Then she looked up at Mark and Juliet with a smile. “Please, have a se
at. Dinner is almost ready. Can I get you something to drink? Iced tea? Milk? I have beer and wine, too.”
“I’m fine for now,” Juliet said. “But milk sounds good with dinner.”
Mark had half a notion to ask for a beer, but decided to face the evening head-on. “I’ll pass for now, too.”
At the sound of steps coming downstairs, Mark glanced up to see his father. It was the first time they’d laid eyes on each other in twenty years, so he shouldn’t be surprised to see how time had put a slight bend to his old man’s stance, more lines on his face, more gray in his hair.
He walked with a limp, Mark noticed. A result of the arthritis that plagued him?
His father reached out a hand that appeared a bit gnarled. “I’m glad you came, son.”
Mark gripped him gently, but firmly. “Thanks. It’s been a long time.”
“Too long.” His father smiled, then turned his attention to the woman Mark was going to marry. “It’s nice to meet you, Juliet.”
“Thank you. It’s nice to meet you, too, Mr. Anderson. Thank you for inviting us to dinner. I’ll have to whip up one of my Mexican feasts and return the favor.”
“Please,” his father said, “call us Jess and Anne-Marie. And we’d love to join you for dinner sometime, wouldn’t we honey?”
His mother, pleasure glowing on her face, agreed.
Still, the past hovered over them, in spite of the awkward smiles and small talk.
“Anne-Marie, why don’t you take Juliet into the den and show her what you’ve got for her,” his father suggested.
“Of course. Come with me, dear.”
As Mark’s mother and Juliet left the room, his dad smiled. “Your mother told me your fiancée was pretty. But that was an understatement.”
“Juliet’s beauty runs deeper than the eye can see,” Mark responded.
“Good. I’m glad to hear it. A wise man recognizes the inner woman early in a relationship.”
Apparently, in recent years, his father had grown to appreciate his mother, which was nice to know. His parents’ relationship had been strained when Mark was a teen.
Juliet had told him about the conversation she’d had with his mother at the clinic. The news that his father had been having an affair while the family had lived in El Paso had come as a surprise, although it shouldn’t have. The signs and clues had been there all along—now that Mark knew.
His dad motioned toward the sofa. “Have a seat, son.”
Mark sauntered toward the beige sectional and sat, as the past continued to permeate the room, the air they breathed.
There was no other way, but to face it. But before Mark could broach the subject, his father did.
“I owe you an apology son, one that’s more than twenty years late.”
“I owe you one, too.”
“No,” his father said. “You don’t have much to apologize for. I had a hell of a temper and a shameful attitude years ago. I had my own demons I was wrestling with, and I took out my anger and frustration on my family. Especially you.”
He had. And now that Mark knew about the affair that had placed a dark cloud on the family, he understood—even if he didn’t appreciate—why the man had been so angry all the time, so ready for a fight with anyone who crossed him, especially a rebellious teenage son.
But Mark didn’t bring up the affair. What was the point? His father and mother seemed to have reached a peace about it.
“When your sister died, I couldn’t own up to my failure to look out for her. And in my grief, I lashed out at you, wanting you to bear the guilt that was mine alone. Your sister should have been seeing a doctor. And even though your mom thought we ought to push it, I didn’t take the situation seriously enough.”
“I’ve carried a lot of guilt over Kelly’s death for years,” Mark admitted. “I should have stayed home that day. And I’m sorry I didn’t.”
“Don’t beat yourself up over it, son. From what your mother and I have learned, an emergency C-section would have saved Kelly. But with telephone lines down and roads closed…” He didn’t finish, didn’t have to.
“You’re probably right. But I should have stayed home, like you told me. I’m sorry for being such a rebellious cuss.”
“That you were. But, truth be told, you weren’t any ornerier than I was as a kid.” His dad took a deep breath, then blew it out. “Any chance we could start over, Mark? Pretend some of our past never happened?”
“I’d like to give it a try. Juliet has taught me a lot about love and family. And, if you don’t mind being a grandpa to the most beautiful baby in the world, I figure we have a lot of catching up to do.”
“I can’t think of anything your mom and I would like better than to be grandparents.” His dad smiled, brightening his face in a way Mark hadn’t seen in a long, long time.
Before they could say any more, Juliet and his mother returned to the room. His mom carried the baby, while Juliet held a colorful array of cloth.
“Look what your mother made for Marissa,” Juliet said, flashing some little baby outfits and dresses.
His mother, with a glow of pride, looked prettier and happier than Mark could remember.
“I love to sew,” she said. “So Marissa is going to be the best-dressed baby in town.”
“And I’m going to build us a playhouse for the backyard,” his father added, a grin bearing testimony of his acceptance, his hope for the future. “Just like the one I built for Kelly while we lived in El Paso.”
Mark remembered the little white house, where his sister used to spend hours with her dolls. His mom had made red-checkered curtains and placed yellow plastic flowers in miniature window boxes.
The memory, he realized, was one of many he had of the happier times, the times Juliet had urged him to remember.
“I’m sure Marissa will like a playhouse,” Mark said.
“That’s the plan.” His dad chuckled. “Your mom and I hope, that if we make our home appealing and keep our cookie jar filled, Marissa will beg for you to bring her to visit.”
“I have a feeling she won’t have to beg.” Mark flashed a grin at the woman he loved. “Family means a lot to Marissa’s mommy.”
“Juliet, as much as I hate passing this baby back to you,” his mom said, “I need to get dinner on.”
“Let me help.” Juliet took Marissa from Mark’s mother and held her out to Mark’s dad. “Jess, why don’t you take your first turn at being a grandpa?”
His father’s eyes widened and his mouth dropped. “She’s so little. And I don’t know how to hold babies. Never even held my own till they could walk. Maybe I ought to—”
Before he could utter another word, Marissa was placed in his arms.
“Well, I’ll be darned. Will you look at that.” He marveled over the tiny girl, his eyes glistening. “She’s no bigger than a peanut. And she’s got her eyes open. Hey there, Angel, you don’t know me yet, but I’m your grandpa.”
A flood of warmth filled Mark’s heart, seeking out every cold nook and cranny.
He’d been alone for so long, that love and family ties had become foreign. Remote.
But not anymore.
Before Juliet could slip away to the kitchen to help his mom, Mark stood and wrapped her in his arms. “I’ve got you to thank for making things right in my world.”
She placed a lingering kiss on his lips. “Thanks for giving love and family a chance.”
Five minutes later, they sat around the old dining room table, where love, laughter and forgiveness chased out the old memories, hurts and resentments.
“I know that we never used to pray before meals,” his mother said. “But I feel so very blessed, I think it’s only fitting to offer a prayer of thanksgiving.”
“You’ve got a point.” Mark reached for Juliet’s hand and enfolded it in his. “For a guy who’d once been a cynical hard-ass, I gotta admit, I’m the luckiest man in world. And I have a lot to be thankful for.”
Juliet returned the lov
ing squeeze. “We all do.”
As they bowed their heads, Mark couldn’t help but chuckle.
If the future looked any brighter, he might have to shed his cynical nature and borrow Juliet’s rose-colored glasses.
Cabin Fever
By
Karen Rose Smith
About the Author
KAREN ROSE SMITH grew up in Pennsylvania’s Susquehanna Valley and still lives a stones throw away. Readers can write to her at PO Box 1545, Hanover, PA 17331, USA or e-mail her through her website at www. karenrosesmith.com
With thanks to Jessica Miller for her valuable help in describing Montana weather and scenery. Her love of the state easily inspired me.
To my continuity partners, Christine Rimmer, Allison Leigh, Pam Toth, Judy Duarte and Cheryl St John, who made working on this project a pleasure.
Chapter One
“I am not the father,” Brad Vaughn stated in no uncertain terms.
The Chicago private investigation firm of Vaughn Associates was not where Brad wanted to have this discussion. However, with his dad standing in his office, newspaper in hand, Brad had no choice.
Phillip Vaughn, head of the firm, a man who was always right, a father who was grooming his son for his position, shook the newspaper at Brad. “Are you sure? Suzette Brouchard says—”
“I don’t care what Suzette Brouchard says. We had a brief relationship, but I never slept with her without protection. From the information I have so far, her baby was born forty-two weeks after our last night together. She’d moved on to someone else, and that man is the father of her baby.”
Suzette was a beautiful, sexy model, but neither of them had expected more than a few nights of good sex. She’d faded into the background after they’d stopped seeing each other, and that had been almost three years ago.
“Why would she do this?” Phillip Vaughn asked, still in an accusing tone.
“Money. She thinks if she makes enough noise, I’ll settle and give her a bundle.”
